Calhoun School - Ink Pot Yearbook (New York, NY)

Page 19 text:

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

Page 18 text:

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'.'

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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