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

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' 1936 INK POT Q An Interview with Rurrell Hardie I RUSHED down to the National Theater thinking, I must be there by two o'clock or I won't be able to interview Russell Hardie. After arriving frather breathlessj I asked the manager if Mr. Hardie was ready to see me. Five minutes passed, then ten, then fifteen. Well, it's 2:15 now, I might as well leaveg he'll never come now. Suddenly I felt a queer feeling come over me and my hands turned icy. The reason was that Russell Hardie was striding toward me! He looked rather puzzled and was aware that my eyes were glued on his face. Did you wish to see me ? he asked. I gulped, Yes. Russell Hardie has a warm, charming smile, frank, friendly, gray-blue eyes which reveal him as a very likeable young man, light brown hair and the physique of a well-trained athlete, about six foot one. When one sees him for even the first time, one immediately realizes that he is very unassuming and that his apparent success has not made him conceited. Each question that I asked Russell Hardie was answered frankly. He reveals himself as a sincere, unspoiled young man with a charming personality. He was born in a little town near Buffalo, lvlay 20, 1908. Even as a child his ambition was to be an actor. He wasn't just stage-struck -oh, no-he was determined to act, and now here he is. hir. Hardie started to work when he was fourteen. His first real job was in the Ford Motor Company. After losing his job, he telephoned the leading lady, a friend of his, in a stock company, and she secured a small part for him. This started Russell Hardie's career. His parents were very much opposed to it, believing that he would go to the dogs. But that is according to the individual, he says, and you can go to the dogs anywhere, not only on the stage. Mr. Hardie did not receive a college education, and, although believing it isn't entirely necessary for the theatrical world, he says that it does give one more poise and self-confidence. For the moment I couldn't think of a question to ask him. You will probably think of millions after you leave, he smilingly said. His first play was Criminal Code, his favorite. His favorite actor is Alfred Luntg his favorite actresses are Katherine Cornell and Lynn Fontanne. hir. Hardie was under contract to Metro-Goldwyn-lllayer. His latest pictures are Sequoia and Old Kentucky Cwhich will be released soonj, with the late Will Rogers. Old Kentucky is the picture he enjoyed making most of all. I asked if he was returning to the cinema, and he replied, I would like to, but I'm sick of playing somebody's brother, and carting animals around. He prefers living in California, but likes the New York stage best. When I questioned him as to marriage, he said with a grin, No, I'm single. He looked expectantly for a sigh of relief, because he was accustomed to meeting many giggling school girlsf' I decided to be different! Do you think he was surprised? After glancing at my watch, and noting that it was 2:40, I realized that I had better withdraw, as he was due on the stage shortly. Russell Hardie is appearing in the current play Remember the Day, which in my opinion and that of many others, is an excellent show. LUCILLE SIMON, '37. A Lui Stars Amour amour qu'on aime tant! ,. . . . Tu n'es qu'une montagne haute, gvllnrlglg electgc lights Que l'on monte en chantant. Bwlfl e lmzi an 0 On pleure en descendant la c6te. Y I C C Ou S' Rnorm MINTZ, '37 PHYLLis MARGULIES, '36 Thirty-three

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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

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Q 1936 INK POT + La Maternelle OUR la premiere fois j'ai vu un film frangais. Il etait tres interessant et en quelques II10tS je vais essayer d'en faire un resume. Une jeune femme, Rose, abandonnee par son fiance, est devenue femme de service dans une ecole Nlaternelle en France. Les enfants l'aiment beaucoup car elle est bonne et patiente. Une petite fille Surtout, lN'Iarie, qui est negligee par sa mere, est jalouse des autre enfants. Son affection pour Rose est tres forte. Un jour Rose fait la classe aux enfants quand un inspecteur vient visiter l'ecole. Il est surpris d'ap- prendre par la suite que c'est une bonne qui s'est montree si capable. Il l'admire et ne veut pas croire qu'elle n'est qu'une domestique. Le docteur de l'ecole finalement decouvre qu'elle est bien nee, bien elevee, et instruite. Il la demande en mariage et ils adoptent la petite Marie que sa mere a abandonnee. Tous sont heureux. Le film differe des films americains. Il y a moins d'action mais beaucoup de charme et une juste analyse de sentiments. Je l'ai trouve merveilleux. NONA STERN, '37, On Feet HE heat was appalling, the rush hour at its height. The subway was packed. There were no seats. I hung on a strap as many others did. My feet burned. lVIy expensive, smart-looking shoes pinched me so much that spots danced before my eyes. The consciousness of my feet became an obsession. I could think of nothing else. Finally, in an effort to divert myself, I looked about me. Feet, big feet, small feet, broad feet, narrow feet. A man sitting opposite me had enormous, square-toed shoes. His feet were turned completely inward, toe point to toe point. I realized that he must be bow-legged. The man next to me kept tapping his foot to a march. I shut my eyes and saw a vision of a brilliant summer day, a parade, heard the bands, heard the people cheer- ing, heard the drum beating Yankee Doodle. The marchers and the people bespoke health and happiness. Right foot, left foot, right, left, right. The dream passed. I turned and looked more closely at my neighbor. His clothes were thread-bare. He was unshaven. His face was sallow, his cheekbones prominent, and his shoulders drooped. I shut my eyes again. The band was silent. The people gone. The day cold and rainy. Only the marchers remained, a long line of men, hungry, poor, and seedy-looking-a bread-line. The marchers' feet plodded heavily in the mud and rain. Now and then a man would stamp on the ground to get the numbness out of his limbs. Daily, feet, hundreds, thousands of them plodded, stamped and dragged along past that relief-stand. The line was endless. My own sore feet were forgotten. A question burned within me. Could these feet ever march with gay uplifting rhythm, or would they merely plod on with the same unfaltering measure through life unto the grave? MURIEI. A. OPPENHEIMER, '37. Imagination Looking out of the window Thinking maybe it's heaven On a breezy summer's night, 'Vhere the angels roam and play, Wondering what's beyond the stars Maybe it's that place of dreams- Yn the sky of blue and white, Who knows? VVe cannot say. SARA LOUISE DAvm, '41 Thirty-four