Massachusetts College of Art and Design - Palette and Pen Yearbook (Boston, MA)

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MARJORIE COLUNS And then there was the Collins, the inestimable Collins, demanding our troubles, confronting us with our talents, announcing our inherent good intentions, — for in pure friendship we were affronted and our souls stripped bare. But we loved it. Marge. These things were strange to us, but they were more generous than anything we knew. WINIFRED COSTANZA We liked to look at Winnie, dark and rich and deep red and glowing, and greeting us with a smile, always so capable, collected and serene, — painting really seriously in class, doing outside etchings, but quick when the week-ends came to get out and away for her fun. JEAN DAY There was Jean to meet us with her home work under her arm, candor upon her lips; but under a semblance of child-like-ness a dark purpose had its way. Work blossomed in the night, and each minute was remem- bered and no trust betrayed. Through flood and snow and beckoning of spring day, Jean always met the dead- line. JOHN DOROZYNSKI There was big, blond, agreeable, easy Dorozynski from the apartment of so many fabulous tales, critique of the funny radio programs, wielding a powerful com- pressed charcoal. He was one of a company which has often maddened us, with sudden bursts of conversation and a fund of jokes to raise the hair of any but the whiffle-headed.

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together again, so we turned at rest periods to an intensified company. After painting hard at a canvas, we seem to see all colors more brightly, not because the day has changed, but because we look at them differ- ently. Now we look up from our theses and our own futures, and we see our friends burnished and in shining colors. — Beatrice Holmes SHOGHER BAGHDOYAN First there was dark-eyed laughter-brimming Shogher who made of quietness an act of gracious charm, filling an unobtrusive place with friendliness and industry. To some of us after four years she was still a wild surmise . . . the books that she had read . . . her suddenly amazing beauty . . . that she would enjoy being a biologist. DOROd HY BROOKS ' There was Dolly who recalled to mind Trench studio days in the old story way, black-stockinged days and dancing in the night. About her we wove a legend, with a prince out of the white unicorns of things we did not know, and gave it a happy ending. Dolly, we said wisely, is going to be a painter.

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IRIS FEDERICO And somewhat later Iris would come in, for in the late mornings her ideas were ready and she came and told them to us and they were good and we did as she suggested, — poor Iris always chasing yesterday; gen- erous Iris giving us all she had of time and food and money and excitement. BERNARD FLINTON Also having eaten one of Ma’s weirdly reported break- fasts or maybe something that he brewed himself, Ben was one of those who sometimes told us how they ate for one week on a buck. But he seemed to have the strength to paint black striking paintings, for biting etchings, and for entertaining certain ladies. PANGS GHIKAS When the discussion grew more heated Ghikas would put in a short word for no edges, exploding with laughter at a pun and scowling darkly at an interruption. Jerky, black-browed, dogged, Pete did good ones, — like diaries always making a fresh start. You tell ' em, Ghikas . Ghikas says it’s all right. Kirm (icxn ' BERG And then there was, for a refreshing paradox, in com- plete contradiction, there was Ruth, who incredibly combined an aspect of cold marble beauty with a hot exhibition of trucking, dancing her defiance, varying to sudden warmth, — from a gorgeous sense of humor to a wary distrust and an unreserved denunciation of the sentimental.