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85 left behind one parent, at least, who was dabbing and dotting at a picture, backing away from the easel into the furniture, or holding the drawing board up to a mirror, the long brush gripped between the teeth, and the eyes fierce with scrutiny. We were infected by our atmosphere. We ourselves were more often paint-streaked than other children. We drew pictures on the broad park pavement, and all of us had our specialties. Mine was beautiful women with crowded, fleecy, Mary Pickford curls, Ira drew mummies, and there was one child, named Shirley, who made the same picture over and over again, the profile of a girl with the eye shut. Printed beneath it were always the words "Anne closed her eyes to shut out the awful sight." "What sight? What awful sight, Shirley?" we would beg, and she would smile dreamily and shake her head. "Too awful. Too horrible. It wouldn't be good for you to know." For our pavement drawings, we used French chalk that we bought in flat slabs at Bigelow's Drugstore. It was smooth and cool and dry and didn't rub off on clothes and black ribbed stockings like the regular chalk that came in boxes. I can remember exactly how it felt to be drawing on the pavement, crouched over - our mothers didn't allow us to kneel or to sit, because of what would happen to our clothes - snuffling, monotonously, chewing the knotted, exhausted elastic that was supposed to keep my hat on my head, and all my long hair swinging and getting in the way. Sometimes we used this chalk to draw arrows for hare and hounds, dots for the game of boxes, the two designs for hopscotch - one straight like a ladder, one curled up like a snail shell. I can still hear the skate key ringing onto the pattern, missing or making the point. I can still remember the excitement of the first spring jump-rope days, of breathlessly leaping the live arc like a ballerina, between the two children who whirled the rope and chanted. There were always incantations in the spring - one for the jump rope, one for ball-bouncing, one for jacks, one for the tranced group watching the moving finger of the counter-out: "Ibbetty bibbetty sibbetty sab, ibbetty bibbetty kinahba. My - mother - says - to - choose - you." The incantation and the games are much the same today, but what has happened to the playthings? Where are the two-wheel roller skates, so much lighter [[advertisement]] [[image]] For the sports-minded - the Casino at the new Greenbrier [[image]] Whether you take your sports standing up or sitting down, you'll soon find yourself at our Casino, family sports center. Here are superb tennis courts - also two championship 18-hole golf courses, with Sam Snead as pro. For gentler souls, there's croquet, putting, quoits. There are fine stables nearby, and a 102-foot swimming pool and famous therapeutic baths in the Hotel. The Greenbrier has been completely redecorated by Dorothy Draper. Why not make America's smartest summer address your address - soon? THE NEW Greenbrier AND COTTAGES WHITE SULPHUR SPRINGS, WEST VIRGINIA Edward T. Lawless, Vice President and General Manager Early reservations available Booklet upon request New York 18, 11 West 42nd Street - BR 9-6347 Chicago 2, 77 West Washington Street - RAN 0625 Washington 5, Investment Building - RE 2642 [[/advertisement]]
