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

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ink poi secret passions of an undergraduate GAUNT and Treckled was my kid broTher aT The brave age oT sixTeen and a half. Hopelessly overcome by some presenT Teminine TIaTTery, Bobby was a problem chilp. For anyone sTudy:ng a course in adolescenf psychology he would have been a per ecT specimen To ana ze. AT one Time during his illusTrious career Ialong aThIeTic linesl Bobby's acTions were becoming a biT puzzling. He wasn'T a bad young one, buT, like all bo s, a liTTle unTidy, and a comb never ran Through his Tair hair buT once a day. How, like a clean spring wind. he blossomed inTo a perTecT genTIeman. His Tormer habiTs were mainly To run abouT The house knocking everyThing over in his paTh and leaving a scene behind him which resembled a sTreeT in war-Torn Madrid. WhaT was This change ThaT had come over him? His shoes were meTiculously shined each morning, and his hair, paTenT- IeaThered careTuIly, looked like Pinaud's TavoriTe adverTisemenT. OT course There was Carolinji picTure on hif burciaud? BuT he always complained abouT girls geTTing in his wa an ow sooner or aTer e' 'oin a monasTer . Y Well, one Tine morning, Bobby approachedyme aTTer breakTasT, and wiTh a grin on his Tace said, Come on, Sis, how abouT Two biTs? Sunkl I ThoughT: he saw me come in aT Three lasT nighT. He goT my IasT quarTer, and Trom Then on I kep+ an eye on him more closely Than ever. IT only I could discover whaT grade he had made on his French exam! CerTainIy, if he had passed, he wouldn'T keep ThaT a secreT Trom his ever-admonishing parenTs. And yeT iT couIdn'T be ThaT. Bobby was sTruggling againsT someThing sTilI greaTer Than he could cope wiTh. Poor kid, he asked Tor money, and I accused him oT Taking iT as hush money. Feeling an overwhelming surge oT older- sisTer responsibiliTy, I decided To aTTack This subiecT wiTh all The TacT and s mpaThy I could musTer: Poor Bobby, he is even now brooding up in his room insTeadl oT doing his homework. His li+TIe hearT breaking Tor wanT oT someone To confide in. Up I ran The TIigh+ oT sTairs To Bobby's room and opened The door slowly. There in The mirror I could see a reTIecTion oT him making The queeresT Taces and muTTering To be, or noT To be. I had all I could do To keep myself from shouTing wiTh laughTer as I Turned my back To slip ouT, when he spied me and called me back! ExerTing all his manliness he succeeded in quieTIy ThrusTing me inTo a chair. WiTh his hand covering his mouTh and one TooT unyieldingly placed on my poor Toe, he proceeded like This- HonesT, Sis, I love you, buT l won'T be responsible if l kill you or sumpin'. You musT never Tell whaT you iusT saw me doing. WiTh This he made me swear never To uTTer a word abouT his aspiraTions. He Then unToIded his Tale To me. He was going To be one oT The greaTesT Shakespearen acTors in The world. The money he Took was very sensibly in- vesTed in an impressive green covered book enTiTled How To ACT in Shakespeare! Dramas in TwenTy Easy Lessons. And a sub-TiTIe, Overcome STage Frighf by Fol- lowing Bill Shakespeare's Ten Easy Rules. Goodness! Bobby was going To be an acTor. And whaT is iT people say abouT girls being sTage sTruck? CHARLOTTE Sl-INIPKIN, '38. a valued treasure THE nighT is mosT exquisiTe and rare. IT gives The heavens Their holiesT hue. The sTars are sTudded againsT Their ebony background, and The divine moon shows above The Tops oT The snow-shining mounTains. NighT is The moTher oT ThoughTs and puTs old cares To TlighT. Some say ThaT nighT brings our Troubles To The lighT, raTher Than banishes Them. ThaT is noT True: iT Iulls The world To sleep and gives back The losT delighTs ThaT The soul once possessed. A dewy Treshness Tills The silenT air: no misT obscures, nor cloud, nor speck, nor sTain breaks The serene oT heaven. How beauTiTuI is f1l9h+! FANNIE MILLER, '39, TorTy-six

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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

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ink pot gateaux de riz Les Personnages: Madame Duponf La bonne Caroline Le iuge Monsieur Duponf Scene I La scene se passe dans la cuisine de Madame Duponf. L'l'1eure-apres le deieuner. Mme. Duponf se prepare a faire des gafeaux de riz: Caroline regarde. Mme. D: Horace, ie veux dire M. Duponf, ne sera-f-il pas surpris, Caroline! Eh bien, ce mafin seulemenf, il me disaif: Fifi cherie il m'appeIIe Fifi fouf courf, au lieu de Josephine, vous savez-Fifi, ie voudrais que vous sachiez faire la cuisine! J'en suis fombee des nues Apr:-S lui avoir di+ que ie m'e+ais leve 5 5 heures pour re arer ses cerea es! gasoline: Oui, ie sais, mais .... Mme. D: Oli! Je sais ce que vous allez dire. El: bien, efaif-ce ma faufe si i'ai pris la mauvaise boife ef si i'ai mis du riz au lieu de semoule. Caroline: Pour vous dire la verife .... Mme. D.: Je savais que vous me donneriez raison. Eh bien, ie vais lui monfrer! Mes gafeaux de riz vonf le faire fenir franquille. Mainfenanf, Caroline, ne difes pas un seul mof. Je vais faire cela enfieremenf par moi- meme. ll ne pourra pas dire que vous ne m'avez aidee. Si, ie vous demande quelque chose, ne me difes rien. J'ai noul ce qu'il me fauf. Je sais que c'esf le riz parce que c'esf la boife opposee e ce e e ce mafin. Caroline: Mais, Madame, ceffe boife .... Mme. D.: Caroline, ie ne veux pas que vous me disiez quoi que ce soif. J'ai foufz le sucre, le laif, le beurre, le riz, la farine, les oeufs, ef le livre de receffes. Ne difes pas un mof. Voyons! Ou esf-ce que i'en efais! Vous meffez dans .... Oli! oui. meffez deux fasses de riz. Caroline: Mais, Madame .... Mme. D.: Non ne difes rien. Ou esf la fasse? Oh, voici! Mainfenanf aioufons le sucre lenfemenf. Caroline: Oh, Madame, vous avez mis .... Mme. D.: Mainfenanf. ne me derangez pas-farine-oeufs ef laif. J'ai mis le beurre, n'esf-ce pas, Caroline? Caroline: Mais, ie pense, Madame, que vous .... Mme. D.: Oli! Ne me difes rien! J'en meffrai encore un peu pour faire bonne mesure, cela ne fera rien, n'es+-ce pas? Caroline: Maisie ne pense pas que .... Mme. D.: Oh! par grace! Ne me difes pas ce qu'il fauf que ie fasse! C's1' une chose que ie veux faire moi-meme, voila! Mainfenanf dans le fourneau! EST-ce qu'Horace ne va pas efre surpris! ll m'esf impossible d'a++endre! Scene ll Caroline: Voile commenf c'es+ arrive, Vofre Honneur. Elle ne voulaif pas que ie lui dise qu'elle meffaif du sel pour du sucre, de la semoule pour du riz ef du sucre pour de la farine. Peuf-on en vouloir a Monsieur s'il a iefe le fouf par la fenefre? Le judge: Hurn . . . um . . . sifuafion delicafe, +res delicafe! Mme. D.: Voulez-vous dire que vous m'avez laissee faire sans me dire. Caroline: Mais, Madame, vous .... Mme. D.: Ne me repondez pas, ie vous renvoie. lSe fournanf vers son mari, assis a une aufre fable! Oh! Horace cheri, ie regreffe fam' de m'e+re mise en colere! ie ne ferai lus de cuisine, ie 'le le promefs! Horace: i c'es'r une promesse, fu peu revenir e la maison, mais . . . e l'essai! Mme. D.: Oli! Horace! lElle commence a pleurerl. JUNIOR ll. forfy'seven