Ipswich High School - Tiger Yearbook (Ipswich, MA)

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Editorial We, earth’s bright youth ,the class of ’42. Yearn to reform the earth’s old ways, to stamp Our new-found thoughts on land and sea and air: For there we’d have our faster ships and planes Glide with majestic ease. We are on fire To be away and doing things — real things: Wielding a keen sword forged in red sunrise. Tempered in the sea: building our homes Before we’ve made their blue prints. Before we can Reform the world v ith our young thoughts and deeds And raise our mighty airplanes and our bridges. And lead forth nations, there’s a deeper task. Not of might only, which awaits us each. ‘A little kingdom we possess’ to rule Each in his way, with nobleness and pride Or scorn, indifference. Each graduate Receives today a gift not tied with ribbon. Nor smothered in the world’s congratu- lations: Too serious a gift to be displayed. Youth, see! Each has his life, new, bright, unspoiled. To make a shining victory. What power! A tiny universe to lead, to build. Build first our lives, and then the world will grow. R. B. W. 16

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The VOL. XXIII IPSWICH, MASSACHUSETTS JUNE, 1942 Published by the Senior Class of Ipswich High School TIGER STAFF FACULTY ADVISOR Miss E. Margaret Allen EDITOR-IN-CHIEF Ruth Wilson ASSISTANT EDITOR Barbara Mackenzie BUSINESS MANAGER Wendel l Hill ADVERTISING MANAGER Arthur Morgan ASSISTANTS James Olds, William Smith, Howard Hill Donald Cruikshank, Richard Wells EDITOR OF CHARACTERIZATIONS Ruth Bailey ASSISTANTS Barbara Mackenzie, Betty Scott, James Olds SOCIAL EDITORS Ann Parsons, Joan Smith ALUMNI EDITOR Donald Cruikshank ATHLETIC EDITOR Robert Lombard SONG EDITORS Virginia Anzuoni, Vivian Brockelbank TYPISTS Miss Helen Brown, Miss Alice Yagjian, Virginia Anzuoni, Mary Emerson, Vivian Brockelbank, Florence Jones, Virginia Lane, Stella Aponas, Virginia Weagle. CONTENTS Page Dedication 13 Editorial 16 Literary 17 Graduation Essays 22 Class Day Parts 34 Graduation Program 49 Class Day Program 50 Honor Awards 51 Class Pictures 5 2 Sports Revue 76 Social Revue 79 Alumni 81 Class Cele ' brities 83 Songs of 1 942 84 Our Advertisers 1-88 15

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Literary. THE SINGING FLAME “O folk who scorn my stiff gray gown. My dull and foolish face. Can ye not see my Soul flash down, A singing flame through space. ” — Fannie Stearns Davis tT was a hot June evening in Berlin 1 and the ladies in their stiff crinoline gowns fanned themselves impatiently as they waited for the evening’s concert to begin. The crickets were growing more and more intolerable as they rang so persistently. It was with great disap- pointment that at length the ladies and gentlemen saw the singer approach the platform and sit down at the piano to play. She had a plain, almost dull face and her gown was nothing to admire: prob- ably it was last year’s second best, for there was an unfaded place where the bustle had been removed. The bored ladies wished that they had attended the governor’s ball instead of complying with that homely young Hans Ander- son’s insistence that they support the “Swedish Nightingale. Nightingale, was she? Well she was home — . Suddenly Jenny Lind began to sing! She lifted her well-formed head higher and opened her lips with a smile that spread over her whole countenance. There was a joy in her eye and a grace in her body as she sang so clearly and sweetly the soaring Aria from Geor- dani’s Lost opera. As she reached the cadenza on high G, even the crickets seemed to stop their breathing to drink in the rapture of that voice — . How often we are like the self-satis- fied ladies of that concert-hall! Our eye immediately sizes up a person without waiting for the opinion of the other four senses, or of that innate spiritual sense. I cannot help but recall the experience that a friend of mine told: I was hurrying to the Grand Cen- tral Station in a taxicab. How pro- voked I was that a half-pint girl should have the gall to hail our speeding cab! I was more provoked yet v hen the driver actually stopped for her, though he knew that I was in a hurry to catch my train. Reluctantly, I moved over to give the girl room. If she had been a man, I shouldn’t have tried to seem polite. I hardly noticed her except that she had dark, stringy hair and a French ap- pearance: I kept my eyes glued to the scene of passing traffic outside of my windov . At least she told the driver to stop. I happened to notice that she alighted outside of the Metropolitan Opera House. Promptress , I thought. 17