Milton Academy - Yearbook (Milton, MA)

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HEADS AND TALES MALVINA Hoi-'1-'MAN Three years ago I had occasion to visit Malvina Hoffman's superb re- productions of the racial types of the world. The Hall of Man. Un- doubtedly I gaped and oh'ed and ah'ed after the usual manner of a museum visitor. Under that surface of being impressed, little did I realize the rich human experience that was the foundation and essence of each figure. Then I became the possessor and consequent devourer of Malvina Hoffman's book Heads and Tales . Fascinated, I was borne along by the pages through the years when her genius was ripening toward creating the project of her life. Every incident she describes in the book I seemed to be experiencing with her: every character she portrays I felt I knew. I saw as vividly as she the sight that was her first study in the nude and an early artistic inspiration. As an eight-year-old child she had looked from her window once to see a beautiful young woman leap into the morning sunlight from her window, naked, in suicidal despair. Moved by a strange new beauty in the incident, Malvina's sensitive child's mind began its first struggle to solve the complex ways of life. The same pangs of sorrow that pricked her heart touched me as she told of the death of her musician father with whom she had harboured a deep and perfect friendship. She describes her old teachers, Rodin and Mestrovic, and Anna Pavlowa, who was one of the closest friends of her life. 'She made me feel all the trials and all the aspirations of her youthful career as she was taking her place among the artists of the worldg then there wvas the tumult of emotions when at last came the stupendous offer from the Field Museum. I followed her in her travels throughout the world, absorbed by the rich human contacts and new perspectives. I could feel her satisfaction when after five years of hard but fruitful ex- perience her Hall of Man was complete. Miss Hoffman has that power of description and understanding which has made her book a thrilling adventure and inspiration for the reader. With the memories of such an adventure fresh in my mind I hope I may once more see the Hall of Man, for I could look at each masterpiece with a far deeper ap- preciation. Not only could I sense the successes and disappointments, the struggles and the rich experience that went into their making, but now I could be conscious of the personality behind it all. For here was a veritable genius with a sensitive appreciation of the beautiful, a vast knowledge, and a powerful intellect. Yet underneath is a lovable nature, simple and essentially human. Laura. Brooks '39 the fnagus page twenty five

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EVERYWHERE There's Water: Laughing to the clouds above the ocean, Mirroring the skaters in the rink, Cascading through the gullies down the mountain And spilling over dishes in the sink. There's Fire: Seething in the craters of volcanoes, Soldering the rivets with a jet, Sweeping over acres of the woodlands, And lighting in 'the dark a cigarette. There's Air: Whirling in the Cyclones of mid-ocean, Moving little cat-boats round the spar, Racing through the lungs of men, and tigers, And filling up the tires of a car. There's Life: Moving in the depths of many Waters, And soaring with the currents of the air, It's up to us to Watch the World we live in And learn of life that's round us everywhere. Rebeclcah DuBois '37 page twenty four HTG ITIGQUS

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UHIUHSE. THE DOCTOR One fall afternoon, eight years ago, I sat looking out of my window in our new home, wondering what the doctor, who had been called to diag- nose a pain that had been bothering me all day, would be like. I shiv- ered a little in nervous anticipation, for the setting made me home- sickg I was a stranger in a strange town, waiting for a doctor whom I had never seen. He had said he would call at four o'clockg and promptly, almost to the minute, a large, shiny black coupe with a small, square, green cross above its number plate, swept into our driveway and, rolling up to our front door, came to an easy stop. There was something in the precision with which that car was handled that gave me confidence in its driver even before the doctor swung open the door and lifted himself easily out of the car. He was perhaps forty,-tall, slender, with an easy manner, as if his day's work was done and he had just arrived at his own home. As he took his leather bag from the car, he shook his finger and said something, which made me think that he had brought a friend with him. My guess was right, for I heard the bark of a dog just as the door shut, preventing a beautiful pointer from bounding after him. What fun that man was from the very beginning of our acquaint- ance! I did not know what was the trouble with me that day. He gave the cause of my illness some fantastic title, the very absurdity of which went a long way toward relieving my fears. In fact, during the seven years he came to see us, he claimed our sicknesses were just excuses for him to run in to get a rest from patients who were really sick. His automobile, his dog, his own home, whatever he had he made us feel were just for our fun and pleasure. One day we learned that our good friend himself had gone on at vacation, a very long one. Not since then have we looked forward to being sick. Ann Witherby '41 page twenty six YUOQUS