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

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ink pot what i think of war WHEN I Think how foolish men are, in wanTing To fighT each oTher, shed each oTher's blood and kill each oTher, I wonder if These are The same men who have creafed such masferpieces, invenfed such wonders as The Telephone, radio, Telegraph. phonograph, cable, airplane and auTomobile, all works of man's achievemenT. IT seems incredible ThaT men who have creaTed such wonders ever wanT To kill each oTher, To go back To primiTive Times when man was no more Than a roaming animal and had To Tighr The wild beasTs if he wanTed To live. In Europe Toda , The counTries are re-arming and Training Their children in ways of warfare. Think of! The horrors of The IasT war! How many people were killed, how much money losT, how many people influenced by The slaughTer. We all know of people who have Iosf Their sighT, Their hearing, an arm or a leg, who have received shell shock and are now suffering invalids due To The lasT war. When vou Think of war you Think of men fighTing in The Trenches, being killed. killing. This isn'T all. There are educaTed men who, more Than The soldiers, work for war. There are scienTisTs. all over The world, who now are searching for more deadly poisons To desTroy oTher human beings. The rich men who finance wars, The ammuniTion maker, The gun manufacTurer, and The war-plane builder all wanT war. War does no one any good. One counfry may become greedy and wanT more land or more power, buT The lives losT and properTy damaged more Than double The vicTory if There is any. No one wins: everyone loses, wheTher lives, properTy, or money. IT seems absoluTeIy impossible ThaT highly infellecfual men wanT To go backwards and Tigh+ like barbarians. I believe ThaT war is a sTep backward in civilizaTion and in naTions as highly civilized as Those of The world Today, There should be no ThreaT of war. CONSTANCE MEIROWITZ, '39, A P 5 sing sing routine BEING The firsT dressed in my cosTume, waiTing To go on, I sTood in The wings and peeped inTo The audiTorium. In a few minuTes I saw someThing I shall never forgeT. Alfhough I had seen iT in The movies, in real life iT senT shivers up and down my spine. Several hundred grey-garbed men of all ages were shuffling down The aisle. Their pale faces looked as if They were moulded in masks. Blue uniformed guards showed Them To Their seaTs, where They saT quieTly. STanding There, The ThoughT came To me of all The ones who were so dear To Them. To whom They had broughT disgrace and misery. Suddenly The music began To play and a voice called, CurTain. PATSY AUERBACH -41 weathered H E saT wiTh his back To a pile on The wharf, his crisp grey hair framing a face Tanned and lined by his many years of conTacT wiTh The sea. The cord, wiTh which he was mending a fish neT, flashed in and ouT in his long, dexTrous fingers. His eyes were a deep blue which reflecfed The azure of The waves over which his gaze wandered. When any alien sound came To his ear, his eyes darTed abouT inquisiTively. His chin was square and firm, showing an obdurafe personaliTy. He smiled as The IiTTle children, frolicking on The sandy beach, Then Tiring of Their play, came To him for a sTory of his seafaring days. Then, as a IiTTle boy climbed upon his knee, he soffened and Told his sTory in a voice which rang like a bell, mingling pleasanfly wiTh The slap of The waves upon The beach. The gulls circling above seTTIed down in an aTTiTude rivalling ThaT of The children, one denofing inTeresT, pleasure and well-being. SARA PERLISH, '4-0. forTy-four

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ink pot diplomacy 9 U B UT I Tell you I won'T go To any American Ambassador's house. WhaT The devil do you wanT me To go There Tor, anyhow? Darling, I know all abouT iT, Mrs. STone Tried To reason wiTh her husband. BuT aTTer all, Donna is one oT my Triends and she did accepT The inviTaTion Tor us. IT would be very rude noT To aTTend The Tea now. All righT, I'II go: buT you'II admiT ThaT They'll all probably be sTuTFy as can be. l came on The Trip To geT away Trom socieTy and Those darn social gaTherings, and whaT do I bump inTo? An Ambassador's Tea. Am I righT? GeTTing no response Trom his wife who, used To his sTubbornness, was enioying The Mexican scenery, he Turned To The congenial elderly genTIeman who had saT opposiTe him Tor The pasT Tew meals and who had been lisTening To him wiTh an amused look. Well, am I? The genTleman was, however, spared The Trouble oT answering by The conducTor who came To The dining car To announce Their ap roaching arrival aT Mexico CiTy. The passengers bound Tor ThaT ciTy, including The 5Tones and The congenial genTIeman, rushed To Their respecTive cars To geT ready To clebark. NexT aTTernoon Jerry STone was looking around desperaTely To Tind someone in The greaT room who mighT be inTeresTing. JusT as he was deciding ThaT all The people aT The Tea were sTuTFy, he spoTTed his breakTasT companion oT The previous day. ATTer a hearTy greeTing Jerry sTarTed Talking in conTidenTial Tones. For Heaven's sake, The people here are sTuTTy. Am I glad To see you! Thank goodness I haven'T had The pleasure oT meeTing The Ambassador yeT. I-le musT be- Jerry was inTerrupTed by his hosT's secreTary who, coming up To The liTTle old man, said, Pardon me, Ambassador, buT ou are wanTed aT The Telephone. The Ambassador excused himselT wiTh a smile. Jerry's rnouTh was wide open. ANNE FRANKENTHALER, '39, une declaration d'amour Le premier iour que ie T'ai vu Dans le iardin, sous le pommier, Tu eTais debouT. Tu regardais I'herbe, les arbres, les Tleurs, J'aurai pu Te regarder pendanT des heures. Crois-moi, serieusemenT, ie T'aime. Mon coeur s'ouvre a Toi: Tu es mon premier Tu seras mon seul amour ET ie T'aimerai Touiours. RUTH J. I-IERSKOVITS, '37, paths They walked The road TogeTher, I-Ie smiled To Think, Though a Tear Trickled down The old man and The child, OT The handsome man in his prime, And as The bo looked inTo his eyes, Who lay buried under The cold, hard earThg Behold-The olld man smiled! I'low his liTe was sTolen by Time. The smile was noT oT ioy, he knew, His TaTher, This dear chiId's TaTher, And yeT he was noT sadg Whose place he now musT Till, He smiled To Think oT his own boyhood, Ancl TeIT iT his duTy To walk wiTh The child, And The paThs he walked wiTh his dad. The old paThs sTiII. ELISE ELISBERG, '4I. TorTy-Th ree

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ink pot wasp waist vs black mustache FOR as many years as I can remember, our family has Taken reaT pride in one pos- session. We have moved abouT from ciTy To counTry and bactic again, and always our Treasured memory book has come wiTh us. A home wiThouT a picTure album is as cold and unfriendl as a home wiThouT radiafors. To The older people in our family, The album brings back memories oT The days gone by, and, for The younger elemenT, iT in- variably provokes IaughTer and amusemenT. We simply cannoT become senTimenTal when we see our favoriTe aunT gazing aT us in The mosT absurdly-fashioned producf of The milliner's arT. To our aunf, The years swifTly unfold Themselves and perhaps bring back pleasanT memories, buT for our parT, we cannoT prefend To become Teary and emofional. Somehow, The masculiniT of men in Those days was recorded in The annals of a personal album. ln our very family one finds exacT reproclucfions of whaT we call our modern Tarzan. IT is noT an uncommon picTure aT all To see uncles and cousins peeping ouT of Trees. A Tamer, buT sTill a sTrong Tarzan is always found sTanding beside his wife in every picTure of a happily married couple, which brings me To one picTure ThaT is quiTe amusing. MoTher is siTTing on a high-backed, ornaTely Tiligreed chair, and Dad, of The celluloid collar and severely-Tailored black frock coaT, is sTanding beside her. One's aTTenTion is drawn immediaTeIy To a peculiar ouTline on The chair. Yes, iT is The mosT incredibly small waisTIine one ever did see. l'm ashamed To Think ThaT I measure TwenTy-seven inches when, aT my age, MoTher boasfed only eighfeen. Then we see an ebony-black someThing or oTher waving gracefully over Dad's face. Proudly he Tells us ThaT a Beau Brummel was noT a Beau Brummel wiThouT one. ApparenTly he was noT To be oufdone by The ofher dandies of ThaT day and age. BoTh ouTsTanding, I can r decide which is The more inspiring, a wasp waisf or a black musfache. CHARLOTTE SHNIPKIN, '38, starlight and embers WE had paddled abouT Tiffeen miles, in The scorching sun across The rough whiTe- capped lake. Now, as we saT around The blazing fire, we felT somehow conTenTed, and in The uTTer silence of The nighT sensed how really insignificanT we were. The sky was sTudded wiTh sfars and The norThern lighfs casT weird shadows across camel-humped mounTains. The embers glowed and There is noThing so beauTiTul To see or so delicious To smell as The saTin bark of whiTe birch as iT slowly burns. The red-gold colors danced on sun-Tanned faces wiTh ThoughTful eyes. There was a cerrain peace and perfecT undersTanding in The hearTs of everyone, as we saT, some wiTh immobile faces, oThers wiTh faces as innocenr as a child's, and some wiTh hidden Treasured Thoughfs ThaT were Their very own and could noT be inTerpreTed inTo words. We sang for awhile, and as our voices floaTed ouT across s+iII waTers, There came To us The sound of Taps, and wiTh iT a sense of securiTy. Perhaps, afTer all, There is a sandman, for our eyes were heavy Iidded and slumber overfook us, as we Thoughf, Gods in His heaven, aII's righT wiTh The worId. EDITH WILSON, '39. a rainbow An arTisT's brush SwepT across The sky In a curve Of magic beaufy. MARGARET HARTIG, '4l. forTy-five -Q