Groveton High School - Tigerama Yearbook (Alexandria, VA)

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Dedicated to Uncle Milt, without whom this was all possible As the Tree of Life began to fade And summer passed us by The Junior Class, advanced a grade, Returned to Groveton High. The brick facades, the endless chips The carpet on the floors, The Tiger Paws, the commons The rooms that have no doors The Sedentary Juniors The seniors-on-the-move ' ' The VICA Club, the NHS The Soul Squad (in the Groove) All comprise the humble school We know as GHS A noble and much favored place Ah . . . but I digress . . . Four years is a long time to spend in an institution . . . like Groveton, and the senior class seems to be showing many signs of strain. They have outdone their predecessors in eccentricity, if not in diversity. A new social order emerged at the beginning of the year and masses of seniors congregated at night and rallied to the sounds of Van Halen, George Thurogood, the Knack, and DEVO with occasional offerings of Root Boy Slim and the Sex Change Band (with the Rootettes). A group of semi-intellectual pseudo-jocks established themselves as the B.S. Moose, decorated the roof of the concession stand, and secured their place in Groveton history for eternity (or at least a year or two). Meanwhile, several grade-conscious seniors were making plans to assassinate the 2 newest members of the Class of 80 — both defectors from the Junior Class who, with their 4.0 grade point averages dashed the college hopes of many seniors, forcing them to set their sights on less lofty goals, such as weaving and candle-making. In the meantime, our noble student body president dragged the little Moosies and 60 other students out to the woods to a Leadership Seminar. Upon return from the seminar the leaders of the senior class were amazed that the school had run so i smoothly in their absence. This reveals, at long last, a fact that many of us had known all along, that it was really the Juniors who were running the school. To add insult to injury, the seniors then lost the coveted first prize in the Homecoming float competition an honor usually won by the graduating class. During the 4-year presence of the Class of ' 80, Groveton has seen many radical changes, as witnessed by the character of the Senior Class, and In conclusion, you must admit, It takes all kinds and sorts And so to all our Senior friends — A parting Eat my shorts. Jonathan Morduch David Keir

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DIARY OF A HIGH SCHOOL STUDENT I was at my locker when the intercom came on. All students, began Mr. Ford, with last names beginning with H-M should report to the left cafeteria in Quander for their WT-100 forms unless you have turned in your form already. If that is so, then report to the right cafeteria at ten o ' clock and tell your counselor that you ' ve turned it in unless your name begins with J-K. If that ' s so, then report to the lower media center at one o ' clock and tell them that. Thank-you. I stepped outside and headed for Gunston. I had to reset my watch twice as I went through two time zones. I nearly fainted from the smell when I went inside the locker room. But managed to stay on my feet and dressed hurriedly. Today was my tennis lesson. Okay, class, said the teacher. Pick up your tennis balls. The ball is our friend. Pick up your tennis racquets. The racquet is your friend. Don ' t beat your ball with your racquet. All I want you to do today is hit the ball against the wall with your racquet. Okay? Good. After my tennis lesson, I went to my next class, history, which is so unnecessary. I mean, if history always repeats itself, I ' ll just sit here and watch everything happen again. Who can tell me what we talked about yesterday? asked the teacher. I sank down into my chair. The teacher spotted me. Young man, he said, you don ' t appear to be paying much attention. Can you tell me, in one word, about the famous Italian astronomer, Galileo? I looked up. Dead. In math I sat near the door so I could get out quickly to avoid the lunch line. The teacher spent the whole period explaining that a plane looked like the cover on her kitchen linoleum. She was just about to get into depth about her bathroom wallpaper when the bell rang. I ran to the cafeteria and bought the main lunch, which was a mistake. My green beans were alive and well, but the chicken who gave me that thigh probably never was. The milk leaked to form a puddle in the corner of the tray. I threw the food away and went to my next class hungrier than when I entered the lunch room. French was pretty uneventful. The class spent the entire period watching the teacher make nasal vowels. Finally, the bell rang. In English we had a substitute, a woman who just didn ' t know what was going on. Your teacher has told me, she began, that you ' re working on entry 26 — Mental Disorders of Mice. What ' s a journal? some of the class said innocently. What class am I in? They kept up this routine until the bell rang. Finally! My last class of the day, biology. We were going to dissect a frog. My partner let me have the honors of cutting out the vital organs. I began with the heart. I did it slowly and watched her eyes widen as she clutched at her stomach. She ran out when I reached the liver. I finished cleaning up as the class e ded. I ran out the door to catch my bus. I was almost to it when the front of the long line of buses began to move. I spotted my bus, unmoving and with the door still open. I ran to it and went inside. I found the nearest seat and sat down. The bus lurched, and we were on our way. I looked around and saw strange faces watching me curiously. Oh, no, I thought. I ' m on the wrong bus. Timothy Cain 25