Ipswich High School - Tiger Yearbook (Ipswich, MA)

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Editorial W E now end our enjoyable days of high school life. Forty strong we go to swell the ranks of college students or youthful work- ers. With no regrets we face a new and larger problem, one which has faced the graduates of high schools for the last six years. Where can ' e find a place in a world already flooded with surplus hands and energy? How can we finance our advances into higher education? For four years we have had thrust at us the best Ipswich could give in the way of education. We have not found it lacking, and we have profited by it according to our i n- dividual mentalities. We have been the loudest protesters against the poor facilities for education in Ipswich, yet we are grateful for what has been given us. We only hope we shall be able to make our mark in the world and once again prove the mettle of Ipswich gradu- ates. Literary Tales from the Fo’castle II By John Alexander, Jr. T STOOD upon the whale back in -L the bow of the “Donald” staring fixedly ahead through the dark- ness. The wind ran playful fingers through my hair, and the salt spray kicked up by the “Donald’s” bow stung my cheek. The Chatham buoy with its whistle and light lay behind, and ahead was the open sea. The “Donald” met the long surge of the Atlantic on her port bow and rolled through them with long leaps. Muffled sounds of laughter came from the open fo’- castle hatch, and the stars winked know ingly down at me. Mat came I walked slowly back over the worn on deck and took the lookout, and decks to the pilot house. Malu hated wind ; so he always kept the door and windows of the pilot house closed when he had the wheel. When I went in, it was pretty stuffy in there. I opened the doors and the side windows. I closed the door to the Skipper’s cabin because he, too, didn’t like much air. None of the sailors seemed to, in fact. I guess they’ve had too much during their life. The “Donald” handled easily, and I nursed her along through the rising waves on a south, south east by a quarter east course. Fifteen minutes later Mat called out, “Light off the starboard bow. Four 14

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THE TIGER VOL. XV IPSWICH, MASSACHUSETTS JUNE, 1934 Published by the Senior Class of Manning High School Staff EDITOR JOHN ALEXANDER FACULTY ADVISORS MISS MARGARET ALLEN MR. HENRY MERSON BUSINESS MANAGER CHARLES CROSSMAN ADVERTISING MANAGER ROY SCOTT ASSISTANT ADVERTISING MANAGERS CURTIS HALEY, HAROLD WILE, JOSEPH PODMOSTKA, JOHN MARKOS, DANA BROWN ATHLETIC EDITOR „ ADOLPH CLEMENO ALUMNI EDITOR MARTHA HINCKLEY EXCHANGE EDITOR SYLVIA FERGUSON A)RT EDITOR AMOR SCAHILL JOKE EDITOR CURTIS HALEY ASSOCIATE EDITORS THEODORA BURBANK, MARION PERKINS, VIRGINIA SINGER, GEORGIA SCOUR- LETIS, ANNIE SOJKA, MARY HALL, AGNES ROBISHAW, MAtRY BARTON, EDITH MANSFIELD, ELIZABETH RAND, BLANCHE BAKULA TYPISTS GERTRUDE GWOZDZ, LEONA EARLEY, HELEN LAZAROPOULOS Contents Editorial Literary Department Graduation Essays Class Day Parts: History Prophecy Gifts to Girls Gifts to Boys Will Graduation Program Class Day Program Honor Awards Class Pictures Who’s Who Sports Review Social Review Senior Play Musical Clubs , Alumni Class Celebrities As the Poets See Us Songs Inspired by the Class of 1934 Exchange Jokes Our Advertisers Page 14 14 19 34 35 38 39 41 45 46 47 48 59 61 64 64 65 65 67 67 69 71 72 2-74 13

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points.” The wind blew his voice back into the house so loud that it woke up the sleeping Captain. He came out of his cabin, closed the doors, and then leaned out the open window on the starboard side. He watched the passing boat for a while and then commented gruffly, “Frenchy’s goin’ home early. Only been out seven days. Must have some fish. Fd like to speak to him.” How he ever knew whose boat was passing in the darkness was more than I could figure out. He came over and stood behind me then and watched the compass for awhile. “Pretty good for a lubber,” he said. “Ever steer a boat before ?” “Nothing bigger than a yawl,” I answered. Silence for awhile, then, “Think- ing of going to sea?” “Yes,” I said, “Why?” “Stay away from it,” he advised, “it’s dirty business.” “Yeah! Then why are you here?” He looked at me in a queer way for awhile, for I had forgotton whom I v as speaking to ; but he probably realized that I had risen to the defence of my chosen profes- sion, and he turned away without reprimanding me. He fell silent. I stared moodily at the compass, busy with my own thoughts. As out of a dream I heard him speaking, as much to the wind as to me. Short and squat he was, and inarticulate he seemed from long silence. So I was surprised by his fluency when he began. “I was born in Charlottetown on Cape Breton Island. I stayed home and helped the old man with his lobstering until I was about twenty. I had him and my Mother pretty well fixed by that time ; so I decided to go and see something of the world I was living in. With a good supply of money I journeyed to Sid- ney. There I stayed for awhile to take in the sights. The place I liked the best was the wharf, with its forest of masts and spars and an occasional steamship. While wan- dering amongst this hustle and bustle one day, I met a fellow of about my age who had come from St. Johns on a Yankee trader. He told me that the Capt’n of his ship wanted another hand, and so I went and signed up with the brig, ‘Barbs.’ That start showed me the road I have traveled ever since. It has always been a bumpy one ; but, my lad, once the sea gets you, you can never leave her and live. It’s things like that accident on the old “Wycoff” that make you love the sea and exult in your power over it. That happened when I was third mate on her.” “What was that, sir?” I asked. “You haven’t told me about that!” “No?” A moody silence, then: “Well, we were bound for Cape Town from New York and were four days out when a northeasteV came up and slapped down on our port side. Having plenty of sea room, the skipper of the old “Wy- coff” up and decided that he’d hold his course for Cape Town ’stead of running off before the wind. For 15