The following Memories of some of our HNOH Alumni are presented as a History of events that happened as they grew up at the Hebrew National Orphan Home. The dates after their names, are the years that they lived at HNOH and serve as an Historical Time-Line! As new ones come in, they will be added to this page.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

TITLE

AUTHOR

THOSE WONDERFUL LADIES	SAM MYERS
THE GREAT POTATO REBELLION - 1920's	CHARLES "CHICK" BAKER
THE BEAUTIFUL SHINY NEW BIKE	SAM MYERS
TO CATCH A FLY	SAM MYERS
WHICH IS WHICH?	E. M. "MICKEY" NATHANSON
THE HNOH BAND	CHARLES VLADIMER
AIRBORNE	JESSE DAVIDSON
BIRTH PANGS, TRAINS AND HOT DOGS- (1914-1916)	MORRIS S. HALPERN
DR. GANS, PEARL WHITE & JELLY BEANS- (1917-1919)	JULES TUROFF
YONKERS AND THE COLONEL'S CANE- (1920-1930)	IRVING TARR
THE SERENE YEARS AND RELATIVES WHO FORGOT (1931-1938)	LEW ZEDICOFF
THE THREE JERRYS (1932-1942)	JERRY PINCUS
WEDNESDAY NIGHT MOVIES, "THE MARCH OF TIME", THE 5 CENTS FROG CAPER AND "FLANNY" (1932-1944)	SIMON GROWICK
GREAT CHANGES, WAR & HIGHER EDUCATION (1939-1945)	BILL WEINSTEIN
AU REVOIR TO TUCKAHOE RD & A MAD POET (1946-1957)	RICHARD SAFRAN

THOSE WONDERFUL LADIES

by SAM MYERS
HNOH: 1929-1937

"I REMEMBER.....that it happened on the average of about 8 times a year. Lunch time in the Gymnasium, as the dining room was taken over by a group of ladies. We always knew them as The Ladies Auxiliary and it meant hot dogs on buns and for dessert it was always that wonderful cake with the frosting that each of us would peel off the cake to eat later after all else and oh how we savored that sweet treat competing with the kids next to us for who can make it last the longest. I remember the huge pots lugged around and served to each kid with tongs and huge pitchers, and usually there was a small gift of some kind. Like I remember the nature series cards and how for weeks after there was the constant games between the kids in winning or swapping to get the full set."

"The women were upstairs in the dining room playing bridge and having a wonderful time from the sounds coming down to the Gymnasium. Ah that was another source of delight to us, as after completing the card games, a number of us were chosen to clear the tables in preparation for dinner for them. There were dozens and dozens of used and unused decks of cards for us to take and we enjoyed them all through the year and mostly during the winter shut in days. We set the table and prettied every thing up and I was always chosen as one of the waiters for the dinner. I remember the speeches and the envelopes, those mysterious envelopes and the smiles and happy talk that went with them. Occasionally, I heard about the volunteer Dentists who would be looking after MY TEETH! I know they were the Dentists' wives reporting all this. Yeah, and optometrists and glasses at no charge. Oh the satisfying looks of these handsome women as they told of what we might expect."

"After dinner each of us waiters, received generous tips for waiting on the tables. "I can get that chromatic harmonica, I have been wanting for so long". What beautiful women they were! I remember one that looked so much like my Aunt Fanny and I must admit to staring badly. I know there were others who found someone who looked like Mom, Aunt, Grandmother, Sister? Just looking occasionally at the kids, I could see what they too were feeling."

"After dinner the women would walk around the grounds talking to the kids and being very generous with monetary gifts. I remember the woman who I stared at so boldly and I remember to this day the hug she gave me when she departed. Did she understand my staring? I don't know.....I like to think she did, but I do remember her and so many people like her who cared and were planning next year's Bar Mitzvahs."

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THE GREAT POTATO REBELLION - 1920's

by CHARLES "CHICK" BAKER
HNOH: 1920-29 & 1930-33

"There is no question that during the early 20's those individuals who were in charge of children in institutions were cruel - not by nature - but this was the only way they knew to control large numbers of children. It wasn't until the 40's and 50's that professionally trained child-care workers came into the picture. But before this, the supervisors felt they had to control the children by cruelty and harsh discipline. Well, some of the older boys led by Oscar Horowitz, decided they had had enough and decided to call a strike."

"Since we kids had to work in the potato fields every day except Saturdays, Oscar told us to fill as many sacks with potatoes as fast as we could and then wait for further instructions. When the supper bell rang, Oscar told us to STAY PUT and not go down. Usually, when the dinner bell rang, we'd run like hell to be fed our supper. But not this time! The older boys had built a trench (just like in the World War) and filled it with sacks of potatoes."

"When the boys failed to respond to the dinner bells, the supervisors started coming up the 100 yards of hill, blowing their whistles and waving their arms for us to come in. But nobody moved. All the boys hid behind the trenches waiting for the supervisors to come closer---and for Oscar's orders. When the supervisors were about 10 or 15 feet away, Oscar yelled FIRE! and potatoes flew as if from a machine gun. After about five minutes of this, it appeared that some of the staff were bleeding. It turned out that some of the more enthusiastic boys were throwing projectiles other than potatoes."

"The commotion brought out Mr. Pushkoff---the Superintendent of the Home at that time - and who - incidentally - was not such a bad guy. He pleaded with the boys to stop, and asked why were we doing this? For a while no one spoke, and then Oscar stood up and explained we were on strike because the supervisors were very cruel to us and that the action would continue until something was done to correct the situation. Mr. Pushkoff promised to do so and that night the Head Supervisor was fired. In all the tumult, very few people recognized the leadership qualities of Oscar Horowitz."

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THE BEAUTIFUL SHINY NEW BIKE

by SAM MYERS
HNOH: 1929-1937

I must tell of Davy Feldman who was a very close friend of mine. Actually, he was a very close friend to just about everyone who knew him and spent even a few moments with him. He was sure a handsome kid and very dark and he was rather slight of build but the power of his personality made him appear quite physically large in our minds.

Davy had a beautiful new shiny bike with lots of chrome and with balloon tires. I learned to ride a bike as did so many other kids through the kindness of Davy and his sharing of his proud possession. From the top of the hill where our flat baseball field was, there was a gentle slope to the side yard of the home at the bottom of the hill and it was about a 1000 yards. A gentle shove and the learner on Davy's bike was off on his own! And what was a gentle hill suddenly was a frightening steep mountain road. We were told to stay away from a bramble bush on the way down as it was loaded with snakes should we fall or decide to abort the trip down. They were of the garden and harmless variety but we were never truly convinced of that. A successful run to the bottom of the hill was met by a cheering group who knew that "There was another one of Davy's students!" Hey! After that ride down that monstrous hill, what a time to show off.

I remember after that I graduated to the special times we had in the old gymnasium where Davy held court to so many of us; Sammy Pentofsky, Loui Rosen, "Bosco" Cohen, Bud Sheiner and so many more . And it was here in the evening when it was dark and after dinner and at times of inclement weather that we rode Davy's bike in a time share fashion as regulated by Davy and every body had his turn that wanted one. We rode the bike with skaters and hand made scooters all around us. And there were six huge posts or pillars holding up the second floor which made each circuit around the gym a real adventure. But you knew that if you passed the test in the old gym you were considered a seasoned biker.

There was a young, up and coming, musical comedy starlette with a booming voice, whose signature song turned out to be, "There's No Business Like Show Business". Her name was ETHEL MERMAN who was quite active in the fund raising efforts of HNOH fund raising groups. It was during one of these activities that she singled out this one kid to be the recipient of a beautiful shiny bike, with lots of chrome and with balloon tires. She could not have singled out a more sharing, gentle and generous individual than Davy Feldman. We learned much more from Davy, than just how to ride a bike!

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TO CATCH A FLY

by SAM MYERS
HNOH: 1929-1937

Saturday morning at Synagogue was a tedious affair, especially if it was Spring and baseball was in the air and balmy breezes. It seemed like an eternity before the services were over. We were quite creative in how we managed to pass the time as quickly as we could make it appear. There was one little caper that literally drove the Hebrew teachers wild.

It was warm enough to leave the window open and being so close to the trash from the kitchens there were many a times that numerous flies would enter the services. There were many of us with the ability to catch a fly with a quick flip of the hand and with a gentle movement of the fingers across the palm of the hand, it was easy to hold the trapped fly and even to turn it with the legs up. There were threads from frayed shirts that we always had in readiness for these occasions.

With watchful eyes on the Hebrew teachers and an exaggerated movement commensurate with devoted "Davening" or praying, we managed to tie a short piece of the thread to the fly's leg and to release the flies after this was accomplished. And during these sessions we were able to make 6 to 8 airborne flies with threads hanging from them.

We kids had a name for the religious kids in the Home. The ones that took religion most seriously, we called them"RIGGY POPS". An expression I still use to this day. Well, here were these crazy flies flying around the Shul with threads hanging from them and the Hebrew teachers looking totally perplexed. They never got the clue that whenever there were tethered flies flying around, there was a sudden increase in "RIGGY POPS" going through the intense exaggerated back and forth movement of the body while "Davening". Certainly these good "Rebbi's" should have known that anything as unusual as flies flying around with threads on their legs should be cause to upset the austere boring procedure of the service by these kids. But, NO! these kids never even noticed the flies (so it seemed) and were so beautifully intent on reading from their prayer books. Years later, a supervisor when told of this said, "It was so much trouble for these kids to make their beds properly with hospital corners but they can sure tie threads to a fly's leg easy enough!"

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WHICH IS WHICH?

by E. M. " MICKEY" NATHANSON (Author of "THE DIRTY DOZEN")

I remember the Hilowitz twins, Freddy & Willy. Late one night (in the late 30's or early 40's) in the Freshman dormitory, some of the slightly older boys, I among them, tried to switch Freddy & Willy's beds around and then when they woke up in the morning we were going to try to convince Willy that he was Freddy and Freddy that he was Willy. BUT I was laughing so hard and loudly that I shook and almost dropped one of the beds we were trying to move silently and gently. The twins woke up and knew exactly who was who, though we futilely tried to convince them otherwise.

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THE HNOH BAND

by CHARLES "CHARLIE" VLADIMER

What can be more exciting for a child than to watch a parade, listen to the clamor of the bands and look at the spectacle of marching bands in colorful uniforms.

When I entered the Home in 1926 at aged 8, it was natural for me to join the band. My father was a professional musician and I always had a love for music. The two big reasons I joined (and I believe most boys joined)...was 1) the Uniforms and 2) the Trips.

The uniforms gave me a sense of pride and status. It made you feel important and I stood out among the other hundreds of other children in the Home. This was especially true for children who were not able to excel in other popular areas----especially sports.

I remember visiting my invalid mother in a sanitarium. I wore my uniform since the band had finished an early engagement and I was permitted to leave. My mother was so proud to see me in uniform and, of course, showed me off to her other patient friends. I told them that I was on leave from a military school in Westchester! Many of the children from the Home, attending community high schools, told their school mates the same story.

Going on trips was also a lot of fun. It was full of new experiences, meeting people who doted on you and seeing new places.The best part for me though was the FOOD.

There were all sorts of trips---most of them on parade. The big event for the year was the Fireman's Parade, with the whole city of Yonkers coming out for that, and with many organizations and bands participating. The only other orphanage band was "Leake and Watts", for black children. I recall one Fireman's Parade where I became very thirsty. It was a hot summer day and we were offered ham sandwiches. Fortunately no one from our Hebrew staff was there or we would have starved! It appeared that there were no " soft" drinks available and I wound up drinking a cold, cold beer. To this day, this is my favorite thirst quencher especially on a warm day.

Our band masters were generally nice people. There was a Mr. Teitler, who came before my time and later went to the Pride of Judea Children's Home in Brooklyn. He was well liked at both institutions. Mr. Ferber was my first band instructor. He chose the clarinet for me since he said I had the fingers for it and, besides the band was short on clarinet players. My father actually knew Mr. Ferber since they both belonged to the same musician's union. But this did not influence his treatment of me since he was decent and kind to all his students.

My next band master was Gregor Zundel. He was nice also but could be comical and more easy going than the other band leaders. He also had a reputation with the "women"---usually mothers of some of the children in the band. I believe that some of the mothers thought and hoped that this relationship would help their sons---but this was not the case. Mr. Zundel was a kind and gentle soul to all. One kindness I shall never forget...the day he made me "Captain of the Band". This was the greatest honor in the band and usually reserved for either the best musician or the most popular. I was neither, but I have a feeling he felt I tried very hard and would mean a lot to me. It sure did!!!

Another big trip was the annual Bar Mitzvah Banquet at the Astor Hotel. The purpose was to celebrate the occasion with those boys who had reached their 12th or 13th birthday that year. The other purpose, perhaps more importantly, was to raise funds. At these affairs, the donors and philanthropists who supported the home were wined and dined and entertained by leading Jewish artists and also three Bar Mitzvah boys gave speeches in English, Yiddish and Hebrew to the "qvells" and delights of the audience. And of course there was our HNOH Band playing all sorts of music. It was always a great event and I am sure that the organizers, administrators, and participants all enjoyed this spectacle. Oh yes, the Bar Mitzvah children also got gifts; and most importantly of all, always got an 18K gold ring with their initials on it. We musicians in the band though, only wanted one thing---the FOOD!

About once a month, the band would play for the Women's Leagues and Auxiliaries. A lunch would be prepared for them in the dining room; and while they ate, the band would play in the adjoining Playroom. In addition to the usual marches, we also played waltzes by Lehar or Strauss. Some kids, like Walter Lewis, would stand out by performing solos on their instruments. At these affairs, though, we in the band did not get food. Well, you can't win them all!

Although a long time has passed since my "band years", I still get nostalgic when a band performs "Stars and Stripes" or "The Washington Post March" at a parade or on TV.

Thank you Mr. Teitler, Mr. Ferber and Mr. Zundel. Thank you HNOH.

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AIRBORNE

by JESSE DAVIDSON

My early interest in the air mail began when, as a youngster growing up at the Hebrew National Orphan Home in lower Westchester County, New York, a group of us boys would fling open the windows of our dormitory at the sound of an approaching airplane that came over our "Home" several nights a week at around nine o'clock. Our best judgment then was that the plane, outlined by red, white and green navigation lights, was less than a thousand feet high. The fact that it appeared so regularly and so business-like in its singular purpose made us more curious as to where it came from and what its destination was.

About this time, because of our apparent interest in "aeroplanes" one of our guidance counselors, Jack Patent (my mentor), formed an aviation club to spur on our interests and learn more about it through building and flying model airplanes. It was the greatest thing that happened to a group that shared the same interest, and it offered an escape from the boring sameness of daily institutional life.

In a short time, our club activities were funded by generous contributions from well-heeled members of the Board of Directors, and soon we had a growing aeronautical library, subscriptions to aviation magazines, and were on the mailing list of publicity releases from budding air lines. It was from one of these releases that we learned from Pitcairn Aviation News that a Pitcairn Mailwing was making its nightly journey from Newark to Boston. And our "Home" was right on course!

These were exciting times and we devoured everything on the subject. It was evident that the familiar biplane was giving way to the monoplane carrying both a few passengers and mail. We marveled at the phenomenal progress of aviation as a result of Lindbergh's famous solo trans-Atlantic flight and the social effects that would influence the lives of most of us.

But none of us youngsters had ever seen a REAL airplane on the ground. We had visions that a plane must be very big---because it was so small when it was high up. And like the rest of the club members, I had the feverish desire to see one, touch it, admire it, and even sit in the cockpit. It became an obsession, and if I had to do something to realize this ambition, then I would do it and take the consequences.

One mid-summer Sunday, a regular visiting day for those lucky youngsters who had at least one parent or members of their family coming to see them, and when there was considerable activity on the grounds, I felt my presence wouldn't be missed for several hours. With another chap whose attitude was even more cavalier than mine on such matters, I "sneaked" off the premises and hiked from Yonkers to New Rochelle where, we had learned a bit earlier, there was a "landing field."

Kids can walk for miles when filled with such enthusiasm, and every turn on an unfamiliar road is an adventure, and miles don't seem to matter. As we neared a large open area, we heard a whirring sound, looked up and saw a large silver and blue biplane swooping low as if to land. We had arrived! A few directions from some local kids and we came to the top of a slight rise of the road.

There, at the top, in a fairly large open field sat a solitary airplane nestled between tall trees. There was a small shack with OFFICE painted on the door. We walked up to it to ask permission to look at the airplane. No one was there, nor was there any other person on the field. Since the plane had come down not long before, it was a matter of time before someone would return.

At first, we stood in silent awe at a respectful distance, but always casting an over-the-shoulder look, expecting someone yelling to get off the field, or away from that airplane---or worse.

Like a couple of restrained watchdogs, we broke loose and ran up to the plane, circled around it touched the smoothly painted fabric of the wings and tail surfaces. The engine cowling was still warm. The propeller had stopped in a horizontal position. Just great for a picture of ourselves: hands resting on the prop---like so many dashing aviators had posed. We made the most of the opportunity.

Another look around the deserted field and I climbed into the cockpit--and then I was in a world of my own. The instruments, the switch, the throttle, the control stick, and rudder pedals! Wow! With my head barely visible in the deep cockpit, I moved the control stick right and left, forward and back, watched the ailerons and rudder and elevators respond to my gingerly touch.

In the shadows of the leather cockpit padding I peered closer to read a nameplate which identified the airplane as an Eaglerock, manufactured by Alexander Aircraft Industries of Denver, Colorado. Its engine was a 90 horsepower Curtiss OX-5.

I sat there taking in all the sights and smells of the leather padding, the freshly doped and painted surfaces of a newly-manufactured aircraft; a smell one never forgets.

Hours passed. No one had yet appeared at the field. We began to take more pictures "for the boys back home" and were preparing to leave when I looked up and noticed that despite a mild breeze, the windsock attached to a post support atop the highest pine tree was hanging limply. We debated whether or not we should leave at this point or unfurl the windsock.

I won out, climbed up and got it unstuck. It immediately billowed out with the breeze coming from an easterly direction.

On the way down, despite my extreme care, my trouser leg got hooked on a short, broken limb which resulted in a noticeably long rip right up to the knee. Now, not only were we in for possible disciplinary action, but I was bringing home the evidence to prove it.

But I took comfort in the fact that at least I made my small contribution to safety in aerial navigation. It was worth it.

We got home just as darkness fell. We were missed all right. Our empty seats in the dining room were obvious enough. When a supervisor asked the other boys at the table of our whereabouts, they just shrugged in ignorance. I think they really knew. But oh, were we hungry!

The punishment? Restricted to the grounds, loss of certain privileges, and assigned to work with the "farm gang" the very next morning. Early!

But that, too, was worth it.

If you ever walked through a field of growing celery and ripening tomatoes fresh with dew, it's another sight and smell you'll never forget.

After our tour of duty with the farm gang was over, our Club Director asked me about the location of the "flying field." No problem. That left an indelible impression on my mind, and the following week, with the blessing of the supervisory staff, the whole club, thirty strong, plus a few soon-to-be members, hiked to the field where another thrill awaited us. The Alexander Eagle rock was landing and taking off with sight-seeing passengers at five dollars a head. What a time to be a penniless orphan!

Several months later our Club Director left the "Home" and became associated with an aviation school in New York City. Through his good offices, I was given a free scholarship and was soon digesting the intricacies of aerodynamics, aircraft structures, and related subjects of the ground school curriculum.

Not long after finishing my courses, I was brought to the attention of Bernarr McFadden, health culturist, newspaper publisher, and recent purchaser of a Loening amphibian for his private use. He had just taken over a struggling magazine called "Model Airplane News". He also owned the building that bore his name and housed the editorial offices of his several magazines, including "True Stories", " Liberty" and "Flying Stories".

He set aside a good portion of the fourth floor of his building, equipped it with work benches, and installed me as an instructor in free model building instructions to as many enthusiasts as the room could safely accommodate. Part of my job was to design and provide instructions on how to build and fly certain types of models, which were published in each month's edition of " Model Airplane News". One of my first pet projects was to submit plans and instructions for building a realistic scale model of the Douglas mailplane.

The Depression years of the "thirties" squelched my plans to learn to fly. But, toward the last year of that decade, I did learn---in the wonderful yellow trainer---the Piper Cub, the most popular of small two seater that seemed to dot grass-root airstrips everywhere, like bright dandelions on a sunny day.

It did not occur to me until after several cross-country trips getting lost a few times, and negotiating a successful dead-stick landing in a cemetery, that I hadn't yet learned to drive a car.

My flying instructor was Frederic Ives Lord, a World War One Ace, who had recently returned from flying combat for the Loyalists in the Spanish Civil War. (See Time-Life's Epic of Flight series "Soldiers of Fortune", pp 45, 46.)

A number of years later, after a hangar fire had destroyed some planes along with my log book among others stored in a rack, I sought out my old friend to once and for all confirm in writing that he "soloed" me.

In time, he mailed back to me a certificate, which read in part the: " I , did alone and unassisted in a Piper Cub J-3 take-off and safely return to Floyd Bennett Field in Brooklyn, New York, thereby completing my first solo flight and joining that elite group of persons who have successfully defied the law of gravity, and qualifies for this recognition. Dated: 17 February, 1939."

Accompanying this certificate, Freddie Lord included an autographed photo of himself on which he inscribed:

"To Jesse - my worst student."

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BIRTH PANGS, TRAINS AND HOT DOGS (1914-1916)

by MORRIS S. HALPERN

The early Hebrew National Orphan House was organized by a group of traditional Jews and followed the religious laws including Kosher food, two separate kitchens and intensive Jewish education and observance. At its outset the H.N.O.H. was supported by humble funds raised through synagogue groups, auxiliaries and bar mitzvah banquets.

The Summers those early days were spent at Rockaway. Every year at a different place-a former hotel at Arverne, a former club house of the Atlantic Athletic Association with its huge gym used as a dormitory, and another time the "tent camp" alongside the tracks of the Hammels station of the L.I.R.R. The sounds of the trains coming in and going out of the station were not the sweetest, but after the first few nights they did lull us to sleep. Those were the days of joyous beach parties with hotdogs and soda, and great baseball teams with Max Resnick pitching and Harry Beeres stealing bases. We made an envious record all over the Rockaways.

Who can forget the large dormitories with the white beds neatly made up by us and evenly lined up row after row. The metal plaques attached to each bed noting its donor, stuck out like grave markers. Oh, how conducive to sleep that was!

Yes, those days weren't easy as I recall. The food was neither fancy nor varied, but plentiful if you weren't too sensitive. The older boys were unable to get clothes that fit, especially shoes. The supervisors could have been better and the general staff was also not well trained. It was the time when overnight the shoemaker became cook and some of the older boy had to fire the boiler because the night watchman had wandered off. The Home changed slowly and we did too.

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DR. GANS, PEARL WHITE & JELLY BEANS (1917-1919)

by JULES TUROFF

My first memories of the Home is the year 1917 was, upon admission, getting a thorough medical examination by Dr. Gans whose office was located across the street on St. Marks Place. I don't think any of the boys who were in the Home at that time will ever forget our wonderful Dr. Gans. Not only was he our family physician, but he spent hours daily away from his medical practice to act as our athletic director and participate with us in games of box-ball and punch-ball.

In those days, our only means of entertainment were the silent movies. Through the graciousness of the owners we were permitted to attend the "Orpheum Theatre" on Second Avenue at least once a week. I will always remember the anticipation of seeing the thrillers, "The Lost City," "Tarzan" with Elmo Lincoln and of course, Pearl White, etc. For an added treat, we were given a weekly allowance of one cent (yes, I said one penny) to buy jelly beans or gum drops.

While I can't remember all the boys who were with me at the "Home," there are many I do remember. There were the Kasofsky brothers, Simon, Willie, Louis and Meyer, the first boys admitted. Sam Reckler, our star ball-player, today a successful fur manufacturer. The late and beloved Eddie Mollis, always to be remembered for his charitable deeds and for the legal help he gave many boys. Manny Heicklin, who started his musical career with the Junior Police Band and later became a member of the Vincent Lopez Musical Aggregation and now is proprietor of Sunnyside Gardens. Harry Cohen (#11) who is an executive with the Ex-Lax Company, and his inseparable pal of many years, Morris Fox, who holds a high position with the Metropolitan Mirror Company. Manny Cohen, although small in stature, turned out to be one of the best all-around athletes. Also, Jack Jossem, another fine athlete and now a partner in one of the largest over-the-counter security houses on Wall Street. Moe Schneidmill, Harry Aronowitz and Nat Arnold; The Gittlemen boys, Hymie, Jack and Henry; and so many more.

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YONKERS AND THE COLONEL'S CANE (1920-1930)

by IRVING TARR

The years from 1920 through 1930 were rough years. The Country was heading towards the worst depression in history and money was becoming scarce..The "Home" in Tuckahoe began to feel the pinch of the dollar and things started to go from bad to worse. With changing times came a new and stricter group of supervisors and regimentation became a daily occurrence.

Of course, we had good times too. Those treats going to Tuckahoe or Yonkers to see a first run movie, sleigh riding down our own ski slopes on barrel staves, fireworks every Fourth of July, candy every Friday brought in by ladies of various auxiliaries, those baseball and basketball games starring our own Lou Resnick (the Mickey Mantle of our day), and many, many other events, pleasant to remember.

Is it any wonder then, that out of all this came a strong bond of togetherness and camaraderie that exists to this day in our Alumni Association?

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THE SERENE YEARS AND RELATIVES WHO FORGOT (1931-1938)

by LEW ZEDICOFF

You look back and can't help remembering when good old Tuckahoe Road was just a winding dirt path, then tarred, with the first trolley running from Getty Square to Nepperhan,, and then Tuckahoe. The trolley has been gone for some time and Tuckahoe Road with its broad paved lanes is now an important highway.

The hikes through the adjoining meadows, woodlands and the wild fields past the nursery and into the wooded hills beyond the reservoir road cannot be forgotten. There was that haunted house on the aqueduct and the apple and peach orchards on Kessman's, Paulik's and Schmidt's farms. And yes, those hot summer days down in dear old "B.A."adjacent to the aqueduct. The forests that held so many of our initials carved into the trunks of trees are all gone now.

You can still feel the cold crisp autumn winds coming through the trees or see the sun bursting through the wide open windows. Once more you see the old gym with its low ceiling and pipes that were sometimes used for baskets by the small fry and you remember skating around and around the poles, and the ringo leavio, and Johnny on a pony escapades. You can still see the kitchen yard, the playground, ball fields, orchards, the farm, the chicken coop and the front lawns with their majestic oak and pine trees.

Remember the holidays, especially the beautiful holiday of Passover, when some of the kids got permission to visit relatives. There were the guests for the sedar, the singing, the fun, and the change of tables. The trips to a New York movie and the circus were a real treat. You remember also the boys who were on the chosen list waiting for relatives to take them away, relatives who never came, and the boys who waited so eagerly from the early morning till darkness and then burst into uncontrollable tears when the supervisor utter those fatal words, "You'd better go back to your dormitory and unpack."

The old farm gang with the horses, Stockings and Playboy, held many happy moments for us. You can't forget the championship basketball teams and the triumphs in scholastic competition. All that was glorious then was part of the H.N.O.H. spirit, the spirit that still keeps us together.

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THE THREE JERRYS (From: "ANECDOTES from the LIFE of JERRY "YIPPY" PINCUS")

by JERRY PINCUS
HNOH: 1932 - 1942

In alphabetical order we were, Jerry Cohen (later Coogan), Jerry Hershkowitz and Jerry Pincus. We wee the first entrepreneurs, in the Home. Or so we thought before we learned about our predecessors like Charlie Vladimer and Aaron and David Fruchtman and a few others.

Somehow we obtained packets of Root Beer powder and we were going to get rich making Root Beer, selling it to the other boys during the hot summer days. We managed to get five one-gallon bottles from the Home kitchen (No, we DID NOT steal them!) We mixed the powder with water and filled them up to the very top of the bottles to get the most Root Beer in a bottle. (We were greedy and wanted to make lots of money.) However, we did not realize that you have to leave space for air when the concoction ferments.

The bottles were stored in the Clothes Storeroom of the Junior dormitory. And we waited impatiently for nature to take its course. After five days, about 3am, while everyone was fast asleep, there was a terrific explosion inside the storeroom! What a mess! All of the clothing was full of Root Beer and pieces of Glass! I don't remember what punishment we received---but it was severe. All the boys were mad at the Three Jerrys and our dreams of being rich were over.

However, the anger didn't last too long. One hot summer day a Hershey's Ice Cream truck pulled into the Home's front circular drive and the driver asked for the Pincus brothers. He was a friend of our father from Coney Island where we lived before coming to the HNOH. He gave all the boys that came to his truck a free ice cream pop. The boys thanked my brothers and me, and I (along with the other two Jerrys) was forgiven for the Root Beer Explosion!

We Three Jerrys continued our strong friendship throughout our lives! Jerry Hershkowitz settled in Baltimore and passed away from a brain tumor at a very early age. Jerry Coogan settled in Miami Beach and was the head chef at the Crown Hotel, the only kosher hotel in Miami Beach. He also passed away in his 50's. I went into the garment business after serving in the army during World War II and am now retired in Florida, serving as the editor of the news-letter.

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WEDNESDAY NIGHT MOVIES, "THE MARCH OF TIME", THE 5 CENTS FROG CAPER AND "FLANNY" (1932-1944)

by SIMON GROWICK

One of the things that I remember most vividly as a youngster at the "H" was the weekly movies every Wednesday night in the "new gym." The projectionist was someone who worked at a movie theater in White Plains. He would bring one or two cartoons and a main feature. It was something we all looked forward to.

As I became a teenager, I obtained a "job" assisting the nurse in the infirmary. Her name was Augusta Rose Flanagan, affectionately known as Flanny. I think she was almost a surrogate mother to some of the boys. My "job" in the infirmary consisted of going to the main kitchen, (Flanny had her own kitchen for personal use) and bringing trays for meals to the boys who were confined to bed in the infirmary. In addition, I would assist in handing out medications under the supervision of Flanny, clean up, and other various and sundry duties. I was always fascinated as I watched a doctor suture boys up who were cut in accidents, or after removing BB's from the scalp.

I was a young teenager then, and knew if the war lasted long enough I had to go into the Armed Forces. One Wednesday night the projectionist brought a reel which was the "March of Time" a popular newsreel. This particular one was devoted to the "Armed Forces" and showed duties done by personnel in the various services. One was of a Pharmacist Mate in the Navy looking into a microscope and then a close-up of a stained microscopic slide. Upon seeing this, I said to myself, " This is for me!"

At this time I was attending classes at Roosevelt High. My favorite subject was biology. It really intrigued me. Because I worked in the infirmary, I had access to instruments such as scalpels and forceps. I paid some of the kids a nickel for every frog they could catch. Then I would dissect them and try to identify internal organs. It helped me appreciate the wonders of the functions of living organisms. As I approached my 18th birthday, I found out that due to the war, seniors in high school could double up on some courses in order to graduate early and enlist in one of the Armed Forces, which I did. I doubled up on History and English. Of course I chose the Navy. There was a problem completing my enlistment papers, and finally Mr. Koftoff signed as my legal guardian. I passed my physical and on October 17, 1944, I left from Pennsylvania station on the Lehigh Valley Railroad to Samson Naval Base for recruit training.

Because I listed on a questionnaire, my duties in the Home infirmary, while I was in boot camp, I was assigned to Hospital Corps School at the Bainbridge Naval Hospital in Maryland. This started a career as a Health Care Professional, in which I am still engaged part-time, in Radiologic Technology.

One thing I forgot to mention, is that Flanny made the best Apple Pie from scratch that I have ever tasted.

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GREAT CHANGES, WAR & HIGHER EDUCATION (1939-1945)

by BILL WEINSTEIN

It was in 1939 when Mr. Koftoff addressed us for the first time. We sat erect in the big dining room, eight at a table, listening to the man who would make the greatest changes in our lives. We did not fully understand what he meant when he told us the dormitories would be torn down and small rooms for six boys each would take their place. As he spoke of an end to detention lines and physical punishment, I remember the unbelieving faces of my young friends. There had been many promises in the past and now we needed proof. With the passing months our cynicism turned to "WOW's" and "OH BOY's". The changes were real. Carpenters, masons and truck loads of lumber, sand and building materials would be our daily reminder of his words. After school we rushed to the most recent construction work and with amazement and approval examined the days progress.

The Old Gym, where unwillingly we tooted our musical instruments after three o'clock milk and cookies, was restructured with club rooms. Printing, carpentry, arts and crafts, photography, radio and electrical work and musical study were now available to enrich our lives.

The big war started that year and I remember the older boys talking about the recent graduates who had enlisted the year before. We did not know then that hundreds of our boys would be fighting all over the world. Lou Zedicoff's letters and articles in the Alumnus on the progress of our boys still stand high in my memory. Proud alumni, dressed in uniforms decorated with ribbons of overseas combat, fascinated us on Sundays. The War ended, we counted our losses and mourned deeply our dead.

I was sixteen then and remember completing an application for college admission. Few of our boys, for many reasons, mostly economic, ever went to college. We in the class of 1945 were the spearhead of a drive for higher education which never ceased. It was the inspiration of Mr. Koftkoff and Mr. Field which helped us get started. The send off for the class of '45 was different. For the first time the Home extended itself beyond high school graduation. They whom we honor today never stopped after that.

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AU REVOIR TO TUCKAHOE ROAD & A MAD POET (1946-1957)

by RICHARD SAFRAN

To many of us, the physical symbol of the Home was the soapstone stoop on the side of the main building facing the asphalt punch-ball court. We used to sit on the steps there and gripe and discuss the issues we found exciting. From these steps, one could see any activity in the area from the section around the chicken coop up to a ballgame in progress on the baseball field. and if no one was around, a boy might muse over the names carved on the stoop, for this stoop was the chronicle of our times. Upon it, our achievements were recorded with meticulous care.

During our stay in the Home, the name changed. A new sign HOMECREST in gold, block letters replaced the old sign. "Too pretty!", said one disapproving conservative. Social workers and psychologists made their appearance. The Central Council, our own governing body consistently veered between apathy and surprisingly energetic effectiveness. Ray Dobrow took some off from his madcap antics with Joe Semaria and created a typewritten one page daily (surreptitiously posted on the bulletin board) in opposition to Jerry Meslin and the Homelite. Each copy was signed by the Mad Poet and one series (it was a reform paper) was so effectively satirical that Harry Herz was removed as bulletin board monitor because of neglect of duty.

We began to plan for college and to think about Reuben Koftoff's constantly repeated comment, "Education is not preparation for living; education IS living." We placed Homecrest boys on the major varsity teams at Roosevelt High School and our presence was felt in student politics and in social activities.

We watched the face of the Yonkers countryside change as buildings sprouted up all around us and the Rod & Gun Club quietly died because of lack of activity. We lurched from one worry and joy to the next. And all-too-quickly, we were high school graduates - no longer cocky Homecrest seniors, but young men standing on our own - filled with both eagerness and apprehension as we left 407 Tuckahoe Road with a drive to survive, to grow and to flourish.

[From: Testimonial Dinner Dance Journal, in honor of Reuben Koftoff, June 4, 1977]

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