Ipswich High School - Tiger Yearbook (Ipswich, MA)

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EQIZXJQBEIZSIBli8lMDilQl!ilBlE'!ilEIliiJlXlliQi.2iliEE1llZl IE E lilglililililillililliliiili IEEEIIEEEEEQEIEQEIEQIEEISJEIZIEDQEEE Literary ' ' SMILE, PLEASE! OR weeks I had been looking for- ward to this day. For hours this morning I had stood before my mirror, trying glamorous poses and amorous smiles. Now the moment had arrived. On entering the photographeris make- shift studio,' I was abashed by the array of equipment, more formidable than that of a dentist. Trying not to show my feelings concerning the un- familiar implements, I collapsed weakly on the beach designated by the Wiry little photographer who was hopping about, waving his arms, and making insane faces in an effort to make me look at least a little amiable. Finally realizing what he Wanted, I gave him a generous smile - almost a million dollars, worth - sat very still, and awaited for what seemed to be an eternity and a day the click of the camera. By this time my generous smile had changed into a frozen array of teeth, and my once steady knees began twitching. At this the photographer shot out from behind the black peplum, pointed his paralyzing finger at me, and shouted, You movedlv I did notli' I responded hotly. 22 Yes, you didli' he roared, grabbing my ears and jerking my head around as though it operated like a swivel chair until it reached a position that Ripley would have believed impossible. Retreating again to his camera, he surveyed the pose for a moment, yelled innumerable orders at me, none of which I heard, and then ducked beneath the peplum once more. I held my pose for another eternity, then heard the click of the camera and the welcome voice of the photographer dismissing me. I rose weakly, crawled shakily away, and hoped never to retu1'n. -Athena Vlahos, '46 THE BIRDS, THE BEES, AND THE LOLLYPOP TREES N a cold and clear Sunday morning I saddled my white pony and ven- tured forth across the bridle paths and sand to see what beauties nature had in store for me. The sun had risen to the level of the tops of the pine trees on a nearby hill and only the purest sunlight sifted through the light green leaves of the wild cherry that bordered the trodden path.

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lEQilBll2L12EB!2MmiMMBMEEIMQUDQMBQMlE1EMl!1lB!lD3lDXlNEllZlE !Q3QA!l!i?5lEii2!ll?iiE611Jill!!XlllixlQiM1211BlDSIDKilkillllililllili7ilL31liX1liiKl.?il for approximately twenty-five years. During this time he has been chief con- fidant and adviser to hundreds of Ips- wich joes and Janes in everything from love affairs and prom dates to parties and student councils. For many years the boys' athletic coach, and this year the athletic director, Mr. Conary has, through his interest and hard work, spurred the teams on to many victories. As a teacher of science, he has been known and liked for his good teaching interspersed with caustic or witty re- marks or discussions on matters of in- terest. Although his teasing and dry humor often caused a blush, his hapless victims came back for more, as could be seen by the groups of fellows and girls continually about him. WVe were all sorry to lose Mr. Conary, teachers and pupils alike, but we sent him oil wishing him the best of future happiness in the new field he has chosen. We earnestly hope that he will come back often to visit the corridors and classes of Ipswich High. Xl' i f 21

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llXll31lr!!lLPiLfX.QX?D2i,Fiw913LXllf!QLXl'II1ll!ll!!IFilDilMlDilDill!!lllilllilllilllilwwlgllllllllll 213Zillii11131124511lXlB11Jill?NXHXLikillkillflMlkflliilE21ll!1llXllX!llXlDill?fllXINBilEll?il The pony's hoofs, in regular rhythm created a music that fitted, almost magi- cally, into the wilderness surroundings. The blue heron were seeking their morning meal of minnows in the marsh- land pools and ditches, while the gulls, seeking even larger game, swooped and dived over the river, washed with Whitecaps. The wind was cold but like an anti- septic of nature that cleansed the heart and soul and created an irresistible de- sire to seek the beauty of nature in her wildest moods. The hills that border the large, yel- lowish-green marshlands were clothed in the vestments of varicolored trees and bushes and various vines. Ever since my early childhood, I have called this hill the home of the lollypop trees. The sumacs were turning red, and the fuzzy seeds were children in the motheris arms. Near the large gravel pit, the great field birch swayed in the easterly breeze. The brilliant white of the lean trunks was the highlight in this mystic landscape. Oh Mother Nature, I do not forget the goldenrod or the aster or the black- eyed Susan or the purple-blue of the grapes on the climbing vine. The smell of the sweet grass fills the valley and the sharp, delicious odor of wild mint is all along the hilly trail. Yellow butterflies flitted about through the high grass. and monarchs sought the even taller weeds that border the edge of the forest. Mole and iield crickets were jumping earnestly on the gravel of the trail, and large grasshop- pers made short Hights through the star grass. Damsel flies flew about in the great playground of sky above my head. The trail spread many miles before the pony's hoofs and every glance held different views hitherto unseen. The crows squawked in a nearby pasture, and a hawk sailed over a distant wooded strip. Some bees were preparing their winter home with the sweet honey and honey comb, and they sought to clean out the summeris debris from their home in a trunk of an old oak tree. The ferns in the cool forest were turning brown and curled, and each leafy frond was losing its summer green. A green skin of moss covered the trunks of trees the lower branches of which had never seen the sun, and the pine needles beneath the evergreens were soft and spongy to the touch. I returned home through the lower meadow and observed the clearness of the fresh water brook that gurgled through the lowlands. I saw the lad- ened fruit trees and smelt the wild herbs that grew along our old and broken well. My pony lives with Nature all her life, but I am a human being and have to return at intervals to civilization. To me. nature teaches sacred lessons and is not just another property among more valued objects that life tends to offer. 23