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October— 1946



Official orgtni of the student body

National Farm School and

Junior College

Entered as second class matter at
Farm School, Pa.




Jack Aarons — — Editor-in-Chief

Harold Silverman . Business Manager

Nathan Sandler Secretary

Edward Turner Sports Editor

Jack Greenberg Literary Editor


Morton Ballin, Joseph Carbonaro, Alfred Hass, Bernard

Kasan, Harold Lamm, David Miller, LeRoy Porter,

Howard Schrumpf

Albert F. Carpenter, Norman Finkler, Samuel B. Samuels


This first Junior College issue of The Gleaner is dedicated to
the memory of the late Dr. W. Albertson Haines, Sr., whose
death came as a shock to most of the students at The Natio)ial
Farm School and Junior College.

The Forty-Niners

Today in a world racked by the repercussions of war, a group of
young men is in the act of making history. Most of these men have left
the city to begin a way of life which is more desirable to them. A group
of men is making history. And We are that group.

We are forty-niners, the first class to attend the Junior College of
The National Farm School.

There are many traditions left us by the former students of the school ;
traditions which have made The National Farm School famous throughout
the land for its standards of education in the practical as well as the
theoretical fields of agriculture.

It is our solemn duty not only to uphold these traditions, but to make
the name of The National Farm School and Junior College synonymous
with honor, knowledge, and integrity.

As earlier classes have set a standard for us, so must we set a goal
for those who will follow us. We know that human lives, as well as plant
and animal lives, will one day depend upon us. It shall be our responsibility
to appreciate our role in society, and to prepare ourselves well for our task.

We have the basic equipment here at Farm School with which to
accomplish our objectives. We have new laboratories, a fine library, and
proven fertile farms. But, most important, we have the will to succeed in
our undertaking. For we have the conviction that the farmer's way of
life is the only way of life for us.

We, the forty-niners, must not fail Farm School as it begins its fifty-
first year. We must not fail ourselves. So we go on to forty-nine — onward
toward our goal ! Onward, National Farm School and Junior College.

President James Work

Snapped in An bi formal Pose 07i the Campus


The hmui Farm School m Jlmor College



^N WELCOMING the first class to the College, the entire Faculty
and Staff cannot help but feel a very deep sense of responsibility
and at the same time a great pride in knowing that we are part
and parcel with you in a great adventure in education. You are
truly the Class of Destiny. I feel that you men are on the threshold of an
undertaking that is very nearly of the stature of the undertaking when
the Founder welcomed the first class to The National Farm School a half
century ago.

Our growth to the position of a Junior College has been normal, and
we take pride that we are progressing with the times. Upon you de-
pends in a large part the success of our venture. The College Administra-
tion and Staff will never lose sight of the fact that the entire institution,
the classes, the laboratories, campus, farms, and everything of a personal
or material nature, is here purely as a means to an end. The end is the
real education of the student. The education of the student is the only
logical reason for our existence. I prefer to look upon our faculty, and our
facilities, merely as instruments which we shall use to accomplish our end,
and no more, regardless of the prestige of the individual or the beauty
of the physical plant.

Controversies rage continually among those educators of different
philosophies in respect to the numerous programs for education. Our
program is simply to equip you with the skills and techniques and
specialized knowledge which will make it possible for you to become suc-
cessful in the line in which you specialize, to impart to you such teachings
as may assist you to become cultured, well-rounded citizens in a world
which is changing daily, and to strengthen your bodies, your inner re-
sources, your character, to the end that you may become strong men,
physically, mentally, and morally.

How well you absorb the knowledge offered, and take advantage of
the opportunities presented, is dependent not wholly upon you men. but in
a great measure upon the inspiration you receive from us. We shall put
forth every effort to do our part and look to you to be receptive to the
greatest possible degree. We must travel this road together for the next
three years and my greatest desire is to see you all here to be graduated
in 1949.

— James Work


Dr. Haines was a man who endeared himself to the students of Farm
School through his humor and kindness. We feel certain that his memory
will live long in the hearts of the boys who knew him.

Dr. Haines came up the "hard way." The son of a Quaker family, he
was born in Moorestown, N. J., in 1880. In true traditional form he
attended a one-room school house, helping his parents on their dairy farm
in the spring, summer, and fall. After completing the courses at the
school, he remained on the farm for several years assisting his parents.

Dr. Haines was graduated from the Veterinary School at the Univer-
sity of Pennsylvania in 1907 as a Doctor of Veterinary Medicine.

As a citizen of Bristol township, and a member of the Bristol Cham-
ber of Commerce, he was instrumental in organizing the first Bucks
County Farm Bureau, which is now known as the Bucks County Agricul-
tural Extension Service.

Dr. Haines was also a member of the State Legislature for eight suc-
cessive terms. During this period he held important positions on com-
mittees dealing with Agricultural problems. He was the sponsor of a bill
granting the first adequate appropriation to farmers whose cattle were
slaughtered in the program to rid Pennsylvania of bovine tuberculosis.
In 1931 Dr. Haines helped to introduce a bill leading to the establishment
of the State Milk Control Board, which aided farmers suffering in the
midst of the depression.

It was through Dr. Haines' untiring efforts that the hemlock became
the official State tree of Pennsylvania.

We. the editors of The Gleaner, believe that the greatest tribute the

students of the National Farm School and Junior College could pay to the

man and his memory would be the planting of a hemlock grove in his


— The Editors



Who Won't Sit Near Whom at Mealtime?

We hear a blare of bugles and the barking of dogs. The crimson-clad
gentlemen mount their steeds and the hunt is on. After the din has died
down, and the dust has settled, we see a lone figure trudging along the
dusty path toward the poultry range. We know not the name of this Man
among Men, except that he would bet his eye-teeth or his upper bridge
that cockerels make good layers. Over his shoulder he has slung heavy
artillery, a 16-gauge shotgun. Upon his arrival at the poultry range, he
takes up a strategic position, and awaits his prey : the grey fox, the death
dealer among our flocks.

We look upon our brave hunter, as he lies prostrate and asleep,
awaiting the arrival of the fox.

Now we leave our fearless protector of chickens for a few minutes
to get a look at the flock. Suddenly we whirl about. We see our savior
running down the path like a bolt out of the blue. Soon he is out of sight.
Suddenly a shot rings out.

The air is immediately permeated with a very pungent odor. Our
hero emerges from one of the shelters, tired but victorious.

He shouts triumphantly, "Let us rejoice, I have slain the fox." We
gaze at him dumbfoundedly (while very demurely holding our noses) . Our
killer of beasts had mistaken a peppermint pussy (skunk) for a fox, and
caused a minor revolution among the chickens. They're now striking for
better living conditions.

— Jack Greenberg



On misted hill by sparkling run,
The world is tinted grey.
As nature beckons to the sun,
The farmer starts his day.

The sun's gold halos distant hills.
The grey world fades away.
The wild birds greet with magic trills,
The renaissance of day.

— Harold Silverman

The Prophet's Prediction

On the morning of July 19, 1946, the greater part of the class of '49
received with varying reactions the somewhat shocking intelligence that
with the dropping of the atomic bomb we would all be disposed of in a
manner calculated to make the stoutest heart tremble and the firmest hand

Our own Mr. Henry Schmieder, who is best known perhaps for his
arguments pro bee-keeping and anti dairying, was the source of this
startling information.

According to Mr. Schmieder, the bomb would, by a chain reaction,
decompose all the water, first in the Pacific, and then in the Atlantic. The
chlorine in the salt would gas all the earth's population, while the sodium
would decompose even more water. All persons and things escaping the
deadly gas would be carried away by the torrential rains which would be
the natural result of having two oceans hovering above the earth.

Needless to say, panic was widespread among the students.

The tension grew as the time for the test approached. Boys off for
week-ends said tearful goodbyes to their parents, fully convinced that
never again would they see them in this world.

Several days before the test, it was rumored that Mr. Schmieder had
cornered the market on gas masks and water wings. Then, even before
the bomb fell, it began to rain. Students who saw Mr. Schmieder furtively
carrying bits of wood and adhesive tape away predicted that he was
building a Schmeider's Ark. These suspicions were heightened when the
bees began to fly two by two.

Finally, on the morn of the fateful day, students stumbled about with
bloodshot eyes, peering here and there for a word of encouragement. Only
Jack Greenberg, the Bronx' gift to Farm School, felt competent to argue
with the "bee master." At 5:30 P.M. vets could be seen digging foxholes,
foxes could be seen digging bomb shelters, and no one else could be seen
doing anything.

The rest, my friends, is history. I will simply say that the only pos-
sible reason why the fish in the oceans are not dead and gone is that they
weren't at Farm School to hear "The Prediction."

— Hal Silverman


We have read of the deeds attributed to those pioneers and the trials
and tribulations undergone by them ; those rustic beings who were known
as the "Forty-niners." They traveled westward. From New York, Boston,
Atlanta, Pittsburgh and Detroit, they traveled westward. They went by
ox-cart, buggy, horseback, and on foot, ever westward to the land of the
golden nugget.

There were, however, others who traveled westward at that time —
the men and women who would take from the soil a different sort of gold.
The pioneer farmers went together, mined not gold, but a harvest of gold
which was not procured with the help of the pickaxe and pan, but the

(Continued on page 27)



Conducted by Sol Resnick and Alfred Hass

QUESTION: In your opinion, ^vhat problems face the farmer at present?

(Editor's Note: Since this nidtcridl icas })repared, O.P.A. hill ixisscd in niodified fort)!.)


Charles Wollins, Long Island

The farmer faces the problem of getting the same fair returns now as
he got during the war. Because of the war there was an increase in the
number of insects and blights, as science could not fight them. Competition
from large-scale farms may drive the small farmer out of business. Easier
loans with lower interest rates should be granted so that he can operate
on a larger scale. At present it is difficult to get loans, and he needs them.

David Deming, Long Island

Well, I don't believe the average farmer has a financial problem at
present. He is doing better now than he ever has before. Getting rid of
surplus food can be done if handled right and sent to Europe. The 0. P. A.
was a problem but isn't any more, because now he can raise his prices.
Of course machinery will cost more, but I think that he can cover that by
getting more money for his food. Present prosperity can be maintained
for at least another three years. Then the biggest problem will be a
depression, which most likely will occur unless some changes are made.

Walter Weinstein, Greenwich, Connecticut

One problem is that the farmer needs machines and feed and he
can't get them. He will have to pay higher prices for things he needs now
that the 0. P. A. has been repealed. I don't think that the large commercial
farms are any more of a problem now than they were before. The farmer
is making good money now, but I don't think he should expand his busi-
ness, for the inevitable fall of prices is bound to come, and then he'll be
stuck with surplus products.

Saul Goldstein, Newark, New Jersey

One of the greatest problems done away with is the 0. P. A., which
was a hindrance to him in the selling of his crops. Goods, such as machin-
ery, now have risen in price but now the farmer will be able to buy these
goods. There are larger markets now because of the demand for his
produce. Up to the present he was restricting output because he couldn't
get a price for his produce. Veterans are no problem because a lot of them
are thinking in terms of agriculture, and they can get land easily with
Government help. This increase in farms will not lead to cut-throat com-
petition. The farmer shouldn't expand but get the most out of what he
has. If the farmer wants to expand, he should wait until conditions become
steady. No, I can't see too many problems facing the farmer at present.

Howard Schrumpf, Camden, New Jersey

I think the biggest problem is government intervention. The govern-
ment tells you too much what to grow and what not to grow. At present
the market will increase, but in the future it will drop. I think it will be
worth while for the farmer even though there will be a drop. Foreign
competition will be no problem, although there will be some competition
from home. There should be more farmer co-operation and less Govern-
ment interference. I don't know much about politics, but there should be
more "laissez-faire."



The great metropolis was enshrouded in blackness and as I sauntered
down Leicester Square in the direction of Picadilly Circus, the only lights
one could see were those of the cafes and pubs which emitted whenever
the blackouts were pulled aside for entrance or for exit. Yes, London was
blacked out in its entirety, except for the pale rays of moonlight that
descended on the city. A full moon — a glaring moon — a bomber's moon.

As I made my way toward the American Eagle Club, I realized it was
nearly nine P.M. The Luftwaffe's sky train was due at nine sharp. Oh yes,
that I knew from past experience, for the Jerry bombed London with
clockwork precision each day at ten A.M., four P.M., and nine P.M. So I
hurried along my way as best I could in the darkness, to reach the club
before the alert sounded.

Suddenly a wailing, shrieking blast pierced the stillness of the night —
the sirens of London sounding the warning of enemy bombers overhead.
The eerie wail sent cold shivers up and down my spine, but at the same time
rooted me to the spot where I was standing. I gazed up at the moonlit sky
and looked towards the Thames Estuary, and there in the moonlight I could
see hundreds of winged monsters of destruction — Dorniers, Junkers, and
others, all bent on the task of destroying London, all of England, and all of
the democracies of the world.

Words cannot express the feeling I had as I stood there looking at
those bombers, itching to destroy them, yet powerless to do one atom of
damage to them. Soon they were nearer ; the first ones were at the Thames,
flying over the houses of Parliament. The defense units had turned on the
searchlights and were holding some of the bombers in the rays, while the
anti-aircraft guns belched their fire up at the planes.

The defense was hopelessly inadequate, not enough ack-ack guns and
shells, not enough night fighters to go up and do battle with the bombers
and their escorts. So there was only one thing to do — take it! And take
it we did. For one solid hour bombs rained mercilessly down on London
town, especially over in Lambeth and Clapham — and as I stood there near
Picadilly, I could see the fires flaring up all over south London. A few of
the Nazi bombers tried to bomb the Parliament buildings, but fortunately
they missed and the bombs dropped into the Thames River, doing no damage.

As quickly as the blitz had started, so did it end. Their bombs all gone,
the Jerries turned tail and flew back to their dromes in France, after which
the all-clear was sounded and the people of London, licking their wounds
bravely and cheerfully, doused the fires, tended the hurt and started to clear
the rubble and prepare for the morrow. Death had come and gone, but
London and its brave people smilingly greeted the dawn with the fortitude
and cheer that has gained world renown.

— D. L. Lamm



Now that the rains have stopped, the trek to the dining room is no
more a problem of marine navigation, and has become the usual ten-mile
hike. While this doesn't bother the new students, since they are full of
irrepressible spirits, the worn and decrepit one-year men suffer mightily.
But lo, there are always the succulent steaks, lobster Newburgh, Crepes
Suzettes, and, last but not least, the incomparable creamed pheasant and
mushrooms with a slightly chilled bottle of Sauterne to draw us unto our
goal. The chef, Francois Calle, presides over the establishment.


It is rumored that in an I. Q. test conducted at the poultry department
of Morons University by Professor Ftchzk (pronounced Ftchzk) the
results were as follows :

Kasan AB over Sigma

Spanier Minus Sigma over Omicron

Rupert Lambda Pi

Sklar Minus Phi Mu over Eta times Nu

The chickens showed a much better average, but this was due to their
voracious consumption of the brain food, fish meal. Professor Ftchzk
claimed that while the poultry department students could not qualify as
assistants to Albert Einstein, they were well qualified to enter Congress.

* * * * *

After a visit to the garden, located near the new brooder, I was im-
pressed by the vigorous growth of the wild carrots, orchard grass, and
Canadian Thistle. However, quite a few weeds like sweet corn, tomatoes,
cucumbers, and eggplants detract from the orderly scene and are taking
away nourishment much needed by the luxuriant growth mentioned above.
This deplorable condition should be brought to the attention of Messrs.
Chachkin and Distelman, who should remove those obnoxious weeds.


One hundred extra students to purchase surplus candy, ice cream,
sodas, etc., to help a destitute young man working (?) his way through
college. Apply to the canteen. National Farm School and Junior College,
Farm School, Pa. Ask for Mr. Kasan, Esquire.

Note: No Confederate currency accepted.

— Bernard Kasan
(Ed. Note:

The editors of this })id)Ucation were forced to accept the previous
paragraph, since they are twenty-five cents in debt to the author (?) of
this article for frozen Milky Ways eaten during the month of July.)




For a boy who's been on a farm only four days in his life, working'
with horses in General Agriculture is a new experience. The work I do
isn't much. In fact, you might say it's tedious. But to a city slicker, it's a new
world. After being hemmed in a city, flanked by dirty sun-excluded streets
and subways packed like sardines during rush hour, I cannot help but
have a feeling of joy and exaltation. To watch the setting of a sun over
a golden wheatfield or cows grazing in a pasture is a sight not enjoyed
by many people.

But one does not just sit and watch sunsets. Here you also have to
work. Living close to the soil is not given lip service at Farm School.
Here it's practiced. Work has its joys and also its dirt. My details certainly
show that. "What are they?" you ask. Oh, just clean out some horse stalls
and feed the horses. You grab a manure fork and pick up the dirty straw
and put in clean bedding. And sometimes you curry the horses too. To
most people that's just farm chores and I'll probably give it the same
name soon. But just the same, I enjoy dong it. When I'm finished with
my chores, I have a feeling of satisfaction at having learned something
new. Unlike most boys at this school I haven't spent a summer on a farm.
I'm a greenhorn and so everything I do is something I never knew before.
Each little thing accomplished means something else learned. At first I
was scared to go near a horse, but after a while I got used to him. Or
perhaps he grew used to me. The difference isn't important; it was
another obstacle I had hurdled.

And in your own field you continue on and on. Each day you do
something else. Here's a hay mower and here's how it works. Watch.
And you watch and wonder. What causes that small wheel to turn? What
causes the reciprocating action of the blades? How does it move? With
these questions prodding your mind, you can't rest. And so you start
taking the machine apart. The parts are tossed on the floor as you continue
your endless search for the answer to the whys and wherefores of a hay
mower. And if you can't put it together again, there's no problem. Pretty
soon it'll be four o'clock and time for athletics. That's a good excuse. Let
the instructor put it together. He knows how. Sometimes such a situation
occurs and sometimes it doesn't. Here was one time it didn't, for we put
it together again. Yes sir, we learned a lot about a mower. We ground
the blades, knocked them in and out again just for the sake of learning
how. Most likely our teacher grimaced with pain as he saw us wrecking
his machine. But I'm sure that deep down inside he was smiling.

And so continues each day. Each day something new. Each day a
new horizon.

— Alfred Hass



Well, I've spent a week at feeding, watering-, culling, and even killing

I've collected, cleaned, candled, sorted, and packed eggs.

I've met three of the grandest fellows any poultry student has ever
met. (And I have met quite a few.)


Mr. Crigger, our Poultry teacher ;
Mr. Ray Rice, his chief assistant; and
Mr. Irwin Gulp, his chief assistant.

I've even come to the conclusion that listening to them might even
lead me to that dark and dangerous path frought with pitfalls, leading to
that glorious end, EDUCATION.

But, seriously, we have a good staff and I'm quite sure that all of
you will really like them.

There is a bit of hard work and part of that is removing you know
what from the roosts and floors of the various coops. They have to be
cleaned and sprayed with disinfectant to prevent the spread of any possible
disease to the new pullets soon to occupy the laying house pens.

There are quite a few types of pullet raising used on the farm. Some
pullets are raised in batteries, some in the new brooder, and some on
the range.

You'll have a chance to study each type thoroughly and use the type
you like best when you start farming.

Well, fellows, the only other thing I'd like to add is that when you're
on Poultry detail, the editors would appreciate your contribution telling
us how you like the way our Poultry Plant is run, giving comments and
opinions you'd like to make public.

— Jack Aarons


^ /y



National Farm School and Junior College
Farm School, Pa.
Dear Mother and Dad,

The next time you come to visit me I'd like you to stand at the station
for a few minutes, after the train goes by, and gaze over to your left a little.
There you will find an orchard. A peach orchard to be exact. There are
approximately eleven acres, or about twelve hundred trees. Among these,
to mention a few of the better varieties, are the Elberta, Golden Jubilee,
Red Rose, Triogem, Afterglow, Cumberland, and Sun High. Several of
these come from the State of New Jersey. Peach trees are planted every
two years, so that, as one section grows too old, another will just begin to

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