Bay Ridge High School 1945 Yearbook (Brooklyn, NY) - Full Access

High school has really been worth something. But anyone who asks me to repeat those three hectic years will have to meet me at sunrise for a showdown. Jean Grossi If I close my eyes I can see it now, the proud gray building with its tall steeples reaching upward as if waiting for its chance to grab at a piece of the blue heavens above it, the green shrubbery surrounding the building swaying gently in the cool autumn breeze, the long path that runs side by side with the Senior Garden and ends before the heavy doors which open into the corridors of Bay Ridge. I can see the smiling faces of my friends now-friends that I have made at Bay Ridge-walk– ing gayly along these corridors calling out my name, waving, smiling. This is the memory I want to lock in my heart and carry away with me into the future. This is the way I want to remember Bay Ridge. If I close my eyes now I can remember the first excitement of high school life. My first disappointment when my glamorous dream, high school, turned out to be just a few rooms over a drug store. I can remem– ber the fun of making new friends and my first taste of book cards, pro– gram cards and parent's consent blanks. And then there was the day when I left the annex and stood for the first time within the halls of Bay Ridge-my heart giddy with happiness, as an inner voice kept saying, " Now you ' re really in high school." And for a while I went along happy with my new friends, my new high school life and in general-just happy. And then it came. Just as it always does in story books-war. Just when everyone is happy and content, it comes . It sneaks up behind you and hits you from behind and then you know it's here. I can remember that Monday morning when we sat in our history classes and talked of the future. The future that was now darkened with the inevitability of war. I sat with my cold hands lying limp in my lap and looked about at the faces of my friends. Their voices were dead sober now as they talked about the future and the twinkle was gone from their eyes and the smile from their faces . And as I watched them I felt a cold wave sweep over me. I wanted to stamp my feet like a spoiled child and shout at them, "Let's laugh again; don't think about it. War is for the old. We're young; it doesn't concern us." But even as my heart cried out, my lips remained silent and I knew no matter what any of us said, it was too late. War had come. And so time went on and on and so did the war. No matter where we turned, it was there. It began to creep into posters along the halls, into our English classes and our history classes. All sorts of drives were I 3