Ipswich High School - Tiger Yearbook (Ipswich, MA)

Page 23 text:

Literary THE IMPORTANCE OF BEING IN EARNEST ABOUT SCHOOL OST of us do not realize while we are in school suffering with homework, tests, and the like, the im- portance and value of education. How- ever, when we remember that school attendance is compulsory, it seems only sensible to get as much out of it as possible. As time goes on, success in the world seems to depend more and more not only on education but on our attitude toward it. Conscientious effort in school results in satisfaction and develops qualities that constitute a strong character. We know that in many public high schools, brilliant students are looked down upon as being goody-goodie. Everyone is careful not to show any signs of brilliance so that he will not be put in this category. However, in college and in later life it is a different story. Everyone then takes pride in his intelligence a11d is very much em- barrassed when obviously ignorant on a subject. c Perhaps education should be thought of in the same manner as a competitive game, such as tennis or basketball. The object is to show one 's skill - to win. In the matter of school work, students should feel this spirit of competition and achievement, each one trying to do his best. Another way to realize the import- ance of conscientious study is to con- sider going to school as our job. It is our present responsibility i11 life and we should meet it with serious effort. Earnestness is a virtue that we should all want to acquire, for it is one of the keys to success. If we are earnestly ambitious, we can progress to the goal of an abundant life. ---Constance Kelly ,'45 DOODLING S I sit here, dreamily watching the sea gulls soaring above and the flag flapping lazily in the breeze, I find myself, like all intelligent people, doodling. Now. I stop to look over my artistic masterpiece, I wonder how Miss Hayes could give an artist like me anything lower than an A, for I find I doodled many an interesting doodle. Take, for instance, this little six-legged doodle bug with his antenna curled, his back spotted, and l1is face resembling that of Hiro Hito. Or look at those silly hats, resembling those I look down upon from the choir loft each Sunday morning. Look at that kind of contraption with feathers and balls, that o11e sits upon her headeat

Page 22 text:

I-lllllllillllllll Editorial WE PROMISE TANDING on the threshold in 'read- iness for entering the most critical period in our lives, we graduates of 1945 are fully cognizant of the respon- sibilities which are ours in helping to reconstruct and rehabilitate this cha- otic world. We have already lived through one of the most turbulent periods in the history of our country and many of us have sacrificed the pleasures of the moment for the pur- pose of helping to bring the world out of its turmoil. We have been hardened for the task before us and with deter- mination and confidence we promise we can and will do our part. ANNI OPTIMI T would be comforting to agree with Robert Browning when he said: Grow old along with me, The best is yet to be. However, we of the Class of '45 think probably that a quotation with an adverse idea such as The best has passed would be more applicable to us. That may seem like a pessimistic attitude, but we must confess that we have had the best time of our lives in the past four years, particularly in the last year. At no other time have we experienced or do we expect to experience the enjoyment that came with those four years, not only from knowing that we were maturing and gaining knowledge and experience but also from just plain having fun , such as we felt when attending a high school dance, watching an Ipswich High victory in athletics, singing in the corridors on senior day, or from such seemingly trivial things as Watch- ing Bouzianis make his daily trip to the wastebasket for the purpose of depositing gum, or listening to Bedro- sian and Brown emit puns, or watch- ing Cruikshank stammer humorously through the answer to a question. Of course, our senior year saw the culmination of this enjoyment, perhaps because we were the magnidomini of the students then. At any rate, in this year we realized more than ever what a good time we were having and we knew that we would regret leaving the scene of it all. Though some of us may have said during our senior year that we would be glad to get out of this school, down inside we knew that we didn't mean it. VVe knew that after graduation we would wish many times to be back in high school and that in memory, at least, we would often come back, for our high school days can never be forgotten.

Page 24 text:

an angle out of this world. And there is my dream telephone, one of those smooth, creamy-colored ones that only movie stars ever have. Oh, what's that little doodle up in the corner? Why, it 's Smitty. I really am a clever person. And last, but not least, here is my idea of a sundae: a triple decker with every kind of nuts, sauces, and fruits that would fit into a sundae dish, which I believe is much too small. Now, the last of my doodles have been gone over and, as I slump back into my favorite position, I try to re- member what I was thinking when I doodled these absurd figures. Ah, an English composition. I glance at the clock - it 's time for the bell to ring and what will Miss Blodgett say? I have nothing to pass in but this - my doodling. -Ruth Lindgren, '47 THE PASSING OF THE OLD FORD OAR iWith apologies to Oliver Wendell I-Iolmesl Ay, tear her battered numbers QE, Long has she run on high, And many a Packard voice has cussed To hear her rattling by. Beneath her we have tugged and sweat, While grease dripped on the floor, The Lizzie of the dusty roads ' Shall climb the hills no more. 22 Her mudguards, red with rust, and bent From many a parking crush, Her spark plugs choked, her timer Q fouled, - She plowed through mud and slush. No more she 'll bark her coughing way Through city traffic maze, The harpies of the junk yard pick The Ford of bygone days. Oh, better that her rattling frame Should yield in one grand crash, Her roaring shook the broad highway, I-Iave there her final smash. Fill to the brim her leaking tank, Open her throttle wide, And give her to the traffic cops, A flivver suicide. -Herman Nelson, '45