Shortridge High School - Annual Yearbook (Indianapolis, IN)

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NO IMPRINT? world and tried to forsee our chances among its milling crowds. Suddenly a great monoplane nosed out of the moonlight. For a moment it poised, stamped on the circle of the moon, its broad black wings silhouetted against the clear white background of the bright orb. What a symbol of success! The strangely apparent omen thrilled me, and I stood listening to the steady drone of the plane, as it slid again into the black night as swiftly as it had come. The moon alone looked down upon me. Then suddenly it drew a wispy cloud across its face. Similarly the unknown future of the class of thirty-one was veiled and hidden from me. To An Evening Primrose The King of Light has sunk into the west, The dusk of evening hides my garden wallg There against its cool and mossy breast Grows my evening primrose, slim and tall. She has not bloomed today, ah timid flower, She Waits till Luna flings her silver sailg And now behold, by some deep unseen power Unfolds a soul of fragile beauty pale. O flower, your dress reflects the yellow moon, Your stamens long are stars that twinkle bright, Your beauty is too frail, for all too soon You droop your head, you will but last the night. When I shall rise at morn, at sun's first beam You will be gone, all faded like a dream. -Barbara Baumgartnef

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NO IMPRINT? MARTHA ROSE SCOTT HE shadows of night slipped slowly between the boughs of the great elms and sycamores. The fast fading light laid a hush over the world and muffled the noises of the day. Only the cadent sounds peculiar to the reign of darkness broke the quiet. As the soft penetrating whoo-oo of the owl, the deep, throaty croaking of the sleepy frogs in the near-by stream, and the monotonous arguments of the katydids ushered in the night- 'fb 1 fall, a dusky moth, that silent, mystic creature of , the dark, brushed past me as I leaned against the garden wall, where the dew hung heavily on the ivy that clambered over it. The quiet mel- ancholy of the lonely hour fitted my dreamy I'I100d. Today had been just another school day, I thought, but oh! how few of those days remained. I was approaching the time of graduation, and I indulged in the delightful but pensive pastime of reminiscing. One by one, I reflected on the pleasant experiences of my high school days. At once I recalled the enthusiastic pep meetings, the spectacular games, the countless thrills of our brilliant victories, and the jubilant cele- brations. The gay school parties, the vaudevilles, the senior plays, and the other entertainments flashed through my mind. Success- ively I reviewed these outstanding events of our high school life, and they were enriched by my own personal memories of them. Four happy years had been spent enjoying the friendships of classmates and teachers, and the delightful environment individual to Shortridge. What great years they had been! Just now, as they were drawing to a close, I felt keenly what pleasure I had found in them and what deep feeling I had for the school in which they had passed so swiftly. I la- mented that these days were so soon to cease. I realized that I was to break cords that linked themselves tightly about the traditions, the cus- toms, and the associations of my high school days. I apppreciated all of its meaning now, when I was about to leave. We should all leave and like meteors should fall into spots widely distant. The old groups of comrades, the gay banter of the lunchroom and the press room gatherings would never be renewed. What would be the fate of each one in his newly chosen surroundings? As I mused on our varied destinies, I gazed thoughtfully into the sky, which was now sparkling with the light of many stars. Stray clouds were drifting over the Milky Way, and the Great Dipper and the large round moon stood out plainly in the inky sky. I stared at the opalescent sphere until the shifting shreds of clouds made it appear to be turning around like a magic crystal. At once, I became a crystal-gazer in the giant silver moon, trying to divine the uncertain future. What did it hold for us? All about me lay the thinking, planning, pulsating world. It did not know that the class of thirty-one was about to graduate. It was not aware that over five hundred students were to be thrust out upon it. Would we impress it? Could we leap ahead and pro- duce material creations more nearly perfect than those before us? Would we create finer influences to advance the wor1d's civilization or would we be mere shadows-mere figures that clicked our heels on its surface, leaving no imprint? Scanning the sky-hung crystals, I dreamed of the modern achieving C M

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SALT MARSHES For miles and miles their level floors extend, A broad expanse of glowing green and gold gl A sea of Waving grass which never tires A nature lover's eyes. He looks upon The marshes' bosom broad, more changeful than the restless sea And takes its radiant beauty to his heart. The marsh is veined with channels serpentine, Reflecting back the brilliant blue of skiesg Above these sedge-grown aisles and pools The stately heron flaps his course, or stalks Sedately in his chosen hauntsg The screaming terns float in o'er distant, glistening dunes: The bittern booms and pumps. The tide comes in- The marsh grass floats and waves where islets stood betoreg The Wand'ring creeks grow large and overflow. Take you your mountains and your sea- Glve me my vast salt marshes, green and gold. -Mark W. Pangborn, Jr