A-Z Files 2021

A-ZFILES

A-ZFILES 2021

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, he’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 Eken

A-S ADVISORS Peter Haarmann David Kersey h’98

ALUMNI DIRECTOR Liz Roberts Jennifer Ziplow

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

COVER ART Untitled Conrad de Menil ‘12

Copyright 2021

Helen Levy Kerim Eken ‘00 Peter Haarmann

INSIDE COVER ART Robbie the Unicorn John Mermel ‘23

© The Allen-Stevenson School

Produced by Action Graphics, Inc. 800 365 6687

“Wonder is the beginning of wisdom.”

-Socrates

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Foreword Rob Tilberis ‘98 pg 8 Untitled Conrad de Menil ‘12 pg 11 Spring Gregory Stone ‘19 pg 12 Oh Coronavirus Adam Moriarty ‘23 pg 13 Nantucket Andrew Klabin ‘21 pg 14 Lobster Cove, MA Gregory Stone ‘19 pg 15 Untitled Conrad de Menil ‘12 pg 16 The Man Lorenzo Brigode ‘21 pg 17 Untitled Conrad de Menil ‘12 pg 19 Lone Tree Declan Flynn ‘23 pg 20 The Tree Stands Alone Charlie Sossen ‘23 pg 21 Seasons Max Kahn ‘22 pg 22 Apocalypse Marcus Lambroza‘22 pg 24 The Steamship Sebastian Burns ‘22 pg 25 Irish Blessing Charlie Sossen ‘23 pg 26 My Ancestry Dilemma Philip Negrin ‘22 pg 28 Beach Adam Moriarty ‘23 pg 32 A Piece of the Pie Maurya Srivastava ‘22 pg 34 Faith Philip Negrin ‘22 pg 39 The Sinking of the SS Oceanic Sebastian Burns ‘22 pg 44 Unititled Charlie Sossen ‘23 pg 46

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Anthus William Jokela ‘21 pg 47 Mystery Story Chyle Lilley ‘23 pg 50 Mystery Number Two Alexander Diefenbach ‘23 pg 51 Memory Sam Molko ‘23 pg 52 Midnight Mystery Joshua Salama-Caro ‘23 pg 56 James Cuevas Storyline Alexander Diefenbach ‘23 pg 58 Enemies Within Joseph Kim ‘23 pg 60 Mystery Story Davis Gorman ‘23 pg 62 Story Excerpt Connor Searcy ‘23 pg 63 Short Story William Gonzalez ‘22 pg 65 Lake Superior Memorial Day Sam Lieberman ‘22 pg 68 Back of the Barn Sam Lieberman ‘22 pg 75 Dreamship Jack Salomon ‘62 pg 79 The US Capitol in Spring E. David Luria ‘51 pg 81 Denali National Park Gregory Stone ‘19 pg 82 Tree Survival in Bryce Canyon, UT Gregory Stone ‘19 pg 83 Hubbard Glacier AK Panorama Gregory Stone ‘19 pg 84 Untitled Conrad de Menil ‘12 pg 88 Untitled Conrad de Menil ‘12 pg 91 Acknowledgements pg 92 Donors pg 93

FOREWORD Rob Tilberis ‘98

W

ell, it’s been one heck of a year!

For the last 12 months plus all of our lives were changed by this pandemic, seemingly overnight. Classrooms and offices became Zoom calls, trips to the supermarket suddenly required a face mask and six feet between you and your fellow shopper, even the NYC subways were eerily quiet… and dare I say clean. Nothing felt quite right.

When this whole thing started, I thought time away from the office, as a creative at a blaring advertising agency, would give me time to write the way I wanted and structure the day my way. I’d get so much done. I’d come up with some great ad campaign concepts. I’d learn new skills.

Hell, I’d even finally get organized. And I did…for two weeks.

After that, things got harder. It was difficult to find the motivation to get on another Zoom meeting or god forbid another digital happy hour (gag). It was even getting more challenging to sit down and write, which is what I’m supposed to do for a living. So, what was missing? I had time.

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I had peace and quiet. Why was everything becoming such a drag? After thinking about it, I came to the realization that it was the experience of everyday life. Time with friends and family, my morning commute packed into crowded subway cars arm to arm with strangers, and having dinner at my favorite restaurant were all parts of daily routine that had abruptly changed and without them my creativity was struggling.

As creatives, we often think that all we need is time to ourselves to come up with good ideas. While that’s certainly part of it, it’s the experiences we have and the people around us that give us the foundations to create.

As part of the A-S class of ’97 (Uffff.

I’m old!), I made friendships that have stood the test of time. It’s also where I first became interested in creative writing (thank you, Mr. Cohen). But it’s those friendships that helped me find some sense of normalcy in what had become a pretty unrecognizable world. Meeting up with a friend for a walk in the park or grabbing a bite outside even in the 30-degree cold made the world a much less isolated place and it reignited my interest in what I loved.

The A-Z Files is a publication founded on friendship. Created in memory of our friend Zach Levy. I would’ve loved to get Zach’s take on writing during this 11

FOREWORD

pandemic and to see what sorts of stories he would’ve come up with in his unique and unmistakable voice.

It’s with great honor that I introduce the 2021 A-Z Files. Every one of the A-S boys featured in this year’s edition has endured a year unlike any other and channeled their energy, point of view and creativity into pieces of work that deal with not just the isolation of quarantine, but the things that bring us closer together; friendship, family, and the optimism of better times ahead. Let’s go, Unicorns!!!

Rob Tilberis, class of ’97, is an associate creative director at the Wasserman Agency. He has worked on advertising campaigns for brands such as AT&T, Wells Fargo, United Airlines and Theraflu.

He lives in the uncool part of Brooklyn and still has an unashamed passion for pro-wrestling.

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Untitled Conrad de Menil ‘12

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14 Spring 2020 Gregory Stone ‘19

OH CORONAVIRUS Adam Moriarty ‘23

Oh Coronavirus - known as COVID-19, You made it so that we’re all stuck in quarantine.

Hundreds infected each and every day, When, oh when, will you ever go away?

Virtual learning is now the routine, Video games are still part of the scene.

Stocking up on hand sanitizer and toilet paper, You spread around the whole world like a silent vapor.

More and more countries goin’ on lock down, More and more economy’s weaknesses being found.

We’re always standing six feet away, I guess we’re not doing much today.

Oh Coronavirus - known as COVID-19, You made it so that we’re all stuck in quarantine.

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NANTUCKET Andrew Klabin ‘21

I wake to see the warming glow of dawn unchanged, all the world in my windowsill.

All restless worries - in the sun - are gone.

The sunlight in my room ideally drawn.

The town, my mind, so small this far uphill.

I wake to see the warming glow of dawn.

The little boats in the sea will drift on, Seen shining even from this lonely hill.

All restless worries - in the sun - are gone.

I watch the sleepy town, it starts to yawn.

At rest the world will be for me until I wake to see the warming glow of dawn.

Grey houses, torn by time, unmoved along The winding cobble alleys that lay still.

All restless worries - in the sun - are gone.

The cobble streets and shaded alleys on this little island with the lonely hill.

I wake to see the warming glow of dawn.

All restless worries - in the sun - are gone.

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Lobster Cove, MA Gregory Stone ‘19

18 Untitled Conrad de Menil ‘12

THE MAN Lorenzo Brigode ‘21

The sun hasn’t even risen when the man wakes up.

Everything is quiet as he stirs, as his feet find their place On the floor. He stands, tidies his room, stumbling Alone in the dark down the stairs to make his way To the kitchen, with pots and pans shining, For some breakfast and coffee: the perfect start to the day.

But calm lasts only in the early bits of the day, So he dons a coat and walks up The street. At the end of it, the sun shining Faintly in the sunrise. Hues of red, orange, and pink in place Of the clear brilliant blue as the sun makes its way Up to the very top of the sky, without stumbling.

So the man walks with soft music stumbling From his headphones into his ears. This day Is a lucky one, he gets on the train right on time.

They make their way Down the tracks with the few other people who have woken up.

After a while, the man gets off the train and walks to his office. He finds his place At his desk. He works in a windowless room, unable to see the sun shining.

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Early morning bleeds into mid-morning as others walk through the shining Elevator doors. Looking around and stumbling To their desks to find their place For the rest of the long day.

After a long and difficult day the man finally gets up And starts back on his way.

He goes back through the shining elevator doors. He knows the way Back home by heart, even though the sun is no longer shining In the night as the moon on its way up The great sky. The man’s train is stumbling Into the station: one of its last trips of the day.

The man gets off the train and heads back to his place.

He’s arrived, and behind him the door slides into place.

He looks around, sighs, and makes his way To his kitchen for the last meal of the day.

He eats and then cleans, all the pots and pans shining, Back in place for tomorrow morning. So now he’s stumbling To the stairs. With his room in sight, he goes up.

He finds his place in bed after getting ready, and pulls up The covers, his mind already making its way, stumbling, Into dream. For this is one day, and the next will start even before the sun is shining.

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Untitled Conrad de Menil ‘12

LONE TREE Declan Flynn ‘23

In an old field, on a windy night, the tree stands alone The leaves rustle, some fall, but the tree stands tall The roots hold steady in the ground, the tree stands straight The tree stands tall, the tree stands alone.

In the woods, on a rainy night, the tree stands alone Raindrops roll off the leaves, some fall, but the tree stands tall The tree is coated in rain, the tree stands straight The tree stands tall, the tree stands alone.

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THE TREE STANDS ALONE Charlie Sossen ‘23

In an old field, on a windy night, the tree stands alone leaves trembling in the breeze grass swaying to the beat of the falling acorns the sun, descending in the sky the light vanishing but still, the tree stands alone

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Seasons Max Kahn ‘22

APOCALYPSE Marcus Lambroza‘22

As I sit here, on a cold stone bench The air is vile with that gasoline stench As I sit here, under the flickering light I watch the world turn forever night.

Millions of years, all gone in a sec I look at the screen and survey the wreck As I sit here, watching the disturbing scene I feel the cold creeping of death - unseen.

I look at the picture of a dying sun Now is the final, here it all ends All I can do is pick up a pen It will never hit me The end of all Time Please, traveler, Please read my rhyme.

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THE STEAMSHIP Sebastian Burns ‘22

Coal dust and salty sea spray fills the air Gangplanks lie against the steel hull Ropes tangle Lifeboats swinging out Dark coats and hats Passengers embark Luggage hauled off the dock Ticket stubs litter the ground Anchors rise Tugboats guide the liner out Whistles blow Leaving port Out to open sea

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IRISH BLESSING Charlie Sossen ‘23

May the grass sway in the direction you travel May your hardships shine through the abundant storm May your rushing river flow frequently over the treacherous rocks May the sturdy trees grow as high as you through the clouds and beyond And may two universes bridge as one whole May your flowers be ever blooming May the winds carry you, slightly grazing the water beneath May your life find texture And when you catch wonder in the palm of your hand May you not let it go Wedding May the crisp winds of the Rockies carry you, slightly grazing the water beneath May your life find texture And when you catch wonder in the palm of your hand May you not let each other go

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MY ANCESTRY DILEMMA Philip Negrin ‘22

An afternoon, the sun golden, the air scented with the smell of sea-salt. A fresh fish, caught hours ago, sizzling on the grill, the smell of its meat wafts over the boat. My hair was still wet from earlier, salt brushing out of it every time I touched it. A seashell, shining under the sunlight sat in the center of the table, accompanied by a candle, worn down till its last days. A tin of caviar was set on the table where I first tried this exotic dish. After dinner, a birthday cake was brought out, and we sang happy birthday to my grandfather, celebrating his 90th birthday.

Turkey is the setting of so many great memories of my childhood. Countless great nights on the water, fabulous dinners full of extraordinary food, and amazing times with my extended family.

My grandparents all live in Turkey, same as my aunts, uncles, and cousins.

Unfortunately, my extended family living so far away from me prevents me

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from seeing them often.

In America, I have barely any Turkish friends and I see my relatives about 10 times a year. I also barely know any Turkish traditions. Am I giving enough attention to my Turkish heritage, or I am doing the right thing by focusing on American Culture?

Fitting in, in general, is hard for most first-generation immigrants, sometimes even for their children. As a second-generation immigrant, focusing on American ways helps me fit in, by participating in everything like an ‘American.’ But sometimes I regret not taking part in Turkish traditions, as they always seemed meaningful.

Istanbul, one of Turkey’s greatest cities, is split up into two continents.

One side of the city is in Asia, the other side in Europe. In between, it is separated by a beautiful waterway called the Bosphorus. Sometimes for an immigrant, life can feel as if one is Istanbul. One foot in one place, the other somewhere else, unable to participate fully in both American and Turkish cultures at the same time.

Sometimes I feel as if I was Istanbul, split into two. I currently feel like I am focusing my full attention to 31

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American culture, and I’m not sure whether or not this is the right thing to do. Finding your balance between two cultures can be hard. This does not mean I wish I didn’t have any Turkish heritage, I love Turkey and everything about it.

Ancestry is an important part of someone’s life and who they are, yet it doesn’t define them. Although my Turkish ancestry dates back thousands of years, it does not control who I am as a person and the decisions I make.

Some may feel trapped by their history, unable to control their life. It’s hard to leave a country that has been your home for centuries, yet sometimes change is necessary.

I am happy my parents left Turkey to come to the USA, not because I wouldn’t have enjoyed my life if I lived in Turkey, but because their past did not control their future and mine.

My heritage may be split up overseas, and sometimes deciding where I belong can be a dilemma, yet in the end, I feel that the dilemma doesn’t have to have an answer, both America and Turkey can be my home.

Something I think about often is where I will settle when I grow up. It 32

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is early to even be thinking about a decision as such, yet these decisions being so important make them something I think about often. Do I go back to Turkey, do I stay here in America, or do I live somewhere else, to maybe start a new line of descent for my grandkids?

Either way, I know my decision will be the right one. My heritage is split up overseas, and sometimes deciding where I belong can be a dilemma, yet in the end, I feel that the dilemma doesn’t have to have an answer, both America and Turkey can be my home.

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Beach Adam Moriarty ‘23

A PIECE OF THE PIE Maurya Srivastava ‘22

Snow gently falls on the ground outside the window, blanketing the parking lot in a subtle white. Escaping through the restaurant’s open window, echoes of laughter are audible throughout the beautiful Canadian night. Both sides of my family help themselves to a delicious Indian meal, passing naan bread and butter chicken across the table. Grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins, both Vietnamese and Indian, gather around the table - everyone is here.

The only word I know how to describe this as is family, and how I define family is through my name. I am a Srivastava.

To me, being a Srivastava means a lot of things, such as being both Indian and Vietnamese, but the outstanding factor is that my name comes from my dad and the Indian side of the family. This is not necessarily a bad thing, but it has led me to notice that I am not as Vietnamese as I think. In fact, being Indian has never seemed to be a problem, given that I actively participate in

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Indian culture, or at least more so than I do with my Vietnamese heritage.

Traveling to India every few years, I take in everything: the delicious food, the festive culture, and the people.

Even when I am not there, I make sure to eat a couple of Indian meals a month and call my Indian grandparents on Facetime every weekend.

Relating to my Vietnamese roots has been a bit harder, because the stories associated with it have either been lost in time or remind my family of the hardships they had to face and they don’t want to remember. Consequently, I feel like a piece of the pie is missing from my story.

Without this complete story of my heritage, I will have no context and no roots to anchor me in place, almost like a tree that is not held firmly in the soil. Sure, I may eat Vietnamese food and visit my grandparents annually, but the fact stands out that I have only been to the actual country once, and I don’t even remember the time I went there because I was so young. Even if I may not engage in this culture very often, at least comprehending it will give me a doorway into my Vietnamese origins. Therefore, when I participate in Vietnamese culture, I will be able to do so as my ancestors once did, feeling 37

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what they must have felt long ago.

To start, I must explain the story of this half of my family and the darkness surrounding it.

Much more complex than my Indian roots, my Vietnamese heritage goes back so far in time that, when I asked my Grandparents (on my mom’s side) how old the family was, they couldn’t tell me. (The only thing I do know is that at some point my Vietnamese family had come over from China). However, it is not just the tangled mess of roots and bloodlines that makes this side of the family complicated. There is a much more recent reason: The Vietnam War. After the war, my Grandfather was forced into a concentration camp.

He would not return for six years.

Additionally, the family was stripped of their wealth by the new communist regime and lived a life of hardship.

While her husband was away, my Ba Ngoi (Grandmother) had given birth to my mom and her sister. When my Grandfather returned home, my aunt did not even recognize him. Despite this, they were able to persist and managed to get smuggled out of the country and into nearby Malaysia on a small fishing boat crammed with other refugees. From there, Canada gave the refugees a home and allowed them to start a new life there.

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Eventually, through years of hard work, my family rose to success once again.

This story is not just the cliche inspirational tale about bravery that any first-grader could tell you about.

I had known of it before, but after analyzing the surface of the story, I found a deeper meaning: My family has overcome every challenge that has been thrown at them, and I have concluded that it doesn’t matter how rich or diverse my heritage is, or how many challenges my ancestors had to overcome.

What matters is my understanding of those challenges and those roots so that when I participate in the cultures associated with them, I will be able to do so with pride just like those who came before me. Exploring my Vietnamese heritage will allow me to truly celebrate my roots and honor all parts of myself, both Vietnamese and Indian.

Acknowledgments A big thank you to my grandparents on both sides of the family for giving me the stories that enabled me to write this essay, to my classmates for giving me feedback and suggestions, and to Mr. Fennelly, who taught me various writing techniques that I used in this essay.

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Reflections Writing this essay not only pushed me as a writer, but also drove me to find out more about my heritage more and connect with both sides of the family. It helped me learn about myself in a way that I had never done before.

Once I do that, only then will I feel a true connection to my heritage, to the echoes of laughter and joy on that Canadian night, to my family, and most importantly, to myself. Honoring and participating in my roots will allow me to find that piece of the pie, that piece of my heritage, that has been missing and will assist me in my times of need.

I can always look back to my heritage and reflect on the efforts of every Dai and Srivastava before me to make me, me.

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FAITH Philip Negrin ‘22

The memorial I created represents and symbolizes the importance of faith throughout one’s life, especially during the dark times of the Holocaust.

Losing faith almost guaranteed death in the concentration camps during WWII. At the camps, prisoners lived with constant inspections, barely any food, mistreated by the guards, and witnessed people around them die every day. Any lack of will to live resulted in death almost every time for the prisoners because with the terrible conditions one needed as much endurance as possible if they wanted any chance of survival. Prisoners needed hope, something that gave them faith in life if they wanted to continue living. Yet, throughout the terrible times of the Holocaust, faith wasn’t entirely given to the prisoners by God. In fact, many Jews who were once great believers in God lost their faith in Him after the atrocities they experienced. Many prisoners held on to life because of people other than God, in Wiesel’s case, his father was someone who gave him hope. Many had someone either with 41

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them or back home who gave them the faith to live.

The idea of losing faith resulting in spiritual death and physical death is also shown by the death marches. Many people died not only by physical death by the Nazis, but some were also worked so hard to a point where they were really just a body, and like Wiesel said, separated from their souls.

Throughout the death marches, many lost hope and ended up dying, whether it was from the Nazis, or simply falling asleep and never waking up. Those who held on to faith and survived until the end, as well as those who lost hope during the Holocaust are both honored with this memorial. It was created to make sure you never lose hope and carry on your life with faith. It is directed at those who lost faith and hope in today’s troubled times. It is to remind everyone to never lose faith, to hold on to that string of hope, and soon enough life will get better.

My memorial is split up into three groups of people. At the top are people who granted hope to the prisoners.

Amongst them are God (represented by Star of David), sisters, daughters, wives, children, relatives, friends, families, and anything or anyone that gave prisoners faith to live. Those 42

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people are holding the strings of faith/hope, and in the middle (second group of people) are the prisoners.

They are holding on to these strings, which represent lines of faith, which prevent the prisoners from falling into the third group, Nazis and flames. Once a prisoner loses hope and lets go of the string of faith, they fall into the Nazis’ clutches, which resulted in death. The prisoner all the way on the right also has fire spreading on his string, breaking it, symbolizing how the Nazis broke some of these strings and took away the faith from the Jews.

This representation aims to remind people to hold on to faith till the very end, as losing faith is losing one’s life.

Night and learning about the Holocaust and WWII affected and changed me in many ways. Before this unit, I barely knew anything about the tragedies that occurred during the Holocaust, and seeing families torn apart by the Nazi Germans made me more grateful for my life and family. I can enjoy my everyday life even more now that I am more grateful for how great my life is. Just imagining how so many families were torn apart by a single German soldier pointing right or left frightens me. Wiesel’s and many other 44

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families were torn apart just like that, it really makes me so grateful that my family is still together and I can still enjoy my life with them being a part of it. I am also grateful that I have positive relationships with my entire family. While reading Night, and seeing a son kill his own father just for a piece of bread, I realized how lucky I am that my relationships with my family aren’t like those in the Holocaust. I know those two people were driven to craziness by the Nazis, and I am not saying it’s their fault, but I still am grateful that my family doesn’t have to make such hard choices (food or father). Night really put me in perspective how amazing my life currently is, and I am glad I read it because it allows me to be more grateful for my life in general.

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THE SINKING OF THE SS OCEANIC Sebastian Burns ‘22

In 1910, an ocean liner steamed through the Atlantic off the coast of Long Island.

It was a quiet, warm July evening.

The small and speedy liner glided on the ocean, and the quiet thrum of the propellers echoed in the sea. The sun had just begun to set as the waves rippled against the pink sky. Captain John Handridge stood on the port bridge wing on the bridge of the SS Oceanic, peering into the horizon. Up above, the lookout bell rang three times. It was to report a coal problem that was going on in the boiler room. All of a sudden, the coal ignited, and there came a huge explosion deep within the ship. The Oceanic’s fate is sealed. *

*

*

Just two hours earlier, First Class passengers strolled down the sweeping grand staircase into the main lounge.

Piano music echoed as the low mumble of chatter filled the air of the large, brightly lit room. Though not remarkable for her size, the SS Oceanic was known

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for one thing - her speed. At 7,400 tons, her two turbine engines were capable of achieving a service speed of twenty knots. On her sea trials in 1907, she even recorded up to 22.7 knots. But apart from that, the liner was remarkably luxurious. As an all First Class ship, her interiors were lavishly appointed, and she was a favorite of the traveling public. She featured large, opulent staterooms, grand lounges, and electric lights. And for the average passenger, the Oceanic would have been a sight to behold.

By midnight, it would all be at the bottom of the Atlantic.

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Untitled Charlie Sossen ‘23

ANTHUS William Jokela ‘21

I watched the frames flick by, out the window of the car. Next to me, a boy, one who looked nothing like me, but had the same smile. We drove along the side of the cliff, the one that looked down on crashing waves and dying sailors. We reached the summit, the plateau with a solid lake at its heart. The fish trapped in motion, preserved until the thaw. I do not know how they could have gotten there — perhaps they have remained for generations at that peak. But how could a person survive being frozen for months at a time? Then again, they are fish, not people, and they know things we will never understand.

We collided with the amaranth fields, leaving parallel paths of flour in our wake. The changing light pouring through the windows told me the time. On our drive, we didn’t share a word, but an understanding — we knew each other better than any other could. We reached the island, our destination. That place where our sun would never set. I knew it was a

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dream, but I didn’t want to wake. Not to my reality, driving along a narrow gravel road around the cliff — one misplaced stone from hurtling to the deep blue — next to someone I have never spoken to; someone I do not know. * * * The bruises on his arm are still beautiful. The purples and blues have freshly risen to the surface of his skin, early enough for the rotted greens and yellows to have not yet polluted them. The red is still slowly encroaching on the shores of the purple blood lakes beneath the flesh. I have to look away. Those thoughts would ruin the beauty — it’s better to think of them as being painted on, delicately, than the reality, he was beaten until they were drawn to the surface. I don’t have many alternatives for what to look at. My choices are his bruises — their true nature intruding on my musings — or the window — this view not nearly as interesting as those from my dream. This cliff face is a drab slate of stone. Absent are the mosses and wildflowers peeking from the crevices, the birds perched and singing their lighthearted melodies, and the occasional flares of light 50

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reflected from the gloss of seawater thrown against the side by the rogue drops escaping the waves fervently crashing below. Instead, there are weeds at its base, forming a border between the gravel and stone, and a lone vulture circling overhead, declaring its presence with shrieks — it seems to be following our teal jalopy whose coat of paint obscures what lies beneath, rotted innards; that old buzzard waits to prey on us as if it hasn’t seen roadkill in months and we are a moment away from starving.

I can feel his eyes on me, interrupting my thoughts on the lackluster scenery. I want to ask him to stop, stop his eyes from staring through me, but I won’t be the one to break the silence. I turn to face him, but he has already averted his gaze. This chance of amity is now gone, but I can’t say I’m too disappointed. We’ll drive and go our separate ways. There’s no need for us to be friends or to even speak. At least this way I can enjoy my little window in silence, however bland the image on the other side may be. I want to return to my dream, but I know I won’t be able to. I’m stranded in this hollow imitation.

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MYSTERY STORY Chyle Lilley ‘23

The room reeks like the windows haven’t been open since the Kennedy Administration. Peeling wallpaper declares mold to be the new decorating scheme in these parts. I cover my nose and trudge through the muck and garbage that block the path I need to take. Once again, the thought returns that I should never have ventured here alone. How did I let things go this far? How, because I never saw the bad side of him, plain and simple. This place is revolting; I never want to come here again.

Lights flicker, adding to the eeriness of this awful room. I start running; running like when I ran from the family; running like my life depends on it; running from my problems. This hallway never seems to end, just like the guilt I have been harboring for years. I never truly wanted to leave; I just had to get out of that place. How can I ever forgive myself for what happened that day? With my hands on my head, hoping to alleviate this splitting headache, I look up and I see him. I see… What is happening?

My head is spinning. Where did he go? What is this? Why is it so dark? Where am I? “He is starting to wake up, boss. Should I knock him out again?

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MYSTERY NUMBER TWO Alexander Diefenbach ‘23

Racing down East 78th Street, dodging raindrops as I run, I notice a flashing red light ahead at the corner of Lexington Avenue. Observing a swarm of young boys dressed in full blue and gold blocking my path, I dash into the street to avoid being held up. Across the street, I spot a restaurant worker moving trash cans to the curb. He drops a Kit-Kat candy wrapper and strangely winks at me before walking back into Farinella. Staring at the wrapper, I ponder the meaning of the man’s wink. It must be some kind of message.

As I bend to retrieve the wrapper, a tall man in a raincoat rudely bumps into me, seemingly unaware he has done so and continues on his way. Opening the wrapper, I notice a message written in black sharpie there - “F. B. - 3 ”. Pocketing the wrapper, I begin to walk to the other side of the avenue when from nowhere a taxicab barrel down Lex nearly hitting me. The taxi stops and a window rolls down.

My younger brother Larry motions for me to get in.

He is frantic so I open the door and sit beside him. He says not a word, but points to the headline in the newspaper in his hand.

It reads:

FLEET BANK ROBBED - THIRD THIS MONTH

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MEMORY Sam Molko ‘23

The next couple days were just the same. Doing the traditional jail routine. Wake up, shower, eat breakfast, do laundry, courtyard time, lunch, cell time, courtyard, dinner, shower, sleep and repeat. Eventually you get used to it and it is strangely not that terrible. The worst part of jail is probably the meals. Breakfast is oatmeal 99% of the time, lunch is mostly grilled cheese, and dinner mostly a mystery soup. That might not sound that bad but think about all of that just watered down and with no seasoning.

One night it was lights out and I started to drift to sleep. I normally don’t remember my dreams, but this night was different. The dream seemed like a clip of something that happened in the past. I only knew that because it felt so real. The dream had me, Ja, and Jo in it and it seemed that we were all in a meeting together, but just us three. They were talking about medical marijuana for some reason. I was about to get into the main part of the dream when all of a sudden, a guard hit the

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bars of my cell rousing me from my sleep and disturbing my dream.

I spent that entire day thinking about why Ja and Jo were in this dream that felt so real. At lunch I finally hit on it. I never knew why I had been arrested. There was a small part of me that believed that the dream was real.

Each night it felt like a piece of the puzzle was coming together. Every night the dreams built on each other. One dream particularly stuck out to me. Ja and Jo told me to go give an elderly man what they called “medical marijuana” so I did. Soon after I came back, they broke the news to me that the elderly man I just visited passed away. I was oblivious to the scheme that they had just pulled. In the hallway to lunch I ran into another inmate named Sal. “Yo, Sal, what’s up?” I said.

“Did you just call me Sal?” he asked?

“Yeah,” I said. SLAM - it felt like a ten ton dump truck just hit me. Then a different one hit the back of my head; I was out cold. That was the easiest way to describe getting punished by whose name I later found out was Brock, not Sal. After that experience I finally pieced it together, Ja and Jo were against me.

I could no longer trust them. The next few days I tried to keep my distance 56

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from them and they realized that too.

It was time to make other friends. I started to become a “good prisoner”, doing everything that I needed to do and not getting into trouble with not only the guards but also the other prisoners.

One day while walking back to the cell I walked in on Jo changing his shirt.

Quickly I turned around, but before I did, I saw one thing, a tattoo. At that moment it all clicked. I had seen that tattoo before. Not only in my dreams but in real life. A phoenix stretched from shoulder to shoulder with the word “Mom” written on it. I just had to make it until tomorrow after lunch when I had my first meeting with my lawyer Anna Even. I could tell her everything and she could help me get out of this dump. By lights out I kept my guard up because I had a feeling that Jo suspected I knew what was up and I was almost certain he told Ja. I woke in total darkness. I tried to get up, but I was strapped to the bed.

I flailed my head around until the canvas bag covering my head flew off revealing that all of my worst nightmares had come true.

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MIDNIGHT MYSTERY Joshua Salama-Caro ‘23

Prologue My favorite thing to do is visit the Tower of London. And my favorite thing to do when I get there is to see the old crown that is used by the famous queen for special occasions.

You get to see the biggest diamonds in the world because you are in the most protected place in all of London.

The history there is so cool and I love telling all my friends the new things that I find. This is a huge competition between us; who can find out the most interesting facts! This special tower was built to protect William the Conqueror and assert his powers. Again, this is my favorite thing to do in the whole of London. Recently I discovered information that surpasses everything. I learned recently that the Tower is 900 years old! Wait until my friends hear this. This will surely be a first-place fact. If I had one dream, it would have to be working as a guard for the Tower of London.

-excerpted from the full novel

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JAMES CUEAVAS STORYLINE Alexander Diefenbach ‘23

JOE - “What are you doing here? I told you never to come back. You’ve caused nothing but trouble since the day you were born.”

JAMES - “I need help, Joe. I can’t do this anymore. I’m your younger brother, Joe. I’m begging you.”

JOE - “ Well, ain’t that interesting.

After all these years you come crawling back to ask for my help. Now, ain’t that funny.”

Joe turns and kicks the ground in disgust.

“Like I said, younger brother, get lost; we weren’t good enough for you before, we ain’t good enough for you now.” Joe walks away from James and heads for his car.

JAMES - “ But, Joe. I got nowhere to go.

I really messed things up this time.

I’m in a heap of trouble, Joe. JOE - “Trouble, huh. What’d you do this time, knock off a bank?” Joe stares into

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his younger brother’s face and sees a broken man.

“You stopped by to see Ma yet?”

JAMES - “No, is she okay? I heard she’s pretty sick.”

JOE - “Yes, she’s sick, all right.

She’s also pretty angry about what you did all those years ago. Well, what are you gonna do? Face it like a man or run away again?”

JAMES - “Can you come with me, Joe? want this all to end, Joe, now.”

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I

ENEMIES WITHIN Joseph Kim ‘23

Prologue There is something I must do before I leave. I want to know the truth - the reason I came to this strange place. This place seems clouded in some way, and I swear I hear the wailing of the ghosts, the ghosts the spies killed. There is a lot of equipment around, but it’s empty of people. A bad smell lingers like something is rotting. I follow the smell and what I see stops me dead in my tracks. It’s his dead body. He must have found this place before me, but I’m puzzled, how did he? Kneeling down, I see he is holding a flash drive; did he leave that for me? Picking it up, I notice a slight noise coming from the monitor. Staring at the screen, shattered by what I see, it feels like my soul has left me. The revelation is too much to handle. Taking the flash drive, I flee this strange place, only to be blocked by a large, dark figure. Pushed back I look up at the stranger. He pulls his hood off and smiles.

“Well, look who it is.”

-excerpted from the full novel

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1

MYSTERY STORY Davis Gorman

‘23

Noticing the clock turn from 11:59 to 12:00, I slowly creep out of bed. As I head for the door, I accidentally knock over my new model. My heart pounds in my chest. Praying the tiny sound hasn’t woken my grandparents, I place it on a shelf across the room from the rest of my models. Glancing at the assortment, my eyes rest on the model of my parents’ car. Knowing what I am about to do is in honor of the people who used to drive that car, I continue to the door.

Walking into the hallway, not daring to turn on the lights, I head straight to the closet door. Moving closer, time seems to stand still. I become aware of the thumping in my chest, the creaking of the floor after each step, and finally, the door handle and my hand approaching it. I turn the knob. I push. It opens. Walking in, I stop. My eyes adjust to the dark. I see a dark, gray, metal wall with a small number code in the center. I know what to put in, the most important thing to my parents. Me. Tapping in my birthday, April 3, 2001, as numbers: 03032001. The door slowly opens and dim red light seeps from the other side.

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STORY EXCERPT Connor Searcy ‘23

When I opened the door, we were surprised to see the lights were off.

Grandpa was still not home. I decided to show my secret cave a little sooner.

“Grandpa’s probably caught up talking to someone at the event,” I started. “Let me show you guys something cool.”

“Ooh, what is it?” Joey asked.

“C’mon, follow me,” I told them.

We walked across the boardwalk and I followed the sand path that Grandpa had told me about that would lead to the cave. After 15 minutes of walking on the secluded path, we finally reached the entrance.

“Boys, this is a water cave, and my grandpa gave us permission to swim here, whenever we wanted to.”.

“Sweet!” Joey said.

“You should have told me to bring my swimming trunks!” Evan whined.

“Would you quit being such a wuss?”

Joey remarked. “Your mommy probably packed you 500 pairs of clothes anyway.”

Evan sneered at Joey, and he did the same back. They had these little arguments all of the time, but at the

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end of the day, they were still friends.

“Ooh, it’s cold!” Evan exclaimed, dipping his legs into the water. Joey was about to say something back, but he kept quiet.

“Guys, check this out!” I said, gesturing to the water in front of us.

“The water over there is like a scarlet color.”

“Aww,” Joey said, “A fish probably killed another fish. That’s sad.”

“Let me go check it out,” Evan said.

He dove into the water and swam over to the other side of the cave where the scarlet waters were. After examining it closely, he looked up in shock.

“Guys, it’s not a fish,” he said, shaking.

“Wait, what do you mean?”

“Vincent?” he spoke nervously.

“What IS IT, Evan?” I practically screamed.

“It’s your grandpa. He’s dead.”

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SHORT STORY William Gonzalez ‘22

Be rich with money or be rich with love.

My name’s Caleb Barrett, I’m an 18-year-old scientist that has lived his whole life in poverty. I live in Buffalo, New York. When I was 5 years old my dad left me and my mom forcing us to fend for ourselves. My dad meant everything to me but when he left us these feelings turned to hatred. I blamed him for everything. I blamed him for me and my mom having to constantly move from one terrible apartment to another. I blamed him for me starving. I blamed him for me being bullied at school. I blamed him for my terrible life.

My mom tried many things to distract me from the reality we were living in. For my 11th birthday, she bought me a classic Gameboy with the little money she had. Sure it came out in 1990 but I didn’t care. It was dirty and the lighting of the Gameboy was terrible but at the time I didn’t even notice since this was my first time playing a video game. The time was 2011 and I just began middle school. I tried my best at school to get out of poverty and save the hell me and my mom were living in. I was a skinny black kid and often got made fun of because of my clothes. The school required uniforms and since my mom couldn’t afford it, I was allowed to wear standard clothing. This 67

SHORT STORY

made me a target for the other students since they all knew I was poor. I got in a lot of fights and often came back home with a black eye. My mom tried to make me think that life was perfect and that everything was going to be okay. But I was forced to face reality when I was 17. My mom died of cancer and the only thing she left me with was my old broken Gameboy.

I was forced to work minimum wage to pay rent for my apartment. My manager hates me and constantly shouts at me, “GET BACK TO WORK!!!” although it’s my break. I’m never able to catch my breath especially at school where I’m meant to maintain my perfect 4.0 GPA. Ever since I was young the only way I could think of not living a terrible life was through school. I need to get a good job to get money. When my mom died I was crushed and swore an oath that one day I’ll defeat Cancer so nobody has to suffer through what I did. Luckily, I’ll be graduating high school in 2 weeks and I’ll have some of the load I’ve been carrying taken off my back.

----------------------------------------The only thing that pushes me through all of this is the love of his life, Sandra Larson. In our crummy apartment, I sometimes forget how bad I live since all I can think of is Sandra.

Sandra’s a skinny black lady who dropped out of school to work at the local furniture store.

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Sandra and I live with each other in a one-room apartment. Today I came home and my stomach was rumbling. I opened the fridge hoping for there to be something to eat but all I found is one piece of bread. So I tell Sandra, “I’m going to get us something to eat, I’ll be back.”

While approaching the deli a random man wearing a suit approaches me and says, “Hello Caleb Barrett.” Confused and scared I responded, “How do you know my name?” “I know a lot of things about you.” I tremble and say “What do you want?” “I want you to join us at the University of Oxford!” Shocked and relieved, I responded, “Wait What! Why me? How much does it cost?” The man says, “I’m offering you a scholarship to the University of Oxford in England” Stricken by this I respond “Wait England! But I can’t leave my girlfriend here. We can’t afford the internet so we won’t be able to talk to each other!” Understanding the man says, “Well, I’ll give you until you graduate to decide.” The man walks away leaving me feeling mixed emotions.

“On one hand, I’m ecstatic, I’m able to go to an amazing institution free of charge and I’ll be able to live a good life and avenge my mother.

Although on the other hand, this means that I’ll have to leave Sandra behind. But I have to find a cure for cancer to avenge my mother and to be able to get a good job. However, Sandra’s the love of my life and I can’t leave her.” All these thoughts are swarming my head and with only 2 weeks to decide. How will I choose?

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Lake Superior Memorial Day Sam Lieberman ‘22

SHORT STORY

The weather turned from sunny to rainy. I walk into our apartment and close the door.

Sandra looks at my hands and asks, “Where’s the food?’ Realizing I forgot to buy the food I responded, “Oh I forgot.” Sandra raises her eyebrow and asks, “Is everything alright?” I acted like nothing had happened and proceeded to go back to the deli to buy the food. While at the counter I was charged 10 dollars for the food. I gave the clerk a ten-dollar bill and he seemed surprisingly happy. I walked out of the deli and proceeded home. I was tired from walking all day and decided to take the bus. As I pulled out my wallet to get my metro card I realized that I only have 10 dollars. I exclaim, “What! Did I get robbed!” I had a 100 dollar bill and a 10 dollar bill in my wallet this mourning. But if the 100 dollar bill is gone and the ten-dollar bill is in my wallet that means I gave the clerk 100 dollars! I rushed back to the deli and explained to the clerk what happened. However, he refused to give me the 100 dollars back and all I could do was go back home. I was so busy thinking about a scholarship to the University of Oxford in England that I lost 90 dollars.

I sigh and when I return home Sandra is gone.

I shrugged and thought she was probably with some friends. I ate my dinner and laid down in my bed. I wondered if I should accept the scholarship to the University of Oxford in England or if I should stay here with Sandra.

After many hours of thinking I decided to take 72

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the scholarship to the University of Oxford in England. As I fell asleep I woke up to all of Sandra’s stuff gone. I panic wondering what happened. I put on my clothes and called Sandra. No answer. I texted her asking where she was, but no response. I hurried outside looking for Sandra but soon it was 7:50 am and I had to go to school. While in school all I think about is where Sandra could be. I even put my shirt on backward and didn’t realize it until lunch.

After school, I planned to go to the apartment and leave my school stuff there while I looked for Sandra but as I opened the door to the apartment I saw Sandra in tears. I went to comfort her but she stopped me furiously saying, “When were you going to tell me?”

Realizing what happened I responded, “I was going to but…” “But what? You kept this from me even though it’s a huge decision. So what did you pick?” I sigh and sadly tell her, “I’m accepting the scholarship.” Tears running down Sandra’s face she mumbles, “Well I guess this is our goodbye.” She ran out of the apartment crying and all I could do was stand there in silence.

The rest of the day seemed like it would never end. Tick Tock Tick Tock was all I could hear. I didn’t know what to do. As the days went by, graduation was finally here. I told the man wearing a suit that I was accepting my scholarship. He informed me that I had 2 days to pack everything I needed until I was meant 73

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to leave New York and go to England. Graduation was long and dreary. Most kids shouted hooray and were relieved to finally graduate whereas I could only stand in silence while I looked at the clock. Tick Tock Tick Tock.

I finally landed in England and unloaded all my things from the shuttles. I look to my left and see Sandra. I rush towards her and as I tap her back the person turns back in confusion.

I apologize and explain that I thought she was someone else. While carrying my luggage I ordered an Uber to pick me up and drive me to the University of Oxford. As I enter the cab I can only see the driver’s back. I pause and my mouth drops. “Mom?” The driver turns around and turns out to not be my mom. I frantically apologize and explain to her that I thought she was someone else. As I arrived at the University of Oxford in England I exited the cab and walked on campus. As I look at the luxurious buildings and grass, all I can do is frown.

While approaching the dorms I see a man that looks like my dad. All I have is a blurry image of my dad since I was so young when I last saw him. I figure it’s someone random but as I walk past them I see their face. It’s similar to my dad’s so as I walk up to him he says, “Caleb?” Tears run down our faces as I nod my head yes. All the hatred I had towards him was gone and all he can do is hug each other.

While crying I ask him, “Why are you here?” He responds, “Caleb I’m sorry for leaving you and 74

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your mother. We were very young and when we had you I was planning on going to the University of Oxford in England. I had to choose and decided to go to Oxford. I loved your mom and was heartbroken when I had to leave her. I’ve been miserable ever since and can’t find anyone to fill the gap in my heart. I understand if you can’t forgive me but I just want to say that I’m sorry.” I burst out in tears realizing the huge mistake I made. I explain to my dad what happened and he says, “Take this money, go buy a ticket to New York and go back to Sandra.

Don’t make the same mistake I made.”

I grabbed the money and hurried to the head of Oxford. As I approached him gasping for air, I said “I’m sorry but I’m not going to take the scholarship to Oxford. I left a key part of me behind and can’t live without it.” I quickly explain the situation I’m in. Understanding they say, “Well although we can’t have a wonderful student like you here at Oxford. I understand and hope everything works out.” I smile and run to the airport. I paid for the earliest flight to New York and didn’t care how much it cost. As long as I’m with Sandra.

----------------------------------------I arrived at 4:00 am in Buffalo New York with eye bags dropping from my eyes. No matter how tired I was, I wouldn’t give up. I pull out my phone and order an Uber. As the Uber arrives I throw my luggage in the car and off we went.

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I felt relieved to be somewhere I’m used to.

I saw the playground I used to play at when I was younger. I saw the game store where my mom bought me my first Gameboy. Then, I saw the hospital my mom died at. I looked down as I was remorseful for my mother. However, for some reason, I smile. I’m not sad but instead joyful. I look at myself confused. Why was I happy? Am I happy my mom died? Am I happy that everything I had is gone?

But then a lightbulb appears over my head. I begin to laugh hysterically as my Uber driver looks at me weirdly. I’ve finally figured out why I’m happy and not sad. It’s because of all the things I’ve lost, my mom, my dad, my happiness. All these things never truly left me. My mom still lives inside of me. Every time I think of her I remember the times when we were together. The day she bought me my first Gameboy, my 10th birthday, and all those times she’s been there for me. These memories remind me of when I was happy and oblivious to the world. My dad leaving me made me stronger.

Although I hated him, I still loved him deep inside and cherished our memories. All these things brought me happiness but I was blind. I viewed the world as nothing but torture. I woke up each morning wondering why I shouldn’t fall asleep forever. This was until I met Sandra.

She made me happy. I woke up each morning happy and when I had to sleep, all I could think about was spending time with Sandra. These important people that are in my life brought 76

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77 Back of the Barn Sam Lieberman ‘22

SHORT STORY

me nothing but happiness and when they left me, they left me with things to remind me of them.

I remember my Gameboy, every time I think about it I think about my mom and smile. Every time I think of tomorrow, I think of Sandra. Every time I think of when I was younger, I think of my dad. I always thought that these people are just another person in my life. But I never stopped to realize how much I need them.

——————————————————————————————————————— As we arrive at my apartment, I rush up the stairs as I drag my luggage along the way. I frantically rattle my keys. However, as I put the key into the key slot I pause since that’s when I realized how much of a jerk I was. I left Sandra alone, all by herself. Without even saying goodbye. I was no better than my dad. I left those close to me for what? Money?

What’s the point of having money if I’m sad.

Back when I approached my dad in England, he looked depressed. It was as if he put on a smile and acted like everything was okay. He didn’t say anything to make me think this, I just knew. He had no one, he left me and my mom and probably doubted that we’ll forgive him.

He even told me, “Once I went back to Buffalo New York a couple of years ago to try to make things right. As I was approaching the door to your guy’s apartment, I heard you and your mom talking and laughing. You guys seemed happy.

Why would you guys need me? I told myself that 78

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you guys didn’t need me, all I would be is a pain in your life. So, I took my belongings, left, and went back to England.”

This came back to me at that very moment.

What would I say? Will Sandra hate me? Will Sandra be happy to see me? Did she even want me? All of a sudden, the door opens. I look up and see Sandra. We both stare at each other with mixed emotions. I could tell she wanted to yell at me, but she instead begins to cry as she hugs me. It was just like me with my father. No matter how much I hated him, no matter how much I blamed him for everything, the first thing I did was hug him when I saw him. Santa tearingly mutters, “I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!” Yet, the louder she got, the more she hugged me. Sandra is barely able to mumble, “I didn’t want to believe it, yet” “You don’t have to say anything, it’s my fault.

I left you alone just like my father did with me.” She bursts into tears. She tried to punch me but with every punch she got weaker and eventually, she just stood there, hugging me. `

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80

DREAMSHIP Jack Salomon ‘62

My Dreamship is ready for the night.

I’m on board and all set to go.

I pull up my blankets and the gangplank, And I untie from the night table.

Off I go, sailing into the dark.

My hunt has begun.

For a while, my Dreamfinder® is quiet.

Not a dream anywhere.

Only a few quiet snores, deep down.

Then suddenly the bells in my head go off.

My Dreamship starts rocking and heaving And I know there are dreams down there.

My dreamnet goes out as the night gets wilder.

I’m nearly flung overbed, But I hang on.

I heave up my dreamnet and examine my catch.

Three tiny little dreams. Too small.

I throw them back.

I’m trolling again. Off in the distance, I see a school of flying dreams leap up and dive.

And again, I hear a few soft snores, deep down.

But now my Dreamfinder® is screaming!

This time, there’s gotta be a big one!

I cast my dreamnet and turn the Dreamship in a wide circle.

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The net is closing. Yes! I’ve got one this time!

The huge dream plunges and lunges, Struggling to get away.

But I pull with all my might, and I can feel The dream coming up.

As I haul it into my Dreamship, I’m trembling with fear.

It’s a nightmare! The most terrifying dream!

Now it’s onboard, flopping and twisting.

I’m in a hot sweat, trying to keep it aboard While wanting to let it go.

My dream glares at me. I stare back in terror.

It opens its huge jaws and bares its teeth.

Then it growls strange words, panting and gasping, Showing me frightening scenes from the depths.

But after a while, it quiets down.

Then it is still.

I’m alone, afloat in the night, with my dying dream.

By morning, I steer back for home.

My net is empty.

Jack Salomon ‘62 is a 74-year-old Allen-Stevenson boy. He has three children, four grandchildren, and a granddog.

He has had careers as a college professor, a commodity trader, and a financial advisor. He writes poetry as an avocation, and each year returns to the school to share poems with the other boys.

THE US CAPITOL IN SPRING E. David Luria ‘51

The US Capitol in Spring E. David Luria ‘51

E. David Luria ‘51 is a professional architectural photographer and instructor in Washington DC. Mr. Luria is best known in the DC area as founder and director of the popular Washington Photo Safari.

In a prior career, Mr. Luria held senior administrative positions in the field of private non-profit international development and citizen exchange. Mr. Luria is the father of three grown children, Estela, David and Rebecca Luria, and 4 grandchildren. He credits his Allen-Stevenson education with his writing skills and his love of languages and international relations.

Denali National Park Gregory Stone ‘19

Tree Survival in Bryce Canyon, UT Gregory Stone ‘19

Hubbard Glacier AK Panorama Gregory Stone ‘19

Gregory Stone ’19 is an eleventh grader at Choate Rosemary Hall. He is very interested in the environment, conservation, and sustainability. Gregory sings and performs theater, passions he developed at A-S. He also enjoys reading and creative writing.

PHOTOGRAPHS Conrad de Menil ‘12

Untitled Conrad de Menil ‘12

Untitled Conrad de Menil ‘12

Conrad de Menil ‘12, uses photography as his creative outlet, allowing him to attempt to express some inner ideas that aren’t tangible. He started shooting with his dad’s old Nikon F3 with a Nikkor 50mm lens because he was bored and needed something to take me away from staring at his various screens and he stumbled onto this new obsession. he’s come to love the photos he’s taken as they are wholly an expression of how he see the world around him. He hopes you can find your own interpretation that resonates with yourself.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

W

e would like to thank everyone who has helped us get here. This is the ninth edition of the A-Z Files, which would not have been possible without the generosity of all our donors and the support of the entire Allen-Stevenson Community. Thank you to David Trower for allowing us to memorialize our childhood friend and to David Kersey for guiding us in the appropriate direction to do so. We were the first kindergarten class when Mr. Trower became headmaster and wish him the best in upcoming retirement. We want to give a special parting thank you to Peter Haarmann; whose tenure at the school after 27 years has come to an end. His sustained encouragement year after year made the A-Z Files come to life. We can’t thank him enough for the heart he showed us dating back to when we were sixth graders and continuing to this day. And finally to the Levy Family: Helen, Mike, and Adam, we greatly appreciate you allowing us to share the spirit of Zach with a future generation.

We appreciate Holden sharing some of his reflections whom Zach always spoke of fondly.

Lastly, we must acknowledge the administration for taking on the publication’s financial responsibility, solidifying A-Z Files’ role in the Allen-Stevenson experience. A heartfelt 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 & Mason Thalheimer , Joan & Charles Blanksteen, Caitlin & Kerim Eken ‘00, Nermin Esen, Izzie Lerer, The Ken Pollak Family, Fran Lippa & Rick Rohn, Beth & Bob Sheehan, Allegra & 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, Matthew Dresher, Jess Eisen, Allison Feldman, Ginevra Figg, Micheal Friedman & Lauren Fedorko, Alex Friedman, Alex Funk ‘00, Lara & Adam Gillman, Jordan Gillman, Paul 93

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& 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 & Maya Deshmukh, 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,

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Josh Levy, McFly Levy, Ben Lewis, Sam 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

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THE ALLEN-STEVENSON SCHOOL 2 0 21