Newport News High School - Anchor Yearbook (Newport News, VA)

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CLASS OFFICERS President .......,... ......Miner Carl Andrews Vice-President ..................... ....... R aymond W. Edwards Secretary and Treasure-r .................... Grace Goodwin Giannotti Class Motto: Ascende etsi saxa sint asperaf' f Climb, though the rocks be rugged. J Class Color: Pink Rosebuds. Class Colors: Purple and Silt er Miner Carl Andrews Powell Marion Beatty Elizabeth Landon Berkeley Mary Catherine Blanton Ira Franklin Bowles Josephine H. Bridgman Dorthy Hugh Brown Margaret Chandler Martha R. Chapin J. Gilbert Church Charles Lee Cohen Sarah Virginia Daughtrey D. Butler Daughtrey Ethel Rennie Davis Gladys Edwards Raymond W. Edwards Josephine Agnes Garris G-race Goodwin Giannotti Ethel Lorena Hilling Myra Lucile Hunnicutt Sadie Evlyn Levinson CLASS ROLL Freeda Harriett Levy Myrtha Mozelle Long Helen Gretna Mallicotte Robert Milton Massenburg Mavis Estella Maupin Mary Allene Miller Ella Charlotte Nachman James Dickerson Palmer Daniel Hen-ry Patrick Nathan Norman Patz Mary Colgin Parker George Walker Pierce William Wolfe Radin Selma Jean Scoll Evelyn Mclvor Snead Marie Greig Snidow Mildred Gray Wall Felix Wilton Weinhold Alexander Ronald Wills Cecil Florene Wright

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-c xy N lWWW:iliiii'llll-li WWWNNXN Ili cQZ44gM4w45111fmauA0ffofwynf yy ' x f , Pl-7tlNCilPAi 5 xllx 1 l ht all f bn, I ' f an-nv. -M1-tn! W X I A wise man once said that nothing is permanent but that which is con- stantly changing. Our bodies continue to grow as long as we live. Some of us retard the growth of our minds because we do not continue to study and to think after we leave school. The world suffers terribly from this slothful attitude. My message to you is that you choose growth and self-control as the watchwords of your life. Holmes and Kipling' have given beautiful inspiration to this thought, in the following' lines: Build thcc mort- statcly mansions, U my soul- .Xs the- swllil so-asons rollf la-arc thy low-vaults-rl past! Let each ncw tcmple, nobler than the last, Shut theo- from he-ave-n with a domc mort- vast, 'l'ill thou at lcugth art frm-c. Leavinu' thine- outzrrown sho-II by lift-'s uurcsisting sm-al Holme-s: 'l'Ill-Il'll.XNlI1l'1lil-IllN.X'l'l'l,lS. lf you can he-cp your he-all wht-n all about you Are losing thcirs and blaming.: it on youg lt' you can trust yoursclt' whcu all mcu douht you, Hut make- allowance- for tht-ir doubting too: lf you can wait and not hc tircd ot' waiting, Or, be-ing licd ahout don't clcal in lics, Or he-ing hatcrl 1lou't girl- way to hating, .ind yct don't look too good, nor talk too Wisci lt you can fil'l'2IlIl'2lllll not maht- flrcams your mastcri lt' you can think-and not niakc thouxhts your aim, lt' you can me-ct with Triumph and llisastcr .Xnd trcat thosc two imposto-rs just thc Nillllvl lt you can In-ar to hcar thc truth you'yc spoke-n 'l'wiste-rl hy knavcs to make- rn trap for fools. Ur watch thc things you gays- your lift- to, hrohcn, .Xnd stoop and huild 'cm up with worn-out tools: lf you can talk with crowds and In-cp your virtuc. Ur walk with Kings--nor losc thc common touch, lt' na-ithcr for-s nor loving fri:-nds can lmrt you. lf all me-n count with you, hut too much: If you can fill thc lllll'0l'LL'lVlll:.f minuti- XYith sixty sc-conds' worth of alistancc run, Yours is thc liarth and cycrything: that's in it. .xllfl-fAXVilll'll is more-you'll hc a Man, my son! Kiplingg's Il .

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CLASS POEM THE CROWN OF LIFE Here on the threshold of a new and waiting world That beckons to the sons of men across the seas of Life, On thy childhood paths, pause yet awhile in reverence And look upon the long and weary way that lies before. That Life is only what we choose to make it, Though judgment there is often thought unfair And takes a man for what he's not, we must not waver there. The thing that matters in that worldly strife, Is what we are, what we do, to serve our fellow men. The God of opportunity serves every man alike And we must watch and wait to meet him at the door, For the path of Life is long and steep, our goal is where we put it An idle Life is a useless thing and a tho-rn to God who gave it, So may we take our humble talents and use them in the fight, That stirs within the souls of men to mark the sands of time Not with the swords of conquorers, nor with the pens of rhyme, Not with the stirring words of fame, nor with a golden crown, But with those things that help our friends, our service to mankind And may we live and do, that when at last The golden trumpet of the Judgment Day Sounds o'er the plains of Death, And God, the keeper of the one, great roll, Unfolds the Book of Life before the throne, And calls us for our talents to account, We shall not answer with a score-less plate, But bearing with us service from across the trackless sea, Shall take the crown, a fight well fought, a deed well done. -CARL ANDREWS, Class Poet