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

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+ 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

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+ 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

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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