Annie Wright School - Shield Yearbook (Tacoma, WA)

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1B3© TH6 SHIGLD STUDENT COUNCIL Standing: Joan Latimer, Constance Franekum, Li la Sullivan, Beverley Old, Margaret Keys, Barbara Ohniek. Second row: Marjorie Beam. Frances Sanburn, Jane Ringling. First row: Joan Hopkins, Frances Young, Lois Parker, president, Ann Huston. Marv Filberg, Catherine CowcIL OFFICERS OF THE ATHLETIC ASSOCIATION Constance Franekum, president Margaret McGinnis Virginia Humbird

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THG SHIELD FIFTH AND SIXTH GRADES Back row: Mar, Turner, Frances r, Virginia Oakley, Patty Billings, Helen Ann Shepard, Barbara Gene Childs, Barbara row: Patsy Childs, Barbara HufTord, Nancy Griggs, Wendy Wagner, Billie Jean immert, Gwen Lee Cole, Dorothy Ann Christoffersen. Janet Saxton. SEVENTH AND EIGHTH GRADES Back row: Corinne Latimer. Marie Eckstrom, Jane Bronson, Frances McGinnis, Elizabeth Olzendam, Virginia Schwan, Joan Latimer, Hazel SchaefFer, Lael Latimer, jane Snider, Jean Lenham. Second row: Bonnie Jean Chitty, Patsy Crebbs, Virginia Hulb ert, Patricia Edgerton, Winifred Saxton, Georgiana Wiebenson, Dorothy Richards, Caroline Screven. Marian Ingram. First row: Sally Ann Gould, Dorothy Winkler, Alice Ann Beal. Barbara Ohnick. Elka Robbins, Avonne Nelson, Laurienne Stewart.

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THG SHIELD US)3© o LITERARY CONTRIBUTIONS WANDERLUST I stood on the pier and watched them go by, Ships sailing for Java, Suez, Shanghai; Some were for England, others for France, Some just returned from the Isle s of Romance. And I stood on the pier and thought of the day When I might be sailing to Japan or Bombay. There was one that was battered and tired and worn; She was a freighter from far-off Melbourne; A passenger liner, proud queen of the seas, Pointed her bow toward the Dutch Celebes. And I watched them all leave with a lump in my throat, For I longed to sail on some far-destined boat. ELEANOR GODFREY, 1938. HEAT The day was hot. The sultry sun beat into the valley, scorching, penetrating. Low-hanging dust penetrated the landscape and shrouded the distant hills in yellow haze. The sandy road stretched straight through the valley. Along its edge grew low underbrush, weighted down with dust. There were no trees. There was no shade. Nothing was shielded from the furious sun which burned and burned everything. The man with the heavy pack wondered if there was any green left in the dust- laden ferns. The thin little dog wondered, too, but doubted it. The man struck the ferns with his heavy stick. More dust rose, revealing dull brown fronds. The man tried to grin; the dog tried to wag his tail. Both failed. Then — a distant nimble. The man looked up. Far to the south black clouds rose over the hills and swiftly approached. The little dog, motion- less, except for a slight quivering of his nose, stared. Rain, breathed the man. A sense of uneasiness, of awakening, filled the valley. Higher and faster climbed the clouds. The sun faded. A drop of rain. The rumble of thun- der, much nearer. The valley was suddenly filled with a profound tenseness. Everything was wait- ing, silent, motionless. Crash! — a streak of white cut the sky! Walls of rain were blown wildly by the screaming wind! The sky was a tangled mass of grey, lighted only by the flares which slashed through the atmo- sphere. But the man with the little dog huddled be- tween his legs stood erect and looked into the sky; and as the rain cut the dust caked on his cheeks, he smiled. VIRGINIA CROWE, L95 THE MOUNTAIN Wild winds have whipped my jagged peaks, With angry howls have broken sleep; The weeping clouds have kissed my cheeks Where rivers plunged to canyons deep. Mad lightning s lash and thunder ' s crash Have rocked my throne for ages gone; My crumbling sides the tempest s dash Has scored for nature ' s battles won. mary McMillan, 1939. A DIFFERENT afternoon I have a very special trail over which I walk only on stormy days. It leads around a narrow piece of land jutting out into the ocean for a mile. It is low, flat, and sand covered, except here and there where a few wisps of grass have braved through the hard-packed surface. The sand rolls in mounds; when I stand on the top of them the wind seems to blow me along. At the tip where the waves come rolling in and the wind blows the spray about, I like to stand and gaze. There is nothing to look at save the great grey breakers that come furiously dashing in, crashing upon the shore, and the wind that stretches the grass taut against the ground. It is not a beautiful walk I would never think of taking it on a sunny day. But just as soon as I feel a storm brewing I take down my rain slicker and out I go to spend a different afternoon. MARY FILBERG, 193 MORNING Drowning out die sea gulls ' scream comes the thundering tide, flinging its salty spray high upon the wind-swept beach. White lines of surf crash to their doom, raging over hidden rocks, then slipping back silently, leaving behind their foamy breath and the echoing calls in distant caves. The pale gray mists which veil the sea slowly rise and melt as the sun ' s early rays filter through. The flying birds cut dark patterns against a blue sky scattered here and there with wind-blown billows. Thousands of glistening pools left by the reced- ing tide throw back images of light as the sun rises higher and higher to a brilliant summer ' s day. VALERIE WALKINSHAW, 19 9.