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

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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

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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

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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