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

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0 1936 INK POT ' T bunder in fanumy AS every well informed person knows, thunder is not caused by the molecular action of electrically charged particles, but by the angels enjoying a bowling game up in heaven. The season for bowling is ordinarily the spring and summer months, and there are very strict laws forbidding bowling at any other time. It is a popular sport, however, so these laws are sometimes very difficult to enforce. It had been a very dull month for the younger set of angels, and they were just aching for something exciting to happen. The leader, a daring young angel, quite popular with the opposite sex, decided to tempt the rest of the crowd into a bowling match, thereby winning the admiration of his followers, but shocking his elders. It had snowed all day Sunday, and by the afternoon the angels could no longer resist the temptation of breaking the monotony. ln spite of all the rules and regula- tions, a bowling game was immediately started, only to be quickly put to an end by a delegation of angry and shocked elders. And that, my friends, is why you heard two short claps of thunder on the afternoon of January nineteenth. SHIRLEY LUBELL, '39, D123 Zwei K offer DIE zwei Kinder der Krau Schmidt heissen lllaria und Karl. lllaria geht zu ihrem Camp Wattatinyn und Karl geht auch, aber zu einem anderen. Es sind Zwei Koffer. Einer ist Marias Koffer und einer ist Karls Koffer. Sie sind sich gleich. Beide sind braun. Die Kinder gehen auf den Bahnhof und sagen, Auf Wiedersehen. Dann nimmt Maria einen Koffer und geht auf ihren Zug und Karl nimmt den anderen und geht auch auf seinen Zug. Als Maria im Camp ankommt, offnet sie ihren Koffer und ist sehr erstaunt, denn ein Ball fiillt daraus. Ein Mannerrock und viele Mannersachen sind darin. Und als Karl in seinem Camp ankommt, findet er in seinem Koffer ein gelbes Kleid und die ganze Kleidung seiner Schwester. Maria ist sehr traurig aber die Madchen lachen. Die Knaben necken Karl und sagen, Bitte, kannst du mir ein Kleid borgen, Schwesterlein ? LILLIAN FICHTENHOLTZ, '39. Songfr End I-,IFE is a song. To me few truer words have ever been spoken. Life we may compare to the Song of the Volga Boatmenf' The boatmen approach and their song becomes louder and more stirring the closer they come. It vibrates with all the burning hope of youth. Finally the climax: they are upon us with one glorious burst of melody, and we realize that the world was made for the gaiety and the sparkling brilliance of youth. The boatmen never pause in their journey. As they pass their song becomes fainter, just as we in old age become weaker. No longer can those who were once overflowing with energy command the attention of the world. Instead these frail bodies with dimming senses can only sit serenely and wait. The song fades into the distance. Life becomes an echo. Even the dipping of the oars into the water grows dimmer, and soon only a gentle swish may be discerned. Then a quiet stillness, tremulous with memories, settles down on the night of life. MADELEINE Jfxcons, '36. Thirty-five

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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

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Q 1936 INK POT + A Glimpse of Mexico MAJESTIC cliffs, coral colored in the sunlight, towered above the glistening water. Atop the rocky bluffs the island lighthouse loomed, second highest in the world, a challenge to Gibraltar. With this awe-inspiring view before me I caught my first glimpse of Mexico, that land of gay color and subtle charm. The harbor of Mazatlan reveled in multicolored beauty. The sloping city, with pink and aquamarine rooftops within the bay, was massed along the foreshoreg the hills stretching away beyond to seeming infinity. Large buzzards circled overhead and then gracefully swooped down and skimmed the surface of the water. This was one of the most picturesque approaches to any port that I have ever visited. I was eager to disembark and discover what lay behind this beautiful water- front. The drive through the city revealed a quaint little town with narrow Streets and drowsy donkeys poking along, laden with packs, or a villainous Pancho riding in cross-legged fashion. Small, dark-eyed children jabbered in Spanish and begged for coins. The adobe houses fascinated me with their inlaid mosaic floors and colorful patios. Wrought-iron grills protected the windows, but the doors were wide open in invitation to the curious. Rough-looking Mexicans wearing tall and peak crowned sombreros cut unusual figures. Being a typical tourist, I was eager to get a snapshot of one of these characters. I finally spied one who was excellent photographic material. He was stockingless and wore leather sandals with his toes sticking out, patched trousers a little longer than knee length and a gay colored kerchief on an otherwise dreary-looking shirt. He seemed to be chewing vigorously on a corn pipe and making very wry faces. He saw me starting to approach him and immediately began shuf- fling along at a very leisurely pace. I decided that I wasn't going to be daunted and followed him. At a place where I thought I had cornered him, he reeled around and gave me a menacing glance that terrorized me, so that before he knew what happened to me I was out of sight. For the remainder of the day my camera rested in my pocket. The market place with all its truly colorful wares was fascinating. Large water jugs with crude designs appeared to be quite the thing to adorn a primitive hearth. Woven rugs in odd and intricate patterns and various sorts of tooled leather goods were displayed. Mexican sense of caricature was evident in the amusing toys. The painted pig in the purple and pink stripings, sometimes with a whistle in its tail or a slot in the back for a penny bank, caused many a laugh. There were so many things to see that I would have liked to poke about for hours, but time hardly permitted. I returned to the boat just as twilight was settling over the village. Little shadows were creeping about. Just the dim outline of the houses was discernible against the dark background of the mountains. Quiet and peace reigned. As the boat lifted anchor, I felt a little lump in my throat as I realized that it was Adios, Mexico! NORMA KAPLAN, '36. Pussy Cat's Manners My kitty was thirsty It doesn't seem quite mannerly, So I asked her to tea, But she's just a velvet cat, But now she has drunk it all So I expect she doesn't know And left none for me. She shouldn't act like that. PATRICIA Ausmmcn, '41 Thirty-six