Ipswich High School - Tiger Yearbook (Ipswich, MA)

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EDITORIAL. Toward a Brighter Future T he class of 1937 will probably always be distinguished as the iirst to graduate from Ipswich High School. We appreciate the honor, although we confess that our pleas- ure is dimmed by one quite obvious circumstance ; our scant six months in the new high school have proved just a tantalizing glimpse into what opportunities are in store for future classes. These classes will have the bene- fit of a broader and more advanced curriculum, including physical ed- ucation and citizenship training. The things that we have planned and hoped for are now about to ma- terialize. Our first year has been spent in organization and in getting- settled in our new quarters, and we have not been able to put a good many of our plans into execu- tion as yet. We have, however, started to use and enjoy some of the facilities that the building of- fers. Unable to wait for formal equipment and instruction, we start- ed to use the long-anticipated gym- nasium. Our humble but enthusias- tic beginnings in basketball fore- shadow our entrance into a wider variety of interscholastic sports than we have ever had. The spacious, airy laboratory has inspired new in- terest in the sciences, and this year a new science course, biology, was added to the curriculum. In years to come we hope that other courses will be offered — more modern languages, sciences, and courses in the fine arts. Perhaps the greatest opportunity that our high school of- fers is in citizenship and social training. The numerous clubs and social organizations have continued on from Manning, and now, with ample space to meet and carry on business, it would appear that they have a chance to increase their ac- tivities and popularity. “School spirit” — a vague term to the out- sider, but one universally used in school affairs — is really stronger than it has been for several years. An example of this is in the inter- class basketball games which drew a large, enthusiastic following. The roof v as fairly raised with the cheering on some afternoons when rivalry was particularly intense. The whole school showed real in- terest in the teams, the plays, and the scores. This increase in school spirit has sowed the seeds for the Beginnings of student government, so that next year the students will start to take some of the responsi- bility of governing the school into their own hands. The system will be enlarged as their executive powers and capabilities for accept- ing responsibility are developed. We, the class of 1937, rejoice with the rest of the school that the goal for which we have hoped and striv- en is becoming more attainable. Even though we leave this year, we shall follow with interest the strides taken toward fulfillment of our hopes. 14

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THE TIGER VOL. XVIII IPSWICH, MASSACHUSETTS JUNE, 1937 Published by the Senior Class of Ipswich High School STAFF EDITOR-IN-CHIEF Priscilla Bailey FACULTY ADVISERS Miss E. Margaret Allen, Mr. Henry Merson ASSISTANT EDITOR Margaret Hubbard BUSINESS MANAGER Frank Canney ADVERTISING MANAGER John Denningham ASSISTANT ADVERTISING MANAGERS James Comeau, Roy Pickering, Frederick Benedix, Howard Cowles, John Mourikas ; ASSOCIATE EDITORS Kathryn Morgan, Ruth Riley, Florence ' Alexopoulos, Louise Anzuoni, Charlotte Curtis, Margaret Elwell, Olga Bokron, Ethel Lampropoulos, Dorothy Richards, Elizabeth Witham, Joseph Atherley, Nathaniel Love, Charles Rhodes, John Swenson, Albert Langmaid ALUMNI EDITOR Constance Tozer ATHLETIC EDITOR Robert Love EXCHANGE EDITOR Mabel Chambers TYPISTS Ruth Riley, Janet Barton, Elizabeth Pickard Contents Dedication Editorial Literary 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 Football Baseball Basketball Social Review Pageant Senior Play Alumni Class Celebrities As the Poets See Us Songs of 1937 Exchanges Our Advertisers Page 11 14 15 17 28 28 31 36 38 41 44 45 46 47 63 65 65 66 67 67 67 68 70 72 72 75 77 2-79 13

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The outlook is much brighter for us, too, as we go out into the world to look for occupation, or as we con- tinue on to higher education. We feel more optimistic about making a place, a beginning for ourselves in the world. At the end of four happy, sheltered years we face a new dawn and stand together for the last time on the threshhold of new adventure and discovery. Al- though we can not help feeling some sadness at leaving old friends to embark on vast uncharted seas of our future lives, we are all eager to start searching for our individual Holy Grails, striving for what we desire most in life. Thus we ask Fate to smile kindly on us all and to help us along the way. LITERARY. Bridges A HUGE arc of cold gray steel spans the oily, murky waters of the large river. Steel girders out- line themselves against a lighter gray sky like huge emaciated skele- tons through the bones of which, like ants or large beetles, crawl trucks, wagons, and shiny automo- biles in an endless line. People, in- tent on their business in the huge world of sky scrapers beyond, hur- ry by. In quiet back-washes of the crowd, a few people stand, watch- ing the never-ending waters flow past below, bearing with them tra- ces of all the life of the huge city. A street-cleaner in dirtywhite tries vainly to remove some of the refuse from street and side walk, but the stone remains gray, spotted, filthy. A newsboy cries of sordid murder. A lumbering truck goes by, the driver shouting profanely. A tired shop girl gazes at the mink-clad debutante in the costly limousine and almost steps on a poor, blind beggar selling pencils on the side- walk. A swarthy Italian pushes a flower-cart by, the bright jonquils and sweet violets lending a note of color and freshness to the dull gray- ness and sooty odor of the city, and a tired boy thinks of a quiet farm house and the sweet-peas in his mother’s garden. Sweet peas, and father coming home across the little wooden bridge. He could almost hear now the rumble of the ancient timbers as someone approached. The little brook trickled peacefully down through the green meadow — he had sat there so often as a boy, watching the water change from golden as it flowed over the sand to dark brown in the depths. The bright sun shone warmly down and red-winged blackbirds kept up their sweet trilling all through the gold- en hours of the morning. Coming across the bridge at twilight with a load of hay, he could remember the sweet smells of dried grass and new earth and the tinkling of Betsey’s bell as she came in from pasture. The evening star glittered in the rosy afterglov , and an old bullfrog began his slo v monotonous chant 15