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

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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

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+ 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

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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