This is a poem about the private school I attended back in the '60s, which has since grown into a mega building filled with hundreds of students. It's Ben Stiller's alma mater. Many sons and daughters of famous celebrities from New York attend Calhoun. When I attended, it was an all-girls school, housed in a building known as a Brownstone. Now it's a modern, co-ed institution, with state-of-the-art facilities.
The Brownstone
On West 92 Street
a four flight city brownstone
the neighbors were elite
I traveled there on my own.
All female students there
too far for a car pool
flash pass was subway fare
to get to Calhoun School.
There was one class per grade,
in my group, only nine,
and yes I was afraid.
I had to toe the line.
It was a new school plan
from public education
and two strong women ran
this private situation.
Few with bright black faces
roamed wooden spiral stairs
Those integrated races
ate lunch in cliquish pairs.
With 400, less than ten
were black. I was aware.
Harsh migraines whipped me then;
free fun and friends were rare.
For six years night and day,
the homework then was grueling.
There was no other way
to conquer this tough schooling.
One fateful day in June
I finally had made it.
The high school called Calhoun
I proudly graduated.
The years have served me well
I found I had some friends
who contact me and tell
that Calhoun never ends.
The school has relocated
to a grand co-ed site,
and from that was created
an academic light.
I used the bold insights
I learned from this survival.
and during Civil Rights
Vietnam was it's rival.
The brownstone will remain
the high school where I grew
Through good times and through pain,
Dear Calhoun, I thank you.
Barbara Lois Fullard © 2005
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