Annie Wright School - Shield Yearbook (Tacoma, WA)

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Artichokes MINIATURE battle ground is contained in one green vegetable. This is the artichoke. We prepare to make a brave attack, but the spears afford an impediment to our onrush. We persevere, the spears are finally overcome, and we ad- vance toward our goal — the heart. Cautiously we make our way through a g reat, dense forest of leaves. Sad to say, we sometimes find a small annelid guarding the inner sanctum. In such a case, we either detour or, thoroughly thwarted, start all over again. With luck, we break through the last barrier only to find our goal protected by a strong battlement, the whiskers. Noth- ing daunted, we cut, slash, and hack our way through the barrier. At last we succeed. As we sink our teeth into the tender heart we wonder if the reward is really worth the effort. Johnnie Bruce, ' 36. PARAPHRASE OF A CHAPTER I h Travels With a Donkey In the open world the night goes lightly by: As nature takes her rest she turns and smiles. The hours are marked by changes in the sky: A wakeful spirit goes across the miles. An hour that those in houses never know: All nature views the beauty of the night. The cock, not now for dawn, begins to crow, Like a cheerful watchman speeding the course of night The scattered stars are jewel-like and clear, A silvery vapor is the Milky Way: Black fir points stand upright, stockstill, and near, Soft winds, a moving coolness, pass their way. Betty June Howe, ' 37 The Bells of Annie Wright At Annie Wright the bells do ring, We hear them constantly, From early morn till late at night They call incessantly. At six-fifteen the chimes resound Up and down the halls, But ere the girls are out of bed The breakfast bell appalls. All day we pass from class to class When bells ring every hour, And if we ' re late, it ' s just our fate To meet with glances sour. Miss Redway has a little bell. It ' s little, but oh, my! Unless we heed it ' s mighty sound How fast the marks do fly. At midnight hour the fire alarm Rudely disturbs our sleep: With heads becurled, and slipper-shod, Down the stairs we leap. All day and night it ' s bells and bells, They never seem to cease: Not till we ' re through with Annie Wright Will we have any peace. Gifford Gifford is our hunting dog With a wondrous sense of smell — A thoroughbred in hunting we Were sure that we could tell. We were quite sure that Gifford A champion soon would be, For hunting pheasant, grouse, and quail He took to, naturally. Alas, at Lake St. Clair one day Our opinion was to change, When a baby bantam rooster Came into smelling range. Oh, Gifford, Gifford, hunter rare, Why made you that mistake? You know that bantam is no game, And chicks you must not take. But opening wide his mighty jaws, Our Gifford chased him down, And, cock held gently in his mouth, Retrieved what he had found. The little rooster was so scared, He couldn ' t even chirp, As he was dropped upon the floor He gave just one wee burp. Oh, Gifford, our rare hunting dog. We blush at your disgrace! To hunt a fowl — a barnyard bird — Should make you hide your face. Margaret McGinnis, ' 38. Martha Turner, ' 38.

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Panorama of a Port Land of the Buffalo ThE bronzed, half-naked ne- groes burdened with unwieldy sacks of coffee marched in a never-ending line to the hold of the ship. In the glaring heat of the mid-day sun, their gleaming copper bodies contrasted vividly with their white trousers rolled high on burnished legs. They seemed indefatigable as they hastened to and fro from the inner sanctum of our ship to the mountainous heaps of baize sacks piled on the docks. Fascinated, we watched them from the upper deck. The heat was intolerable to us, and we marveled at these strong black men as they labored. When we glance away from the incessant line of work- ers, we feel the mystery, the color, and the bizarre beauty which characterize tropical ports. Santos is no exception. There are the indolent lawn-suited white men, the stolid negresses with their wares of coral and luscious fruits, the pyjama-coated Spaniards and Portu- guese. Coated they must be when appearing on the streets, for such is the law of Brazil as well as of several other South American countries. From the other side of the deck, small brown boys are performing feats of diving for the mere pittance of a penny or a ten-cent piece. Their lithe young bodies cleave the water with hardly a toss of spray. Whole families, we learned, are often supported on the earnings of a young diver. The pervading fragrance of the coffee drew our atten- tion back to the ship ' s cargo. The mountains of sacks were mere hills now. The deck ' s rail was almost unbear- ably hot to the touch. The tropical sky was cloudless. Heedless, the chain of porters pursued their task. Petty Tobias, ' 35. Song Once in a silver spring f heard a bird sing, And on the bird ' s song My joy took wing. Up through the clear blue sky, Up to air castles high, My joy on the song, Glad live and glad die . Then plunging down it flew, Joy, and the bird ' s song too. For who is there, who Would glad live if he knew Joy is soon through? Sorrow is long. So ends the song. Frances Crawford, ' 36. Unprepossessing in appearance and a little moth-eaten is my father ' s buffalo-skin coat. Although it has been banished to the darkness of an unfrequented nook, it shines forth as a symbol of the trials, hardships, and bravery with which a nation is built. In the winter days when forty miles from Fort Benton to Freezeout were traveled by sleigh, a buffalo coat was a much needed and coveted article of apparel. In those same days, many white men were the Indians ' friends. To one of these white traders, a buffalo coat of well-matched skins and fine workmanship was given by an Indian Chief, Red Moccasin. Such was the spirit of good fellowship that reigned at Fort Benton, a thriv- ing trading post. All winter Red Moccasin and his tribe rode the snow-covered plains on their sure-footed cow ponies, hunting the buffalo and antelope to sell to the traders in the spring. In this manner many winters passed until the Blackfeet were forced by white soldiers to leave their country. Broken-hearted, Red Moccasin led his people to the tar hills, losing many men and many horses on the way. Fort Benton was no longer a flour- ishing trading post; trappers and traders departed, but the young man in the buffalo coat remained. For he loved the snow-capped mountains, the tall trees, the sun-scorched plains, and all the mystery of the wild, wide country. With other straight-shooting pioneers who came and tarried there, he braved the dangers con- fronting settlers in that land of freedom and friendliness. Although Red Moccasin has gone to the Happy Hunting Ground, and the buffalo coat sleeps in forgetfulness, the spirit of the old West, staunch, unquenchable, lives on in the young trader, now grown gray. It lives in the heart of my father. Tishelle Hirshberg, ' 36. Tarnished Gold A shaft of golden sunbeams Sifted through the trees, And stencil ed there a pattern On the green and mossy floor. The awe of God ' s full beauty Brought me to my knees, And my heart near burst from pressure Of the gladness that it bore. Then the dust-flecked sunbeams faded, As cold darkness o ' er it won: The trees grew old. as shadows On their wrinkled bark were cast. The sun-bathed scene soon darkened Like a happy song that ' s done, Though the melody haunts the hearer- After many hours have passed. Betty Garretf, ' 36.

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With the Seniors of ' 34 K 1oST of the graduates of this class have been attending college in various parts of the country. At the University of Washington, we find Mabel Bennett, Beth Sturdevant, Edith Willey, Edith Siegel, Patricia Hergerf, Martha Baker, Jean Wingate, and Elinor Raymond. Lorayne Mitchell is studying at Washington State College. Margaret Mat thaei is attending classes at the College of Puget Sound. At Oregon State are Margaret McTavish and Dorothy Dickinson. Lona Jean Stewart was enrolled at Reed College, but she was forced to discontinue her work because of ill health. In the South, we find Charlotte Doud. Janet Brownell, and Jean Faulkner at Stanford. Mary Beckwith is a lone representative at Mills. Three members of the class have been attend- ing eastern colleges. Sybil Smith at Wellesley, Samrnie Wade at Sarah Lawrence, and Eliza- beth Loudon at Sweet Briar. Elizabeth Miller returned in the late spring from a winter spent in Hawaii. Thus ends the roll call of ' 34. Alumnae Notes Beth Sturdevant, ' 34, who has been attending the Uni- versity of Washington, will enter the University of Hawaii next fall. Word was received that Mary Beckwith, ' 34, has won her scholarship at Mills for the second year. Betty Crawford transferred from the University of Wash- ington to Wellesley last fall, and Claire Wernecke will transfer in September. The Seminary will then be repre- sented by four students there, including Sybil Smith and Grace Brynolson.. Our freshmen at the University of Washington made the highest record of any group coming from high schools sending five to twelve students. Elizabeth Pitt, ' 32, had planned to enter Wellesley last fall, but because her father was transferred from Alaska to Australia she decided to enter the University of Hawaii. Vivian Fosse, ' 32, has been elected president of the Delta Gamma sorority at the University of Washington. Mary Parsons, ' 33, is continuing her study of music in New York. Marjorie Mitchell, ' 32, will be married in the early sum- mer. Lucille Feist, ' 33, transferred last fall from Barnard Col- lege to the University of Washington. Alyce Fraser, ' 33, is fast becoming a successful business woman. She is in business with her father. Jean Wingate has been asked to join the W key society at the University of Washington. This is an honorary society for freshmen. Margaret Ann Schaeffer transferred last fall from Wellesley to Stanford. She pledged Delta Gamma. She was elected sponsor at Union Hall. Alice Guyles, another alumna at Stanford, will be the house manager of the Alpha Phi house next fall. It will be her last year. Grace Dolan, ' 32, was elected house manager of the Delta Gamma house at the University of Washington. Gracia Hickox, ' 32, recently announced her engagement to Lieut. Douglas Davis. The marriage will take place in mid-summer. Of greatest interest to all the alumnae will be the sym- bolic pageant called THE MASQUE OF THE GOLDEN AGE which will be given on the lawn of the Seminary in the afternoon of June 8 in celebration of the fiftieth anniversary of the founding of the Seminary. Not only all the students will take part but the fifty classes will be represented by groups of alumnae.