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A-ZFILES

A-Z FILES 2015

Selected Works for the Allen-Stevenson Archives

FILES The Allen-Stevenson School 132 E 78th Street New York, NY

The A-Z Files is founded in memory of Zach Levy (1985-2011), Class of 2000. All those who knew Zach came away smiling. He was warm, charismatic, and fiercely witty. He had a big heart and is remembered well for his generosity. Between his lifelong passion for writing and love of kids, heâ€™d be happy to see this publication born in his honor. We all miss him very much.

EDITORS Kerim Eken ‘00 Jonathan Klebanoff ‘00

DESIGN Caitlin Mulcahy

FACULTY ADVISOR Peter Haarmann David Kersey h’98

ALUMNI DIRECTOR Anthony Kapp

STUDENT REPRESENTATIVE Luca Matts ‘16 Isaac Parlin ‘16

Matteo Ragusa ‘17 Leo Rose ‘17

SELECTION COMMITTEE Adam Levy ‘97 Michael Levy Jonathan Klebanoff ‘00

COVER ART Felix Schloendorf ‘16

Helen Levy Kerim Eken ‘00 Peter Haarmann

INSIDE COVER ART Luca Matts ‘16

TABLE OF CONTENTS Foreword John Loengard ’49 pg 8

Island Coast Jackson Sohn ‘17 pg 10 Home Jack Klein ’18 pg 11

Happy Spring Harrison “Haz” Goldberg ‘18, Addeson Lehv ‘18 pg 12

Yesterday Bernard von Simson‘17, James Benacerraf‘17, Alex Ross‘17 pg 14 Tunnel Myles Ringel ‘18 pg 15

Stir Fry Thomas Triedman ‘17 pg 16 Fallen Myles Ringel ‘18 pg 20

The Other World Kush Malhotra ‘18 pg 22 One Direction Myles Ringel ‘18 pg 26

String Quartet No. 1 Benjamin Edilson ‘16 pg 28 Watching William Camp ‘18 pg 36

Thanksgiving Invitation Addeson Lehv ‘18 pg 38 City Scape Harry Niles ‘18 pg 39 The Giving Tree’s Greatest Gift

Aiden Wood ‘17 pg 40

The Best Medicine for a Broken Leg Ethan Brous ‘17 pg 44 Villanelles Benjamin Edilson ‘16 pg 47 Forest Caleb Dando-Haenish ‘17 pg 48

The Christmas Prank Isaac Parlin ‘16 pg 49 The Ice Cream Machine

Jagger Fleissig ‘17 pg 50

Untitled Tommy Kagan ‘17 pg 54

Seascape Felix Schloendorf ‘16 pg 58 Untitled

Harrison “Haz” Goldberg ‘18 pg 63

Saint Peter’s Church James Burge ‘17 pg 66 Hazy New York Untitled

Dare Rolfe ‘18 pg 70

Alex Korman ‘15 pg 72

Acknowledgements pg 76 Donors pg 77

â€œLogic will get you from A to Z: Imagination will get you everywhere.â€?

-Albert Einstein

FOREWORD John Loengard ’49

t is not important if a photograph is “good.” It’s important that it is interesting. What makes a photograph interesting? I’ll count the ways: It can be our first look at something. It can be entertaining. It can evoke deep emotions. It can be amusing or thrilling or intriguing. It can be proof of something. It can jog memories or raise questions. It can be beautiful. It can convey authority. Most often, it informs. And, it can surprise. –John Loengard ’49

John Leongard ‘49, an American photographer, joined the staff of Life magazine in 1961, and from 1973 to 1987 he served as the magazine’s picture editor. He has taught at the International Center for Photography, New York, The New School for Social Research, New York, and at workshops around the country. Loengard’s work is in the collections of institutions including the National Portrait Gallery, Washington, D.C.; the Center for Creative Photography, Tucson, Arizona; the International Center of Photography, New York, New York; the Menil Foundation, Houston, Texas; and the George Eastman House, Rochester, New York.

Island Coast Jackson Sohn â€˜17

HOME Jack Klein ‘18

I often sit alone and ponder Why some people choose to wander What on earth are they looking for Some new freedom, an open door Do they hope to find a better life A place to live that’s free of strife Or an urge to see new places and lands An open space with dunes of sand It seems they wander aimlessly No place to go, no place to be Their lives spent searching for something unknown Perhaps it is a place to call home But in their travels they’ve forgotten Something overlooked quite often What makes a home is not where you reside It’s all about the people inside Nothing will ever truly compare To that warm and wonderful place where Surrounded by love no need to roam That is the place to call your home

Happy Spring Harrison “Haz” Goldberg ‘18

HAPPY SPRING Addeson Lehv ‘18

Spring has sprung into the air Flowers bloom delicately as hair Green as a pear A pink that is very rare As the flowers grow pink and green The sun’s rays beam Everything about them is as rich as cream So perfect they are fit for a queen The flower fills hearts with joy Leaving no need to destroy Meaning the vibrant colors won’t annoy Then winter attacks Hitting the flowers like an axe Making the flowers crack And the flower packs... For next year Happy Spring!

YESTERDAY Bernard von Simson ‘17 James Benacerraf ‘17 Alex Ross ‘17

I was introduced to summer yesterday, Not long ago, I was swimming by the bay, The moon was remarkably bright, Filled with its beautiful might, And tomorrow’s a day to come, But for today, I’ve already won.

Tunnel Myles Ringel â€˜18

STIR FRY Thomas Triedman â€˜17

It was the summer of 2012. It was the beginning of July, and we were in Narragansett, Rhode Island, where my family and I spend the summer. The rain pounded against the windows in a rhythmic pace, and the wind howled so loudly and forcefully that it made the doors rattle like snare drums. Miranda drooped on the sofa flipping through a magazine while I lay on the ground staring at a mark on the ceiling. We didnâ€™t want to read books separately or watch TV, we wanted to spend time together, because we believe that summer is a time to relax and catch up with family and friends away from the hectic school year. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Miranda wearily standing up and walking out of the room. She grabbed my sleeve and gestured for me to come with her. When we ventured into the kitchen, we both glanced at each other, instantly realizing that we were thinking the same thing. I remember doubting this idea of cooking a meal. It seemed as though our culinary experience combined with our personalities would not help produce a decent meal for ourselves. We first scavenged around in the pantry and

STIR FRY

refrigerator, looking for ingredients to create our meal. As I opened the refrigerator, purple onions and a bright red pepper caught my eye. As Miranda opened the pantry, she was compelled to add rice, one of her favorite foods. As we stared into the overflowing pantry and refrigerator, we were overcome with the excitement of combining different ingredients (from broccoli, celery, carrots, lettuce, tomatoes and onions to rice, sausage, turkey, and ham) to create an actual meal. “How about some sandwiches?” I asked. Miranda wanted something more sophisticated. I, on the other hand, find sandwiches perfectly appetizing, despite my unusually sophisticated palate. “How ‘bout an assortment of vegetables?” Another grumble from Miranda. “Okay, Miranda, since you think your ideas are so much better than mine, I want you to share them.” So, that is how we came to cooking a stir-fry. Once the rice was in the pot, we drizzled some olive oil into a heated pan. As we watched the olive oil sizzle, we started adding some ingredients. My sister added turkey, and I added onions. My sister added some sausage and I added bell peppers from the local farmer’s market. We watched as the olive oil bubbled underneath the browning vegetables and meats. As we caramelized

A-Z FILES

the vegetables and cooked the meat, we blasted hip-hop music from my sister’s speakers as we talked and danced, making up for the lack of conversation between us during the school year. About an hour later, we piled the rice high on our plates, our mouths watering as we stared at the heaping piles of our culinary masterpiece. I still remember the rich flavor of all of the individual ingredients of our stir-fry rice harmonizing to create a perfect meal. But, that perfect mix of ingredients and the culinary success was not what made the stir-fry delicious. The mixing of my sister’s personality with mine; how we each added some ingredients that represented our own personalities, and then mixed them together, made the stir fry delicious. And the way we bonded while we cooked was delicious. Over the summer, when my sister was away, I attempted to create a stir-fry for my family and me to enjoy. I added all of my favorite ingredients into the stirfry such as bell peppers, turkey, and onions. As a gazed at my meal, my heart swelled up with pride of my achievement. As I spooned my first bite into my mouth, the flavors didn’t harmonize. They were bland, dull, and uninteresting. At that moment, mid-bite, I noticed the missing component. It wasn’t spices, or herbs, or sweetness; it was my sister. What I find

STIR FRY

interesting about stir-fry is how there can be multiple different components to a particular stir-fry that are thrown in representing different personalities. My meal lacked just that- the blend of different personalities in one single meal. Just during the span of that one summer, in 2012, I understood the true conceptual value of food. I realized simple food doesnâ€™t just satisfy hunger, but it brings people closer together, and it forms friendships and strengthens existing relationships. In my case, stir-fry brought my sister and I closer together as we spent time with each other as we cooked it, and we shared a sense of success when we ate it. But, now that my sister is about a month into boarding school, I am missing her more every day. One thing that makes me feel better during those times, is to remember how we would both share some of our personality into the food that we would make together. Every now and then I think about what our next stir fry meal would be. I can always picture ourselves choosing our favorite ingredients to add to our special stir fry, and then cooking the meal, listening to music, talking, and laughing. Thinking about this makes me feel better about her being away at school, but I still feel her absence in the pit of my stomach.

Fallen Myles Ringel â€˜18

FALLEN Myles Ringel â€˜18

Have you been known to fall and decay? Forgotten and closed off, Waiting for someone to repair you, Take care of you and help you, Well, thatâ€™s me, Falling, and failing, and forgotten.

THE OTHER WORLD Kush Malhotra â€˜18

It starts with hide and seek, Lucy discovers a wardrobe, Another world, Lucy finds Mr. Tumnus, News of their meeting spreads and spreads, â€˜Til it is overheard by the witch, Lucy must return with her siblings, Edmund, Susan and Peter. They arrive, meet some beavers near the lamppost, On to the dam, but not all, The White Witch discovers Edmund, A promise - bring the others to her,

THE OTHER WORLD

Edmund goes to the castle; the others to Aslan, Aslan wants to vanquish the witch, A fight, Aslan is captured And slain by her evil. Aslan is deceased, Our hero is no more, A miracle- Aslan lives, Brave siblings fight on, The Witch - defeated, They return, The war is over, They close the wardrobe, And wait for another day.

ONE DIRECTION Myles Ringel â€˜18

No choice where to go, Only being told, Directing droves of people, Staying in the same spot for all eternity, In only one direction.

One Direction Myles Ringel â€˜18

STRING QUARTET NO. 1 Benjamin Edelson ‘16

String Quartet No. 1 I.

Benjamin Edelson

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Watching William Camp â€˜18

WATCHING William Camp â€˜18

I am watching From the top of the hill Visualizing myself racing down the course Facing straight down the hill Falling into every turn

THANKSGIVING INVITATION Addeson Lehv ‘18

TO:

The Soulful, Skilled Sparrow of the Sacred, Slate gray Sky.

WHAT:

A peaceful party for preeminent produce and poultry.

WHEN:

The fabulous flute fills the firmament with felicitous flourishes.

WHERE:

By the alluring aspen adjacent to the alighted acorns.

WHY:

To connect cultures that contrast and to commemorate a considerable collection of crops.

PLEASE BRING: An abundance of appetizing apples and other astounding agriculture articles. A mirthful mentality for a myriad of meals and merrymaking.Multiple materials to manufacture necessities.A complex carving of your captivating, competent chief. ACTIVITIES: A bountiful banquet to bless and bond. Sharing skills from society to society. Everyone engages in enhancing their expertise. Littles and Leaders lacrosse. Littles (us) and Leaders (you all) love lacrosse. Friends face friends in fabulous, friendly fashion. Finish the festival by using fire to fuse the figures of our fellow fathers. A bonfiWre of the busts! RSVP:If yes… burn the buried beaver by the blueberry bush, then bury it beneath the bush. If no… mark on the maple from morning to midday, myriad marks. Then, take the turkey that’s tied to the tree.

City Scape Harry Niles â€˜18

THE GIVING TREE’S GREATEST GIFT Aiden Wood ‘17

hroughout my twelve years of life, I have developed many meanings for The Giving Tree written by Shel Silverstein. When I was younger, I vividly remember my mom reading this book to me. This was one of my favorite books. Every night, before I went to bed, for as long as I can remember, I would ask my mom for “too many books”, then my mom would give a bunch of books to read that night, and I always got excited when my mom gave me The Giving Tree to read. The only thing I liked more than getting the book to read in my bed (mainly to look at the pictures), was when my mom would read it to me. I would curl up next to her and smell her perfume as I looked at all the pictures. Looking back, the only thing about the story I focused on when I was younger was the fact that the boy did not say his pleases and thank you’s, which in my world meant he wasn’t going to get two oreos that night, or so my mom said. The Giving Tree was truly one of my favorite books when I was younger, and it taught me very valuable lessons, such as the importance of manners. But, when I

read the book today, I take bigger life lessons away from it. When I was younger, I was kind of jealous of the boy in the story because he got everything he wanted. For instance, when the tree says, “Take my apples, Boy, and sell them…,” I was jealous because with that money I could buy anything I desired. Also, if the giving tree was my best friend, I could have a boat, which I have wanted since the day I was born. But little did I know then I would have a completely different feelings about the book five years later. One thing I considered differently about the book is that if I were the boy, and took everything away from the tree that made it a tree, I would have lost my best friend. As my mom has always said “be careful about what you say and do.” The boy didn’t care about what he did, and at some point he will have to pay the price. As I read the book now, it makes me kind of depressed, because the tree gave away all of its characteristics, or gifts, just to make sure the boy was jubilant; even when the tree was nothing more than a stump. What I understand now is the boy takes advantage of the tree without noticing. The tree also doesn’t mind that the boy is taking away everything it has to offer which is not a lot, but, later in the

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book, when the boy goes back to the tree, I bet the boy only goes back to the tree to obtain more of the tree’s belongings, which it does. As a 12-year old, I can see that the tree and boy symbolize mother and son. In the story, not once is the boy referred to as “young man,” or something of that sort; and in my opinion, it is because mothers will always think of the children as their little boy or girl, even when they are fully grown adults. Also, mothers want to make their children’s lives as pleasurable as possible; if my mom could play hide and go seek with me, she would probably do so if she knew that it would make me happy. Mothers want their children to have wonderful childhoods, and will generally give them anything they want in order to make them merry. But they also have to teach their children things, that’s at least what my mom did. My mom has always done everything in her power to make me happy, which means the world to me. Just like the story, though, sometimes no matter how hard my mom tried, I would still be unsatisfied, like the boy. The Giving Tree has always had a big impact on my life, not only for of all of the fond memories I have with my mom, but also because of the many ways I’ve interpreted the story.

THE GIVING TREE’S GREATEST GIFT

The Giving Tree tells the story of an inseparable bond, but one that is unfortunately one sided. When the boy was young, he and the tree were inseparable; however, when the boy grew up, he and the tree did not spend as much time together. This relationship is like a child moving out of the house. One day you are bottle feeding your baby, and the next they are moving out of the house going to college. Often parents just don’t know what to do. Furthermore, in the tree’s case, the tree obsessed over the boy and gave him every last possible thing she had to offer. The Giving Tree was my favorite book as a child, and when my mom read this to me, she was like the giving tree, because she made me happy! At the very beginning of their relationship, the boy was happy to be with the tree, and didn’t need anything else to be content.When he returns as an old man, he is happy again just to be with the tree. And that’s all the tree ever wanted. If only the boy had realized the that all he needed from the tree was the tree itself, before it was too late.

THE BEST MEDICINE FOR A BROKEN LEG

Ethan Brous ‘17

laid down on my bed and clutched my right leg. The doctor said it was broken and that it shouldn’t hurt so much after a few days. But a few days was a long time for a two year old. I couldn’t stop thinking about the pain. “Story time!” my mom said. I rolled my eyes. I heard five stories in two days, and had hated all of them. “Again? I don’t want to hear another story!” I complained. “If you don’t like this one then you don’t have to hear any more,” my mom responded. That sounded good to me. One more bad book and I was done. Looking around my room, I saw my mom grabbing a book off my desk. It was short. It would be over before I knew it. I felt happy for about ten seconds before I noticed my leg hurting again. “Caps For Sale,” my mom read, “by Esphyr Slobodkina.” As soon as she opened the book, I loved it. The colors caught my interest by standing out and jumping off the page. The words set the scene by describing exactly where we were. The

lovable pictures amazed me by showing what everything looked like. In five minutes, I had discovered my favorite book. For once, I wasn’t thinking about my leg. After my mom left the room thinking I had gone to bed, I read the book three more times. I was obsessed. If only the storyline still appealed to me today. Once you get older, you never see the book the same way. When I read the book for the first time, the storyline was amazing. The monkeys that playfully stole the man’s hats were both cute and funny. Back then, I didn’t think about how the monkeys were committing a crime. I also didn’t think about how the man needed those hats to make a living. I used to assume that, once the story ended, the man lived happily ever after. However, the story clearly states that the man didn’t sell any hats that entire day and is hungry and has no money to buy lunch. It shocks me how I never even thought about this obvious fact as a kid. “Nobody wanted any caps… He began to feel hungry, but he had no money for lunch…” (3) had no effect on me. It’s like those words went in one ear and out the other. When I read the book recently, that quote resonated with me because I felt terrible for the man. He

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most likely has financial troubles, which is a serious problem for many people. I now have two very different opinions of Caps For Sale. The first is a happy memory, filled with colors and great feelings. The kind of memory that sticks with you forever, always reminding you how great it was. The other memory is one of disappointment. The kind of memory that gives you an uneasy feeling. As I look back at the book, I believe that most children like it for the same reasons I did (the colors, the words, and the pictures). I think that once children get older and wiser, they will begin to stop liking the book as much. They will find the unanswered questions the book leaves us with, such as â€œWill the man ever sell any caps? Is he still hungry?â€? I just wish there was a sequel so we could see what happens to the poor man and the mischievous monkeys.

VILLANELLES Benjamin Edelson ’16

“The tonic is the key the piece is in. Sonata form or rondo, either or: these rules structure the music’s lovely din. The tonic and the dominant are kin; the dominant is five notes up or four down. The tonic’s the key the piece is in. Sonata form’s composed of three sections. The hardest form to write (of that I’m sure). These rules structure the music’s lovely din. Rondo form is not sonata form’s twin. The key is free; no one care anymore. The tonic is the key the piece is in. Scherzo form is a hard one to write in. (It contains some repeats you may ignore.) These rules structure the music’s lovely din. But breaking rules is really not a sin Beethoven took some liberties with scores. The tonic is the key the piece is in. These rules structure the music’s lovely din.”

Forest Caleb Dando-Haenisch â€˜17

THE CHRISTMAS PRANK The Villanelle Isaac Parlin ‘16 Chris Cringle and his sleigh are finally here! They fly beneath the cold and wintry moon, For Christmas day, at last, is drawing near. The jingling bells announce his train of deer. He lands on rooftop with a thumping boom. Chris Cringle and his sleigh are finally here! He slips down chimney, though the embers sear, And takes a hasty look about the room, For Christmas day, at last, is drawing near. Unseen by Santa, secretly I peer. He drops the gifts and should be leaving soon. Chris Cringle and his sleigh are finally here! He looks for cookies, thinks the coast is clear, And finds that he’s been fooled—it is a prune! But Christmas day, at last, is drawing near… So he downs the milk and leaves with sniff and tear, And flies away much like a red balloon. Chris Cringle now I think’s no longer near, But Christmas day, at last, is finally here! 49

THE ICE CREAM MACHINE

Jagger Fleissig ‘17

n the bottom of the ninth inning, the score is four to three. Stevenson High is on the field, with the bases loaded for the opposing team, the Fairfield Sluggers. Their best hitter, Gavin Johnson, is up with three balls and two strikes – a/k/a, a full count. David Shortsberg is on the mound. He throws a fastball down the middle. Johnson swings and misses! Catcher Benny Ostrow, Shortsberg’s best friend, catches the ball and jumps to his feet. The game is over and Stevenson High’s record is now four wins and one loss. Stevenson High’s players go wild. They all huddle up and do their winning chant: “Steven ... son! Steven . . . son! Steven . . . son!” After showering, the team meets up at John’s Place, an American diner two blocks from the school. All of the kids go there because John’s Place has the best ice cream in town. Shortsberg is sitting in his favorite booth – right by the ice cream machine – with his friends and teammates, Benny,

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Morgan Rabinowitz (the first baseman), Alex Reed (the third baseman) and Ryan Conner (the centerfielder). As usual, each of them is enjoying a large cone of John’s icecream. “Wouldn’t it be great if we could have ice cream for dessert at lunch in school every day?” said Morgan. “It would,” said Benny, “but there’s just one problem: we don’t have an ice cream machine in the cafeteria.” “Hey, guys,” said Shortsberg. “I have an idea. Why don’t we ask Principal Conner if we could save up money to buy an ice cream machine for the school?” “Ryan, do you think your dad would let us?” asked Jordan Tucker, the shortstop, who was sitting in a booth close by. “Yeah, I think so,” said Ryan. “That’s a great idea,” said Morgan. “That way we wouldn’t have to leave the school every day after lunch just to get ice cream!” “This idea could actually work,” said Shortsberg. “All we have to do is donate a few bucks from each of us to the school.” “You guys need anything else?” The voice came from behind them and belonged to John Stamos, the restaurant’s owner, whom the kids called “Big John” because of his fat belly. He had been standing by the boys for some time. “Nope, everything great, as usual,” said Shortsberg. John put the check down on the table. He had his mouth full and there was a halfeaten Hershey bar sticking out of his front pocket.

THE ICE CREAM MACHINE

“Ok, if you want anything else, let me know,” Big John said, between bites. “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I need to get home,” said Morgan. “Yeah, I should get going too,” said Ryan. All of the kids put money on the table and headed out. W hen Shortsberg got home, he looked up on Google how much it would cost to buy a cheap ice cream machine. He found out that that the school could buy a used machine for about $800. He took out forty dollars (three tens, one five and five singles) from a box in his room, where he kept his allowance money. He figured that if he convinced twenty of his classmates to donate forty dollars each, it would be enough to buy an ice cream machine for the school. He put the money near his backpack on the kitchen table so that he would remember to bring it to school. Later that evening, Shortsberg was doing his homework in the kitchen while his little sister, Lucy (who was five), was coloring with crayons next to him. Shortsberg got up to go to the bathroom and when he returned a few minutes later he saw Lucy coloring on a dollar bill that he had planned to donate to the school. She had drawn a smiley face and he thought it looked cute. He gave his sister a hug and took away the dollar, putting it back in the pile with the rest of the cash. After finishing his homework, Shortsberg texted his friends to let them know that the ice cream machine would cost about eight hundred dollars and that they should try to get as many kids as possible to donate forty

Untitled Tommy Kagan â€˜17

THE ICE CREAM MACHINE

dollars to the school to get it. They all agreed. The next day, Shortsberg met up with Benny and Ryan at homeroom. “I told my dad about our plan,” said Ryan. “What did he say?” Shortsberg asked. “He said it was a great idea.” “Great,” said Benny. “Why don’t we have Ryan collect the money from everyone and give it to his dad?” “That works,” said Ryan. By the end of the day, Ryan had collected $800. That afternoon, he went up to his dad’s office and knocked on the door. “Who is it?” Principal Connor asked. “It’s me.” “Come in, Ryan. What can I do for you?” “You’ll never believe this,” Ryan said. “But I’ve already collected $800 for the ice cream machine.” Suddenly, the door burst open. It was Vice Principal Sebrena. “What’s this I hear about an ice cream machine?” she asked, looking very angry. “The kids came up with an outstanding idea,” said Principal Connor. “They decided that they would donate money to the school so we could buy an ice cream machine for the cafeteria.” “And you approved this?” shouted Sebrena. “Well, yes . . .” “Without consulting me?” “I don’t see why it’s a bad idea...” “Bad idea? It’s a terrible idea! You’ll see, all the kids will drop grades like that,” she said, snapping her fingers for effect, “because they’ll be on a sugar rush

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all day and won’t pay attention in class!” Then she slammed the door. “Do you have to deal with her every day?” Ryan asked. “Don’t mind her. Leave it to me. Let me have the money and I’ll keep it in my drawer. Over the weekend, I’ll use it to buy the ice cream machine. Okay?” “Great, thanks. Just one thing.” “What is it?” Principal Connor asked. Ryan pointed to a nearly full jar of jelly beans on Principal Connor’s desk. “Can I have one?” “Sure, but only take one. Now run on home and I’ll meet you for dinner in about an hour.” “Okay, bye dad.” The next day, in school at lunch, a disturbing message came in over the loudspeaker from Principal Connor. “Attention. All students, attention, I have some terrible news.” Shortsberg, who was sitting in the cafeteria next to Benny and Ryan, eating a hamburger, stopped talking and looked up at the speaker, along with the other kids. Principal Connor continued. “There has been a robbery. Someone entered my office and stole all of the money I had received to buy an ice cream machine for the school. I have alerted the police, but if anyone knows anything about this crime, please notify me immediately. In the meantime, we are closing the school early so that the police can conduct a full investigation without any interference.” Everyone who donated money for the ice

THE ICE CREAM MACHINE

cream machine was shocked and incredibly disappointed. “I can’t believe this,” said Ryan, “the police will never figure this out and we’ll never get that ice cream machine unless we all pay up again!” “I’m not paying again. I’m broke,” said Morgan. “Don’t look at me,” said Benny. “I used the rest of my allowance for the month on a new catcher’s mitt.” “Wait!” said Shortsberg. “We don’t have to pay again. And we don’t have to rely on the police. We know this school better than anyone else. We can solve this crime ourselves!” “Are you crazy?” asked Jordan. “We’re kids, not James Bond. This is not TV, this is real life. The chances of us solving this crime are less than zero. Get real, the money’s gone and we’re never going to be able to get that ice cream machine.” “You’re wrong,” said Shortsberg. “We can do this if we want to, and we might as well try. Who’s with me?” Benny, Morgan and Ryan raised their hands. Then they all looked at Jordan. “Fine, do what you want,” said Jordan, getting up to leave. “But you guys are crazy. I’m going home. Good luck, Sherlocks. You’ll need it.” Later that day, Morgan had the idea to investigate the scene of the crime. He had just left the school and was walking home with Shortsberg, Benny and Ryan. “Guys,” said Morgan. “If we want to get the money back, we need to see what happened.”

Seascape Felix Schloendorff ‘16

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“What do you mean?” asked Ryan. “I mean, we go back to Principal Connor’s office and check it out.” “When?” asked Shortsberg, confused. “Now. Right now.” They all stopped walked. Morgan continued. “School’s out and Principal Connor is down by the field watching the football game.” “That’s right,” Ryan said. “My dad’s a big fan of the team.” “What if it’s locked?” asked Benny. “What if it is? I have a key. My dad gave it to me a long time ago when he asked me to get his flash drive and I forgot to give it back.” “So it’s settled,” said Shortsberg. “Let’s go.” Ten minutes later the boys found themselves in Principal Connor’s neat office. Everything looked as it should and nothing appeared out of place. Benny noticed a family photograph on Principal Connor’s desk; in it, Ryan was smiling and standing between his parents, who looked down at him proudly. “Nice picture,” Benny said to Ryan. “Yeah,” said Ryan. “That was about a year ago, after Thanksgiving.” Ryan took a step forward to examine the desk more closely. He noticed a small red stain on the drawer that held the money. “Guys, look at this. I think that’s blood!” The three other boys approached the desk and leaned forward. “That’s blood all right,” said Benny, “I know what it looks like because when I cut myself in shop class last year when we were

THE ICE CREAM MACHINE

making bookshelves, the wood had the same type of stain.” “Are you sure?” asked Morgan. “That was last year.” “I’m positive. That’s blood.” “Now we need to match this clue with someone who has a cut on his hand,” said Shortsberg. “How do you know the cut was on the robber’s hand?” asked Morgan. “Because if you open a drawer you use your hands and the blood stain is on the top of the drawer. It’s simple.” “Wait a minute,” said Ryan. “The jelly beans.” “What jelly beans?” asked Shortsberg. “Where do you see jelly beans?” “That’s my point. They’re gone. Look at this jar. It’s empty. Earlier today when I was in here with my dad, this jar was more than half full. I remember because I had one.” “Well, maybe Principal Connor ate them for all we know.” “No, my dad hates jelly beans. He got this as a gift and keeps it for the kids who come into his office.” “So what? What does that prove?” “I don’t know, but it seems to me that whoever came in here to steal the money took the jelly beans too,” said Morgan. “Who has a sweet tooth?” asked Benny. Before anyone could answer, they heard footsteps coming down the hall. “We better get out of here,” said Ryan. “I don’t want my dad to know that we’ve been snooping around.” They quickly left the office and went on home.

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The next day, Principal Connor was on a history field trip with the 11th graders to see the Declaration of Independence in Philadelphia. While he was gone, Vice Principal Sebrena was running things. At 12:30 p.m., the boys were in the cafeteria, eating lunch and talking about what they found the day before in Principal Connor’s office. Jordan was very surprised that they actually found clues, and secretly wished that he had gone with them. “Wow, guys, you actually came through with this. Apparently, instead of having a zero per cent chance of solving this crime, it turns out that you now have a five per cent chance,” Jordan said. “Thanks. That really means a lot to us,” Benny said. Shortsberg cut in. “Okay, enough with the joking. We have to find suspects.” “Listen to this,” said Morgan, who just joined the table after getting seconds at the hot bar. “While I was up there, I saw Vice Principal Sebrena and she had a BandAid on her finger.” “So what?” said Jordan, “What does that prove?” “Hello? Remember the blood stain we found on the wooden drawer?” Ryan said. “Well, if what Morgan says is true, you guys just bumped up to 10%,” said Jordan. “What?” asked Benny. “What are you talking about? We just solved the crime. It’s Vice Principal Sebrena. We saw the blood and she has a cut on her finger. She did it!” “Settle down now,” said Shortsberg. “It

Untitled Harrison “Haz” Goldberg ‘18

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could just be a coincidence.” Ryan joined in. “Shortsberg’s right. And what about the jelly beans? Vice Principal Sebrena hates candy or anything sweet for that matter. In fact, I heard from the nurse that she was allergic to dairy, which means she can’t have ice cream! And she told my dad that she was against the school getting the ice cream machine because it would give all of the kids a sugar rush. I’m telling you, she hates sugar.” “She said what?” asked Alex. “Did you hear what you just said? Of course, she did it. She didn’t want the ice cream machine in the first place!” “But that doesn’t explain the jelly beans,” said Shortsberg. “Let’s just put her as Suspect Number 1 for now.” Then the bell rang and the kids went to their next class. After school, the gang met up at John’s Place to figure out what to do next. They were at their usual table when Big John came over to take their orders. “Everything ok, guys? You look a little glum.” Big John said. “We’re upset because someone stole the money we were going to use to get an ice cream machine,” said Morgan. “Oh, that’s too bad. Well, you can always order ice cream from me. How about Sundaes for all of you, half off!” The boys all nodded and Big John went back behind the counter to make their treats. He returned with a tray holding the Sundaes, and handed them out around the table, saying “one for you, one for you and one for you.”

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The last person he served was Ryan. To him, he said, “and here you go, Mr. Connor.” They were all enjoying their ice cream when suddenly Benny sputtered and spit a mouthful across the table. It almost landed in Morgan’s face. “What’s the matter with you?” asked Morgan. “Are you all right?” “I’m fine, I just thought of something,” Benny said. “How did Big John know Ryan’s last name?” “He must have heard us talking? What do think, he read our minds?” “I’ll tell you what I think,” said Benny. “If Big John broke into Principal Connor’s office, he would have seen the name tag and the photograph of Ryan and his dad on his desk. That’s how he knew that Ryan’s last name was Connor. That’s what I think.” “Yeah,” said Alex. “And Big John has a huge sweet tooth. We see him eating candy all the time. He would have taken the jelly beans!” “And he has a motive, too,” said Morgan. “He doesn’t want to lose business by our having ice cream at school.” “That’s it,” said Jordan. “We solved the crime. It’s Big John!” “Hold on,” said Shortsberg. “Let’s not jump to conclusions. That doesn’t explain the blood. And Big John could easily have overheard us calling Ryan by his last name. He’s just another suspect for now.” “So we got two suspects,” said Ryan. “VicePrincipal Sebrena and Big John.” “Now what do we do?” asked Alex. “We can’t arrest them and take them in for questioning

Saint Peter’s Church James Burge ‘17

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like they do on TV.” “Let’s just sleep on it,” said Jordan. “But you guys should be happy about something.” “Is it that you have the money to buy another ice cream machine for the school?” asked Benny. “No,” said Jordan. “But instead of having a 10% chance of solving this crime, you guys are up to 15%!” “Very funny,” said Shortsberg. The boys finished their ice cream in silence. Big John came by and left them a check. “I got this,” said Shortsberg, reaching into his wallet. “It’s my turn to pay.” He handed Big John a twenty. A few minutes later Big John came back and gave Shortsberg a few bills back as change. Shortsberg took them and smiled to himself. “I feel like we are getting close to solving the crime,” said Alex. “We should meet up in the library tomorrow during study hall to hash this out.” “Sounds like a plan,” said Benny, slurping on his ice cream. The next day, the boys all met up in the library during study hall. Jordan was the first to talk. “I’ve been thinking. Big John is a nice guy and Sebrena is a mean old lady who never has a nice thing to say about anyone. She’s also allergic to dairy and can’t stand to see kids being happy. Finally, she had that cut on her hand. She’s got to be the one who did it.” Morgan interrupted. “I don’t think so. Yes, she had a cut on her hand, but that has to be a coincidence. She is the Vice Principal of the school and they had to hire

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her for a reason. I can’t imagine that she would break into the Principal’s office and steal our money.” Ryan chimed in. “You’re right. It has to be Big John because there’s no way Vice Principal Sebrena could have eaten all of the jelly beans. She hates candy! She also—” “Wait guys,” said Shortsberg, “you’re just guessing. I know who did it!” “How do you know?” asked Benny. “What are you talking about?” Shortsberg pulled out his wallet. He reached in and withdrew a dollar bill and started waiving it in front of their faces. “What do you see?” Shortsberg asked. “A dollar bill with a smiley face,” said Alex. “So what does that prove?” “My sister drew this on one of the dollars that I gave Principal Connor for the icecream machine.” “So?” said Jordan. “So . . . Big John gave this back to me in change yesterday.” The boys were silent. There was nothing left to say. Later that day, the boys went to Principal Connor and explained what happened. He thanked them for the information and told them to go back to class. That afternoon, Principal Connor called the boys to his office. “I want you to know that you really helped out and solved this crime. Mr. Stamos confessed and returned the money. You guys are going to have an ice cream machine after all.”

Hazy New York Dare Rolfe â€˜18

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“One thing’s bothering me,” said Ryan. “What about the blood stain?” “What blood stain?” asked Principal Connor. “The one on your desk,” said Benny. “We noticed it during the investigation.” “Oh that, I should have cleaned that up. It was from a paper cut a while ago. That’s all.” The boys smiled, relieved. “Wait a minute!” said Principal Connor. “What’s the matter, dad?” asked Ryan. “Where’s the photograph?” “What photograph?” asked Alex. “The photograph of me, Ryan and my wife. It’s been on my desk since I became Principal of this school. And now it’s gone. Who would want to steal my family photo?” Shortsberg looked serious and then spoke up. “Looks like we have another mystery to solve, guys. Don’t worry, Principal Connor, we’re on the case . . . .”

UNTITLED Alex Korman ‘15

he last sane man sat in a white padded room. The walls were white, the ground was white, the lights were white, the man was white too. He was a very smart man and perfectly mad, but not in the conventional sense. He was just overwhelmed with irony. Underneath his white jumpsuit he was black, covered by letters that comprised words, which ultimately made up sentences where meaning could be found if one chose to actually see it; but since no one would, there wasn’t any significance to the black on his body. Nobody could understand it and therefore it was superfluous and decorative and superficial. Similarly, the words were also the last of it’s kind- true and special. Only a few people would see them in the history of everything and everyone including the coroner of the institution in which the last sane man died. When the coroner read the black on his long dead corpse, he thought it was bull- he couldn’t help it. Then everything went black.

The earth had been placed in a timeout. It lay idly suspended in a black hole as the Universe figured out what it was going to do. It was getting really tired of humanity’s shit. Every time It gave humans something nice they fucked it up with such perfection and thoroughness it could only gawk with the immense wonder only It was known for creating. The Universe would have been doubly amazed if it hadn’t given them the capacity to fuck things up so perfectly and thoroughly. Still, It was surprised for such a misguided and misplaced use of it. Somewhere along the way humans must have decided that there was no up or down, right or wrong, black or white. Everything was relative now, everything was very gray, people were gray and they had gone absolutely insane. The last sane man was a gift from the Universe to humans- it was supposed to fix them. The Universe had decided to create It’s own being who instead of being born black or white and turning

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gray; would be made gray and then rigged to develop into black and white like the humans used to be. That way he could be born believing everything and decide what was right or wrong for himself. The last sane man would have the capacity to change people. He would intuitively understand the basis of humanity, show humanity what it was, have humanity look itself in the face and wonder and ask rhetorically: “I really let myself go, didn’t I?” To which the last sane man would exclaim, “Finally!”. It was a great idea except the humans perfectly and thoroughly fucked the last sane man up. Now he was dead. He did his best to make change, but the sheep had cried wolf and the police had mistaken the shepherd for the beast. Typical. He was taken away and someone found a way in the eyes of justice, without reasonable doubt, to certify him absolutely and unequivocally insane. The last sane man tortured himself. He printed all the truisms of the world on his body hoping someone would see him and understand it and look at his or herself and ask rhetorically: “I really let myself go, didn’t I?” To which the last sane man would exclaim, “Finally!”. The Universe had made the mistake of thinking that by telling people the right answers, some form of truth would ring in

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their ears. It forgot that people also had to listen. Now the Universe thought, and expanded as It did so. It wondered whether or not It should let humanity continue, did It care? Should It let humans destroy themselves? They didn’t quite matter that much, there were plenty of other civilizations inside Itself, infinite in fact. Should It collapse the black hole? Should It punish humans for straying so far off their intended course? Should It put them out of their misery? Did it matter? The Universe stopped and thought. It remembered not that long ago with mixed emotions. It remembered the first time It realized It’s plan would never work. The last sane man was just a boy when he tried to make a change. He made something. It was personal, it was real, and it wasn’t influenced- it was his. It didn’t have any direction, it was more of an overarching statement: adjust, amend, modify, revise, redesign, rework, transform, evolve, do something. The Universe was at an impasse.

*The work above has been edited from its original version for the intended audience Alex Korman ‘15 is currently finishing his freshman year at Riverdale Country School, alongside eight of his fellow Allen-Stevenson Alums. Alex is the proud recipient of the A-S Creative Writing Award and the Riverdale Mary Sarton Award for the 9th and 10th grade. Although he only started writing a year ago, it has quickly become one of his greatest passions. Alex also enjoys playing basketball, coding, and long walks on sandy beaches.

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ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

n addition to our donors, weâ€™d like to give special acknowledgment to the A-S English teachers who go above and beyond to make this a reality. Pete Haarmann, our champion who spearheads the effort throughout the year, is joined by the wonderful support of Susan Lukas, Steven Cohen, and Carol Mahida. A big thank you to all!

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DONORS

Zachary P. Levy ‘00 Memorial Fund

NOBEL SOCIETY Michael & Helen Levy, Lawrence D. Hite, Richard & Denise Mulcahy PULITZER CIRCLE Zeynep Eken, Helen & Howard Freedman PEN/FAULKNER FELLOW Arielle & Cliff Bayer, Ayse & Necdet Bezmen, Meredith Blank, Joan & Charles Blanksteen, Caitlin Mulcahy & Kerim Eken ‘00, Nermin Esen, Izzie Lerer, The Ken Pollak Family, Fran Lippa & Rick Rohn, Beth & Bob Sheehan, Will Sheehan MAN BOOKER BOARD Josh Aghravi, Dan Friedman & Michelle Andelman, Anonymous, Virginia Volante Appel, Paul Arnhold, Berin Bezmen, Jonathan Blanksteen ‘00, Jamie & Aaron Books, Lauren & Ryan Borg, Joshua Chaffee, Anne Chellas, Ian M. Dana ‘97, Maya Deshmukh, Matthew Dresher, Jess Eisen, Allison Feldman, Ginevra Figg, Micheal Friedman & Lauren Fedorko, Alex Friedman, Alex 77

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Funk ‘00, Lara & Adam Gillman, Jordan Gillman, Paul & Renee Haas, Steven Handwerker ‘03, Scott Handwerker ‘00, Debbie Cooper & Kevin Handwerker, Tim Howell, Dana, Jeff & Matt Hynick, Lauren Wood & Conor Izzett, Tim Kirby ‘00, Jon Klebanoff ‘00, Susan Hirschhorn & Arthur Klebanoff, Brian Lamb, Ethan Levy, Adam Levy ‘97, Erin Levy, Jacqui & Ron Liberman, Jamie Magid ‘91, John Murray, Katie Robin, John Rosen, Rachel Rosenberg, Emily Rudman, Benjy Sarlin ‘00, Matthew Scharfstein ‘00, Kate Schlosstein, Megan & Midhat Serbagi ‘97, Dillon K. Springer ‘00, Joshua Steinberg, Christopher Stone, Deborah Forte & Peter Stone, Nicholas Tapert ‘00, Cameron Tung, Kevin VanLandingham, Melissa Wilner, Rachel & Jared Zolna NEWBURY CLUB Anonymous, Anonymous, Jessica Barrett, Jamie Bass, John Benedetto, Talin Bezmen, Lauren Appel & Karyn Brownson, Jordan Cerf, Katy Cheng, Tim Clinton, Susan Crile, Amy D’Annunzio, Serra Eken, Amanda & Zach Fox, Lauren Freedman, Louise & Howie Freilich, Elaine & Arthur Friedman, Claire Friedman, Mike Fung, Lindsey Goodman, Lauren & Brian Koffler, Ben Krauss, Abby Leber, Josh Levy, McFly Levy, Ben Lewis, Sam 78

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Lichtenburg-Scanlan, Tal Madanes, Lisa Ray, Alex Rosario ‘00, Sarah RuelBergeron, Hadley Springer, Samantha Steinberg, Carter Stone, Damian VanCamp ‘00, Jas Wagstaff, Jeff Warren, Melissa & Jared Weil, Jay Woodworth & Frances Fox, Jessica Zanan SUPPORTERS Jonathan Aghravi, Beth Appel, Guillermo Artiles, Caitlin & Eric Bitzegaio, Ari Bornstein,David Braily, Jay Caretsky, Ben Carron Greg Cayne, Brook Cohen, Sarah Claspell, Leila Cohan-Miccio, Matt Cutler, Andrew L. Daidone, Ashley Eisenstadt, Matt Elkin ‘99, Adam Fields, Jack Germain, Pete Haarmann, Alex Ingram ‘03, Derek Jacobs, Tommy Kahn, Brian Kennedy, Alex Klein, Prescott Loveland, Andrea Lusso Matt Moskovciak, Jack Pesin ‘97, Josephine Porco, Janna Raskopf, Mike Schutzer, Becca Skolnick, Laurence Smith ‘00, Ashley Springer ‘97, Maria Sternfeld, Gilmar Valencia, Paul Welsh, Alex Whitman

THE ALLEN-STEVENSON SCHOOL 2015