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

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Q 1936 INK POT Q T be Modern Odyrfeuf DYSSEUS Clifting up the telephone receiverj, Hello, operator of the buzzing wires, wouldst thou please get me long distance? . . . Ah, yes. Greece . . . Ah, thank you, most charming and obliging of maidens . . . Yes, reverse the charges. Do not forget to buzz me whenst thou gettest Greece. A few minutes later the phone rings and Od sseus answers Hello ah hell y Y D O! Penelope, wife of the golden tresses, keeper of the key to my heart, how art thou? And how is my dear son, of the strong and mighty men? I hope he is well . . . Yes, my sweet. You are as sweet as the honey of the bee . . . Yes, my dear, I am in fair Italy, with Mussolini, the possessor of many armies. He asked me to go to-What? Operator, what did you say? You most stupid of all the world. Be kind enough to be quiet! . . . No, dear Penelope, wife of the sweet dispositions, do not have that idea in your head. Dost think I would make you pay the bill? No, my dearest one, of course not. As I was saying, Iklussolini, the Great, has asked me to go to Ethiopia to help fight the war . . . Yes, dear. I will probably be home in a week . . . Yes. Good- bye, wife of my dreams. Odysseus hangs up the receiver and says to himself, Ah, methinks that operator is dumb. I wish to Zeus she would go to the realm of Hades. Then he sits down in his chair and falls asleep, dreaming of his trip. Beyond the Known A never dreamed of land across the deep blue sea, Unknown, unapprehended, so full of mys- tery- Columbus was convinced that he should seek this land. With this idea of his to see the king he planned. With sadness and sorrow his dreams almost lost The queen helped him sail at a very great cost. They all thought him crazy, and called him insane, But he proved that his quest was not all in vain. Though they laughed and they jeered at what this man learned, They bowed, kneeled and honored him when triumphant he returned. Beyond the known land he sought a world to conquer new, It was the same America that belongs to me and you. MARY POLL, '41 ELAINE S. BERG, '4-0. Historical Tale Long years ago in Anglo-Saxon days When stalwart shepherds took their flocks to graze, Young England was a woodland wildernessg No portent warned of future mightiness. She harbored still God's plenty in her land Where modern Britain's homely structures stand, And birds and beasts roamed freely every- where With wealth of floral grace beyond compare. What fools men were to spoil this dazzling show Where bluebell vied with willow to outgrow! What matter if a city stand there now When crown of greenwood once adorned her brow? Resistless to advancement's siren call, Like children, they have torn asunder all Her precious birthright sold for paltry sum, Her only birdsong now, a factory's hum. SHIRLEY GREENE, '36 Forty-five

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f 1936 INK POT + Fzkb and Firbermen IT had rained the night before, and now the shores of Long Island Sound were crowded with eager fishermen. From the little lad with a long branch of a tree, a piece of cord and a bent pin to serve as a hook, to the professional angler with the most durable and practical equipment that money could buy, they were all busy before the sun had ever risen, and now as its golden beams were cast on many a brown and white- haired lad, they seemed to form a halo about the head of a delicate boy perched precariously upon a small rock which sloped down toward the green waters. Again and again the lad drew up his stick, only to find that his eagerly awaited prey had escaped. Finally he heaved a sigh of discouragement and threw his line into the water for the last time. Perhaps if he had had a real fishing rod--but that was too impossible to even dream about. Near the lad, an older man sat, also fishing. But the long rod drooped in his hand and his mind wandered away from the Sound. Back many months the rushing breezes of time blew him. Back to gay Paris, to the Academy of Arts, where after the exhibition of his picture, Elizabeth, the world had proclaimed John Chambers, at the age of twenty-seven, the greatest living artist. The weeks that followed were filled with mocking idleness and vain attempts to work. And as time went on the world forgot John Chambers, and he slipped back into obscurity. Now he earned but a few cents a day by teaching his landlady's stupid and fat daughter the rudiments of drawing. He who had been the world's greatest artist had barely enough money for his food. A bitter laugh escaped from his lips, a laugh of sorrow and pain, a laugh of mingled wisdom and cynicism. For some unknown reason he looked up and saw the little black-haired lad sitting on the rock, sunbeams forming a beautiful halo around his head. john wanted to try and sketch him, but he was afraid, afraid of failing. He was a coward, not a man enough to face the truth. If he could only succeed he would once more be able to go among his old friends, and become the John Chambers of fifteen years ago. If he failed, however, what then? Would there be anything to live for in this world of landladies and fish? Still he could not resist the urge of his chosen work, even though it might bring disaster, and, taking an old pencil out of his fish basket and the blood- spotted paper lining, he quickly forgot that fish had ever existed. And the rod which had fallen from his hand floated down the Sound. As John put the final details on the picture, he felt someone touch his shoulder, and he looked up to see Robert Devoe, who had been one of his fellow students in the art academy. Robert, he said, I thought you were in France painting a portrait of Mon- seigneur Alacarf' Well, the other man admitted, I was supposed to be in France, but I needed a vacation, so I came back to the United States. But, John, what have you been doing with yourself all these months ? John was ashamed to admit that he had done really nothing, and he did not reply. His friend caught sight of the little sketch and exclaimed with genuine feeling that the picture was a gem. John, you'll make your fortune on that drawing, some day, he said almost enviously. And john Chambers, once more his old self, rose to have tea with his friend, his drawing carefully placed in his coat pocket. And as he turned to leave the Sound, he saw the little black-haired lad, with a radiant face gently draw up a shining rod. Dangling on the hook was a beautiful large porgy! SIMONETTE LANs, '38. Forty-four

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Q 1936 INK POT + Hope T has often occurred to me what a horrible world this would be if most people were not blessed with that indispensable and highly comforting gift which is usually referred to as imagination. There are many people who choose to look with disdain upon those whom they consider builders of castles in the air, and they immediately stamp these imaginative builders with the terse term, day dreamersf' Yet, if these somewhat callous people who find ready excuses for condemnation would only stop to think, they would realize that if it were not for a spark of imagination there are many people who would most probably find it impossible to live their miserable lives. For example, on a cold snowy day a few winters ago, at the corner of a downtown street sat an ancient, emaciated, white-haired man, with so pale a face and clothes so gray and tattered that passing pedestrians might easily have thought him a huge lump of snow shoveled against a building. However, more than one passerby, attracted by the wavering and decidedly squeaky tones of his violin, stopped either to cast him a pitying glance or to drop a coin into his rusty cup. With his shrew old eyes the violinist noticed the sorrowful glances thrust at him, and after he had finished his piece a few people standing near him heard him mutter in challenging tones, They pity me now, but some day I shall be successful and well known. It is obvious that there was little if any hope for this man's future, but would it have been better for him to be ever conscious of the fact? He found solace in his imagination and therefore was as content as possible. It seems to me that the age-old adage, While there's life there's hope, might prove sound philosophy even when changed around to While there's hope there's life. EVELYN AMPOLSK, '36. Le fair Et La Nui! LE soleil brille sur le monde pendant que les petits enfants jouent ensemble. De beaux arbres se balancent avec le vent, si grands et si spacieux. Les oiseaux chantent de joie. Le monde est plein de musique car il fait jour. La nut si belle et calme vient apres que la journee est partie. Le monde se repose. Le silence est partout. Les fleurs se lentement et dit, C'est la nuit. A Can of Spinach Popeye, the great big sailor man, Kept his spinach in a can. Along came little Mickey Mouse, And walked right into Popeye's house. No one was home, the house was bare, The can of spinach was on a chair. Quick as a flash-it seems quite funny- The can of spinach was in his tummy. Now who came home but our sailor man, And when he saw the empty can We wanted to kill poor Mickey Mouse, But Mickey threw him out of the house. JANE OPPENHEIMER, '40 Forty-six couchent sur la terre. La lune les regarde CONSTANCE MEIROWITZ, '39. Winter Landscape I The western sky was red with winter sunset. A brilliant star much braver than the rest Hung low and beautiful in heavens that met The snow-patched earth in solemn loveliness. II The frozen brook was decked with joyous skaters, Their colored clothes a brilliant panorama, In contrast with the grotesque looking satyrs- Their shadows-in the swiftly gathering dusk. Buznnz Scmoss, '36