Shortridge High School - Annual Yearbook (Indianapolis, IN)

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mwumufsm uig e 5 , ,, , V .I -,.,.-, ,.-. ,,..-., .1 I nf +2 w 1 lMW:+?4XX WM A ji r g' ' - 'L 4? ,-1 .4-1 '-f4uwss1wsf,d5v- ?Q?.m , E. 4.,,,,m: ,. , Imfmzxxgiywqvigs ., ,. . n, si ROBERT frfn- ABKRLN INDIAN SUMMER TWILIGHT

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INIILHIDIIL mmm C ' O A C H E S inconsistency means in a good sense changeability, a variety of moods. A slavedriver in the gym or in the field may be the best friend in the world, one in whom his proteges may confide their troubles and always be assured of sympathy and a possible remedy. Even though one foot is shorter than the other from kicking the dogs around the field, floor, or track, the heart and hand are immense. Inwardly the coach is confident and determined. Whoever heard of one with an inferiority complex? He is as nonchalant as if he had smoked a car load of Murads. Above all, the most outstanding trait, the one which puts a coach in a class by himself, is supreme patience. Day in and day out, hot or cold, win or lose, busy or not busy, the coach spends one-sixth of his day with his team, plans for them, dreams of them when he can sleep, worries for them, and puts up with their foolishness, lack of intelligence, and downright fail- ures in making the team. No crown in heaven does he get, seldom a thank you, little or no monetary gain. If his team wins, I-Ie's a good coach. If it loses, 'We need someone who knows something about the subject. In more reverent and appreciative days, menof such capacities would have been worshiped on bended knees three times a day, nowadays the coach's invaluable contribution to the phy- sical, mental, and moral excellence of American youth, is unnoticed, if not unknown. As the Galloping Ghost once told us, It's the most thankless job in the world. Signals! Those numbers again! The impact of many surging bodiesg a thud! The entire universe begins to whirl and sizzle. Slowly that descending blanket of black envelopes all. Suddenly huge balls of red and yellow fire fly up through the terrible darkness and are lost in space. The black becomes dimly flecked with dancing purple and orange spots and is pierced oc- casionally by flashes of vivid green lightning. The earth trembles and roarsg the air is so charged with electricity that it is painfully hard to breathe. Rain begins to fall and the shock changes everything. The darkness rises. The quarterback shakes his head, gets feebly to his feet and again into the backfield line. Signals called! Those numbers again! GUS JACKSON

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' A Q f it I I W W I Wd mmiullullr MM Indian Summer Twilight The hills are bathed in purple haze The golden day is at its close, Beyond the margin of my gaze The sun has slipped with tints of rose. Faint light still lingers in the skyg Flushed clouds refiect the sun's last rayg Above the hills the moon mounts high And bids farewell to dying day. -Josephine Davidson. C A M P I N G JOHN DAVID MILLETT N EVERY boy there is a little bit of the primitive, a desire to live without all our ultra-modern con- veniences. We tire of the everyday order of things and would like to return, for a while at least, to the simple life and habits of our ancestors. Afterwards we better appreciate what we have today in com- parison with just a few years ago. Unfortunately we don't all get this opportunity to live with nature. I didn't until last summer, when visiting my cousin. We determined to go camping into the famous White Mountains of New Hampshire, the home of the Great Stone Face! On a Saturday morning we headed for the sparsely inhabited mountains and the forest primeval. Of course it wasni the original growth, but that didn't spoil my dream. In the early afternoon we entered the White Mountains proper. What a thrill was the first sight of those old majestic peaks with their varied and inter- esting memories! What stirring deeds of men and action might they not tell if I had only the power to hear them! The tales of the silent Indian bowing in reverence to the majesty of the Great Stone Face! The stories of the daring white men, of brave Captain Stark, who escaped from the Indians and later saved his beloved mountains from the defiling hands of the British invaders, and of the many other bold frontiersmen. All these and countless other happenings have they witnessed with haughty aloofness, sharing their secrets with no one. On and on, up and up, we followed the road of modern engineering into