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

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. 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

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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

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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