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X I.. , -..sq.m. ,, n 1, 'QVQJT ,45 14f1.. - 1 .T -11-' 4131 1 4'vh 11, , . L r, if . 1 I- 'E it-11,'.'f',.j' ,11gq,y.yx:,,.. .11I M .-11. ' 51-15 bfi.-'Sis , 1. :.- 5 ..'a1'-.-.-' .gf 111-11 1f'11',.1. ' , ,Mfg 13,3-'Q-. H ff? V Q 1,3 .1 t if-.rujkf 93' 1' 527, 1b4'fi- 1 ' ,1 . 1 , ,Q J ' , . T - . ff 1.4 11 . 1 L1 -'-Jfkfl , 1, 1 ' 1 A ' 1-. R- .5 1 rg. 'A - 1 . .2 141..-M , 'A-l21...1fe4.q.,L.11gI1-E. 11 THE IKPCDT MAY, 1936 WA NX Sch 1. 'J 0545 seo 'Uv' J gl fbi L f1,j: Z ' ,X , ,' .' ' N . ' rv, ff Wy M N XV 1 Kfyfrl Iwi 1 Y- gf ,, MNTX , yu'-My rf 17 ' U 512 . .. X ix, S -Q, 1 ll I 111 Il qfIlIfl'lIf.Y of IHI L-Xl HOUN1 SCHOOL X Y L ru. ,X 1 .5 I -1 -1.11145 '.,.' 1 ' Af 1. 'Q A-'19-L ' -. N X-'35 .I I I .. I I 1 .-- - 1 - f . 1 1 .... . .- . ,. . 1-H.. s ,I I, , ,. . 11. . .1 ., , , f 14 LI. -,,,,,II. -i. ,kv . , , I. I N, . 'f , ' L ,f -321 Ph 51 I fj- .,. . .Q . I 1, , III III5 1. '.'.1,g.15 --HQ Ih, K. 4 . 1 ,K qt. ,- Q LIN, I, w. ' ' 1 ,.r.. f -. ' ' 'v'- K - K '-111, , ' A, -a 1 ., Ve. 1f...,, --1-- . . - . . U... .I-2, .. fy 1.1.1 ..I - . . .1,..p .- . INV, s 1.-D -, I .x,.. 1. Wy . ' E g If . ,. f.j1 II I1 I.:-.If I 1 :I , F I,.1I, 'ki .11. rf g,I Ig III I,I IIA. - - , -1 ,. .. , , I ' -J., I ,1 I ',, - I 1 A, '11 I1 v 1155 ,QHSV , 7 ,I- XI i-II 5. , I . IIfQ:I1.,.-1,41 I1 11' xl 1 - '-..' - -'A .1 -1 1 1 1- . , r,...g . fm, 1. - . TJ 1 if, .-1. . I. . ' 1 3, 1-5 V'.' ' .. - '- 1.-L. nf I -uf ,'x.i:I5. .5 . 1 . - . ... - . , III . II .L 1 .1-'Lf1'IT1.' '11 1 - , . 3: . . ... I , W. i1-A '. - .. K f S I I I. I ,. 1 Q .. ' ' I ' .1 1 1 ,I - 1 11. 1 ' ' ' . . . f . , . N UHUHGHILL1. 1 . . ' ' .. .. I ,T ,I J. IAI1,L. II 4 - Il. . 1. I IJ L ' ' I .f1' ,Q ' f I - '4.'3:'4 3 ' ' . J.. I ,I .' ' - , ' 1-7 ' x' 'I I I. FILIZIIYI, ,' LI. ,pf I .I' I .1.1IgI- .-I If qu-15' .1 ' III , 51.1. - 1 - ' 1' -' ' . ' .1 1 .-, .4.Jr', 1 '.-f. F 7 .g'-1'..'-5r'1sf' -. 11 1, f '1 ' X '1 .,1 i1' ,. 1-Q. I li '-35 '. I., I .gxI.f ,-3-4' L III ,L - ,, I, . I,,,' ...IN . 1? -5- ,,y.. III.a 1 I ., . . , . lugeii i'm , , if .1 1: 1, 1 r .1 -. . 1-'S+:fTffi. ' 1.. , -.: 1 V ' ,....1' 1--gm -1 v . .nw ,Q , 5141- , ' , I A ' f 4' 5 '. - - ' ' . S ' Cf.' 4 ' V .I ' ' 1,.f1..'. -- . v . ' ' 1 ' ' . ' 1 -15 ' H J X, .- . N I I 1 .I 1 ' I. ,.. X . . - ..,- 1551-2 ' 'ui 3 15 13.3, 2.7.1 1. .-1f N .I 1 W Q f 1,2 , . , . - '11, ' .-1 V 1 i-1 I ' ,J 1 -. 1.- . A .- . .L ,.1 .1I,I,,..I., I. I 1. ,, -1 . p' 4,l' ,' ' Y , 1 1 4' ' we -'IQII ' UI . .WIT 1. . 1, - , , , . . M ,. . .. ..,1.', 1 HAI... .- , , ... 1 . .-. , - 1 . .. ,, -1 . .111 . n .. .. ' 1111? 1, . .3 W1 . ' , , .1 '- ,. 1 -. 1 Wa. jg r - , I . :, 3,11 1 ':','r-.Ji-5 ,-15-,nz ,w., 11 .1 . ', .. . ,.', 1 g,..-.f1, 7 ,.- I 11 ig- 1. - 13,125 4.51. 11-., ' ' ., 1 . 1-1. :-- ..1'..,' 1- .. -- ft' ' .1 1' 'T' nn- - , ', f 5 X A T 1:-1111 -.,-11. .gvrifp w 1.11 124-.J .. -Si 1-5-H1 .. 1-fd-11,1-h . II5:f,,'-'4..,1,.-.1'j1s,1, . 'f','f1 1 ,. .,,,f: x,',A?'tI... .-.+,.L. L1 -. .1 . - ,V A . 1 , , f 1 A Nw Q, ,1 II .I,E-f,1.- 11 ,I ,Ii II ,, ,, II II ,1 -1. f' . ef -.li-. -37: .L..1,L.iNs1a-fam-2'I.PSnSKz'Lf'.n!L:25v.i15.LiaI1zSvraa:1. ' .fly 'Ki ', 5 ' w . . 1,v. ,, I .' :if I' . .. P I. -I NI, 1,II.I:,. 1 -,II . I 1. II, , 1 . f, 11,1 ,. 'j-H, 15. Hixifi-w ,- -I:..,.5,,,,. ,- 41,2131 - 1 11. .1 1 ' 'yn ,.'.4..l '. 1. -,F , . t I. ,Q .R 1. . , . V1, Q Z Q 4 ,X lnk Pot C0ll1II1lI'l'FC . lfllirorial . , 'lllu' Class of V736 'lllw Class of 1037 l.it61'a1'y IJC'D1ll'l'll1l'llf . . tlvrry 1 Prim' Storyj , , The Chase' Q Prim' l'oc-ml I lVarmcml Both Hamls fl'mse l'rizc'J l ,llWI'1ll'5' . , AlllYi'Illll' lJC'DZll'TI1ll'llI' Sclmol Nurs .-Xlunmac News 'llllc' SfllllK'llfS lmzlggllc' 552 Doran-ut hkwfzner -l S fm I3 l-l I4 lfm I7 in 33 fm-l fwfr 4,7 6 1936 INK POT Four I nk Pot Committee Editor-in-Clzivf. ,,., . Jxxoriflfvfzliinr ,,A,,, , Sl't'fl'fIIf-V . ,,...., ..... . ,-Irt Erlitor.,,,,... . .l1l'Z't'Ili!l' Editor ..,,,,..., Srhonl Nl'u'.s' Erliforxu... fl lu nl I1 ru' N4 u'.v Ifzlitorx ,,,, AIARIUN SCHUIAIAN, '36 El,A1NE GR.-xnnr, '38 .E .... ,,.SHIRLEYCj1RliENE, , E .IUNTH SCHERER ....N1II.DRED SCHWARZ ..,........IzvE1.YN AAlPol,sK, ,........SINONETTE LA-xNs ,.jL'mTH IPRANK, BETTY BARON ..... EDITH NVILSUN, RIVRIEI, HLYT JANE POLL, '38 LILLIAN FICHTENHOLTZ ELISE ELISEERG, '41 V v Q i936 INK POT Q W fWW qw Z! Z 5 , 4 'Q Z ? Q Z , e y f f 1 1,1 W 'Aff' ,ed-:SL.SL1s Our flfllllffll Iiflllnlrffllwf lllf Illllfflk' of c'lcCti'it'ity has oltvu svviiim-tl to luv Ill1JllIlQ0lIS to rlw fzuuous gc-uu of :Xlauhliuls lzuup. It puts l'l'Q'Il1i'llLlUlIS poxvcl' at your bt-ck zunl cull, to llo with :is you will. lu at lllt'l'l'0D0llS such :ls Nc-w York Lity. wlu'i'c with thc- push ol El huttou wc' will our QCHII Zlllll prvstol linux' light: wlwrc' with thc' turu ol :1 lllill wc vzui vouuuzuul lllllhilf, politivnl l11ll'2ll1Qlll'S oi' lwcltitum' stories, l wcztulci' how lllillll' of us hzlvc' cw! Thought about thc gn-:it power that is the source :uul progenitor ot it ull. Our so-cxillml gc-uii. :ts rXl:uhliu's, sm-cms siunll, iusiglniliczuit. but it is :uuziziugly crc:itix'c- NVQ' luiou' this hvvrltisl' wc' lmow how lirrlc WC Czui ziuuoiuplish without it: how wx lc-:ui upon thc' gvuii for our comfort, our livvlihootl :unl for out ilnily c'xistc'm'c'. lr was oulx' this wiutvt' that thc' g1l't'1lt mzijoritx' of Nvw Yorlwrs z1ppi'c'ri:ttcsl the lll'Ci'SSlI'X of c'lccti'ic lights, NVQ' SlllltlC'Illl louutl oui'sclx'c-s iu rho ll1lllSf ot ll ll2ll'lil'l1K'tl rity. Tha' lzibyriuth ol strcvts was lW2lI'i'lX tliscvruiblc-. Our gc-nii hull mlm-scttc-nl us Our svcoml uzltutc habit of pushing at huttou zuul li:u'iug light, was not :ui cnsx' out to l5I'C'Zlli. fllzuiy ot us louuml oursm-lx'cs prcssiugg switvlws zuiil hviiuj stztrtlml :tt not 11-cm'ix'ilig tht- n'Xpc'vtc'tl iiuiuvmlizltc' illumiuzttion. L10llSl'l11lC'l1l'ly', Illilllf' :1 ft-1-ble rzimllc' spiitrcrctl iu thc otlwrwisc tlsutk wiutlows tlottiug thc city. How iuxuiy pvoplv COINDl'l'l1C'l1lli'll the lll1l30l'f2ll1L'l' of 1-It-mrm-s uutil tlivtv was zz strilic zuitl wc' wc'i'm' forcml to ilo without them? The' olml axiom pi'ox'c's ttuvz wr' iicvvt' uiulvrstniul thc' vuluc of something uutil wx' must tlo without it. llll' L'llI1YQ'llll'l1l'l', flll' flllll'-SZIYIHQ Zlllll Sfl'P'C!lI1Sl'I'X'll1Q KllI!lllfll'S ot i'lK't'l'l'It'llX Zll't' vcttaiiiih g1l'l'1lt. Oven iiwstiiunlvlc. But we must not tlcpc-ml too lu-zlvilx' ou our gvuii. YVQ' must Q-iulcmoi' to rm-min our svlt-siitliciciicy :uul iiulcpc-iulr'iicc'l XVQ must l'l'Illlfl' that our gn-uii may lwcoiuc czlpricious :uul forget us :is hc has slouv lvclow. SH lumix' Cimsiiw lf. '30, liix 1' 6 1936 INK POT ix Pfl'A'iI11'7If ..,,,.,,..,,.,,.., Viva'-Pr'c'si1fc'11t ,, .,,, ,, Svn'i'1'111'y , ,,...,,....,,.. . T7'l'H.f1ll'l'I' ., ,, R hlarjorie Alsberg Evelyn Ampolsk Estelle Cohn Juliet Fischl Judith Frank Bernice Gaines Rhoda Granowitz Doris Greenberg Shirley Greene Joan Horwitz The Clary of 1936 ,,i,sa...IRENE FRAN K i ...PHYLLIS RIARGIJLIES ,,.Vr ,VILENE HCDITFENBERG S rr,,e. S ,...V...,r ,,...... I RENE FISCHER llladeleine Jacobs Norma Kaplan Renee Klein Sylvia Levin Judith Scherer Birdie Schloss Elinor Schloss Marion Schulman Jeanne Siegel Nlarjorie Ullman Hes! Citizen .....,., Valvdirlorian ,.,...,.,, Srzlutrztorian ..,...,,.,..,.,.,, Ilonornble fllwztion Blanche Witkiiicl .......,......RHODA GRIXNOWITZ SHIRLEY GREENE i.,,,i...jUo1TH FRANK .. .,... IRENE FRANK IRENE FRANK True individuality of all gifts the most l'Zll'C'. Q 1936 INK POT MARAIORIIC ALSBICRG Nothing wins a man sooner than :1 good turn. IQVICLYN AM PULSK Sir, your wit fumbles well: It goes easily. ESTELLIQ COHN Nothing rarer than rc-al goodness. IRENIQ FISCHER Ir is more blessed to give than to receive. 'Buss 6 Scvvn Q 1936 INK POT ' Night JULIICT FISCHL WVhz1t6vc'i' lic did was dont' with so iiiuvh ease In him alone 'twas natural to plezlsv. EIUIJITH FRANK lu :1 divvrsc limir thc friclimiship of tlic' goml sliinvs most. R HOIDA GRANONVITZ An honest mzufs the noblvsr work of God. HICRNICIC GAINHS Nw glass of fashion, the mold of form. Q 1936 INK POT Q DORIS GRICIQNBICRG True as tlu' neexllf' to the pole 01' ns the dial to the sun. SHIRLICY GRICICNI-I Inn-llc-ct, tlw c'l:'Ct1'1c force' of thc' lwrzun. ILICN If HOIVIFI-IN ISIQRG Hcr ways arc ways of pleaszllmrnwss and all hm' paths are peace. JUAN HORXVITZ Sympzlthy is the golden levy that unlocks the lmvzxrts of others. Nlll ell 1936 INK POT MADICLEIN I5 JACOBS They are never alone who arc aus panied with noble thoughts. NORXIA KAPLAN YVit is the Howel' of the llllflfflllflflflll. RICNICIC KLICIN Gently to hezlr, kindly to judgv. SYLVIA LEVIN To Fl young heart 9Vt'Tj'fl'llllg1 is fun. Q l936 INK POT l'HYl,l.lS MARGULIICS An alwlv man shows his spirit by gentlc words and resolute actions. Al UDITH SCH ICRICR l may stancl alone, but would not Cllllllgi my lrvc tl10llfIllfS for a tlnonc. BIRDIF SCHLOSS Art is pmvvr. ICLINOR SCHLOSS Oh, blcssml with tvlnper whose nn Clomlvml ray Can lllillii' toxnorrow CllCCl'flll. as tomlay. lex wel v 1' 1936 INK POT Q MARION SCHULKIAN liver c'l1:1r1ning, 4-ver new. .I LAN N lu Sl lui rlul , Common sense is tlw f2lYUlll'iI'f' liilllgfllfw of l'l'2lSOI1 KIARAIORIIC ULLNIAN V Allliilbilify' sl1im's by its vwy light. IQLANCHIC XVITIQINIJ The nmildvst lI12ll1llL'l'S and thc gl'x1tlc'.' 1936 INK POT Prr'.Vidr'1If .. Vin'-Pr4'si1la'11f ,. Sc'rrz'111ry- 7lfl'Il.VIIft 1 lflainc Alilermzln Betty jane Baron Doritzi Davis Beatrice lfpstcin Beverly Golilworni Klnriel Heller Rutll Herskovits The Clary :yt 1937 1 M-.,i Q- ,- ,.., JEAN CASSRIEI. ...,,, .,.. A NN IDAVID ......RHonA BIINTZ Lcnore Katzmzin Muriel Oppenheimer lflinorc' Previllc' illildrccl Schwarz Lucille Simon Nona Stern Florence VValters Thirteen Q 1936 INK POT + feng: L Prize Storyj OUR country house was separated from its right-hand neighbor by a few yards of grass. Of the members of the family next door, only one had for me a distinct personality. That was Jerry-a boy of twenty-three and ten years my senior. I used to look forward to his infrequent calls, for he treated me not as an awkward adolescent with gangly legs, with thin gold bands in my teeth, and with a freckled nose, but as an equal. For this I rewarded him by secretly awaiting his return from New York every evening. Sitting on the broad porch of our house, I used to peer at him from behind the bushes. I liked to hear the Hnal sputter of his roadster as he turned off the ignition. I liked to see him leap over the shiny red door of the car without taking time to open it. I admired his agility, I wished fervently that I had been blessed with a brother like him. The following summer, although I had forgotten his existence over the winter, I again took to watching him from my hiding place, but now I was more interested in his evening departures than in his arrivals. I suspected him of entertaining girls and wondered what they were like. Surely they must be old to be sought by one so well advanced in years as Jerry. I closed my eyes and imagined myself old, perhaps twenty. Wearing a sparkling white evening gown, surrounded by an admiring throng of onlookers, I was dancing in a brilliantly illuminated ball room with some- body whose friendly, easy smile resembled Jerry's, whose deep brown eyes glowed like Jerry's, with somebody who laughed readily and infectiously, like Jerry. He was my ideal. I worshiped him from afar and grew shy and self-conscious in his presence. When we went to the country the third summer, I was surprised by the frequency of his visits. After we had been there two weeks, he invited me to a yachting party he was giving on the fourth of July. I was torn by conflicting emotions. The invita- tion filled me simultaneously with joy and dread, but fear of not being able to converse fluently with Jerry and his friends who were so much older and more experienced in social graces than I, fear of humiliation lest they consider me nothing but an insignificant and uninteresting child exerted the stronger influence. I prayed for rain. For two whole weeks I prayed that rain would mercifully save me from being found a child, unpoised, self-conscious, mute. And yet, I had never been on a yacht and I loved the water. I was so anxious to go that within my heart I hoped that my supplication would remain unanswered. The eagerly awaited, darkly dreaded day arrived. I lay in bed for fully five minutes before I dared open my eyes. Finally, elated, heavy-hearted, I greeted the broadly smiling sun. But when we had boarded the yacht I was glad that I was there. The long, graceful lines of the white craft filled me with an owner's pride. The moist caressing breeze, the soft lapping of the intensely blue wavelets against the sides of the ship, the rhythmical motion of the boat were parts of my most fanciful dreams. Jerry and I appropriated a corner of the sun-bathed deck while the rest of the party fled into the shade. Half-reclining in our deck-chairs, we closed our eyes and surrendered to the exquisite happiness of being alive. We were both silent, for each was sure that the other knew that the mood was too beautiful to be broken. After luncheon we became more loquacious. I was surprised at how easily I could talk to him. Finally he chanced to say, Do you like music ? I was embarrassed to have to say, I don't know much about it. Do you ? I do not know what prompted me to ask that question, but I am grateful now that Fourteen . 1936 INK POT ' I did, for he answered, All I know is that if the music lifts me from myself and brings me into active sympathy with the mood of the composer, it's music for me. Technically I know nothing. There's a concert being given next week. Shall we discover music together ? It was the beginning of a great love, and I am grateful to him now for having introduced me to it. We had many good times together. He took me for long drives through the country 3 he taught me how to dive, and how to place a tennis ball in a position on the court that would be to my advantage 3 he introduced me to the joys of galloping a spirited horse through miles of dusty paths shaded by blooming trees. And one night he took me canoeing. The night was hot and still-so still that we could only hear the subdued splash of the paddle as it entered the water. We began to sing the current favorites of the day when he suddenly became earnest. I've something to tell you. His voice was serious. It's a secret. Nobody knows, so don't say anything. He looked at me penetratingly as though to make doubly sure that I could be trusted. I'm engaged. No, it's not announced yet, he added in answer to my questioning look. My fiancee had to go to Europe with her mother, so we decided to wait until she gets back before making the news public. Jerry, how exciting! Have you her picture with you ? When he handed me the photograph he struck a match so that I could see it more clearly. The brightness fell on a face that disappointed me, and I was not yet old enough to hide sudden emotions. No, he said in answer to my thoughts, she's not pretty, not a bit except her eyes, but looks don't count. Yes, they do. I rose to the defense of my dream prince, who had the face of Clark Gable and the shoulders of any tackle on a football team. Oh, no. You're wrong there. You'd soon tire of an ornament. You should marry someone who would be a companion, an intellectual equal. Would it be happi- ness to live with a man, who, although he looked like a Greek god, was as silent as an Egyptian mummy when you Wanted to discuss a book or play with him? Would it be happiness if you preferred a social life while he favored a Hreside and a newspaper? You've got to build married life on the firm basis of mutual under- standing and mutual companionship with, of course, enough differences of opinion to make it stimulating. What he said impressed me more than I realized at the time. I have thought frequently and intensely about it and I agree with him now. I wonder sometimes whether I should have reached the same conclusion had he not paved the way. When the summer drew to an end, I did not regret the return of Jerry's fiancee. I did not regret, then, that our friendship had come to an end. I had come to take the companionship quite casually and at first accepted its termination indifferently. But after a few days, I began to miss confiding my inconsequental joys and trivial sorrows to him. I began to miss the challenge of intellectual stimulation. I had felt myself growing more mature and self-confident during the summer, and I resented having my growth arrested, even temporarily. But he had said to me often, Never look back. Live in the present, and make allowances for the future. Although I have tried to adopt this philosophy as I had adopted so many others, I can never quite obliterate the memory of him who taught me the meaning of true friendship. BETTY BARON, '37. Fifteen Q 1936 INK POT + Sixteen The Chase Q Prize Poeml They said 'twas so fine that the weather was clear, The dogs had more spirit that way, But a stag in the forest knew not of the fear Of hunting dogs chasing their prey. The young horses neighed and stamped restlessly, Awaiting the horn's distant cryg But a stag in the wood that capered, so free, Knew not that his end was nearby. Oh, Lord of all Nature, they call this a sport, When horses' hooves beat on the track Of a poor helpless beast that cannot be taught To beware of a gun's fatal crack! How gay they all looked in their black coats and red Galloping after the hounds. We're on the trail I briskly, one of them said As they crossed o'er the innocent's grounds. ! The hunting dogs sniffed and barked their aware, The swift horses snorted their glee, And of a sudden, a shot pierced the air, 'Twas quick end of the huntsmen's spree. 'Twas the end, too, of a poor little stag That lay still in the quiet woody He wasn't much for a gentleman's bag, The season, they said, Hwasnlt good. JOAN Honwrrz, '36 F Q 1936 INK POT ' I Warmer! Both Hmzrlr Q Prize Prosel HEN I was younger, before I knew it couldn't be, I used to pray that l could live till the earth died-and always be sixteen. I wanted to see everything the earth could show me, I wanted to live life to its fullest, and it seemed to me that time was far too short. I remember how desperate I was when I saw that I wasn't staying young enough. I felt that life was cruel-it showed me a glimpse of what I could have, and death would take me before I really looked. One day while I was watching a sunset, suddenly I realized that I could really live a lifetime-fully and completely and not lose any of the earth's beauties. It was very simple-I had only to economize. I would live not only my life but the lives of all around me. I would hate one person thoroughly-because hate gives life a color and a dash. I would love one person thoroughly-because love gives life its gold and warmth. Then I would hate the hates of all my friends and love the loves of all of them. I would see France through the eyes of everyone I knew as well as through my own-and so France would become for me not one great land I could hardly see-but a land I saw through many moods. I could find the past very easily now-my grandmother showed me Europe long ago. I remember her first ball-and vaguely the day she and her two sisters played in the attic with my great-grandmother's hoop-skirts. I remember Fifth Avenue in 1900. It was a lovely placeg there were no stores, just private houses and carriages with an occasional car-a new invention that was very dangerous-it frightened the horses so. My riding master showed me Maine in 1880. I remember how white the snow was-whiter than now-because it was only a horse that ever spoiled its freshness, and then not too often. One day three daring young blades went riding through the crisp, still air, and the breath was so cold it froze way up their noses. I liked Maine then. Itls such a lovely memory now. Thus I'll see the future too-my little cousin is giving it to me already. It's not quite definite yet but it's beginning-I'll watch it grow. You ought to see the desert now. My friend goes riding out to little villages every Sunday to help the sick. It's one of the things I've always wanted to do- and now I'm doing it every Sunday! I'm so busy Sundays, too. In the morning I go riding in the Bois in Paris-then I go into the desert to the sick, and for actreat I go to a movie in New York in the afternoon. I never know what the evening brings-I let the future have that-or sometimes I give it to the past. J UDITH SCH ER ER, '36. The Test Ilm studying and I'm studying- To-morrow comes: with aching heart But it doesn't do much good. I meet the awful fear, I don't know what it's all about- The problems I most dread Oh, gee, I wish I could. Are suddenly quite clear. We have a test t0-m0rr0w, When the papers were returned to us, I'm afraid that I will fail- I found that I had passedg It's math, and though I'm trying I saw it paid to study, The mere thought makes me pale. And I understood at last. JEAN Cones, '40 Seventeen Q 1936 INK POT ' Anna HEY never quite understood Annag not from the time she had first come to them ten years before, and had stood patiently waiting for lN'Irs. Schultz to inter- view her. Her looks had pleased Mrs. Schultz immediately. She liked the New England look in Anna's pastel blue eyes, as the girl looked past her at the' flies that clung to the screen door and clamored to get into the dank kitchen. She liked her straight, blond hair that reminded her of the wild goldenrods that hug the Swedish countryside, and she liked, most of all, the aroma of soapsuds that seemed to permeate the air around Anna. Yes, she had told lVIr. Schultz that evening while he was dunking Anna's schnecken in his black coffee, she will be a good influence on the children. And so Anna had stayed. Often Mrs. Schultz found herself watching the girl as she washed the children's diapers or scrubbed the parlor rugs. She seemed even to scrub with a queenly air. Mrs. Schultz's quizzical glances could not fathom Anna's impersonal eyes, but she always told herself that the girl must have some special place in life waiting for her, or perhaps some aim to accomplish, that made her face drudgery with such an unflinching, defiant airg almost as if she relished it. Anna never took her alternate Sundays off. In the summer she told lklrs. Schultz that she hated to ruin the soles of her shoes on the sun-scorched pavements, so she stayed home and experimented with her new recipes in the chilly humidity of the kitchen. In the winter Anna explained that she got rheumatic pains from the cold, so she spent her spare time rearranging and cleaning her already meticulously neat room. Not once, in all the years that Anna worked for the family, did she receive a single letter or telephone call. Even when she serves dinner I feel as if an automatic machine, not a girl, is putting the potatoes on the table, remarked Mr. Schultz. She seems to have suffocated life 'way down inside her, he added, in one of his rare, philosophical moments, and she needs all the courage she can muster to fan the smoldering Hamesf' She never had been lazy. On the morning they found her lying dead on her cot, breakfast was ready downstairsg the homemade rolls covered with a clean white dishcloth to keep them doughy and soft. No hidden money was ever found in Anna's room. They gave her a decent funeral, but there was no emotion attached to it. The Schultzes didn't cry. They couldn'tg they never knew Anna. They just went home and hired another maid. lllr. Schultz remarked quite a few times to his friends that Anna used to make the best schnecken he had ever tasted. Twenty-four H ours Darkness rose into the heavens, The moon peeped from behind the clouds, The air was growing cooler, ' Bright little stars gathered in numerous crowds- 'Twns night. The sun peered from behind the village, Then as it slowly rose in the sky Things began to live and awaken, And when the sun was above us, high, The world brightened- 'Twas day. MARGARET HARTIG, '41 Eighteen RIARION SCHULINIAN, '36. L'Hiver et Le Froid Doueement la neige tombe et couvre la terre, Le vent souflle fort, nous sommes en hiver. En ville, a la campagne, tout est couvert de neige et de glace Maisons-arbres-autos-routes et cent autres places. Dans les parcs les enfants s'amusent aux sports d'hiverg Le froid gele et arrete les bateaux sur les rivieres. Heureusement l'hiver bien vite passera Puis le beau printemps arrivera. MARGARET HAR1'ir:, '41 t 1936 INK POT . The World Goes Round and Around The following story is purely imaginative. Can any scientifically-niinded reader explain why the experiment is inzprartieablr? UIYIEROUS charts maps and papers decorated the office in which two young 7 men were eagerly perusing some plans for a flight. Bob Hamden and Ixen Rleredith were studying various weather charts, and now and then paused to shove away superfluous papers that cluttered up the desk at which they were working. Soon they were talking excitedly. ' I think it's a swell idea, exclaimed Ken enthusiastically, -that is, if it will work, he added upon second thought. , H b We ought to find out soon enough, returned Bob. Dr. Stangeison wi e here in a couple of minutes. Ken who was too fidgety to concentrate on the charts, jumped up, and after Y he floor a few seconds, turned to the window and espied a well-known Hgure turning into the path leading to the office. Hurrah! he shouted. Now we'll see some action around heref' Th t friends ran to the door and heartily welcomed the new arrival. e wo Have a seat, Larry. We're anxious to have your opinion on a matter of the utmost importance to us. Dr. Larry Stangerson was an old rien 0 eir , , thesis on aviation for his degree of Doctor of Philosophy. Now he made himself comfortable, lit a cigarette, and looked questioningly at the two impatient boys. Go ahead, Bob, spill it, it was really your idea anyway, said Ken generously, for he was really bursting to relate the idea himself. O K Ken, consented the other. You see, Larry, briefly it amounts to this. . ., Ken and I were going over some plans the other day, and we hit on the idea that pacing t f d f th ' s and had recently written a it would be a good experiment to see if we could stay in the air twenty-four hours and see the earth revolve beneath us. For example, say we leave here at ten-thirty ' h ornin o up about three thousand feet and cruise back and forth about in t e m g, g half a mile east and west. We'd be in view of the earth the whole time. Ken and I saw no obstacles in the way. Do you ? It seemed like ages before Dr. Stangerson, after thoughtfully meditating upon the matter, finally said, I think you've got a great idea there, boys. I'm with you. For the next few hours they worked busily making plans for a new airship and discussing the matter thoroughly. They agreed to set the date for the take-off two months from that day. The next two months were busy ones for everyone concernedg however, they slipped by quickly and finally everything was in readiness. The new plane, christened The lVIonarch by Bob's father, the owner of the airport, proved worthy of the honor bestowed upon it, and was a masterpiece of grace and beauty both within and without. At seven o'clock sharp Bob too New York City amid the cheers of the great throng of well-wishers who had come k off from the Hamden airport, just outside of 3 to see them start out. The plane took off easily, and Bob, Larry, and Ixen heaved sighs of satisfaction as The lNIonarch was leveled off at three thousand feet. d B b had ex lained and at about seven thirty They cruised east an west as o .p , - Larry, who was looking out of the window, cried out, Look down there, Ken. That's Pittsburgh. Larry took the controls while Bob looked down upon this great metropolis which was just about beginning to come to life. Nineteen ' 1936 INK POT Q Ken and Bob looked at one another and warmly shook hands. It seemed as though they were saying in unison, lt workedf' At eight-thirty Lincoln, the capital of Nebraska, passed under them. Soon afterwards they were over Salt Lake City, and then, at about ten o'clock, the last of the United States passed beneath them. Now they were really on one of the most dangerous laps of the journey, over the Pacific Ocean. Somewhere east of the lvlidway Islands the plane lurched and began to fall. They were not alarmed for long, however, because they realized that they were in an air pocket. Ken, who was now at the controls, righted the ship, and they soon gained altitude. It was not with regret that at about five o'clock in the afternoon they saw japan come into view. Larry radioed the airport and sent home the message that the plane was acting beautifully and that all was well. At six o'clock they were over Peiping, where they had made arrangements for a refueling plane to meet them. It was not difficult to make the contact, so that soon they reached the half way mark of their journey. At midnight Constantinople reached them, and the sight of this beautiful city shimmering in the splendor of the moonlight was thrilling for each of them. At one o'clock The lN'Ionarch soared over Naples, where another radio message was sent home, and at two o'clock Madrid was sighted, and then they were nearing the United States. The three companions were very much fatigued, but because of the excitement none of them was able to sleep. At seven o'clock on the following morning Bob brought the plane down amid cheers and applause, and then the three heroes, as soon as they were able to break away, went home to dream of the new fields they had opened to aviation. There he lay upon the ground, His head was bent, his hopes long drowned. He was an artist, hungry and poor, He was a famous painter no more. He looked up and there he saw Tall buildings, heard the city's roarg He looked down and saw park grass, And there a tiny ant did pass. The ant was busv at its toil Lifting seeds and hits of soil. A tiny ant could busy he, And yet Il man as big as he Vvould have to beg for food to eat. BETTY BARON, '37. The Artist The artist sighed a weary sigh. To make some money he vowed he'd tryg And when he lifted his hatless head He saw a bit of pencil lead. But what would he write on, thought he. So he tore a bit of bark from a tree. There was the sketch completed and fine, True in each detail and line. To see if they'd publish it he sent away. They published and sent him some money next day. The picture was of a man on the ground: His head was bent, his hopes long drowned. And in the winter, shelter and hear. Erase ELISBERG, '41 Movin' Pictures I like the movin' pictures, and so does My brother, too. Cowboys are most excitin'g Gables best, Says Sister Sue. Boys like shootinl and fightin', And girls like handsome men. The movies please each one of us, And our family numbers ten. JEAN Cortex, '40 Twenty Q 1936 INK POT Q Of Little Fa ith T was the kind of balmy spring day which acts as a spiritual stimulus to most people, filling them with a zest for life, inspiring the most unimaginative, and bringing cheer to the forlorng in short, it was a day when even the humlslcst are made to feel great and the poorest to feel wealthy. Amongst a cluster of ancient tenement houses on the lower East side stood one, older, if possible, than the others, more shabby, its shutters hanging limply from its sides in a despairing manner, its windows thick with the dust of the filthy streets. Out of one of these windows a wretched man beheld the world, a world which for him, even on this day, held no beauty nor inspiration, so filled was he with the heartache and suffering which had been his lot these many years. Peter Rawlin's mouth was drawn in a grim line, his face was sunken and gray, and his thin frame was pathetically bent for one as young as he. The room in which he stood still bore the clammy coldness which those long, heartless winter evenings had left. The ceiling was marred by a jagged crack, and the walls were damp and peeling. Strangely enough, the man and the room were in perfect harmony, creating, it seemed. a solemn picture symbolic of defeat. Yet, in spite of this desolation there had been one thing which had given Peter some solaceg one thing which he had considered somewhat more important than the material comfort which he so sadly lacked, and, as he lifted his eyes towards the sun his face assumed an ethereal splendor and he murmured softly, I could not bear it if I were to lose faith in God, in that belief I have had comfortg without it I should have nothing, absolutely nothing. Yet, even as he uttered these words a gray cloud glided slowly toward the yellow ball and soon obliterated it entirely, and, as it did so, a chill passed through the man at the window. Suddenly his face became twisted with agony, he clasped and unclasped his hands almost convulsively, and it was then that he began to doubt, then that he cried out appalled, Can it be ? Can one suffer as I have suffered-Is not God more merciful than this? Can it all be a mere fantasy ? Tears streamed down his face as he gazed around him fearfully. The room suddenly became unbearable. It seemed to him all at once, an inanimate example of himself, housing all of the fears and doubts too much a part of him to be suffered. He must leave it, if only for an hour. It was urgent that he try to salvage whatever beliefs he had, or else his soul must surely meet an inevitable death. Dusk was settling over the city, and with it came a sharp wind, while in the distance the chimes of a church told him that it was six o'clock. Peter began to think that he had been wandering about aimlessly for too long, and Wearily he turned his steps toward home. His walk had done nothing for him, and he dreaded the thoughts which would besiege him when he reached his roomg yet there was nothing else to do, and he continued on his way, his head down, his feet dragging wearily. It was in this manner that he neared his street, his eyes blinded by tears of anguish. Suddenly he felt somebody tug sharply at his sleeve, and, upon looking up, he beheld a small man, his face aglow with a horrified expression, shouting something to him: Peter, we've been looking for you everywhere-it's a miracle-I'm telling you, it's uncanny! Five minutes after you were seen leaving the house it happened-they're all saying how strange it is-you might have been killed. It was certainly the will of God that you weren't. It's uncanny-uncanny. Slowly Peter's eyes followed the man's finger, and he beheld that which caused him to gasp in amazementg there, Twenty-one Q 1936 INK POT ' its frame charred, its walls fallen in, was the house, nothing more than a heap of burned charcoal. A light fell upon his haggard face, a drop of color came into his pale cheeks, and once more Peter looked toward the heavens. This time the words came clearly, unhaltingly, filled with a tremulous ecstasy, By the will of God-yes it was by the will of God I EVELYN AIWPOLSK, '36. Hllf Treamre HE ivory keyboard changed its color to the yellow one often finds on old pianos, but the strong and vibrant tones still lingered when joshua sat down to play. He would enliven with this genius the crude place in which he lived as he poured out difficult and enchanting tunes. When he played the neighbors would stop their daily chores 5 even the housewives would sit by their open windows and listen eagerly, moving their fingers back and forth to the rhythm of the music, so rich and vivid. Upon hearing Joshua play one would think him a young man but he was notg he was an old man whose shining white hair hung gracefully below his ears. His eyes and smiling lips showed friendliness and kindness. His thin, white, blue-veined hands looked sacred and unreal, but when he played they would glide up and down the keyboard, alive and strong. Even the hardest crescendoes he played so smoothly and clear that they rang like a bell. Joshua was, indeed, a very poor man and ashamed of his manner of dressing with his worn coat and his crumpled black felt hat. Many a time he felt downcast and forlorn, but when he sat down on his piano stool and began to play, his face would lighten, his eyes glow, and he would forget all his sorrows. He was rich . . . rich with the most beautiful talent of all, music. He was living once more in a new and different world . . . Buildings stand gleaming, Not a sun's ray avoids them, Not a cool place about them Not a sound issues forth From their dim interiors. A pedestrian approaches, His footsteps lagging, His shoulders stooping, His brow beaded With drops of moisture. H eat DOROTHY WEITZNER, '39. The mist from the pavements Rises about him, Seems to envelop him,' Clings to his clothes With its sticky wetness. A car approaches, Its horn barking, Its body glistening, Its loud color clashing With the heated stillness. Trees stark still, Not a leaf stirring, Not a sound to be heard, Not a cloud to be seen On the hazy horizon. JUDITH FRANK, '36 Twenty-two ' 1936 INK POT ' Per.r0nalil:y Submergea' COLD is one of the banes of my existence. I am unceremoniously stuck into bed at the least sign of a snifiile. My opinion is not consulted. lVIy wishes are not gratified. Instead, someone administers a vile brew, consisting of hot water, an overwhelming amount of lemon juice and a stingy portion of sugar. To an uninitiated person this would seem like just a harmless hot lemonade, but far from it, it burns my throat and draws my mouth together in an agony of terrible sourness. According to my family I am very much like one of the soldiers of The Charge of the Light Brigade : Mine not to make reply, lliine not to reason why, lbline but to do and die, - which means that I am supposed to submit silently to the smothering solicitude that disregards my demands and puts me at the mercy Cor is it the mercy?J of my family. My mother pops in to say good-bye and patiently reminds me for the third time that if I have to get up, I must be sure to put my slippers on. In the evening my father lectures me on the fact that my cold isn't so bad, and that the only reason I didn't go to school was because I was lazy, and then triumphantly clinches the matter by saying that when he was young, etc. The combined sufferings I have just narrated serve to give me an expression of anguish, and if the reader looks at me some time, when I'm at school after an absence due to a cold, he will find me looking partly ethereal, which, as you know, means nearer Heaven than Earth! LEE EITINGON, '38. To a Poet What I Do from Day to Day Lo! How mighty he stands, The creator of words! How strong is he whose pen Can write songs for the birds, And lullabies for sunsets, And nocturnes for the nights- Sweet lyrics for all mankind Of Nature's fair delights! How great is he, the painter Of scenes we're made to see, Whose gently flowing language Brings worlds to you and me! Soft melodies and love songs, And ballads light and gay- Such works are of his making, Such mastery is his sway. And you and I but wonder At stories told in song. In awe we dwell in memories, In dreamlands drift along. For the singer, lo! immortal! Over all casts a spellg And you and I but wonder At tales he has to tell. JOAN Hokwrrz, '36 All that I do from day to day Is much the same in every way. From Monday to Friday at seven o'clock, I jump out of bed when I hear the maid knock. Then I dress, eat breakfast, and again as a ru e, I go over my homework before going to school. At one, school is over and we're through for the day, But for meetings, gym, or rehearsing a play. A walk with a friend usually follows all this, For a little fresh air I don't want to miss. By then it is Eve and my homework I do, Sometimes it just seems that I'll never get through. At nine I'm in bed and a good book I read, Till I turn out the light for the sleep that I need, But Saturdays and Sundays are different you know, And to luncheons, movies, and dancing I go. And now you have read in this little poem All that I do at school and at home. JANE OPPENHEIMER, '40 Twenty-three Q 1936 INK POT Q Cupid M zirrer His Mark ISS JANE PERKINS was what is commonly known as a dear old lady. Not only her appearance, but her mannerisms and speech all led to that con- clusion. Her dress was at all times meticulous in a quaint, Victorian way, her fluttery hands and birdlike movements misled many into thinking her a much younger woman than she actually was, and lastly, she spoke in a soft, feminine voice with all the beguiling but unconscious coyness of a girl of eighteen. Everyone in jenkensville knew and loved her. She was one of those persons who is absolutely indispensable at the bedside of a sick person, for her gay, light-hearted chatter with its many Witty comments made the time spent in her company pass quickly. Everyone wondered why she and Harry jones had never married, but no one dared to ask her about it. Some petty quarrel, they supposed, had shattered their romance. It was the constant subject of discussion whenever the local sewing circle had nothing newer to gossip about. jane's unsuccessful romance could always be depended upon to keep the talk going for a good half hour. They would invariably conclude with the opinion that the two still loved each other as much as ever they did twenty, thirty and even forty years ago, for didn't they send each other valentines every February fourteenth? The cards were generally funny, never bordering on the romantic. After thrashing out the Jones-Perkins affair, the ladies laid it aside for future reference upon that day when the news or gossip would again be scarce. This year, as lyliss Perkins set out on the fourteenth of February on her card buying campaign, she was prompted by a daring thought. She wondered if she could actually find the courage to send the type of valentine she was looking for. She made her way slowly down llflarket Street, letting no window escape her scrutiny. She read every verse on every card, and rejected them as unsuitable. She had but three more Windows left, and the prospect of failing to End exactly what she had in mind now loomed up terrifyingly. One more window to go-and there it Was! Sitting right in the middle of the corner drug store window was the object of her quest, a big, red, shiny, heart-shaped card with the perfect verse printed thereon. It expressed a little more than she had ever dared to send before, it expressed, some- how, a desire for a reconciliation. She wondered at her own audacity, but dauntless, entered the store, bought it and mailed it without a signature. Later that afternoon, Harry Jones, ambling along hlarket Street with the same purpose in mind as our heroine had, was attracted by the identical valentine. He likewise bought and mailed it without a signature. His next twenty-four hours were spent in torturing himself with endless queries as to the effect of the card on his one-time sweetheart. When the mail came the following morning, he wondered what sort of valentine jane would send him this year. Opening the envelope, he was startled to discover that his attempt at reconstructing their friendship had met with a complete rebuff. She had merely, he supposed, put his valentine in another envelope and returned it to him immediately. He wondered exactly how angry she was at his boldness. His chagrin was inexpressible, but he consoled himself as best he could by realizing that an old boy of his age should have known better than to indulge in such childish pranks. That was the last year he ever sent jane a valentine. jane was surprised, also, to discover that her erstwhile lover had been so thoughtless and crude. She thought the least he could have done, if he didn't like her valentine, was to throw it out. But to send it back-the indignity of her situation appalled her Victorian modesty. Her chagrin was inexpressible, but she consoled Twenty-four . 1936 INK POT ' herself as best she could by realizing that an old lady of her age should have known better than to indulge in such childish pranks. That was the last year she ever sent Harry a valentine. Now, when they pass each other on llflarket Street, they pretend not to see each other. The sewing circle has something new to talk about. SHIRLEY GREENE, '36. The Sock Ifognital YOU have heard of human, dog, cat, shirt and numerous other kinds of hospitals, but I am organizing something new. It will be a delight to the bachelor and I shall call it The Sock Hospital. When the sole is in danger of becoming too holey I shall try to bring it again to its normal condition, also any other part of the sock. Bring all your darning to Sadie Stone john Henry Evans was the recipient of the above circular letter. He read it twice as he sipped his coffee, it gave him something to think about. He was not a confirmed bachelor, neither was he out hunting for eligible wives. Queer thing, a Sock Hospital, he muttered. l've always done my own work since I was a boy. However, he turned and patted Towser, his Newfoundland, however, old boy, we'll go and see this, he glanced at the letter, Sadie Stone. She's new to these parts and might be good copy for a story. John Henry Evans assorted his socks during the entire morning, and, after accumulating a fair-sized pile and eating a meager lunch, he started toward the new Sock Hospital. What he had expected Miss Stone to look like he did not know, but his vague ideas had certainly not included the pretty little woman that met him at the door. He introduced himself, told her his mission, and hastily departed. Sadie Stone had not been brought up in the village. She chose it to win her fame. She kept the population-at least the male portion of it-amused with her very original ideas, At the end of three weeks business began to slacken. The men had worn their socks to shreds in order to take them to her. After Sadie had darned their socks till they could be darned no longer, her customers had to buy new ones. Sadie thought of all sorts of ways to encourage trade, and finally the idea of a tournament suggested itself to her. She posted signs all over the town. A large gold medal, they read, will be awarded to the man who has the most pairs of socks legitimately darned next week. Sadie had thought twice before she inserted the word legitimately g the men had been known to use scissors on their hose in order to see her. After the announcements Sadie found herself head over heels in work. At the end of the week it looked as if the men were all about equal, all except john Evans. He hadn't turned in a single pair by Friday night. Saturday morning, the last day of the contest, John Evans walked into the Hospital with a bundle as big as himself. He nervously began to explain. I had a wonderful story. You were in it. He hesitated. You see I walked to the city, to wear out my socks, and incidentally see the editor of a magazine, but I'm back, and as I have to end my story happily I hope to win the contest and then you. Sadie looked at him and then laughingly asked, You put me in the story? Isn't that rich! I came to Workeiisbtlrg to get copy myself. However, after they heard each other's stories they decided to combine forces. ,IANE POLL, '38. Twenty-five + 1936 INK POT + The Dreaming Sea I have been told there is a wondrous land, Fairer than others in this darker earth. 'Tis girded in by mountains huge that stand Changeless since first the old world saw its birth. Grim giants they, which guard it closely round. Sheer from their heights the precipices fall, Barring it in with adamantine wall, And closing it from outer sight and sound. Save where a cliff lets a bright river through, Seeming to sleep, but flowing onward still, Waving the weeds which slowly rustle, too, And all the shore with slumberous mur- murs fill. The air is very drowsy, and the sun Shines through a veil with soft light dimly shed' Faintly the blue sky glimmers overhead, Faintly the rivers whisper as they run. Stealing along, and flowing to a mere, Blue, bright and calm yet treacherous and deepg No ripple stirs upon its surface clear, It seems as dead, yet doth it only sleep: It sleeps above the icy depth profound, Nor only sleeps, for shapes and forms there seem That it doth fashion. Changing like a dream, They gather, Hit, and pass without a sound. Beneath the wave they Hoat, and you may see Others above it, passing from the gaze- Fair lovely phantoms, in the glimmering E haze. Therefore men call that mere The Dreaming Sea. There are strange people in that land of shadeg They idly watch the visions that they see Vanishing slowly into vacancy, And others follow, and as slowly fade. And if you ask them what they watch so long, So silent, with a fixed and dreamy gaze, They point unto the ever-shifting haze, And answer low, like echoes of a song: Twenty-six These are our dreams. We find them here again. Once they all fied from our impassioned grasp, But here our truant bliss once more we clasp, We hold our joys and leave far off our pain. Here fiits their beauty, and to aching eyes Brings what the world crushed in its iron hand, Here, lovelier than before, for aye they stand, Visions of love and joy to idolize. Here spring again, as with- a fairer birth, Sunset's bright clouds, the warm wind's perfumed breath, The rose's blush untouched by time or death, The grace, the glow, the glory of the earth. Why should we struggle vainly with our lot, When we have gained these shores of calmer joys, Far from the heat, the hurry and the noise Of that stern world by which we are forgot? Enough of care and toil, of wounds and woe, Enough of sobbing out our weary pain, Enough of tears that fall like bitter rain, Enough of wrecks and heartbreaks there below. Trouble us notg our old life fades and falls, It passes, but we care notg let it rest. While we can here gain all that we love best Trouble us not-we care not what befalls. Ah, yes, 'tis sweet Cwe know it but too welll, Ere comes the cold truth, which all too soon arrives, To live once more by memoryls misty spell, To live our dreams, and dream away our lives, To bid awhile the weary labors cease, To let our lives, by many a tempest toss't, Gather in fancy bright things loved and lost, And gently drift to visioned rest and peaceg Calm and' yet happy and forgetfully, Wrapt in the mist of a delicious dream, Floating adown Iife's dark and treacherous stream, Yet gliding onward to a Dreaming Sea. SrMoNE'r'rs LANs, '38 Q 1936 INK POT + Pufple Grapes THE music rose to a mighty crescendo, filling the small church with glorious sound. A feeling of security surged through Anthony's heart as he knelt there under the folds of Saint Lucia's robes. It seemed as if he were back in sunny Italy, plucking the luscious purple grapes. Ah, those purple grapes! VVhat ecstasy! If only he could crush their sweetness in his mouth once more. But no, here in America people thought only of money, and their sole ambition was to make money, for they knew nothing of spreading vines and fragrant grapes. Somehow here in church his despair had dropped from him, and the thought of having enough money for passage to Italy for his beloved Mario and himself did not seem so impossible any more. As he rounded a corner on his way home, he bumped into a rough looking man who, at first, cursed him, but, when he had looked at him closely, stopped abruptly and motioned to Anthony to follow him. Bewildered, he did so, and soon found himself in a dingy hallway, mounting a flight of rickety stairs. The man in his careless, rough manner said, Hey, buddy, wanna make some easy money ? This brief question seemed heaven-sent to Anthony and he nodded dumbly as in a daze, yet eagerly. His escort rapped three times at a nearby door which was opened by a large burly man. The two men conversed in a whisper for a few minutes and then the leader spoke to Anthony, Well, what about it ? Anthony, perplexed, replied that he did not understand and the leader impatiently explained. They were going to execute a well-planned robbery and needed a small, wiry man like him to climb through a window and open a door for them. For this he would get three hundred dollars, just enough money for passage to Italy, thought Anthony. After his bit he would be free to leave. Anthony's conscience fought a brave battle, but his heart conquered, and he reluctantly agreed. The next night he appeared at the appointed spot, still fearful as to the outcome of all this. All the members of the gang piled into a rattle-trap car, and after riding for some time, stopped in'front of a small store which bore a faded sign, Pietro Vembesco-Fresh Fruits. Getting out of the car, they crept cautiously up an adjacent alley, where Anthony was shoved up onto a window sill. Silently he slid through the open window. All was dim, he could discern nothingg but as he stepped toward the door, where the men were expectantly waiting, he saw barrels of fresh fruit tightly packed. Groping forward blindly, he stumbled over a basket, falling and spilling its contents. As he sat on the Hoor dazed, rubbing a skinned hand, a scent of familiar sweet- ness filled the shop. He sat up abruptly and saw scrambled, far and wide, purple grapes, luscious purple grapes, the earthy and heavenly smell of Italy still upon them. Through Anthony's brain ran one thought. He must escape without accomplish- ing this terrible deed, or, even if he did go back to Italy with this money, how could he truthfully live in peace with God and himself? He never fully remembered how he got out, but he found himself in the old church kneeling before Saint Lucia. And blessed be the good God for delivering me from the cruel and unfaithful, Anthony sobbed out as he kissed the good Saint's robes. LILLIAN FICHTENHOLTZ, '39, Twenty-seven Q 1936 INK POT + DiII6Vldf1.011 On Bed! I-IE first of my beds I remember was my crib. I used it until I was about three. It was very large with white bars and sides that came up and closed. All I remember of it are two experiences, both unpleasant. Someone had told me a terrible story of a bogey man who came in the dark and stole away little girls like me. Whoever it was must have told me that he creeps up from behind and grabs his victim, because I remember trying very hard to stuff the pillow behind my head so that I couldn't be seen from the back. I don't suppose my nursery was an unusually large room, but no room before or since has ever seemed as big as that room seemed that night. It was very dark, but that didn't really matter, as I didn't dare look behind to see if he was there. It was so quiet-I remember vividly the sound of my frightened breathing, and the pregnant quiet of my room as if all things were waiting for the bogey man to say, Boo! I must have been a very brave child, because I am sure that now I wouldnlt try to fool a bogey man. I'd just jump up and run. The other occasion was really an event in my life. It was the only time I ever had a nightmare. I don't remember what started it-possibly a second helping ot chocolate layer cake. CI was very fond of chocolate layer cake in my youth.D Anyway, I remember walking around the circus, and finding to my horror that all the animals were loose! I think the first thing that tried to swallow me was a hippopotamus. It opened yawning jaws to get me, and just when I was on its tongue I woke up. The room was hot and stuffy and very still, but strangely enough, it wasmy room. It looked just the same as if I had not almost been eaten. I was really a little surprised. I had always liked my room, and I thought my room ought to like me enough to look just a little sorry for me, but it didn't. It stood there with its white dresser and chairs and all my dolls, and looked just as impassive as ever. In fact it reassured me a little, so I fell asleep again. That was very foolish of meg I should have known better, but I guess I was too young. After all, three isn't very experienced, especially since it was my first nightmare. This time it was a lion that took a fancy to me. It was really a very handsome liong the handsomest lion I had ever seen, sleeping or otherwise. But at the moment, the thing that struck me most in the lion was his size. Now as any three-year-old knows without being told a lion is about as big as a dog, just up to your waist. But this lion! It was as big as I. Oh, decidedly! In fact, if you considered it length- wise as well, it was even bigger. This lion apparently liked little girls as much as I liked chocolate layer cake, because he emitted an enormous roar and opened his mouth very wide to swallow me. The surprising thing was that his mouth seemed to grow, so that by the time it was wide open, I could have ridden right in on my kiddie-car. I think I meant to go in, even without the kiddie-car, it was really such a beautiful mouth. It had two rows of shiny white teeth in all shapes, and the nicest passage with two very red tonsils for an entrance. The tongue lay Hat and served as a carpet. I was just going to go in, when the lion fin excitement, I supposej roared a most terrific roar. His tonsils swayed wildly: his tongue undulated madly for a moment, and even his teeth seemed to shake. The whole world seemed to echo from a thousand places the thunder of his roar. I woke up in terror. My body was hot and trembly, and the sheets seemed damp and clinging. The room, surprisingly, was very still. The moon peeped in. and the soft night wind moved the white ruffled curtain. I grew calm again. After a while I graduated to a real grown-up's bed. VVhenever I think of this bed I feel imprisoned again and very helpless. Twenty-eight + 1936 INK POT Q I had been run over and broken my collar bone. For a long, long time I had to stay in bed. I remember one night. Everything was dark, I was alone, and even now across the years there comes to me that moment of intense pain. IVIy third bed opened a new period in my life. I shared a room with my little brother, Stanley. His bed was next to mine, and at night we used to talk before we fell asleep. We would bring bowls of fruit and boxes of candy into the room, and eat them while we read or talked. Once we were alone at home, and we both were in bed, reading. I was just at the point where the hero was escaping with the heroine through a graveyard, when a low, mournful, long drawn out VVhoooo sounded through the house. I looked up at Stanley with such a frightened face that he became just as scared as I was. I jumped out of bed, with Stanley following, and rushed to the maid's room. All her threats and pleadings were useless. We refused to leave until Mother and Dad came home, and stood with us until we fell asleep. Thorough investigation the next day traced the sound to a Ventilating pipe in the hall. I remember one bright morning waking to find myself completely dressed, even as to shoes. I had delayed undressing until I should feel less sleepy, and meanwhile crawled in between the covers for a brief snooze, and fallen sound asleep. Then of course there was my camp bed. This bed included lots of adventuresg it possessed all the charm of forbidden fruit. We weren't allowed to have lights on after taps, so I used to burrow down under the blankets with my Hashlight and read as long as the air held out. We weren't supposed to leave our beds after we were all set for the night, so as soon as our councillor left we would all scramble on to the corner bed and whisper until we saw her returning. I remember, one night, two from our bunk had gotten permission to go to a movie in town. Through some coincidence the rest of us had managed to smuggle some food into the bunk. We saw the two off, giving them lists of things to buy for us. After taps we put two beds next to each other, gathered our food together, and then the three of us piled in. We decided to stay awake until they got back, which would be about twelve. First of all we divided the food and put their share aside. Now the best way for a camper to keep awake is to be told to go to sleep, but our councillor had told us that we could wait up for the others as a small com- pensation for not going 5 thus we were robbed of the best method. The next best way is to eat. We ate until our supply ran out, and then we used the last resourse -we talked. We began on nothing and graduated to fairy tales, but finally we gave up. It was hours before twelve. Lee was three-quarters asleep when in desperation I suggested the remaining food. Lee sat up and even Didy was revived. But I was seized with remorseg this was rank disloyalty, etc., etc. VVe argued with ourselves for half an hour and then finished the food. Now there was absolutely nothing to do but fall asleep. Lee, the worst culprit, was sleeping like a baby, Didy was whistling rhythmically away fshe had sinusj, and I was shaking hands with the sandman when the sound of loud whispers brought us all awake again. They were back and brought us as a special treat chicken salad sandwiches with sliced pickle. We sat up in bed and ate like starved wolves. Then having nothing better to do we fell asleep. lVIy next bed was still another step forward. With it came my own room. high-school, and the most acute stages of growing up. This bed includes poison-ivy, a badly sprained ankle, and a true appreciation of a bed. For I have found that one of the greatest comforts of life is to crawl into bed, turn over, relax, and fall asleep. JUDITH SCHERER, '36. Twenty-nine + 1936 INK POT Q Sportrmefz if Paradise HE pontoons skim over the water, the momentum increases, then comes one unforgettable moment, a moment in which a wave of indescribable emotions sweeps us upward with the rising plane. The plane's mechanical soul, soaring higher, reaches out to the heavens, then levels out in order to pick up speed. We feel like small dynamos ready to explode when we realize we are no longer in the world. We're above the clouds in the aviator's paradise. The horses tear madly up the field. They snort and stamp, their nostrils quiver. The same feeling of exultation and awareness stirs both horse and rider as they hear the sharp click, click that signifies that once again the mallet has found its mark. Polo! A game of speed, spills and sharp wits. A certain something impels spectators to wish they could take part, since we can't, however, we must be content to scream out wild suggestions as the players spur their ponies on toward the goal. But one doesn't have to be a polo player to get a thrill and a laugh out of horses and riding. Even in riding across an open field there is sure to be a fence to attract the horse's attention. In a moment we have had our first lesson in hurdling. Sometimes the horses get thirsty and so we stop by a brook. The horse gets tired Y of drinking, but then perhaps he'll decide to take a swim, and so we find ourselves Have you ever gone racing quite comfortably seated in the middle of the brook. up a spiral-shaped hill in the woods, through brambles and over logs? It's quite a sensation wondering if you and your horse will go the same way or whether you'll part company at the next turn. But what thrills us most is realizing that by a slight pressure of our knees our will becomes known to the horse. Horses are smartg that's why riders must be smarter. Tilting is a sport that is not very well known to most people. Two canoes, with two people each, set out. One paddles, the other carries a tilting pole, a long pole of about nine feet, at one end of which is something similar to a punching bag. The tilters stand on the gunwales of the boats. The object is to shove your opponent into the water. Bicycling is another sport in which the unexpected often happens. We're pedaling along at a terrific rate, and before we know it we're apologizing to somebody or other for nearly murdering him. At the same time we're muttering something about just having discovered that the bike has hand instead of foot brakes. Whatever sport we choose for our own particular hobby doesn't matter, for all are similar in that they're grand fun. We know, too, that there is sure to be a surprise in store for us. l Resolve I will think of other things, Poised bird with outstretched w White cloud mirages in the sky, Infinite things that will not die, Roadside Howers' dusty faces, ings, Fireflies hidden in dark places- Be he proud as he is fair, I mus I will think of things more rare, Cry of loons across the lake I DOY Cafe. Should a heart that's mended ache? MADELEINE JACOBS, '36. A Thought In the night, when I, in bed, Say my prayers and rest my head, Children in some other lands Open their eyes and stretch their hands. Funny how the world turns round, And they wake when I sleep sound. Some day I'd like to travel far Where the people backwards are. MARION SCHUI-MAN, 36 Lrznoiu-: Aman., '41 Thirty + 1936 INK POT Q A Fairy Tale ONCE upon a time there was a girl named Judith. Judithls hobby was collecting books: she collected big books, she collected small books, and she also collected middle-sized books. She would ride on crowded subways to the other end of town, spend all her money except carfare home and considered herself thrice-blessed if she returned carrying ten pounds of books. Poor Judith was obsessed with the idea of book collecting. In her there burned the dangerous fever of a fad-possessed mortal. She grew thin, she grew wasted, her eyes burned with a fanatic gleam, her hands grabbed with greed every book she could pay for, and daily she staggered home under a fresh load of books. Poor Judith, even her best friends avoided her Qshe had tried without success to buy their books, tooj. Poor, poor Judith! Finally her mother decided to take a hand. She put on her bonnet and went calling on her best friend who happened to be a fairy and Judith's Godmother as well. Maud, said Judith's mother, I'm worried about Judith. She hasn't been eating well lately. She's lost weight and she doesn't sleep nights. What can I do ? Well, if we look at it medically, you could feed her ovaltine. But she was too fat in the first place, so we'll leave that out. On the other hand, if we look at it psychologically, it's her book-collecting that's working all the mischief. I know what's the trouble with Judith, said Judith's mother, but that's not the question. The question is what can I do about it ? ' You seem to have forgotten that lim a fairy, Arabella, said lilaud with a slightly offended air. Now you just leave it all to me, and everything will be all right. The thing I want you to do is to tell Judith I'd like to see her the day after tomorrow at one-thirty. Remember, one-thirty. I'll remember, I'll remember. Don't I always remember things? answered Arabella. Not when it's anything worth remembering, muttered Nlaud. When Judith arrived at her fairy Godmother's the next day she was ushered into the library. The room smelled of shellac, paint and turpentine. The books were piled in masses all around the room except in the center. In the center stood, to Judith's amazement, book after book in shining rows. Her Godmother, looking a complete wreck, was sitting on top of a stepladder painting books, which she handed to the butler, who with elaborate care stood each one up on the floor next to the one that had last been treated with shellac. Hello, said Judith. Oh, hello, Judy, replied her Godmother, come on in and help me. Judith groped her way with great difiiculty to the stepladder. When there, she sighed with relief and straightened up. Look out! yelled her Godmother. Oh, for heaven's sake-look what you have done. James, quick, hurry. James, with a lightning-like dart, retrieved the fallen book. NIaud's brush worked busily on it with three times the necessary labor, and she finally relinquished it to James, after a long and careful scrutiny for any defects. Arabella tells me you've been collecting books, said Maud, so, of course, as soon as I heard that I decided to remake my will fthis was all mere form because fairies live for hundreds of yearsl, leaving you all my books. Therefore, the first thing I want you to learn is how to take care of my library. We'll start with book shellacking. Now watch me. Thirty-one Q 1936 INK POT Q Maud proceeded to show Judith all the finer points in the shellacking of books. At the end of three hours a distraught Judith had shellacked at least four hundred books, her hands and forearms, and her hair and face Knot to mention one of her favorite dressesj. The sight of an unshellacked book made her wrist ache and the sight of a shellacked one made her want to kick it. Finally, at the end of another hour, llflaud suggested dinner. Judy almost collapsed. While a maid scrubbed lllaud and Judy scrubbed herself, lylaud chatted gaily on. You'll have to come over every afternoon for a few hours. Ilm so glad you're collecting books-I couldn't have entrusted this library to you otherwise. VVasn't it fortunate? Judy went hot and cold, she gulped, and then blurred out. But I stopped collecting books a while ago. I thought you knew. Oh dear-not really,', replied lblaud. 'Tm so sorry, you were such an apt pupil. VVhy, in a few months l believe you could have shellacked books yourself. Now isn't that too bad. And Judy lived happily ever after. JUDITH SCHERER, '36. 011 A Toy Slaebf DRPIARIY eyes, curling lashes, golden tresses and a little dot of crimson for a mouth. That was lylarie, the little doll that adorned that very special corner on Mr. Brown's toy shelf. She was far too lovely to be just a lifeless doll. She wore a rather wistful expression which suggested that her thoughts were remote from the toy shop. Her smile seemed to be a result of something that amused her lightly. Everyone that came into the shop exclaimed with a start, Oh, she looks so reall llflr. Brown was exceptionally fond of her and dusted her with the utmost care. He also felt that lylarie would some day get up from her little spot, and with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes curtsey and say, 'Tm really alive, not a doll. Mr. Brown decided that lblarie would not be for sale, for she added a certain warmth to the atmosphere of lifeless figures. At first Marie was delighted at being the center of all attention. She was the envy of all the dolls because she had a snug little spot and need never worry about being ruthlessly shoved about by some spoiled little girl. But before long she started to feel rather lonely, seeing the other dolls being taken away one by one. She almost felt as though no one wanted her, and that it was not because she was so grand that she remained with lVIr. Brown, who had a little place in his heart for her. The toy shop could never be the same again if Marie wasn't smiling down from the shelf. lylarie grew very sad. Her gleaming eyes were dimmed with tears, and her smile was now pensive. Her tiny heart felt as though it were going to break from loneliness. One morning when Mr. Brown reached her on his dusting tour he discovered her tousled head in her lap. He gently raised it and noticing that her eyes were closed he whispered, lVIarie, awake! Her lashes were sprinkled with crystal-like tears. Her mouth was no longer crimson but ashen white. He gasped, for he realized that his Marie could not hear him and would no longer smile down from the shelf. Alas! she had reallv had more than a sawdust heart, unlike those other lifeless dolls who smiled a painted smile! NORMA KAPLAN, '36. Thirty-two ' 1936 INK POT Q An Interview with Rurrell Hardie I RUSHED down to the National Theater thinking, I must be there by two o'clock or I won't be able to interview Russell Hardie. After arriving frather breathlessj I asked the manager if Mr. Hardie was ready to see me. Five minutes passed, then ten, then fifteen. Well, it's 2:15 now, I might as well leaveg he'll never come now. Suddenly I felt a queer feeling come over me and my hands turned icy. The reason was that Russell Hardie was striding toward me! He looked rather puzzled and was aware that my eyes were glued on his face. Did you wish to see me ? he asked. I gulped, Yes. Russell Hardie has a warm, charming smile, frank, friendly, gray-blue eyes which reveal him as a very likeable young man, light brown hair and the physique of a well-trained athlete, about six foot one. When one sees him for even the first time, one immediately realizes that he is very unassuming and that his apparent success has not made him conceited. Each question that I asked Russell Hardie was answered frankly. He reveals himself as a sincere, unspoiled young man with a charming personality. He was born in a little town near Buffalo, lvlay 20, 1908. Even as a child his ambition was to be an actor. He wasn't just stage-struck -oh, no-he was determined to act, and now here he is. hir. Hardie started to work when he was fourteen. His first real job was in the Ford Motor Company. After losing his job, he telephoned the leading lady, a friend of his, in a stock company, and she secured a small part for him. This started Russell Hardie's career. His parents were very much opposed to it, believing that he would go to the dogs. But that is according to the individual, he says, and you can go to the dogs anywhere, not only on the stage. Mr. Hardie did not receive a college education, and, although believing it isn't entirely necessary for the theatrical world, he says that it does give one more poise and self-confidence. For the moment I couldn't think of a question to ask him. You will probably think of millions after you leave, he smilingly said. His first play was Criminal Code, his favorite. His favorite actor is Alfred Luntg his favorite actresses are Katherine Cornell and Lynn Fontanne. hir. Hardie was under contract to Metro-Goldwyn-lllayer. His latest pictures are Sequoia and Old Kentucky Cwhich will be released soonj, with the late Will Rogers. Old Kentucky is the picture he enjoyed making most of all. I asked if he was returning to the cinema, and he replied, I would like to, but I'm sick of playing somebody's brother, and carting animals around. He prefers living in California, but likes the New York stage best. When I questioned him as to marriage, he said with a grin, No, I'm single. He looked expectantly for a sigh of relief, because he was accustomed to meeting many giggling school girlsf' I decided to be different! Do you think he was surprised? After glancing at my watch, and noting that it was 2:40, I realized that I had better withdraw, as he was due on the stage shortly. Russell Hardie is appearing in the current play Remember the Day, which in my opinion and that of many others, is an excellent show. LUCILLE SIMON, '37. A Lui Stars Amour amour qu'on aime tant! ,. . . . Tu n'es qu'une montagne haute, gvllnrlglg electgc lights Que l'on monte en chantant. Bwlfl e lmzi an 0 On pleure en descendant la c6te. Y I C C Ou S' Rnorm MINTZ, '37 PHYLLis MARGULIES, '36 Thirty-three Q 1936 INK POT + La Maternelle OUR la premiere fois j'ai vu un film frangais. Il etait tres interessant et en quelques II10tS je vais essayer d'en faire un resume. Une jeune femme, Rose, abandonnee par son fiance, est devenue femme de service dans une ecole Nlaternelle en France. Les enfants l'aiment beaucoup car elle est bonne et patiente. Une petite fille Surtout, lN'Iarie, qui est negligee par sa mere, est jalouse des autre enfants. Son affection pour Rose est tres forte. Un jour Rose fait la classe aux enfants quand un inspecteur vient visiter l'ecole. Il est surpris d'ap- prendre par la suite que c'est une bonne qui s'est montree si capable. Il l'admire et ne veut pas croire qu'elle n'est qu'une domestique. Le docteur de l'ecole finalement decouvre qu'elle est bien nee, bien elevee, et instruite. Il la demande en mariage et ils adoptent la petite Marie que sa mere a abandonnee. Tous sont heureux. Le film differe des films americains. Il y a moins d'action mais beaucoup de charme et une juste analyse de sentiments. Je l'ai trouve merveilleux. NONA STERN, '37, On Feet HE heat was appalling, the rush hour at its height. The subway was packed. There were no seats. I hung on a strap as many others did. My feet burned. lVIy expensive, smart-looking shoes pinched me so much that spots danced before my eyes. The consciousness of my feet became an obsession. I could think of nothing else. Finally, in an effort to divert myself, I looked about me. Feet, big feet, small feet, broad feet, narrow feet. A man sitting opposite me had enormous, square-toed shoes. His feet were turned completely inward, toe point to toe point. I realized that he must be bow-legged. The man next to me kept tapping his foot to a march. I shut my eyes and saw a vision of a brilliant summer day, a parade, heard the bands, heard the people cheer- ing, heard the drum beating Yankee Doodle. The marchers and the people bespoke health and happiness. Right foot, left foot, right, left, right. The dream passed. I turned and looked more closely at my neighbor. His clothes were thread-bare. He was unshaven. His face was sallow, his cheekbones prominent, and his shoulders drooped. I shut my eyes again. The band was silent. The people gone. The day cold and rainy. Only the marchers remained, a long line of men, hungry, poor, and seedy-looking-a bread-line. The marchers' feet plodded heavily in the mud and rain. Now and then a man would stamp on the ground to get the numbness out of his limbs. Daily, feet, hundreds, thousands of them plodded, stamped and dragged along past that relief-stand. The line was endless. My own sore feet were forgotten. A question burned within me. Could these feet ever march with gay uplifting rhythm, or would they merely plod on with the same unfaltering measure through life unto the grave? MURIEI. A. OPPENHEIMER, '37. Imagination Looking out of the window Thinking maybe it's heaven On a breezy summer's night, 'Vhere the angels roam and play, Wondering what's beyond the stars Maybe it's that place of dreams- Yn the sky of blue and white, Who knows? VVe cannot say. SARA LOUISE DAvm, '41 Thirty-four 0 1936 INK POT ' T bunder in fanumy AS every well informed person knows, thunder is not caused by the molecular action of electrically charged particles, but by the angels enjoying a bowling game up in heaven. The season for bowling is ordinarily the spring and summer months, and there are very strict laws forbidding bowling at any other time. It is a popular sport, however, so these laws are sometimes very difficult to enforce. It had been a very dull month for the younger set of angels, and they were just aching for something exciting to happen. The leader, a daring young angel, quite popular with the opposite sex, decided to tempt the rest of the crowd into a bowling match, thereby winning the admiration of his followers, but shocking his elders. It had snowed all day Sunday, and by the afternoon the angels could no longer resist the temptation of breaking the monotony. ln spite of all the rules and regula- tions, a bowling game was immediately started, only to be quickly put to an end by a delegation of angry and shocked elders. And that, my friends, is why you heard two short claps of thunder on the afternoon of January nineteenth. SHIRLEY LUBELL, '39, D123 Zwei K offer DIE zwei Kinder der Krau Schmidt heissen lllaria und Karl. lllaria geht zu ihrem Camp Wattatinyn und Karl geht auch, aber zu einem anderen. Es sind Zwei Koffer. Einer ist Marias Koffer und einer ist Karls Koffer. Sie sind sich gleich. Beide sind braun. Die Kinder gehen auf den Bahnhof und sagen, Auf Wiedersehen. Dann nimmt Maria einen Koffer und geht auf ihren Zug und Karl nimmt den anderen und geht auch auf seinen Zug. Als Maria im Camp ankommt, offnet sie ihren Koffer und ist sehr erstaunt, denn ein Ball fiillt daraus. Ein Mannerrock und viele Mannersachen sind darin. Und als Karl in seinem Camp ankommt, findet er in seinem Koffer ein gelbes Kleid und die ganze Kleidung seiner Schwester. Maria ist sehr traurig aber die Madchen lachen. Die Knaben necken Karl und sagen, Bitte, kannst du mir ein Kleid borgen, Schwesterlein ? LILLIAN FICHTENHOLTZ, '39. Songfr End I-,IFE is a song. To me few truer words have ever been spoken. Life we may compare to the Song of the Volga Boatmenf' The boatmen approach and their song becomes louder and more stirring the closer they come. It vibrates with all the burning hope of youth. Finally the climax: they are upon us with one glorious burst of melody, and we realize that the world was made for the gaiety and the sparkling brilliance of youth. The boatmen never pause in their journey. As they pass their song becomes fainter, just as we in old age become weaker. No longer can those who were once overflowing with energy command the attention of the world. Instead these frail bodies with dimming senses can only sit serenely and wait. The song fades into the distance. Life becomes an echo. Even the dipping of the oars into the water grows dimmer, and soon only a gentle swish may be discerned. Then a quiet stillness, tremulous with memories, settles down on the night of life. MADELEINE Jfxcons, '36. Thirty-five Q 1936 INK POT + A Glimpse of Mexico MAJESTIC cliffs, coral colored in the sunlight, towered above the glistening water. Atop the rocky bluffs the island lighthouse loomed, second highest in the world, a challenge to Gibraltar. With this awe-inspiring view before me I caught my first glimpse of Mexico, that land of gay color and subtle charm. The harbor of Mazatlan reveled in multicolored beauty. The sloping city, with pink and aquamarine rooftops within the bay, was massed along the foreshoreg the hills stretching away beyond to seeming infinity. Large buzzards circled overhead and then gracefully swooped down and skimmed the surface of the water. This was one of the most picturesque approaches to any port that I have ever visited. I was eager to disembark and discover what lay behind this beautiful water- front. The drive through the city revealed a quaint little town with narrow Streets and drowsy donkeys poking along, laden with packs, or a villainous Pancho riding in cross-legged fashion. Small, dark-eyed children jabbered in Spanish and begged for coins. The adobe houses fascinated me with their inlaid mosaic floors and colorful patios. Wrought-iron grills protected the windows, but the doors were wide open in invitation to the curious. Rough-looking Mexicans wearing tall and peak crowned sombreros cut unusual figures. Being a typical tourist, I was eager to get a snapshot of one of these characters. I finally spied one who was excellent photographic material. He was stockingless and wore leather sandals with his toes sticking out, patched trousers a little longer than knee length and a gay colored kerchief on an otherwise dreary-looking shirt. He seemed to be chewing vigorously on a corn pipe and making very wry faces. He saw me starting to approach him and immediately began shuf- fling along at a very leisurely pace. I decided that I wasn't going to be daunted and followed him. At a place where I thought I had cornered him, he reeled around and gave me a menacing glance that terrorized me, so that before he knew what happened to me I was out of sight. For the remainder of the day my camera rested in my pocket. The market place with all its truly colorful wares was fascinating. Large water jugs with crude designs appeared to be quite the thing to adorn a primitive hearth. Woven rugs in odd and intricate patterns and various sorts of tooled leather goods were displayed. Mexican sense of caricature was evident in the amusing toys. The painted pig in the purple and pink stripings, sometimes with a whistle in its tail or a slot in the back for a penny bank, caused many a laugh. There were so many things to see that I would have liked to poke about for hours, but time hardly permitted. I returned to the boat just as twilight was settling over the village. Little shadows were creeping about. Just the dim outline of the houses was discernible against the dark background of the mountains. Quiet and peace reigned. As the boat lifted anchor, I felt a little lump in my throat as I realized that it was Adios, Mexico! NORMA KAPLAN, '36. Pussy Cat's Manners My kitty was thirsty It doesn't seem quite mannerly, So I asked her to tea, But she's just a velvet cat, But now she has drunk it all So I expect she doesn't know And left none for me. She shouldn't act like that. PATRICIA Ausmmcn, '41 Thirty-six Q 1936 INK POT 0 News Flash ONIETHING had happened to the radiog all the local stations had suddenly ceased to broadcast, for some unknown reason. Then once again the voice of the announcer was heard, but this time notes' of excitement and anxiety could be detected in his voice. News flash: The S.S. lllonronia, of the Blue Diamond Line, has foundered off Cape Horn. Nearby vessels are rushing to her aid, but with the heavy seas and severe storms in this section it will be at least a day before help can be on hand. Y 'I' 'K il' ik 'li 'I' X 'F if 'il' In a little seaboard town situated somewhere on the coast of North America, an old woman sat in her favorite chair listening to the radio. She, too, had heard the announcement, but it did not seem to alarm her, though greatly excited she walked about her room, deftly placing already well arranged articles in different positions, all the while smiling a bit to herself in reassurance. This was the chance john had been waiting for, these many years, he would Il0t overlook this heaven-sent opportunity. if il- 'lk 'll' SK- ik- if SK- -If 'li' 'K Captain Saulters stood on the bridge of the ill-fated vessel, directing his men. His cool, unassuming actions served to re-establish a strong, new feeling of confidence and hope in them. He was a tall, rugged-looking individual, this old sea-dog, a typical Yankee skipper, who had, as a heritage from earlier days, learned the laws of self-preservation and defiance of the sea. At this very moment he was engaged in trying to keep his ship on a straight course, his eyes never left the instrument board. A look of frustration fringed his troubled brow. The intensity of the storm was increasingg the vessel was listing badly on the star-board side. How long could they possibly remain afloat? How long could the inevitable be staved off? But in this brief interlude, he had time to reflect a bit over bygone days. He remembered with pride his first command and his marriage to Mary. A sudden tremor of emotion swept through his body as he recalled with dismay the Black Hull, his first ship. The very thought of this caused a cold sweat to envelop him. It must never happen againg a similar occurrence he could never bear to face. A cold, icy spray from some mountainous wave which had washed over the ship brought him promptly back to his senses. Calling his mate, he lashed out his orders. Have the men abandon holds one and two. Close the compartment doors and leave the cargo to its fate. Captain, answered the mate gruffly, that cargo is worth a fortune. What possible value could cargo have when it endangered human life? It could always be replaced, but the sailors, most of whom were family men with wives and children depending on them for their very existence, never could be. They owed the company only their allegiance where labor was concernedg life had never entered into the contract. Get below and carry out my orders at once! bellowed the captain, after coming to his decision. lt's I who's running this boat, it's I who gives the orders. Now carry on before I throw you in irons. Somehow he felt very much relieved, he honestly felt that he had chosen the right path, and come now what may, he would never change his plans. K- -R -IE il' ik it 'X' -I' il' 1- I' The radio announcer was talking again. News again of the ill-fated Jllonrovin. Help reached the vessel late last night, and thirty-five men have been transferred safely aboard the rescue ship. However, Thirty-seven Q 1936 INK POT Q a profound touch of tragedy, so true of the sea, has added drama to an otherwise happy ending. Captain Saulters, master of the ship, was found by the rescue party dead upon the bridge. Tenderly, but firmly grasped in his hand was the faded picture of a beautiful young girl dressed in a bridal costume. -Ik it -JK BK' -Ni 'IF -Ili BK' -lk' -JF -JK' The little old lady was still rocking in her chair. Her rocking was reminiscent of surf breaking against a rockbound shore and washing over a dead body. Thank God, she softly murmured, I knew he would redeem himself for the failure of his first ship if given the chance, I knew John Saulters was a good man when I married him. And the rocking chair slowly creaked on. JOAN JACOBSON, '38. The CdP,7l SO I takes the black-guard by the neck, and with me own two hands, I feeds him to the sharks. Ooh, did you really, Cap'n ? asked a saucer-eyed pigtail. The Cap'n shook his head in assent as he removed a battered old sailor's cap from a mop of thick, flaming hair. Now, with the sun playing brilliantly on it, it seemed to take a fierce, fiery glow which did not at all befit this mild old man of the sea. Sitting there, smiling amiably at his audience, composed mainly of children, he puffed at his ancient pipe which had long since become part of him. One of the village gossips had said, Ei ye wants to find the Cap'n, look fer his pipe. A strange thing to say about a man, but then, everything about the Cap'n was strange. His love for children was one of the things the villagers of this quiet New England town could not grasp. He Was a large, well-built man with a pale, smooth, almost girlish complexion, more like a city-fellar than the old sea captain he claimed to be. His large knuckled hands were clumsy, but, when he offered the always magically filled cookie jar to his small friends, they seemed to be the nicest, kindest, I1l0St adept hands those young eyes had ever seen. Ah, but his eyes! They had a magnetic pull to their softness which compelled you to look at his almost huge, dominating Hgure. Those eyes, sad and sorrowful, yet gay and twinkling, were full of expression, they were his personality, they were him. The beak-nosed, gossipy spinsters could not understand him. lVIany years ago he had come to live among them and had bought the small shack at the ocean's edge. On stormy nights people said he walked the beach, sobbing bitterly, and no matter how much the doctor had warned him against it, a large figure could be seen trudging the beach on nights when most people would not set foot out of their houses. The last of the cookies had disappeared, and with it his little audience. The sea giant had seated himself in his creaking old rocker and unfolded a yellowed newspaper article. A sweet, girlish face was smiling adoringly at a small, snub-nosed boy. His eyes were twinkling, and if the picture had been in color one would have seen that he had the same flaming hair as the Cap'n. Under the picture words could still be read, but faintly: Wife and son of young captain lost at seaf' The article told of a young man who had taken his wife and son on his first voyage as Captain. The ship had met a horrible fate in a treacherous sea. The Cap'n sighed wearily and looked out toward the ocean, searchingly, yearn- ingly. None knew the reason for the sad, painful look in those merry old eyes. LILLIAN FIcHTENHoI.Tz, '39, Thirty-eight Q 1936 INK POT ' Faith T HE wind howled and blew the sleet in all directions. lt was a wretched night, a night in which a mother should be home before a blazing fire telling bedtime stories to a sleepy-eyed child. But for Anna life was not like that, warm and cozy, but hard and cold. She was walking now with her head down, her chin against her chest, to brace herself from the wind's sharp fangs. Laughter from above caused her to jerk her head and look upward. Glancing into the window she saw young men and women, warm and gay, laughing and joking, with evidently nothing better to do than drink to each other's health in champagne. She turned away with a disgusted look and muttered to herself, They squander money, those young fools. While people starve and fight for life they drink champagne. A chuckle escaped her, but the almost black eyes fiamed with fire and vengeance. Soon she came to the poorer section where in the midst of the bitter cold she came upon the Temple and entered its holy portals. Its very silence was reverent. She sat down in a pew and soon her face relaxed from its tense expression and the dark eyes filled with tears. One could see from the finely chiselled nose that she was not common. Folding her hands, she lifted earnest eyes and said, Why am I here begging help from YOU? ls it because I'm a Jew? Surely that cannot be the whole truthful reason. Tell me, dear Lord, how can I keep from becoming like my parents and grandparents. They cringed, shied from the fact that they were Jews, because the people told them they were no earthly good in this world. That is not true, I know it, I feel it. Help me to keep my courage, restore my failing faith in my religion, my people, and myself. She sat quietly for a moment, not an eyelash blinked, not a finger moved, and then she got up and went into the cold night, head up, shoulders back. As she reached the top flight of stairs leading to her room, she heard the lusty cry of her baby. Opening the door, she ran to the crib and picked up the soft bundle, smothering it with kisses. You want your supper, don't you, darling? she said, and went to the closet to get some milk. She heated the milk, put some in a bottle and gave it to the child. Then she put him to bed and rocked him to sleep. When the dark eyes had closed in contented slumber, she lay on her bed and stared at the ceiling. The room was very small, but she kept it immaculate. Slowly her gaze turned to the child and filled with tender compassion. Little Ralph, she whispered, your struggle won't be as hard as mine, for I shall make it easier for you if I can. But, my darling, always remember, never give up your hopes or faiths, for where there's hope and faith there's life. The next morning dawned cold and crisp. When Anna awoke the sun was streaming into the one small window. She dressed quickly, made her breakfast and her child's and went over to Ralph. After dressing him, she took him to the janitor, who kept him for her while she looked for work. Emerging from the house, young, hopeful and lovely, she gave no inkling of the rebellion that surged in her heart for those who make life so difiicult. Walking to the car, she took out a nickel and rode to her destination. Upon entering the room she noticed that there were many ahead of her. Finally when it was her turn, the man asked, Age ?', Thirty,,' she replied. Experience ? None in this line, she answered Religion ? he shot at her, and the beady eyes were cold as he awaited the answer. Her body stiffened, but she answered steadily, I am a Jewessf' Sorry, you won't do. Next, he called impersonally. Thirty-nine Q 1936 INK POT ' But Anna had already thrown herself at him pleadingly. Please, she cried, I have a son, my husband is dead and our food is giving out. That's your worry, he replied, but behind those heady eyes, there was perhaps a little sympathy, mixed with admiration for the woman who stood before him, not fiinching, but with steady eyes and an erect body. She walked from the room, shoulders back, head high, but when she emerged all will power had left her. She looked years older and her figure bespoke an air of despondency. Months passed and still she found no work. At last, in desperation, she placed her child upon the cold steps of an elaborate home. Pinning on the warm blanket a note, Take care of my child or place him in a home. He is a Jew, but how can a little child help that? If you keep him tell him his mother loved him, and that he should never forget to fight for his rights, but if in despair he should always remember to have faith and hope, for if one has those two things there's life. She kissed him again and walked slowly away. She did not know how long she had walked, but soon she came to the Temple and halted suddenly. She gazed at it in awe and, finally, mustering all her strength she limped onward. Wearily she climbed the steps and then, as the last time, she was alone. She could not reach the pew, and she sank to her knees on the cold stone floor. With her last breath she prayed, Dear Lord, grant a dying woman one last wish. Take care of my son and guide him and his people to glory and peace. EDITH WILSON, '39. One Rainy October Night MY cab pulled up to the corner and stopped with a short jerk. Upper New York lay black and shining in the rain of October 10, 1935, at six-thirty o'clock. Trolleys groaned along One Hundred and Twentieth street, and here and there a one-time luxurious automobile honked its horn, slammed on its brakes and went screeching around the curb with an alley of water splashing the nearby pedestrians. The red, blue and yellow lights of Loew's Motion Picture House and Keith's R. K. O. lay in the reflection of puddles of the heavy downpour. The Broadway Heights are crowded with people hurrying to and fro along the streets. A man bumps into a lady carrying parcels from Woolworth's, the string comes undone, she scowls and utters something beneath her breath, he begs a quick, meaningless pardon. Then he hurries on into the movie, pausing but for a brief moment to gaze at the picture of Joan Crawford, glamorously gowned and illuminating. He fingers for his change, pays the cashier and enters the show. A young woman emerges hurriedly from the sweet, homey, delightfully smelling Cushman's, a small boy clings to her laden-down arms, she holds her umbrella with difficulty, they rush for the crossing, she bumps umbrellas with another, but is safely across the street. On the corner below the lights of Liggett's drug store stands a young lady, apparently waiting for someone. Her hat is pulled cockney fashion over her right eye, her coat is held tightly about her neck, one button is gone, her flimsy hose are clinging with wetness to her ankles, her shoes are soggy and wet with water. She gazes impatiently up and down, up and down. No one comes. The light has changed, my cab drives on. JULIET F1scHL, '36. Forty Q 1936 INK POT Q Sumet and T wilzglat in the COUMIUI HAVE you ever stood on a hill gazing at the crest of another, larger hill in the distance to watch the sunset? If you haven't, you've missed one of the wonders and glories of nature. It is no wonder that artists of every period paint sunsets and the twilights which follow them. A sunset always appears to me as if the sun in all its glory and magnificence is saying goodby to the world, and wanting to leave a lasting impression behind it. The sun seems to sink slowly to the crest of the hill, becoming more orange and redder all the time. Finally in one last plunge of glistening color it appears to hit the hill top, and bound off behind it. Then its sparkling rays, thrown up from behind the hill, gradually become dimmer and dimmer until they melt into the onrushing shadows. The many colors of the sky fade into a greyish white and-twilight is here. It seems then that the world stands still for a while contemplating what to do next. The silence is soon broken by the faint twittering of the birds as they settle in their nests, and by the tinkling of the cowbells as the cows are let out to pasture for the night. By this time the greyness has turned to black, and here and there a twingling star may be seen in the sky. -IUDITH FRANK, 36. Der Kleine Karl ER zu Fritzens Haus kommt, bringt immer etwas Gutes fur den kleinen Karl. Karl ist ein ,Iahr alt. Er ist sehr lustig. Er lauft und springt gern. Er ist sehr froh wenn jemand mit ihm spielt. Jeden Tag sagt Fritz zu ihmg Gluten Tag, mein kleiner Karl. Wie geht es heute ? Woof! Woof! bellt Karl. CONSTANCE Mamowrrz, '39. Bellum PAUCIS annis ante bellum in Europa cum familia in pace habitavi. Pater meus et frater fuerunt agricolae et studio et diligentia magna laboraverunt. Agros pulchros coluerunt et copiam cibi frumentique semper habuimus. F riter meus cotidie ductus est solus equis in agr6s. Sed tum bellum miserum incepit et hostes clamantes venerunt in agros nostros et friter meus conspectus a militibus interfectus est. Pater captivus retentus erat itaque mater in fugam se dedit carro parv6 ut auxilium et libertatem pro pitre pararet. Doizorl-xv NVEITZNER, '39. Forty-one Q 1936 INK PDT + Game EORGE BRADFORD and Allan Bradford looked each other coldly in the eye. l'll knock it out of you, thundered Mr. Bradford. I'll send you up to the lumber camp, and there you'll learn something useful instead of playing around with a string racket and a ball. Why, anybody can hit a ball over a net. It's a sissy game, and I'll be hanged if l'll let my son waste his time on that. You ought to be in the country chopping wood and learning your father's trade from the bottom up. It,s no use, Dad, Allan replied. You wouldn't talk that way if you knew the gamef' I'll break every racket in this house! he returned, and meant it. It was a perfect day for traveling and the sun shone brilliantly. Before his father was up the next morning, Allan went to say good-bye to all his friends. He was home in time for lunch and then with his father rushed down to the station. One firm handclasp, and he was off for the camp. On arriving at the station in the Adirondacks he jumped from the train to be greeted by a big, brown, burly man. Are you Mr. O'Keith ? Allan asked. Yes, I am,', the man replied. Come along with me and we'll get started. Just a minute sir, Allan said. I have a package waiting for me. And with that he raced into the station and came out with a square, thin bundle. What's that? Nlr. O'Keith asked. A tennis racket, the boy replied. And what do you expect to do with it up here? We've got no such things as tennis courts, the man said. I'll find a place, never fear, and with that the matter was dropped. The men at the camp took an immediate liking to the boy and he to them. He told them all about his ambitions to be an expert tennis player, and asked them if they couldn't Hx him up a court on one of the vacant lots. The men were dubious, however, for explicit instructions came from lVlr. Bradford admonishing the foreman, O'Keith, by telegram, to treat him rough. The boy begged to be allowed to practice and have a court, and finally the men consented. Before long Allan was teaching these clumsy youths how to play tennis, and it actually became a popular sport within the camp. The foreman wrote home to lvlr. Bradford that his son was getting along fine and has turned out to be an excellent sport. He also said that the boy begged to be allowed to have a tennis court and practice and they had granted him that favor. When Bradford read that telegram he was furious. Acting upon impulse he phoned Richard Harding, one of the best professionals. Want to make a thousand ? Bradford asked. What for? Richard Harding replied. Go up to my lumber camp where my boy is staying and make him realize he can't play tennis. He thinks he can, you seef' All right, sir, I'll do it for a thousand, the champion said. The following week a young man came up to the camp and said he was to take the secretary's place and work there permanently. As the days passed, Allan, improving upon his tennis all the time, often played with the new secretary. Harding showed Allan new strokes and gave him practice and conhdence, but Allan could always beat him rather easily. O'Keith asked Allan one day if he would arrange a tournament for the men. Delighted at the chance to show what he could do, Allan said, Why, sure! Forty-two + 1936 INK POT ' Any man who wanted to volunteer could enter the tournament, but only four, including the new secretary, did. Allan disposed of these men easily enough, and finally he was matched with Lockwood, the secretary. Everybody came out to see the match. The balls flipped to and fro, skimming the net by an inch, and soon Allan had the first three games. Lockwood's service! O'Keith yelled. The first service had a cut to it and was over in a Hash of lightning. Allan stood dumbfounded at this show of playing from a man from whom he could always win a love set. Millions of thoughts raced through his mind, but by sheer will power he pulled himself together. The second serve went over exactly like the first and in no time at all the games were three up. No one noticed a stocky, well-dressed man who was eyeing the match with satisfaction and excitement. The score was now 4-3 in favor of Lockwood. Allan now was disappointed, sorrowful to think that either this man or his father had deceived him, and sorrier yet that perhaps he wouldn't be able to show his parent that he could beat this man. A grim determination crept over him and he then decided he would try his utmost to win. It was Allan's service and he sent over a steaming ball, but it was returned as quickly. He returned it, placing the ball in the back court, for his opponent was playing net. The score was now 5-4 in Allan's favor and the group watching cheered for joy. Allan knew that at least they were backing him. Suddenly a stout figure got up and shouted at him, Come on, son! You can beat him. Go to it. VVith a sound between a sob and laugh of joy Allan played an incredible game. Point, set! O'Keith yelled, and Lockwood sent over a ball that was on Allan's backhand. This was his weakest stroke, but by a superhuman effort he returned it so it just dropped over the net. Game, set ! O'Keith yelled, and the camp went wild. A little later father and son were sitting together outside the bungalow. l'm sorry, Allan, he said. You deserved to win, and it's not a sissy game . l'm glad you showed me that. By the way, Allan, when are you going to teach me how to play this new-fangled stunt ?', EDITH WILSON, '39. '24 llitewzlzbn fr Urqtuf' T HE sun smilingly sealded the sandy shore. A cry was clearly heard in the distance crisply cutting the quiet air. A swimmer noiselessly neared the water. The sun smiled serenely. The screams soared through the sky: Help! help! help! The ceaseless splashes of the swimmer disturbed the solemnity of the sea: stroke, stroke, stroke. The sun laughed. Again came the fearful, futile, fervent cries: Help! help! help! faster! faster! fasterlv The swimmer, with the superhuman strength of his strong, sinewy arms, quickened his speed. Suddenly the sun saddened. The waters became angry. The rescuer reached the victim. The tears were dripping as crystal dew drops from the saddened face of the sun. Two heads simultaneously submerged under the sea. No pleading cries were heard: Help! help! help! No splashing from the swimmer's strong, sinewy arms disturbed the solemnity of the silent sea: stroke. stroke, stroke. An array of light, beautiful colors formed an arc in the heavens. The sun sadly scalded the sandy shore. N BARBARA SELVERNE, '38, Forty-th ree f 1936 INK POT + Fzkb and Firbermen IT had rained the night before, and now the shores of Long Island Sound were crowded with eager fishermen. From the little lad with a long branch of a tree, a piece of cord and a bent pin to serve as a hook, to the professional angler with the most durable and practical equipment that money could buy, they were all busy before the sun had ever risen, and now as its golden beams were cast on many a brown and white- haired lad, they seemed to form a halo about the head of a delicate boy perched precariously upon a small rock which sloped down toward the green waters. Again and again the lad drew up his stick, only to find that his eagerly awaited prey had escaped. Finally he heaved a sigh of discouragement and threw his line into the water for the last time. Perhaps if he had had a real fishing rod--but that was too impossible to even dream about. Near the lad, an older man sat, also fishing. But the long rod drooped in his hand and his mind wandered away from the Sound. Back many months the rushing breezes of time blew him. Back to gay Paris, to the Academy of Arts, where after the exhibition of his picture, Elizabeth, the world had proclaimed John Chambers, at the age of twenty-seven, the greatest living artist. The weeks that followed were filled with mocking idleness and vain attempts to work. And as time went on the world forgot John Chambers, and he slipped back into obscurity. Now he earned but a few cents a day by teaching his landlady's stupid and fat daughter the rudiments of drawing. He who had been the world's greatest artist had barely enough money for his food. A bitter laugh escaped from his lips, a laugh of sorrow and pain, a laugh of mingled wisdom and cynicism. For some unknown reason he looked up and saw the little black-haired lad sitting on the rock, sunbeams forming a beautiful halo around his head. john wanted to try and sketch him, but he was afraid, afraid of failing. He was a coward, not a man enough to face the truth. If he could only succeed he would once more be able to go among his old friends, and become the John Chambers of fifteen years ago. If he failed, however, what then? Would there be anything to live for in this world of landladies and fish? Still he could not resist the urge of his chosen work, even though it might bring disaster, and, taking an old pencil out of his fish basket and the blood- spotted paper lining, he quickly forgot that fish had ever existed. And the rod which had fallen from his hand floated down the Sound. As John put the final details on the picture, he felt someone touch his shoulder, and he looked up to see Robert Devoe, who had been one of his fellow students in the art academy. Robert, he said, I thought you were in France painting a portrait of Mon- seigneur Alacarf' Well, the other man admitted, I was supposed to be in France, but I needed a vacation, so I came back to the United States. But, John, what have you been doing with yourself all these months ? John was ashamed to admit that he had done really nothing, and he did not reply. His friend caught sight of the little sketch and exclaimed with genuine feeling that the picture was a gem. John, you'll make your fortune on that drawing, some day, he said almost enviously. And john Chambers, once more his old self, rose to have tea with his friend, his drawing carefully placed in his coat pocket. And as he turned to leave the Sound, he saw the little black-haired lad, with a radiant face gently draw up a shining rod. Dangling on the hook was a beautiful large porgy! SIMONETTE LANs, '38. Forty-four Q 1936 INK POT Q T be Modern Odyrfeuf DYSSEUS Clifting up the telephone receiverj, Hello, operator of the buzzing wires, wouldst thou please get me long distance? . . . Ah, yes. Greece . . . Ah, thank you, most charming and obliging of maidens . . . Yes, reverse the charges. Do not forget to buzz me whenst thou gettest Greece. A few minutes later the phone rings and Od sseus answers Hello ah hell y Y D O! Penelope, wife of the golden tresses, keeper of the key to my heart, how art thou? And how is my dear son, of the strong and mighty men? I hope he is well . . . Yes, my sweet. You are as sweet as the honey of the bee . . . Yes, my dear, I am in fair Italy, with Mussolini, the possessor of many armies. He asked me to go to-What? Operator, what did you say? You most stupid of all the world. Be kind enough to be quiet! . . . No, dear Penelope, wife of the sweet dispositions, do not have that idea in your head. Dost think I would make you pay the bill? No, my dearest one, of course not. As I was saying, Iklussolini, the Great, has asked me to go to Ethiopia to help fight the war . . . Yes, dear. I will probably be home in a week . . . Yes. Good- bye, wife of my dreams. Odysseus hangs up the receiver and says to himself, Ah, methinks that operator is dumb. I wish to Zeus she would go to the realm of Hades. Then he sits down in his chair and falls asleep, dreaming of his trip. Beyond the Known A never dreamed of land across the deep blue sea, Unknown, unapprehended, so full of mys- tery- Columbus was convinced that he should seek this land. With this idea of his to see the king he planned. With sadness and sorrow his dreams almost lost The queen helped him sail at a very great cost. They all thought him crazy, and called him insane, But he proved that his quest was not all in vain. Though they laughed and they jeered at what this man learned, They bowed, kneeled and honored him when triumphant he returned. Beyond the known land he sought a world to conquer new, It was the same America that belongs to me and you. MARY POLL, '41 ELAINE S. BERG, '4-0. Historical Tale Long years ago in Anglo-Saxon days When stalwart shepherds took their flocks to graze, Young England was a woodland wildernessg No portent warned of future mightiness. She harbored still God's plenty in her land Where modern Britain's homely structures stand, And birds and beasts roamed freely every- where With wealth of floral grace beyond compare. What fools men were to spoil this dazzling show Where bluebell vied with willow to outgrow! What matter if a city stand there now When crown of greenwood once adorned her brow? Resistless to advancement's siren call, Like children, they have torn asunder all Her precious birthright sold for paltry sum, Her only birdsong now, a factory's hum. SHIRLEY GREENE, '36 Forty-five Q 1936 INK POT + Hope T has often occurred to me what a horrible world this would be if most people were not blessed with that indispensable and highly comforting gift which is usually referred to as imagination. There are many people who choose to look with disdain upon those whom they consider builders of castles in the air, and they immediately stamp these imaginative builders with the terse term, day dreamersf' Yet, if these somewhat callous people who find ready excuses for condemnation would only stop to think, they would realize that if it were not for a spark of imagination there are many people who would most probably find it impossible to live their miserable lives. For example, on a cold snowy day a few winters ago, at the corner of a downtown street sat an ancient, emaciated, white-haired man, with so pale a face and clothes so gray and tattered that passing pedestrians might easily have thought him a huge lump of snow shoveled against a building. However, more than one passerby, attracted by the wavering and decidedly squeaky tones of his violin, stopped either to cast him a pitying glance or to drop a coin into his rusty cup. With his shrew old eyes the violinist noticed the sorrowful glances thrust at him, and after he had finished his piece a few people standing near him heard him mutter in challenging tones, They pity me now, but some day I shall be successful and well known. It is obvious that there was little if any hope for this man's future, but would it have been better for him to be ever conscious of the fact? He found solace in his imagination and therefore was as content as possible. It seems to me that the age-old adage, While there's life there's hope, might prove sound philosophy even when changed around to While there's hope there's life. EVELYN AMPOLSK, '36. Le fair Et La Nui! LE soleil brille sur le monde pendant que les petits enfants jouent ensemble. De beaux arbres se balancent avec le vent, si grands et si spacieux. Les oiseaux chantent de joie. Le monde est plein de musique car il fait jour. La nut si belle et calme vient apres que la journee est partie. Le monde se repose. Le silence est partout. Les fleurs se lentement et dit, C'est la nuit. A Can of Spinach Popeye, the great big sailor man, Kept his spinach in a can. Along came little Mickey Mouse, And walked right into Popeye's house. No one was home, the house was bare, The can of spinach was on a chair. Quick as a flash-it seems quite funny- The can of spinach was in his tummy. Now who came home but our sailor man, And when he saw the empty can We wanted to kill poor Mickey Mouse, But Mickey threw him out of the house. JANE OPPENHEIMER, '40 Forty-six couchent sur la terre. La lune les regarde CONSTANCE MEIROWITZ, '39. Winter Landscape I The western sky was red with winter sunset. A brilliant star much braver than the rest Hung low and beautiful in heavens that met The snow-patched earth in solemn loveliness. II The frozen brook was decked with joyous skaters, Their colored clothes a brilliant panorama, In contrast with the grotesque looking satyrs- Their shadows-in the swiftly gathering dusk. Buznnz Scmoss, '36 + 1936 INK POT Q On Seeing 61 Pzkture and then Reading the Book FTER having seen Alexandre Dumas' The Three Il-Iusketeers portrayed on the screen I came home full of enthusiasm, and immediately sat down to read the book. I was anxious to see how producers could film a story of over seven hundred pages into an entertainment of an hour or an hour and a half. I found out. I eagerly perused the pages endeavoring to find a scene or incident familiar to me, but I could discover only one. This was the scene in which the Queen of France gives the Duke of Buckingham some valuable jewels. From then on producers took matters into their own hands. If I had not seen the names of Athos, Portho, Aramis and d'Artagnan I assuredly would have laid the book aside, thinking that I was mistaken about either the name of the picture I had seen or the book I was reading. This display of imagination on the parts of rewrite men and producers recalls to my mind the story of an author who so aptly replied to the question as to where he had conceived the idea for his second novel. His spontaneous reply was, F rom the picture they made of my first. Producers should not deviate from a story to the extent that a picture cannot be recognized, and there is doubt in my mind as to whether Alexandre Dumas would recognize this film as having come from his own masterpiece. I believe many people would agree with me in advocating some commission or authority to pass on the authenticity of a portrayal of a classic before its presentation in a distorted manner to the public. BETTY BARON, '37. Tool: HEY were made of lead and iron, but to the workman they were silver and shone like a million gems. They chiseled their way into cold stone and transformed it like magic to things of beauty and grace. They were heavy instruments, but tactfully held and controlled by the shifting hands of the workman. They shaped, they formed, and they built the beautiful steel grey structures now looming in the white clouds like swelling castles. These majestic bodies enveloped by the blue sky above were put together by common tools and man's aid. They chopped, they carved, they cornered and cut the pieces of marble into dream- like creatures. They were instruments of manual operations performing laborious tasks and working miracles. Thoughts in Bed I like the window open, Wide open at my head. I like to hear the wind blow, When I'm lying in bed. I like to see the stars shine And watch the moon go by. But, best of all, I like to count, The cloud sheep in the sky. NANCY ERLA Nolan, '41 DOROTHY WEITZNER, '39. A Midget This child, like all children, While young was quite small, But as years rolled along He grew not at all. A midget they called him, And this was quite right, Because, at sixteen, He was four feet in height. CoNs'rANce STERN, '39 Forty-seven Q 1936 INK POT + Greynerr T was that cold, grey morning last year on my way up to Elmira, New York. I had been lying in my berth trying to sleep, when I decided to look out of my window and see what was happening outside. It was just beginning to get light, and there was a gloomy greyness over the small space I could see through the crack in the window. Hills sloped to the left, covered with bits of snow, and near a group of leafless, ugly trees on the right was a small, miserable worn-looking hut. The shades were drawn and a green light was burning inside. The grey light of the dismal morning and the quiet drizzling on the melting snow made the lonesomeness of this little cabin very apparent and real. From my perch, I could see an old, dusty Ford car parked on the side. A few hundred yards from the house in the middle of a field lay an old tractor all broken in pieces. As the train slowly moved on again and the house, trees, hills, tractor and car passed by, I sank in bed with the everlasting memory of the dreary greyness of a lonesome dawn. Y ARLENE FINE, '38. Short Steps to Secure Sueee.f.f HE assignment was to write a poem, one that was not morbid, monotonous, or monotone, one that was not dull, dreary or showed signs of drudgery. It had to contain serious, studious similes, appealing, appetizing apostrophes, and pert, purposeful personifications. It must abound in meaty, motley metaphors. It should move on with an onward onrush of onomatopoeia, and, last of all, it might include an alluring attempt at alliterations. Dolly's Trouble I am a little doll With long blonde curls, And all the little girls like me. If you could see how beautiful I look, You would think I was a picture in a story book. I don't know who my mother will be, so you see it frightens me To think I have to leave this nice warm store, To go some place I have never seen before. PA'rRrcxA AUERBACH, '41 SHIRLEY LUBELL '39. 3 What Is War.9 What is this thing called war? Poison gas and cannon roar. What fools we mortals be! Killing people just to see, Which country takes most lives, Which makes widows of more wives The victor does not win! Think of those who've lost their kin. Peace is better than a warg Let us hope there'll be no more. CoNsrANcs Memowxrz, 39 Anger ' Anger is like water Floating always to an end, And the soul is what it Hows through, Like waves along a bend That swiftly turn and then are smooth again. Forty-eight BEATRICE Evsrm N, '37 Q 1936 INK POT Q Li e IFE is to love and to labor. Life is to feel the thrills of happiness and youth and to grow with your ideals. You walk beneath God's own sky and breathe the pure air. You wake in the morning to find the day more rare and more beautiful than the day before. You know the world stretching out before you, leading to the ways of opportunities, hopes, ambitions, and hardships. Lead frank lives, think pure thoughts: listen and learn. FANNIE MILLER, '39. Sunset in Florida The crimson sun which slowly sank Behind the Indian River bank Cast its sole remaining ray On the water-folk at play. Balmy, palm tree bordered sides Gently touched by flow of tides. Lemon, date and orange trees Lofty branches swayed in breeze While the crimson circle sank Beyond the Indian River bank. Next day the air was mild and warm, The scarlet sun arose at dawn. White-capped breakers on golden sand. Birds sang gayly in this sunfilled land, The river shone like crystal glass, Reflecting mountains clothed with grass. CONSTANCE Msmowirz, '39 Bonjour - Bonsoir Bonjour! Joli mot de fleurs, mot d'amour, Mot de hasard, mot de fortune. Il est de mode, partout, toujours, Le matin comme au clair de lune. Il est de l'enfance, de l':ige murg De la beaute, de la jeunesse, Des idees moroses et d'azur. Et l'on entend ce mot sans cesse- Bonjour! Bonsoir! a dit le bel adolescent A la rayonnante jeunesse, Et les deux mains bien tendrement Se serrent avec la meme ivresse- Un mot est bien pres du coeurg Ils voudraient se dire, mais ils n'osent. Qu'ils s'aiment!-Mais helas ils ont peur, Redisent, ne trouvant autre chose- Bonsoir! RHODA Mmrz, '37 Spring C ornes Crimson sunsets, golden dawns, 13 Daisy-speckled baby fawns Are the signs that spring is here- The spring that to me is so dear. Rivers wending swift their way, The sky above is never gray, The tall grass sways as breezes blow, The flowers bud, their petals show. A deer brushes the grass away, I feel the tall weeds gently sway. And it is never dark at night, For the moon has a silver light, And sunsets then! I try in vain To describe this caroled strain Of gems upon a piece of glass O'er which the artist's brush did pass. And I love to fish by a crystal stream, But more than that I love to dream In evening, when the pine trees stand Like sentinels to guard the land. ELISE Emssskc, '41, Forty-nine 0 1936 INK POT ' M6 f , IDur-.haf tue,-twnof Paths of Glory By IIIIMPIIRICX Com: Very few books have made such an impression upon me as did Palflx of Glory. I'ntil I read the hook I felt that although war was horrible it was an honor to tight and die for one's country. But there is no such glory, no such honor, and Mr. Cobb seems to believe that there never will be. The book opens with the conversation of two soldiers. The younger is an idealistic recruit who notices with wonder the many medals worn by the other, Langlois. Langlois tells him that winning them is like winning a lottery-luck. The division to which they belong is ordered, by Division Commander Assoland, to take The Pimple , a German fortification situated at the top of zi hill. The task is an impossibility. Machine-gun tire is so steady that those who do leave their trenches are killed. The others are stunned by the bullet riddled bodies which are blown backwards into the trenches. General Afxsli ' . 4 V 11 11' '., ' w' . ' seo ind, furious because the attack is a failure, decides to court martial one man from each company, as an example to the others. The court martial is a gruesome farce. The men are convicted and shot. I.anglois is one of them, In front of the tiring squad he flings his medals to the ground. Ile didn't need them, for he felt that his country's tiring squad was reward for his bravery. Humphrey Cobb knows soldiers, for he enlisted with the Canadian forces in 1914. Ile understands their superstitious and their fears. For this reason the book is a living revelation of what goes on behind the lines, and of those who set out on the Paths of Ulorvf' M ,xoimai rv is -I icons, '36 Fifty Q 1936 INK POT ' The Picture of Dorian Gray By Oscmt Wirns Dorian Gray is a young man who is so extremely handsome that he might be called beautiful. He is the subject of a portrait being painted by Basil Hallward. The third important character is Lord Henry Wotton, ultra-sophisticated, witty, the type that Wilde was so fond of in his plays. Lord Henry's conversation is composed mainly of clever remarks that, when analyzed, mean practically nothing. Such as: I can believe anything, provided that it is quite incredible. Conscience and cowardice are really the same things, UI choose my friends for their good looks, my acquaintances for their good character, and my enemies for their good intellects. The only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it. Wilde is again ridiculing the idle dandy of English society during the nineteenth century. The reader grows to despise Lord Henry, and his remarks become a trifle too scintillating. He is fascinating, though, in his langourous, sensual way, and one can understand the strange hold he has on Dorian. Basil Hallward sees in Dorian all that art ever meant to him. He wished to keep this youth unspotted and away from the meaningless, shallow English society. He perceives that Lord Henry would turn the boy's head and would spoil his eager, candid, spontaneous nature. Dorian is introduced into the story with a soul as beautiful as his face. Lord Henry im- presses upon him the fact that he possesses great beauty, and when Dorian sees the portrait he wishes fervently for the picture to grow old and for him to remain eternally young. He said, I would give my soul for that. From this point Wilde traces the sinister, insidious influence Lord Henry has on Dorian. Wilde's descriptions are remarkable in that they convey perfectly the languid, dreamy, sensuous mood of the story. He appeals to our senses of smell and touch, and his descriptive sentences are long, giving a continuity that hold the whole theme together. Here is an illustration: The studio was Filled with the rich odour of roses, and when the light summer wind stirred amidst the trees of the garden there came through the open door the heavy scent of the lilac, or the more delicate perfume of the pink-flowering thorn. The book is fantastic, almost weird. There is not one character that is lovable or wholly human. Yet Wilde's style is fascinating, and the mood and atmosphere seep into the reader's mind. IRENE FRANK, '36 I Write As I Please By WAl.TER DURANTY Walter Duranty, Moscow correspondent of the New York Times since 1920, says that he first heard of Russia at the age of four when his nurse took him to a Russian comedy. But he patiently waited for some thirty years before he really saw the country. If I do get back I shall do as I please and write as I please, without fear or favor, is the resolution Mr. Duranty made while lying in a French hospital suffering from the agony of a gangrenous foot. Hence, we have an unusual title from an unusual statement. Mr. Duranty has given to the readers the substance of his interviews with Stalin and other outstanding Russian leaders. He tells the story of the New Economic Policy, the Five Year Plan and the man-made famine of 1933, into all of which he weaves bits of personal adventure and of humor. This book is part autobiography and part history, and with its humorous touches it ought to appeal to any reader interested in Russia, to whom pure history books are a bore. MURIEL HELLER, '37 Anna Karenina By Leo ToLsTox Tolstoi possesses a dramatic, powerful, and sweeping style which is very intense. This, together with his sympathetic understanding of people, power of analysis, and descriptive ability makes this novel of Russian life before the Russian Revolution well worth reading. Juoxrn FRANK, '36 Fifty-one Q 1936 INK POT Q Once A Grand Duke By GRAND DUKE ALEXANDER or RUSSIA French Socialists were alarmed at having so many RomanofIs in Paris, but in reality there were only seventeen Russians of the Imperial Family who had had the good fortune to escape the Bolshevik purge. Among these seventeen were the Dowager Empress Marie, her two daughters, Cirand Eucchesses Olga and Xenia, and the latter's husband, Grand Duke Alexander, the author o this oo . The Russian Revolution, one of the longest in history, was begun in the reign of Nicholas I in 1812, and was successfully concluded in 1918. I do not mean to suggest that there was fighting during these hundred and more years. On the contrary, there was hardly any fighting of conse- quence until their last decade. The long revolution took place in the form of assassinating the different members of the Imperial Family, of throwing bombs at palaces, and of attempted uprisings which were always suppressed, although sometimes a good deal of blood was shed. Grand Duke Alexander has written an extremely impressive book. He gives us a fine picture of the Royal Family, and a clear notion of the political situation with all its corruption and graft. In the Foreword he says that the purpose of the book is not to give facts but to record a grand duke's progress and the personal life of the members of the Imperial Family with which he was in close contact. Mn,oREn SCHWARZ, '37. The Death of a World By M. RoMAiN ROLLAND Jean Christophe, a novel by Rolland, published over twenty years ago, is still in great demand. In The Death of a World, M. Rolland presents a study of a woman comparable to that of the man in Jean Christophe. This powerful novel deals with those post-war years which seem more and more to mark the death of a world. Annette Riviere, warm-hearted, courageous, independent, is one of his great conceptions, her advance into middle age, and the growth of her son, Marc, to manhood furnish the basic theme in this story of a disillusioned era. Annette's personal development is complicated because she has to gain a livelihood in a world of greedy financiers, Marc, violent and bitter toward the youth of the period, acquires a new attitude toward life and sex. The delightful love story of Marc and the young Russian, Assia, brings the novel to a close on a note of hope. This book, The Death of a World, will be of special interest to those who feel that the civi- lization of today, although far advanced in material ways, is still primitive and barbaric. Moments of dark despair, illuminating hope, and conflicting emotion are masterfully combined in this book, to make it interesting, instructive, and sincere. JOAN AMBERG, '38. Up from Slavery By Booxsn T. WAsHiNcrroN This is an interesting autobiography of the founder of Tuskegee Institute for Negroes. A negro himself, Mr. Washington, through education, succeeded in raising the standards of negro life. His own life exemplifies what a negro may accomplish. JUDITH FRANK, '36 Benjamin Franlelinlv Autobiography I can sav for this book that it is one of the finest I've read. I commend its frankness and utter simplicity, the unbiased and honest account of Franklin's life, the logical thinking and excellent ways of living it teaches. I was chiefly interested in the usefulness and fineness of the author's life. SHIRLEY fiKEENE, '36 Fifty-two Q 1936 INK POT 4 Marie Antoinette By STEFAN ZwE1c The subtitle of this biography is The Portrait of an Average Woman. Zweig points out to the reader that Marie Antoinette was a person very much like one of us, and it was just a matter of curious fate that she was selected to be queen during the tumultuous period of the French Revolution. Marie Antoinette possessed no outstanding characteristics, no streak of genius to set her apart from the masses. Her inward greatness was but the result of uncommon mis- fortunes. Stefan Zweig is an essentially honest biographer. He presents the facts impartially and ex- plains clearly why he interprets them in the way he does. Zweig does not idealize Marie An- toinette, become sentimental, or make her appear a heroine. He merely gives you the history, and elucidates the events and results psychologically. His style is nobleg he builds fact upon fact until a stirring climax is reached. Yet it never becomes tiresome, for he expresses himself definitely and frankly, concealing nothing that may develop character. Stefan Zweig closes the book with this sentence: My hope is that, in default of all exagger- ation, this character will arouse the sympathy and enjoy the understanding of the present, pre- cisely because she was of one Hesh with ourselves. I feel that he certainly accomplished this magnificently, for I put down the book with a deep understanding of Marie Antoinette as a person, and I felt a great sympathy for this average woman who achieved a greatness com- mensurate with her destiny just before her death. IRENE FRANK, '36 Thirteen at Dinner By AGATHA Cl-IRISTIE 'You think she would do murder? 'Poirot watched him intently. 'Bryan drew a deep breath. 'Upon my word I do. Perhaps one of these days, you'll remember my words-I know her, you see. She'd kill as easily as she'd drink her morning tea- ' She was jane Wilkinson, a famous actress. Poirot remembered Bryan's words, for a few days later Lord Edgeware, jane's eccentric husband, was found murdered in his study at Regent Gate. Poirot certainly had to use his brain in this baffling case and the result is a thrilling mystery. The story provides a very interesting murder mystery which baffles the reader, as well as the detective, until that fateful night on the way home from the party. The character of jane Wilkinson is vividly and plausibly portrayed. This and the author's attractive style serve to hold the reader's interest. ELAINE BERG, '40 Crime and Punishment By Dosrorsvsxs' This book is well known for its insight into human nature and for its psychological truths. In the author's mind crime is its own punishment, and punitive measures can never be so severe as the penalty the human soul can impose upon itself. The story is the murder committed by Raskolnikov, his punishment and atonement. SHIRLEY GREENE, '36 All Quiet On the Western Front By ERICH MARIA RIEMAROUE This is a horror-filled story about actual conditions at the front during the World VVar. The tales related by a young German soldier make one shudder to think that anyone could have had such dreadful experiences. RENEE KLEIN, 36 Fifty-three Q 1936 INK POT + Francois Villon By D. B. WYNDHAM LEWIS Francois Villon, French poet, was born in Paris in 1431, of poor parentage. From first to last his life was a succession of fights, brawls, imprisonments, and banishments. He was a vaga- bond and a thief, but he remains one of the greatest poets France has produced. His chief work is his Grand Testament, which contains the famous Ballade des Dames du Temps Jadis. The influence of Villon on French poetry,.has been great, and as a master of the ballad he has had few equals. 'J' Lewis is earnest in his desire to convince the reader that the poet's misfortunes were due to circumstances rather than to deficiencies in his character. However, Mr. Lewis gives the impres- sion of being slightly prejudiced and too sympathetic toward Villon. Nevertheless, the author has taken his material and shaped it into an interesting biography. I especially recommend Franeoi: Villon for those who understand and appreciate the ballad. EI.INoRI2 PRI-:vII.I.E, '37 Son of the Middle Border By HAMIIIN GARLAND Son of the Middle Border is an absorbing autobiography. The scene is laid in the middle west in the 1860's. The author portrays those trials and tribulations of the pioneer people which he himself has suffered. MURIEL HUT, '40 Growth of the Soil By KNUT HAMSUN A pioneer was Isak, who went to no-man's land to build himself a home. It was he who with his own hands built a settlement necessary to supply his wants, independent of the rest of the world. The existence of Isak and his wife is incredible in its crudeness. It is amazing what one man with strength of will power and character can accomplish. Even though he may be ignorant of the three R's, yet he knows by the moon when to plant seed. The simple and beautiful words which are used to convey the surroundings are full of vitality. The philosophy of the author is that a person who lives and works with nature leads the most ideal life. On the other hand those who work in the industry of man lead an irregular life, amid the uncertainty of not having enough to eat at one moment and gambling away all that they make at the next. This is the most simple and beautifully written book that I have read. SHIRLEY LUBELL, '39 Lust for Life By IRVING STONE The life of Vincent Van Gogh, the famous Dutch painter, is here vividly portrayed. Al- though this fictional biography is morbid and depressing, it is well worth reading. RENIEE KLEIN, '36 So Red the Rose By STARK YOUNG Escaping from the traditional mint julep type of book, Mr. Young has excellently described post Civil War conditions in the South. The story is woven about the drastic effect of the war upon two families of the Southern aristocracy. ' RENEE KLEIN, '36 Fifty-four 9 9 1936 INK POT hey aim SJR 5. 55. Q 2 fm e e K - 111,60 M i I' iff al? iii , t' 5 4 ' vi? -'. Q I ' ','. u ,av fl: gli J' x l r Wf fli 1 'la H . ,- . I .,.... o I Elilhi-5.68-hum The Cat and the Dog A Poem Uuvenile Prizel VVhen I am at home, A cat and a dog I like to Lvrite a poetm, v write n Out 3 ram ow Went to 3 town' And a funny old potato. The dog had a rug I write about Il tiger And the Caf had a gown' With a master, Mr. Spider. I write about a donkey The cat was so kind, And a little hahy monkey The dog was so nice, Because, when I'm at home, They ate a cheese rind I just love to write a poem. That was covered with rice. Sometimes I think of you When vou are gathering dew. The cat had a scheme . ' - . . '. Sometimes you're going hoatingg gills dog thought It a sm' The next thing I know you're floating. 0 the cat played a theme Sometimes vou're waterin flowers On Il mnn's violin. . -' - g ' Right during April showers. THELMA SALMON, Sixth Grade G1.Am's M,xRKre1.r., Fifth Grade The Wind VVhen the wind comes whirling by I sit and look and wonder why. The wind, God blows it from the sky To scatter seeds that will multiply. Dokls Lew, Fifth Grade Fifty-five Q 1936 INK POT f The Hidden Den Billy and Betty were going to school. Everything looked green and beautiful. School would soon be over and nearly everybody would be going to the country. Think, said Betty, we are going to the house where father lived? Now this house was a house like any other house, but it had passed from generation to generation. Naturally the children were thrilled to be going to a place where their ancestors had lived. There were rumors going about the town that in the Civil War one of their ancestor's slaves had stolen some money from him. ' Many a time the teacher reminded them that they could think about their vacation later. At last school ended. Two days later when their mother was busy packing Qfor they were leaving the next dayj, Billy said, You know I think while we are there we might as well clear up this mystery. Then the happy day came, and they left to go on a strange adventure. They could hardly wait to see what the house would look like. At last they came in sight of a big brick rambling house with a huge lawn. It had two flower-beds in front of it. Oh! I think it is just lovely, said Betty. Then they were led to their rooms. Their room was a pretty one with a big bed. On one side of the bed was a fiat topped desk, on the other was a small table. They saw big bookcases with lots of books about the Civil War. Then they undressed and instantly fell asleep. In the morning they decided to explore the house. They began with the attic, tapping with their hands on the wall for a hollow sound. It sounds hollow here! cried Billy. Why there's an opening, said Betty, and entering she found a small den. There is a note and the money, said Billy. It says that the slave stole the money because his master had cheated him out of a lot of money. Now he is sorry and he hoped the money would be found by our ancestor, but instead we found it, said Billy. Why was he sorry? asked Betty. Because stealing is worse than cheating. Stealing is dreadful no matter how little you steal, said Billy. Well now we can rest in peace, because the mystery is solved, said Betty. HELENE SIMON, Fourth Grade Princess Elizabeth Once upon a time there lived a 'poor woman who had a little girl. She was very pretty and very smart. Her name was Elizabeth. Now Elizabeth believed in Fairyland and her mother believed in it, too. One day Elizabeth said, I am going to Fairyland and see the Fairies. All right, said her mother. Elizabeth walked in the dark woods, which were very scary, but she was brave. Soon she was out of the woods and in Fairyland. It was beautiful. The sky was crimson and blue with a little gold, and the green grass with all colored Howers looked so pretty. ' Elizabeth was tired so she found a soft spot and soon fell asleep. The Fairy Queen saw Elizabeth sleeping and thought she' was pretty. She called her servants and said, Take her into the palace and give her a soft bed. Elizabeth was taken into the palace and was put into a soft bed. When she woke up she was frightened because she was not sleeping on the grass. She jumped out of bed and ran down the stairs. The Fairy Queen was so sweet and kind that Eliza- beth lost all her fears. She was dressed in crimson and gold and upon her head was a gold crown. Then the Fairy Queen asked, Would you like to be my child? Yes, said Elizabeth. So Elizabeth was a princess. She had a wonderful time. She went swimming in the royal lake and had many parties and she knew lots of little girls. She had such a good time that she forgot all about her mother. One day she said to the Queen, I must visit my mother today. Yes, said the Queen, and tell her to come and live with you. So off Elizabeth ran into the woods. Soon she saw the house and she ran faster. Her mother was very glad to see her. She asked where she got the dress so Elizabeth told the story. When she finished she asked her mother to live with her and the Fairy Queen. So they lived happily ever after. NORMA SHAPIRO, Fourth Grade Fifty-six Q 1936 INK POT + Harriet and the Christmas Elf CHAPTER 1 Once upon a time there was a little girl named Harriet. She lived in the woods all alone. One day she went for a walk. All of a sudden she saw a little house. Harriet knocked at the door. To her surprise there was a little elf in the house. Now Harriet never saw 'an elf bkfore. She asked him who he was. He said, I am the Christmas Elf. Then Harriet said, Are you the Christmas Elf who gives girls and boys Christmas presents? He said Yes , so he took her in. He said, My brother is out. Do you want to wait? Harriet said yes that she would, but the Elf's brother was lost. Harriet waited for two weeks. When the two weeks had passed, it was Christmas time. s Three days after Christmas the Elf came back. He asked her what she wanted. I want to be the maid for you and your brother. When the Christmas Elf heard this he was so pleased that he said, I will give you one of my grains of rice. When someone asks you something, you will have the right answer, if you have this grain of rice. Harriet said, I will take it where ever I go, so she took it with her. She loved being the Elf's maid. CHAPTER 2 One day the elves went for a walk and told Harriet they would be away for a year. They told her that if she never went for a walk she would have a sister for Christmas. Then the Christmas Elf said, Never let anyone in here, because there is another Elf who is mean. He can turn himself into anything he wants? Good bye, good bye, said Harriet. One day Harriet was cooking when she heard a knock at the door. There she saw a little bear. It begged till at last she let it in. But when she let it in it changed back into an Elf. He said, Give me that grain of rice. Then she got the broom and hit the Elf so that he went out. After a year passed the Elves brought her a sister. One day the Christmas Elf said, Do you want to go with me? Harriet said, Go where? I am going to a wood where the trees are of gold. I shall bring the poor children some of it, said the Christmas Elf. I should love to go, but I don't want to leave your brother alone, said Harriet. The Christmas Elf said, My brother is going, too. I will go then, said Harriet. And they began to pack. CHAPTER 3 While they were packing Harriet said, Where do the poor children live? The Elves said, They live two or three miles from here. Harriet went to the closet for her coat. Then she said, Where will I pack my things ? The Christmas Elf said, In my suitcase. After they had packed, they ate their lunch. After they had locked the door they walked ten miles before they saw the golden trees. CHAPTER 4 When Harriet saw the golden trees, the Christmas Elf said, VVe have not come to the trees that are real gold yet, but these are pretty also. A Can I have a branch ? Of course you may, Harriet, said the Christmas Elf. f'You may have some leaves to keep your sister warm too. If you cannot reach them you can climb the tree. f'May we live in this wood ? asked Harriet. We will after we have taken some real gold to the poor. CHAPTER 5 After a while Harriet said, Are those the real gold trees? The Christmas Elf said, Yes When they had all the leaves they could carry they went home. They took the gold leaves to the poor. Then the Christmas Elf asked, Do you want to live in the Golden Wood? Harriet said Yes. They made a golden house of leaves and all the animals called them King and Queen and Princess of the Golden VVood. RAYA SPIECEL, Third Grade Fifty-seven 0 1936 INK POT Q Snow A light, clean snow fell over the city of New York. It touched the ground, making a bed for some giant. The Hakes danced gayly all night long and in the morning the park was transformed into the most picturesque fairyland, filled with popcorn bushes guarded by the tall giants in glistening, sparkling armor. The snow-covered icicles hanging from them shone like diamonds. The world was bright and clear as the children with merry, tinkling laughter started sleigh riding, and once in a while a sleigh pulled by a horse and filled with happy, jolly people would pass. New York was a white fairyland. BETTY WEIN AND NATALIE Srnvrak, Sixth Grade fr. if A Happy Day It was a beautiful morning in June as Paul pushed back the tent flap so he could see the rising sun. It was his first morning on the road and he felt very happy. He always wanted to drive all the way to Maine and camp by the roadside and now he was doing it. He gazed hap- pily at the rising sun whose golden rays made every dew pearl shine. The little birds chirped merrily in their tree homes. The gentle breeze and the rustling leaves played music for their songs. Paul listened to them and thought, They must be as happy as I am. After breakfast he followed the babbling brook into the wood. It led him to a shady little bower while playing the music for Paul's thoughts: As I gazed from there I stood In a little shady wood, My eye rested on a bower Which held every sort of Hower. It was a very pleasant nook And near it was a gurgling brook. It laughed and talked and smiled all day To keep the blossoms happy and gay. The brook liked the poem, toog it babbled all the louder and coaxed Paul to follow it back home. When Paul went to bed that night, he saw the little stars twinkling merrily. He was going to think about his day, but the wind rocked him to sleep. The world was happy. Fairies One day I went walking in the wood And saw a fairy under a toadstool hood. First from a flower she took some dew Then, saying, Hello, away she Hew. She flew to a bird with a broken wing Who was so sick it couldn't sing. To the sick bird she gave her dew, This time quickly away she flew. She flew to a fountain to play by herself And whom should she meet but a sweet little elf. First taking a bow he said, Will you play? And so together they flew away. ARLENE BROWN, Fifth Grade Fifty-eight CAuoL RUSKIN, Sixth Grade The Moonlight Ni ght On a beautiful moonlight night The moon is shining its reflection On the green, still waters. All you can hear is the whispering of the leaves. The birds sleep in their nests, The frogs croak softly under the rocks, The trees sway to and fro, The sand of the beach is untouched by the summer's breeze. The darkness of the night grows lighter, The moon sinks in the morning's lightness, The birds begin to sing, The moonlight night has ended. IRMA NI-:wMAN, Fifth Grade Q 1936 INK PUT ' Silver Chief, Dog of the North By JACK O'Bx1aN Sergeant Jim Thorne of the Canadian Northwest Mounted Police, in searching for a certain criminal, took up his winter quarters in Silver Chief's hunting ground. Silver Chief was born to Dee, a wild huskie. Dee was killed by an Indian, which made Silver Chief hate and fear human beings. While wandering one day, Silver Chief came across the cabin of Sergeant Thorne. Thorne had heard about Silver Chief and he decided to catch him so that they could be pals. He did, and after many attempts he won the dog's affection, and they became great friends. All the hardships and how useful Silver Chief was to Thorne make exciting reading. Mr. O'Brien shows us what a faithful animal a dog is. NATALIE SILVER, Sixth Grade Tom Sawyer Mark Twain, the author of Tom Sawyer, was really living the life of Tom Sawyer. He is a lovable but mischievous young boy who has many funny experiences, in school and outside, with his playmates. One Saturday Tom was running out of his house to play when his Aunt Polly called him and told him to whitewash the fence. Tom said, Aw gee! Auntie, can't I play? You know it's Saturday. Now, now, Tom. You whitewash the fence. Tom went outside and started to whitewash. Suddenly he had an idea and started singing. One of his playmates passed and made fun of him, but Tom called to him, It will cost you six marbles and a dead rat to do what I'm doing. More boys came to trade with Tom. He had a good time and you will enjoy reading just who whitewashed the fence, and many other experiences. GEANE L1.Nz, Sixth Grade Sunrise The birds were the first up to welcome the morn with songs of praise and beauty. No sun ray was yet to be seen. A faint glimmer of light started to lift the darkness of the earth. The birds' songs were louder as if they were trying to lift the veil of night. Now it already seemed lighter. The sky became brighter at one end. The black turned to dark blue. The colors began their play. Purple was mixed with more pink and figures and shadows could be seen again. The sun came up with a fiery red garment, and everything around the sun was lit up. Nature can set a stage of beauty in many things, but a sunrise is unforgettable to those who see it. MURIET, SIMON, Fifth Grade L'Hiver Spring La neige tombe silencieusement Spring is almost here, Et les arbres sont en blanc All the children have much cheer. Le bebe joue dans la maison. Everybody loves the spring, Et sa mere le regarde tendrement. All the birds begin to sing. Autour de la maison le vent soufiie tres fort Spring is very gay, Et dans la campagne un calme profond All the children like to play, Mais le bebe n'a pas peur All the flowers start to bloom. Parce que sa mere est son bonheur. Fo the country we'll go soon. SUZANNE Wmuauookrr, Sixth Grade JOAN SAMEK, Third Grade Fishing Fishing, fishing, away we go. Getting fish from away down low. Bringing it to our Mother and Father. They say, Why did you take the bother? ARLYNE Pxorrsa, Second Grade Fifty-nine ' 1936 INK POT Q A Turtle Story Once upon a time there were two turtles. One was named Alan. The other was named Fox. One day they went for a walk. Suddenly they heard a voice behind them. They turned around and what do you think they saw? A little fairy. I wish I were a fairy, they said. Your wish is granted, said the fairy. Then what do you think happened to them? Their feet became dainty little feet. Their front feet became beautiful arms. Their big heads became tiny heads with beautiful golden hair. Then what do you think happened to their faces? Their eyes turned a beautiful blue, their lips became a beautiful red, and beautiful pink dresses with flowers all over appeared on them. They were pretty, lacy dresses, if you ask me. So they went and lived happily ever after with the fairies. BARBARA Scusysk, Second Grade My Visit to the Hayden Planetarium One day while reading the newspaper I saw an article telling that the Hayden Planetarium was open. I knew that there were seven Planetariums in the world and thought that it would be very interesting to see one. One afternoon after school mother and I went to the Planetarium. What interested us as soon as we entered the building was the Solar System. After watching it for quite a while we went upstairs to listen to the lecture. After we sat down the lights were turned off. I thought I was sitting on a bench in Central Park. Suddenly the stars appeared. It was one of the most beautiful sights I have even seen. RENEE Moiuuzu., Fourth Grade Caught in the lee! As we were driving along one cold winter's afternoon, we saw a crowd around a frozen lake. My father stopped the car. A dog had fallen into the water. He had been walking on the ice and his weight had broken it. He tried swimming out, but the ice kept breaking around him as he swam. On the shore there was a life preserver hanging on a pole. A man in the crowd threw it to the dog but the dog didn't know how to grab it. He was trying with all his strength to get loose. One last wiggle and he got free from the water and the ice. He ran to the other side of the lake. Then he rolled over and over in the snow to get warm. He gave himself a good shake. Meanwhile his master, who was a little boy, was looking for him. The boy ran toward the crowd around the lake. He took his dog in his arms and put a blanket around him. Then he ran happily toward his home. Ink Pot Material Ink Pot material is such hard work They sometimes think our duty we shirk. We send it in with such high hope But the committee retums it as a joke. They donit know what we go through In order to write a line or two. We copy again and again and again: The things come showering back like rain. If I had my way, believe you me, l'd sit with the Ink Pot committee. Sixth Grade A Cloud HELENE SIMON, Fourth Grade Turkey Lurkey I have a little turkey, His name is Turkey Lurkey. And he gobbles, gobbles, gobbles, And he wobbles, wobbles, wobbles. He grows fatter every day. At night he sleeps in the hay. Soon Thanksgiving will be here, And he will sadly shed a tear. Second Grade A cloud is floating in the sky, A cloud is fioating oh, so high. It looks like a net of golden lace, When the sun shines on its face. ANN FRANCES KAss, Sixth Grade Sixty 0 1936 INK POT ' Sally's Trip Once there was a little girl. Her name was Sally. One day Sally's mother said, Sally, we must go to England. We must go Friday. It was Thursday then. What time are we going? said Sally. We are going at twelve o'clock, said Sally's mother. When the time came they went down to the dock. They got on the boat. When the whistle blew the boat started. Sally's mother said, Sally, we are going to have lunch. Sally was up on the top deck. Mother called. Sally came walking down the steps. They walked into the dining- room. They sat down at a table. They ate their lunch. After their lunch a storm came up. The boat shook. Sally was on the deck. She was frightened. She called her mother. Mother said, Do not be afraid. It started to rain and Sally and mother went in their cabin. Soon the rain stopped and Sally looked out of her port hole. She saw what she had never seen before. She said, Mother, what is that in the sky? Mother said, That is a rainbow. It comes out after the rain. JEAN SHERWIN, Second Grade A Day in Florida I went on a trip in a glass bottom boat. Through the glass you could see all different kinds of fish. First, there were the sunfish. They are round and yellow except for a small border of black, and the eyes. Then we didn't see any large hsh for a while. Of course, we saw fish, but they were of no importance. We were watching the color of the seag it was a gorgeous turquoise blue. The coral of pale pink and blue, seaweed of the brightest green, also the moss and sponge of all sizes and descriptions added to the beautiful picture. We were hungry and sat down at a table to eat. All of a sudden someone cried, Baby saillish! Many people crowded around the rail of the boat, but we managed to get a glimpse of it. It had a gorgeous silvery, scaley body with the most beautiful baby sail of rainbow colors. But now it was time to go home, and so home we went. IRMA NEWMAN, Fifth Grade The Little Engine Once there was a little engine. It was built in a foundry. It was the lirst steam engine in New York. Everybody wanted to ride in it. Only a few people could go in the train, because it was so small. The name of the train was De Witt. GLORIA BARNETT, Second Grade Dirty Hands Bubbles Before we eat we wash our hands A bubble is a fairy ball And wash our faces, toog So very dainty and so small. To touch our food with dirty hands Away, away they all do float- Is what we must not do. Past the rainbows, across the moat. My washcloth and my towel The fairies blow them till they break. Are hanging up, you see, This, of course, is a mistake. My mother put them there Soon the bubbles fade away. For no one else but me. Now, I know how the fairies play. PEGGY Eusnmzc, Fourth Grade FLORENCE MAYER, Fifth Grade Visions at Ni gbt Whenever at night I lie in bed, The strangest creatures cross my head. There are lions and tigers and monkeys, too, A great baboon whose nose is blueg There are funny clowns with giant handsg They all must come from other lands. PEGGY Eusaskc, Fourth Grade Sixty-one + 1936 INK POT 0 The Little Train V The little train went, Choo, choo, on the track. The people were shouting to their friends, Good-by, good-by to all. Then the train went on, Choo, choo, again. Then the train stopped in Florida. ARLINE TITELBAUM, Second Grade Our Dog Once upon a time there were two girls and three boys. One day the children went out into the woods. They saw a dog. The dog was by himself. He came over to the children and said, Bow-wow, bow-wow, how-wow. One of the girls said, I would like that dog. He is talking to us. He wants a home. Billy said to the dog, We will take you home. Bow-wow, said the dog. Billy said that he would name the dog. He took him up in arms. Then they all went home. When mother saw the dog she said, Where did you get the dog? We got him in the woods, they all answered. We want him for our dog. Mother said, I will get him some food. The little dog said, Bow-wow-thank you. They all lived happily together. S prin g Time When trees and grass have turned From winter's tawny brown, I find it hard in this glad scene To see a person frown. The flowers poke their heads to see The sunny sky, then dance with glee To welcome happy girls and boys Among the pleasant springtime joys. to green SALLEE Fox. Sixth Grade My Dolls I had a little doll- She was very small. I had another doll- She was very tall. I had still another- She was very pretty, But she had no dresses- It was a great pity. PRICILLA Ross, Third Grade The Stars The stars shine so bright, I like their sparkling light. They go so smoothly through the People see them passing by. Sky: MARILYN LiviNGs'roN, Third Grade Sixty-two BEVERLY FINK, First Grade My Scottie Dog My Scottie dog is a funny fellow, His leash is colored green and yellow. He chases squirrels in the Park, He chases them until it's dark. When little brother comes home late, Scottie's ears stand up so straight. I know it's food for which he begs, When he stands on his little hind legs. his PEGGY ELISBERG, Fourth Grade Stars The stars are huge, The stars are bright, The stars are happy all the night. But when the dawn nears, And the night disappears, Then the stars that shone so bright, Vanish slowly in the light. Tessa LIPPMAN, Fifth Grade Clouds Sometimes I sit and wonder why Clouds drift past me in the sky. Where do they go? What do they do? I really do not know, do you? MADELEINE FRANK, Fifth Grade Q 1936 INK POT Q How the Ti ger Got His Stripes In the African jungle there lived a giraffe who was an excellent artist. He drew all the animals' face Th l' I s. ere ived also a vain tiger who was brown, with white whiskers. One day the tiger went to the giraffe and said, Mr, Giraffe, I have heard of your wonderful painting and I h ' - ' ' i axe come here to have my whole body painted. Try to add dots or anything to my body, for I want to change my appearance. The giraffe was drawing the tiger when a can of black paint slipped and fell on the tiger's body in stripes. The paint would not come off so the tiger had changed his appearance, and that is how the tiger got his stripes. FLORENCE MAVER, Fifth Grade The Ghost Once upon a time there was one irl and th ' ' . g . ere were two boys. One day the children went to the store. There was no man in the store. He was hiding. The children went out. They heard a noise behind the store. They ran back to see what it was. There was nothing there. They ran into the store again and they saw a ghost. They ran away quietly so that no one could hear them. As they were goin home th ' h d f ' ' ' ' ' g , ep ear ootsteps on the pathway. No one vsas in sight, not even a man, not even a girl, not even a dog, not even a bird, not even a cat, not even the ghost. BEVERLY FINK, First Grade Hallowe'e1z Christmas It was Hallowe'en, Oh, Christmas time will soon be here, All the witches were seen, And girls and boys will have much cheer. The owls were in their nests, Then Santa Claus brings lots of tovs, To have a little rest. On Christmas Eve for girls and boys. RAYA SPIECEI., Third Grade PRISCILLA Rose, Third Grade Summer Time Summer time is lovely, The birds are cuddled in their nests, The time when birds do sing. The sun is shining bright. All the children are plaving, The trees and flowers 'are blooming, Their joyous laughter rings. The lake is a beautiful sight. The children go barefoot all summer, The moon is bright at night. Summer time is beautiful For everything within sight. ANNE Scmzvek, Fifth Grade Sixty-three ' 1936 INK POT ' liHQ ll2. N WS A-ve, vim, -My .N-4v.4.uv .Au A.:- aw .Au ov... .ua v-.N ,M- Q-'vvvw-1 ww vhuf --ve., Asa ,Nw Stink!!- Assemblies HH Excellent 'H Very good tr Good ' Fair 'October I+, Nlr. P. Y. Ross-Though he knew about lilizabethan drama he was unable to impress us, because of his evident lack of personality. MfNovetnber 6, Senior YI Talk on Uurrent Topics-Our seniors presented to us an in- formative assembly on current atlairs, includ- ing the elections of November 7, 1935. 5W Novetnlver ll, hir. V. l'l. C'alvertonYSo interesting in his discussion of the lithiopian situation that he was recalled the following week for an open discussion on Current livents. 'Novetnber IR, Miss Giles, llenrv Street Set- tlement Nurse-Telling us about the everyday occurrences in one clinic, besides showing us movies of the manner in which the babies are given medical attention. xliikllL'i't'IIll1L'l' 2, llampton Quartet-Singing ever-popular negro spirituals, including the school favorite -limba. qtwwllecetnlier 9, Mr. Claiton llamilton-l'fn- lightening address on the progress of lfnglish drama from Sltakespeare to Oscar XVilde, stressing l.ad5 VVindermere's Fan. Sixty-tout' Hswjantiary' 13, H. C. Engelbrecht-Many grim and only-too-true anecdotes brought home to us the manner in which the munition industry provokes and prolongs wars. 5HH'FelurL1ary 10, Hildegarde Halliday-Four amusing and entertaining monologues won for our guest speaker the enthusiastic applause of the entire school. ?H6Ft'llI'll1ll'Y 2-I-, Miss Boykin-Once again The Miss lioyltin, this time on personality. main points given to acquire personality are: 1. be yourself, 2. be alive physically and mentally, 3. enjoy life, 4. have a goal. xxxxM1lFi'l1 9, lfranees Shapiro-Frances Sha- piro, one of our fellow students, left us with mixed feelings of admiration and envy, after playing for us in one of the best assemblies of the year. +lVIarch 16, Mrs. Seideman-Une of Mayor 1.a Guardia's committee on city planning. ller subject was the anti-noise campaign as affects the planning of our metropolis. :lUwilN'l1lI'k'l1 23, Miss Cierstcin-.-X rather dis- connected talk revealing many facts about the motion picture industry from its start to the present day with a glimpse into the future, A charming manner made up for her deficiencv in presentation. tr at + 1936 INK POT Q November 27, Thanksgiving Entertainment by the Elementary School-Our elementary school displayed their dramatic talents in a Thanks- giving pageant. They dramatized the plant- ing of corn in the New World and the First Thanksgiving. They closed with an original performance of taking each letter of the word Thanksgiving and explaining what it stood for. October 31, The Hallowe'en Luncheon-The Social Committee outdid themselves in giving us a Hallowe'en luncheon. The gym was gai- ly adorned with orange and black crepe paper to fit the gala occasion. A delicious luncheon was served to us, after which we sang songs and played games. A fortune teller was pres- ent to read into the futures of those who were not superstitious. December 19, Lady Windermere's Fan - The Dramatic Group under the skillful and indispensable direction of Mr. Gerald Rey- nolds, presented Oscar Wilde's famous com- edy, Lady Windermere's Fan. The stage settings this year were more realistic and more artistic than ever before. The members of the cast outdid themselves, and the adapt- ability which each person showed in the por- trayal of her role proved the ingenuity with which the play was cast. The production was a huge success and we are looking forward to seeing the next one. February 14, St. Valentine's Party-One more triumph for our Social Committee. This time, although each member of the High School furnished the sandwiches, fruit and cake, the committee served hot chocolate and candy. Afterwards we danced and sang songs to the able accompaniment of Miss Mitchell at the piano. QShe certainly can play.J As a climax to the afternoon's fun we had a Virginia Reel and 'fSnap the Whip. fMiss Wiggin was afraid that after all this strenuous exer- Eise we would be too tired to play basketball or a week.l A The Music Shop Gather Lip-Rouge VVhile You May -Before 8245. Over Somebody Else's Shoulder -Exams. just an Evening at Home -Doing home- work. Every Now and Then -High heels. Jimmy Had a Nickel -Recess. I've Got a Feeling You're Fooling -Good marks. On a Sunday Afternoon -Thinking of Monday's work. Without a Word of Warning -Unam nounced Tests. '4Loafin' Time -Week-ends. Out of Sight, Out of Mind -School during vacation. I'm on a See-saw -Gym. Between Two Fires -In the Office. Headin' Home -One o'clock. Breaking in a Pair of Shoes -First day of school. it tr it I'm Going to Sit Right Down and Write Myself a Letter -English. Take a Number from One to Ten -Math. Bonjour Mam'selle -French. She's a Latin from Manhattan -Miss Lent. Gypsy Tea Room -Lunch Room. Once in a Blue Moon -An UA. tt Here Come the British -Mrs. White. Midnight in Paris -Mademoiselle Davis. Music Goes 'Round and 'Round -Mr. Rey- nolds. You Hit the Spot -College Board. That's Mv Weakness Now -New crushes. Please Believe Me -Homework excuses. Remembering -Alumnan Let's Face the Music -Report cards. I'm Building Up to an Awful Let-Down - Examinations, I'll Be Hard to Handle -Being brought up in Council. - I Feel a Song Coming On -Sixth Period, Friday. Let's Put Out the Lights and Go to Sleep - Elfects of reading Caesar. Eeny Meeny Miny Mo -Picking answers in exams. Weather Man -Students League Constitu- tion. Stormy Weather -Mr. Reynolds' tempera- ment. Rhythm in My Nursery Rhymes -Recess concerts. Isn't It a Lovely Day -Field Day. After Dark -What do the teachers do after school is out? 'fBroken Record - One line across the back and one line across the front, taking your chairs and using fire escape. VVho's Afraid of the Big, Bad Wolf? - Council. Haunting Me -Gum-chewing rules. Old Ox Road -92nd Street and West End Avenue. Wake Up and Sing -Monday morning as- semblies. You Ought to Be in Pictures -Principals of Cast. You're the Top -Miss Calhoun and Miss Levis. Glow-worm -Mrs. Ragan. Sing an Old-fashioned Song to a Young So- phisticated Lady -Miss Calhoun's lec- tures. But Where Are You? -Committee Chair- man's Song to her members. 'fAlone -Independent work. 'Tm Shooting High -College applications. Ho, Hum, Spring Is Here Now -Excuse for lack of interest in classes. Blow, Gabriel, Blown-Waiting for the bell to ring to end period. VVhat's the Name of That Song? -Choos- ing music for commencement. Bsrrv BARON, '37 Mrumksn Scnwmtz, 37 Sixty-five 9 9 1936 INK POT Q0 U l l.9rlsBea-c, E11 ga gements Florence Harthman, '25 ., Lester ll. Maxon Judith Doniger, '27, ,,.. Dr. Merrill D. Lipsky Marjorie Ilerne, '31 ..,.. ......,..,., B ernard frystal Iidythe Konheim, '32 .. .,.,.., Arthur S. Jarcho Phyllis Goldsmith, '33 ..,. . .L. Morton Stern Florence Rosenstein, '33 ,, .David Sadowsky Naomi Feldman, '35 .. Stanley Pelz Marriages Sylvia liurgheimer, '26,.Stanley Emerich Rapp Virginia Wveil, '26 ..,. . May l'ntermeyer, '27,. Flora lless, '28 ..,. .,..... Louise joseph, '28.. ,.,. ,.,.. . . Vivian Roth, 'ZX Ruth Luhetkin, '29 , Grace Meyers, '29 ...., . Adele Baron, '30 ..... .... . Vivienne Dreyfus, Fx lidith Sarnofl, '30 Sixty-six ,.,..Raymond Schloss . . ,....,.Morris Nexvhurger ., ., ,Murray Solomon .,,,, ,.,Leo Yanoff .. . , ,Simon Rubin . .,..,., , jack lxahn Louise Blumgardt, '29, . .... .....,Adrian Frankel Stanley jules Harte Dr. David M. Mark Vs 0, ,..,.. Maurice Stamper .. ,.... .julian Schultz Ruth Steindler, '30 'Ioan Hamburg, '32 Helene Roemer, '32 Flora Voice, '32 Harriet Berk, '33, Loucel Goodman, '33 ,, ......., ,..Alex Arnstein Jane Levy, '33, . ., .... Stanley Sherman Rudnick Elizabeth VVeinherg, '33 ,Arthur Milton Hess Ruth VViener, '34, , Arthur Kaplan Arthur llalderstadt . .,.. . ...., .. ., Carl VVeisl, Jr. .. . Sidney Chaitin VValter bl, Ash , . Sylvan Simon Births Daughter, jane Carol, to Ada Bleyer Sigmund, '24 Son, Henry August, to Marion Lissherger Lamhert, '27 Daughter, Roberta, to Audrey Aaron Freedman, '29 Son, Michael Peter, to Felice Margulies VVyler, '29 Daughter, Fllen Mina, to Marjorie Schwarz Rowogski, '30 Q 6 1936 INK POT fihlliflllllll Juliet Fischl ...,...... Shirley Greene .... ,Ioan Horwitz ...,.,, Norma Kaplan ,...... Birdie Schloss .......,,. Cll96ll.1'17'l6l11 Council Florence Yach '36 '36 '36 ,36 '36 nin ..,........,.,.,lVIARION SCHUIAIAN, '36 Elinor Schloss ..,,,,,...,,,.,,....,,,,...,,,.,i , ......,. ...,..,., ' 36 Jeanne Siegel ...,,... ......, ,... . . .. '36 Blanche Witkiriml .,,.., ...,i ....,.. ' 3 6 Nona Stern ,...,,,..,...,........ ....... ' 37 Cecile Kallinan ...............,.. '38 Six ! ty-nine 9 1936 INK POT Asfemblzlef Committee Clmirman ................. ,.,.....,. S Y1,v1A LEVIN, '36 Assistant Chairman ,.......... .......,........ .,,,..... I . LYCILLE SIMON, '37 Rluriel Oppenheimer ,... .,..... ' 37 Barbara Selverne ......,......,... Seventy Q O 1936 INK POT Atbletzkf Committee Chairman .,,........ ,,...,,.,.. F LORENCE YACHNIN, '38 Jsxisiant Clzairmzm ..,,.,.,... ...AA.,...,A.,. ..,.., B E ATRICE EPSTEIN, '37 Renee Klein .......,,,,... . ,..... fllildred Goldsmith Charlotte Davis .......... Marjorie Gordon ....,,. Cecile Kallman ..... Carol. Levy .........,...., ,...... Beatrice Litt ........,.........,........... Beatrice Rubenfeld Nlary Poll joyce Goodman ............ . Rita Goodman ................,...., Constance Nleirowitz ........, Gloria Rich ......,........,,........,.. llluriel Broff ..................., Claire Geller ...,......,....,.... '41 Seventy ' 1936 INK POT + Dfdilldfltf Group Chnirmzm ,,,......,. .A,A,..,,, 5 IoAN HORWITZ, '36 f1X.S'i.1'fllIIf Iflmirmzm ,,... , ., ,,..,,.,,,,, A,,,,...,.. J LYDITH FRANK, '36 Irene Frank ...,,..,...... ,,,, ,,,,,.,. ' 3 6 Florence Yachnin .,,,,,.,.........A,,.A..,......, ...,.,.., ' 38 Judith Scherer ...... ...... .,...,,, ' 3 6 Lillian Fichtenholtz .....,...,. ..,,,.,. ' 39 Elinor Schloss .....,., ..,,.,...... .... . . . '36 lllildred Goldsmith ....,,,, ., '39 Florence VValters ...,.,.,.... .,.i,... ' 37 Elaine Berg ....,.,,.............,. A '40 Klarjorie Gordon ....... ...,..., ' 38 Jean Cohen ..,.,......., . '40 Joan Jacobson ....,.i. '38 Muriel Hut ........i..,..,... - '40 Sinionette Lans ,...,,i, ..,,,,, ' 38 Jane Oppenheimer ,,,,, .,...... ' 411 Beatrice Litt .,.,..,,. ,,....... ......., ' 3 8 Lenore April ...., , .,.i...... .,., . ,. '41 lfleanor Schreiber ....... .,.,.... ' 38 Natalie Coplan ........ ,,..,... ' 41 Barbara Selverne ....,,,, ...,,,,, ,,..., , , ....., ' 38 Blossom Jacobs ,,,, '41 Barbara Sobel ...,,,, ,,.....,.........,,,,, ........ ,,,,.. ' 3 8 lfdith Mayer ,, i,.... . '41 Dorothy VVallach ,.... ,, ,,.. ..,,,,,,,i, '41 Seventy-two Q 1936 INK POT O Fhzmzce C01mnitlee Chairman .....,. ....,A,A.... A IEANNE SIEGEI., '36 ,lxxislnnr Clmirnmn ,.,w. ,.,. ,,A,,,,,. ,,..... I I . ENE HOFFENBERG, '36 Irene Fischer .,..., '36 Fannie Miller .....,....,.. , I. ...... '39 Rhoda hlintz ...... .,..,. ' 37 Claire Geller .....,..,... .. '40 Ruth l,itt .......... ,..... ' 38 Dorothy VVallach .........,.. .. .,., .. '41 Seventy-tl11'cc 0 1936 INK POT I11zP1'0vement Committee Chairman ....,......... ...,.....4,...................... J ULIET Fxscm., '36 Assiximzf Clmirumn .... ,.,......,.... ANNE FRANKENTH.-xI.ER, '39 Lee Eitin on ............ ,,.. ................... '38 Barbara Levv ..,........,... A A...... ,.,.,.......A . . .g , . . . ' . Arlme Fme .......... ......, ,........A.,..,,..........,..... 3 8 Vlr Ima Oppenhemmer 4 g I Phyllis Aaronson .......,,..,..........,...................... '39 Harrlet Nlautner ......,., Patsy Auerbach .....,.,,... ..... .....,.. ...,,,r.,......,,,,,, ' 4 I Seventy-four 0 1936 INK POT Librmy Committee Chairman ......,....... ......,,., ............. B I ,ANCHE WITKIND, '36 J.v.vi.vtm1t Clmirnmn ...,,,.... .........,.,..,...... IX 'IARJORIE ULLMAN, '36 Doris Greenberg .......,., ..,...... ' 36 Lenore April ...,.... ..,.,..... ' 41 Ruth Haas ......,........,.,.. ,. ..,.... '39 Natalie Coplan ..., '41 Seventy-five Q 1936 INK POT Pulolzkily Committee Ijhlliflllllll .,,,,...,.,, ,,.................... B IRDIE SCHLOSS, ,36 Assistant Clmirman ,.., ,.,,, ............A,, I DOROTHY NVEITZNER, '39 Nluriel Heller ,....,,, .1 .,., ,37 Lucille Granowitz ........,..,..,................ - Ruth Herskovits ...,....... ...... ' 37 Shirley Lubell .....,,......,. Alice Plant ...,.,,,,...,.,,.. ....... , , ........,.....,.,...,. '38 Constance Stern Barbara Sobel ..,.... . ............ ,,,. ..,,..,..... .,,,,,,,.,. ' 3 8 Elaine Kaufnmn .... ......... . Dorothy Yvallach .....................,,.. ,....,, ...,,,, ' 4 l Seventy-Six Q 1936 INK POT ' 5061211 C01ll1ll1.fl66 Clllliflllllll .,........,. ,.,.....,,. ICLINOR SCHLOSS, '36 rfsxixiafzt Chairnmn ...,. AY,. ,,,, ,,,.,,,A,A,,,,,,,,A.,,,,,,,,A R 12 N EE IXLEINY '36 -3' Bernice Gaines ...,, ,.... ......, ..,...,.,.....,..,...... , 3 6 Florencb VValters ...................,........A,.........,A.,,, '37 Beverly Golrlworm ......, .....,,....................... ' 37 Eileen Goodstein ........,.. .,,,..44 ' 40 Marjorie NVurman ....... ...,....,.., .....,...,,...... ' 4 1 Seventy-seven ' 1936 INK POT Q 506151 Servzke Committee Clhlliflllllll ....,..,,,.,...,, ,,,, , ,,,,, N ONAX STFRQ 37 Jssixtafzt Chzurnmn .,.,,,,.....,,,..,...,,AA,,,,,,A,.,,,...,,,,,,.,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, ANN Dum 37 Irene Fischer ............... ,.,.. Naomi Brown ,....,., Frances Goldstein ...., ....... Ruth Solomon .....,,, Nladeleine Thomas Barbara Brand ..., ..., Jane Gratz .....,,.....,..,, Aline Greenebaum ...., ....... 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