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COPYRIGHT 1967, THE REBEL. NONE OF THE MATERIALS HEREIN CAN BE USED OR REPRODUCED IN
ANY MANNER WHATSOEVER WITHOUT WRITTEN PERMISSION.

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=REBEL

Co-EGIOIS .... .... Nellie Johanna Lee
John R. Reynolds
Business Manager ........ Irvin Breedlove
Co-ordinating Editor ........ Duncan Stout
Arieiier = =. Sid Morris
Copy egir..... Chip Callaway
Poetry titer... «... Charles Griffin
Reviews Edior......"-«..... ..... Ea Gerrell
Chief Photographer ........ Walter Quade
Advertising Manager ... . Rebecca Hobgood
Assistant Business Mgr. ... Mary Lynn King
Exchange and Subscriptions
Fdicr =. Susan Connor
Typist and Correspondence
Fdicer-. """""si~i~o;és Patrick Berry
Publicity Director... :«ssi~CR§ Ben Terrell
Co-ordinating Staff ...... Lynn Quisenberry

Irvin Prescott

Photography and Art Staff George Weigand
Maurice Joyner
Steele Trail
Susan Wood

Copy Stat. i osw Alice Sanders
Kay Mosu
Evelena Dorman
Mike Porter

Reviews Staff....... Jennifer Salinger
Lynn Anderson
Patience Collie
Margaret Henderson
Nancie Allen

Acvicor = =. Ovid Williams Pierce

The Rebel is a student publication of East Carolina
University. Offices are located on the campus at
300 Old Austin Building. Inquiries and contributions
should be directed to P. O. Box 2486, East Carolina
University Station, Greenville, North Carolina 27834.

PRINTED BY THE GRAPHIC PRESS, INC., RALEIGH, N. C. 276038



Morris

Quade

Contributors

Grif fin

Walter Quade in his first work for The Rebel as
East CarolinaTs professional photographer brings a
great deal of depth and continuity to the magazine.

Sid Morris, a senior majoring in commercial art
and design, is responsible for a major part of the
magazineTs design and layout.

Charles Griffin is a former Peace Corps volunteer
who recently returned from India. A freshman politi-
cal science major, Charles along with his interesting
tales of life in India has some very good poetry.

Nancie Allen, a senior English major, makes her
first contribution to The Rebel. Her short story,
oObituary,� treats a conventional theme, euthanasia,
or mercy killing"in a new and unusual way.

Michael Posey, a senior psychology major, makes
his second contribution to The Rebel. Barbara Knott,
a graduate student in the English Department, con-
tributes to the magazine for the first time. Both are
actively involved in the Poetry Forum.

R. Daniel Cowley, an alumnus of East Carolina,
adds vitality to the magazine in his first contribution
to The Rebel. Benjamin Teel, an alumnus of East
Carolina and a teacher at Bethel High School, is
published in this issue.

Jennifer Salinger, a freshman art major, contrib-
utes her first review to The Rebel along with Patience
Collie, a sophomore majoring in home economics.
Lynn Anderson, a junior English major, also con-
tributes her first review.

Last but not least are poets Jayne Weatherman
and Jane Marston.

Contents









untitled 3 jayne weatherman upon awakening 37 barbara knott
letters to the editor A unashamed 38 michael posey
a new concept 6 untitled 38 benjamin teel |
ovid pierce 7 0) | hulk 22 «6©e�,�ds |
peace corps 11 charles griffin photo and art credits 41
obituary 15s nancie allen
welcome to greenville 18

| d. d. garrett 2 ore

: the confessions of 29

nat turner
roses are blue 30 ~jennifer salinger
godTs gay people § patience collie
: addiction B1 lynn anderson

of coming and going
soundlessly 33 jane marston
strings 50 -
sextet 34 r. daniel cowley |
dedicated to god 35
let there be silence 36 barbara knott

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Contents

To the Editor:

Be This is the fifth and final letter in a series of letters written in an attempt
to persuade you not to publish this issue of The Rebel. I have not seen the
book yet, nor mind you am I prejudiced in any way, but I do have a certain
intuition, so let me implore vou once again"do not publish this issue of

The Rebel.

Sincerely,

C. W. Welds

To the Editor:

Recently I found a letter from The Rebel staff placed in my mailbox in

. the English department office. The letter contained a wrong word choice.

The word mustard was used for the word mustered. I donTt think you

intended to mustard anyone, unless perhaps he is a hot dog or hamburger.

I would like to point out that such an obvious error in word choice does

untitled not fool me in the least. If the omistakeTT was intended to make us feel

sorry for you, and, therefore, offer you our guidance and assistance, you

have failed. We of the English department are far too smart to fall for

a new concept such a cheap stunt. |

Let me close by saying that I think I speak for all of the members of

the faculty in the English department when I say that we have the utmost |

letters to the editor

ovid pierce

peace corps confidence in vou and that we shall look forward to seeing your magazine.
obituary Sincerely,

A faculty member
welcome to greenville

d. d. garrett

te cone as at To the Editor: | :

nat turner Last Sunday (September 24) I read an editorial in The Raleigh News
and Observer which I would have agreed with normally. However, after |
having been subjected to your last yearTs Rebels, I found myself questioning |
godTs gay people the competence of the News and Observer's editorial staff. |
| 2 Honestly, those magazines were sheer prostitutions of all the ideals which
- addiction The Rebel has embodied in the past. I do not open this letter with only
, of coming and going condemnation in mind. I am only offering constructive criticism. I shall
look forward with eager anticipation to this yearTs Rebel and I hope that

roses are blue

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y this anticipation will not be in vain.
strings Yours truly, |
sextet B. Vaughn Callaway j

dedicated to god P.S. Please donTt try to emulate Playboy again as you did in your winter

let there be silence edition of last year. DonTt you think that the oGirls of Rebel� is a bit trite
"especially for a literary magazine?

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> 7 EDITOR.

During the past few years I have read The Rebel with sustained enthusi-
asm and admiration. I noted recently, however, that the News and Observer
stated one Sunday that the Rebel was oimmobilized� and on the following
Sunday that ofhe Hebel Lives.

It seems to me that you may find yourself defending the magazine all

vear if you are not careful. Therefore I suggest that you begin now by
producing a magazine that will be meaningful to its readers.

How are you going to be in touch with the desires of your readers?

I would suggest that you include some type of open forum for letters to
the editor within the format of the magazine. Through this innovation,
interest and criticism of The Rebel will be healthy and beneficial to you as
well as your readers.

I wish you the best of luck in your endeavors to sustain The Rebel.

Sincerely,

Mrs. Frank F. Bell

To the Editor:

I have heard several things circulating about The Rebel this year. Some
of them were quite good for a change. I have long anticipated the publi-
cation of the book and would just like to say this time"at least youTve
got some of the people around here talking about some of the things
around here that sometimes need to be talked about.

If this little amount of interest has been released over things like your
notices about your meetings, and the mysterious Hulk, and that first
proposed cover, I canTt wait to see the first book. I guess what I would

¥

really like to say is thanks for reviving an old rebel, and congratulaltions.

Keep up the good work,
M. Bijus

Editorial policy: The Rebel welcomes all letters and manuscripts. The
letters and manuscripts should be typed, double-spaced, and signed by the
author. Letters should not exceed 500 words. Manuscripts running not
longer than 1500-2000 words will be more desirable for publication, due
to the format of the magazine. All manuscripts submitted for publication
will be returned to the author. (Manuscripts received in the mail should
include a self-addressed envelope, postage paid.). The Rebel reserves the
right to edit or change in any way all letters and manuscripts submitted for
publication.

rebeL yeLL

Fe Pag li ig ig kt a I ea a Ee a ce ea

FDITORIAL...

We have been told by many of our friends that
East Carolina University must have a literary
magazine because universities have literary maga-
zines. This argument is not logically valid, but
perhaps it is true.

Ten thousand people populate the campus com-
munity. Ten thousand people who eat words, live
. and like food, a

change of diet is necessary from time to time.
A student body of ten thousand needs to taste

a sweet, a T-Bone steak, a tonic, or to throw back

on them from day to day . .

up the whole half-digested accumulation of psy-
chology, history, literature, and art. A student
body needs to see whether the reds and greens and
blues are gone to a dull gray or a greasy violent

black.

Out of what we know and what we learn, out of
our different pasts and lives, we need a place of
expression; somewhere to bare our souls to the
critical gaze of the public. This university can then
know its own soul, our soul.

We have a university, a universal system of
studies. The universe begins within. We are not
satisfied with the mirror. We are not satisfied with
the universe, with the university. We need a cata-

lyst. We need a Rebel.

There is something in the new Rebel that each
reader must find for himself. But the message will
be meaningful and clear only to those who open
their eyes and question every word.

We had no set theme in mind when we first

A NEW CONCEPT

began working on the magazine. We knew what
we wanted to do. We wanted to wake everyone
up, give them food for thought, to make them more
sensitive about what is around us and what they
encounter every day as they walk across campus,
every day they leave their own secure places and
go out into the world.

This issue, then, is in a sense rebellious in the
most important way. We do not know the answers
to the problems and the situations we have pre-
sented between these covers. We do not know the
answers to poverty and ignorance and prejudice.
We do not know the solutions to the mysteries
of religion. We do not know the way to make man
a more meaningful individual who will not settle
for anything that happens to pass along, but who
will insist on the most out of life, every second of
every day. But we do have a theory"we will
never know the answers until we search for them.
We will not find the answers until we are sensitive
to our environment, to the larger world in which
we live; until we delve into the possibilities of the
abstract, and keep ourselves alive to the never-
ending question, oWho am [?�

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Ovid pierce



Ovid Williams Pierce, East CarolinaTs author-in-residence, appears to be on the threshold
of something great " his latest novel, The DevilTs Half.

In late September, Pierce opened a letter from Orville Prescott of The New York Times. It
was one of those once-in-a-lifetime letters. Pierce had sent his manuscript to Doubleday and
Company only a few weeks earlier, but Prescott had already returned a letter to the publisher
that read:

oThank you for sending me a copy of the manuscript of Ovid Williams PierceTs " The
DevilTs Half. | have read it carefully with sustained admiration.

~~How that man can write! This is the best novel | have read in many months. It is beau-
tiful, moving and sad with all the dramatic intensity of human grief and tragedy and all the
poetry of language and feeling which so rarely gets into fiction today. Mr. Pierce is an artist
blessed with a profoundly understanding heart. Although his novel is a kind of eloquent la-
ment for the sorrows of life, it is not gray and depressing. It is illuminating, full of heart-
breaking insights into character and full of a resigned and melancholy wisdom.

oThis is a book Turgenev and Chekov would understand and admire. | know that it is a
fine achievement and | hope that it wins the critical and popular success it so richly de-
serves.�

In PierceTs previous novels, The Plantation and On a Lonesome Porch, he has perfectly
reflected eastern North Carolina and presented a believable South; a South that even Sou-
therners recognize.

A graduate of Duke and Harvard, Pierce has followed a simple truth in all of his books:
~Write about what you know.�

Though The DevilTs Half is in the hands of Doubleday, Pierce is still in the habit of reach-
ing for the manuscript when he wakes up in the morning. And he ts slightly saddened"for
there is nothing there to reach for.

~ItTs almost a period of dejection,TT Pierce reflected. o~A book becomes the central thing
in your life. When itTs over, a big emptiness has to be filled.

oYou hope your book is self-sustaining now . . . out in the world on tts own, beyond
explaining.�

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interview.

When will your new book, ~~The DevilTs Half,T be
published?

~The last Doubleday told me was that the book
would come out early in 1968. Publishers usually
leave a wide margin to adjust to other pressures.
This far ahead, you canTt pinpoint the time.TT

(Pierce had just received a letter from Doubleday
informing him about their most active preparations
for The DevilTs Half and their request for an advance
of 10,000 copies. The letter further noted that
practically everyone on the editorial staff in the
publishing house had read the book and had ~~dis-
played an enormous amount of enthusiasm.TT)

What is your book about"time and setting?

oThe time is 1868, and that was not intended
... that 1968 business is purely a coincidence. The
locale is eastern North Carolina, which is what |
know. My intention was to reflect an area that
would embrace a spiritual climate rather than a
geographic one; an area largely confined to eastern
North Carolina, a section isolated after the Civil
War, one certainly outside the central current of
American affairs.

oThe region had been committed to an agrarian
way of life. With the defeat of the Confederate Army,
the defeat of the South itself, its suspension from
the rest of the state and the rest of the South be-
Came more acute. These isolated areas, wherever
they existed in the South after the War, are really
the areas from which we get the prevalent attitudes
that are associated with the South today.

oThese areas are not necessarily the backwaters
of Southern life, but they are least touched by
change and by the rush of industrialization. It is in
these areas that | think there still exists a greater
sense of continuity with the past. The family names
are still the names that existed prior to the War.
Regional memory is so much longer in these areas.

oAnd | think thatTs one advantage Faulkner had
in his novels. He wrote in an area in which the
impact of the past was omnipresent and the people
he wrote about still lived under the shadow of what
had gone before.�T

What, in your opinion, was FaulknerTs primary
subject?

o| think Faulkner made his chief subject the



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irony of time, the layers of time behind the present.
Faulkner saw everything in depth. Some American
writers see a scene in an almost one dimensional
way. A scene in a vacuum of time and values.
Faulkner never saw a scene in this way. There are
really very few temporally isolated scenes in
FaulkerTs books. He asks with Henry James, ~When
does any story begin?T His present moment is the
breaking edge of a wave begun far back, far away.
A full understanding of that past is necessary for
comprehension of the present moment. ThatTs why
his work has that depth that no other Southern
writer has.

DonTt you think there are other Southern writers
who have accomplished this?

oOther writers to lesser degrees have done the
same thing. Writing from depth and time allows all
kinds of dramatic juxtapositions. You see the im-
pingement of a past moment on a present moment
and just the ironic contrast between the two levels
creates dramatic intensity.

In oOn a Lonesome Porch,�T three generations had
to adjust to the new situation in the South. You
commented about that book that its conflict was
analogous to the present-day conflict in the South.
Is oThe DevilTs HalfT? in any way analogous to the
present-day situation?

~| donTt know if the book supports an analogy or
not. But the value that it may have for the present
comes from the basic situations that | treat in this
1868 period: the relationship between the Negro
and the white man, the failure and the heroism of
both. In this sense, it is a beginning for problems
that we face currently"even in todayTs papers,
especially in regard to Negro and white relation-
ships.�

What is the basic plot of the book and who are
the main characters?

oYou'll always be surprised at the variety of
interpretations that you get from a book. | was
surprised that the first editor who saw the book had
an exclusive interpretation of it. His theory was that
it was the women in the post Civil War period who
really showed the fortitude and that sense of
endurance which brought the South through. That is
a private theory of his, and how far it could be
supported historically, | donTt know.

~Certainly the idea is there, for in my novel the
chief figure is a woman"Mrrs. Prescott and she had
led a typically sheltered, protected life. The novel
really starts with the climax of the book which is
the attempted suicide of her husband. And this
complex relationship between her and her husband
and her children is observed by a schoolmaster, a
young man who is in age about halfway between the







































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children in the family and the parents. Thus he
becomes confidant of both. And it is through his
eyes that their different threads are drawn and
through his eyes that the dramatic conflict and
contrast between their needs and their creeds are
focused.

~~Mrs. Prescott, who loses external support, faces
a reality from which she had been _ protected
throughout her entire life. Out of over affection, her
father had rendered her essentially helpless. It is
one of the ironies of sheltered relationships that an
excess of love and attention can have just the oppo-
site effect from what was intended"it certainly
had in her case. At the same time, she had what we
call plain character. Just the courage to make an
effort was a victory of a sort. And it was for her.

oMrs. PrescottTs husband, Raleigh Prescott, had
attempted suicide and the book opens with the
search for him. The succeeding chapters are flash-
backs in which we build up to the moment of crisis.
Nhat is uncovered there is the existence of a half
brother who is a Negro. The manTs name is
Wakefield, son of Raleigh PrescottTs father. | think
the story of Wakefield himself is one of the most
tragic of all the stories, in that he has had to lead
a divided life _ he is neither here nor there. And
yet he has acquired a great sensitivity, a sense of
loyalty to the affections that have been shown to
him. The chief characters in the end share a common
moment of recognition: Miss Amy with her painful
loss, Wakefield with his divided life, and Tanner
Hayes with his heroic harsh pain; each recognizes
his own isolation, his own frustration in the other.�

How about the whole book: What made you think
about it, how did you begin to develop it?

oOf course | think writers work in different ways,
and | think it would be presumptuous for me to say
how these things happen. But in my own case, ITve
tried to catch the spiritual values of a period of
time. A book is an effort at condensation, and itTs
an effort at selection naturally, but itTs a selection
of those basic things that give the framework to an
era and that contain the cultural concepts of that
era.

What new trends do you see in the modern novel,
in the Southern novel?

oItTs a complicated question and as well as |
my feeling is that too many of

can see it, it Is this:
the recent books are being written out of current
biases, sociological or political or whatever. There
are accepted views that an intellectual is supposed
to subscribe to. And | think too often books are
written from preconceptions and stereotypes. For
this point of departure is usually what Is already
accepted. One of my theories is that every novel

9

lee

has got to establish its own integrity regardless of
what the accepted attitudes are.TT

What do you think of William StyronTs new book,
~The Confessions of Nat TurnerTT?

oI think it is a remarkable job. ItTs the imaginative
recreation of a very sparsely documented, historical
event. There is little authenticated material about it.
This does not discredit Styron, for itTs an impressive
work. But he has brooded over a thin shadowy
figure, almost lost to history, and made of him a
finely imagined character, but one reflecting his own
sympathy and insights.

o| think that in the hands of another writer it is
conceivable that another Nat Turner could have
emerged which would have shifted the center of
sympathy elsewhere. ItTs a memorable book, and |
was very much moved by it.�T

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Are you saying that StyronTs Turner reveals a
sociological belief that most of the modernists
adhere to?

oTo an extent. Suppose we should go back now
and try to recreate a sympathetic portrait of John
Brown. Apparently many historians believe that his-
tory is becoming more and more an interpretative
thing. The bare facts have become elusive and have
receded to the point that they are what the writer
wants to make of them, so that we are one, two or
three steps removed from what happened. All of
which leads to the question: What is history?

oSo itTs equally conceivable to me that a sympa-
thetic writer could take an image of villainy and
use the same imaginative sympathy that Styron has
used on this man and create of him an appealing and
impressive person.�

oThe DevilTs HalfTT doesnTt try to make something
else out of history?

oI'd like to think that what ITve tried to do was to
present these people in low key. And too, and |
feel strongly about this"that real living character
in fiction cannot be done in clear relief and that
the most believable characters reflect the complexi-
ties of conflicting urges, desires and affections.�T

In regard to the technical aspects of your writing,
when do you do most of your writing and do you
have any particular gimmick?

~| donTt have a gimmick, because | donTt think
there is one. The only gimmick that | know is
whatever keeps you at it. ItTs an endurance contest.
It just depends on your temperament. | have to work
in the morning. ITve never been able to work in the
afternoon or at night. My feeling has always been
that you have a freshness in the morning thatTs still,
for that day, uncontaminated by the world.�T

Did you have any particular problems with ~~The
DevilTs HalfTT that you didnTt have with your other
novels?

oA very real problem that | thought was going
to defeat the book completely"do you want me
to tell you what that was?�T

(Yes, please elaborate.)

o| was trying to treat three generations of people
on this lonely plantation"itTs seven miles from the
little town of Warren"and the task of bringing these
three generations into focus was a tremendous job.
My chief problem was to find a telling agency with
a natural way into the hearts of three generations.

oIn the first version of this book, | thought |
could work from the point of view of Miss Amy in
the first half and from the point of view of her

10

















daughter in the second. But in that way, the book
became subjective to the point that it was difficult
for the reader, and it imposed natural limitations.
Neither Miss Amy nor the daughter could have been
in a position to know all the circumstances necessary
for their whole complex situation.

oWhen | finished that version, the publisher
recognized this. Well, at first any writer resents any
criticism of his work. It took me about six months
to agree. | thought about it, and so | invented a
character named Jeoffrey Jones.

~oJeoffrey is used as an agency for bringing
extremely complex relationships into focus for the
reader. Jeoffrey stayed on the plantation only about
three months, and the story itself is his story, no
doubt colored by his sympathies and perceptions.�T

What was it like trying to revise the first version
of ~The DevilTs HalfTT?

o| thought | was going to salvage a good part of
oThe DevilTs Half� at first. After | got into it, | realiz-
ed that salvaging that book would be a much more
arduous and exhausting thing than writing a whole
new book. In fact, | think it is almost impossible to
salvage a book, for a book has an interior life of
its own.

o| think that when you write a novel, in a sense
ItTs just like jumping into a strong current, and with
the help of God and whatever, getting to the other
side. And thereTs no guarantee that you are going
to get there because internal pressures and com-
pulsions build up in the course of a book and they
steer away from those settled and fixed conceptions
that you have originally.

oEach book, the beginning of each book, is the
beginning of a different adventure. Too many
unexpected things there, too many spontaneous
things come in that will alter conceptions. Even in
revising a book, there is a sharp tendency to see a
Character in a different light. You could go on writing
a book forever.TT

Why have you chosen to remain in eastern North
Carolina?

~oT taught at Tulane and Southern Methodist. But
my home and farm are tn eastern North Carolina and
having them accessible means a lot to me. | decided
to come back here because this is the area that | feel
| have some understanding of, and the feeling has
grown since ITve been here.

oEastern North Carolina is developing"it has a
lot to say, a lot to give. | just feel at home here. |
write here at the apartment or on the farm in the
summertime. | donTt use a typewriter"just a blunt
pencil and a typist to get it all down. And then |
tear it all to pieces"itTs an endless process.�T

N.J.L.

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PEACE COArs.

The Trinity

| have told myself | am an observer

That | am above their ways and strifes,

But | remember that | come from them

And will spend all my days in their midst.

| remember | have walked in dark ways

At home and in strange places without fear,
That | have been given love and comfort

And shelter by the best and the worst of them,
Just because | am one of them.

The {;
irst VErSiqn

They are my element, my medium,

My entire universal education.

They have given me all they have

To make me become what | am.

They are the brothers who warn me,
Separately, that the other canTt be trusted.
They always accept things on test,

But they always give the proof of themselves.

The people, my fellows on this Earth.

The people who sweat and stink, perfume and smell,
Give lectures on good and delight in their sins;

And fill the world from pole to pole

With their joy and tears, love and hate,

And their beginnings and endings and immortalities.
| am at peace with the people.

| take their part in the battles ahead

As they have stood by me in the past.

Me, the people, and God: We got a deal on.

October 22, 1965, Bangalore to Bombay, V. T.

(Charles Griffin is a twenty-four year old freshman who has
served in the Army " infantry " and has worked as a
Peace Corps Volunteer in India. His poetry is about his
travels but it is also about life in a way that is both wonder-
fully and painfully understandable."ed.)

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Did you hear the story of Tad?
He was a Peace Corps Volunteer,
And thanks to a Christian God
He was a white man.

When he got to this ancient land

That was a spawning ground for our race,

He looked around and he knew what was wrong;
None of the people here were white men.

He settled down, not one to hold a grudge,
And built a co-operative store.

He ran it himself, to be fair and square,
For he was a white man.

He spent his days selling the goods

And his nights accounting; he could trust
What of it if his addition was off,

He still was a white man.

His project failed before too long.

He, Volunteerily, took the blame,

But he knew where it really lay;

Those members who werenTt white men.

The Peace Corps Office was generous.
They knew the failureTs underlying cause;
And they sympathized with Tad,

For they were all white men.

So when he terminated he stayed
In the position of staff member
And carried on the Good Fight,
Because he was a white man.

Then he began to meet others,

Former Volunteers who felt the same.
And they were Peace Corps Career Men,
Democratically, almost all white men.

They began to make Peace Corps policy
And Tad was the leader of the lot,

He said, ~~We know whatTs best for them.
After all, we are white men.�

His tale has yet to end"lTm sad to report
But everyday | give a prayer

To a many-hued, colorblind God:

Save us from such white men.

A SUCCESS STORY IN THE PEACE CORPS, AUGUST 4, 1965, NANDPUR, PUNJAB

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Rose Anne, In Memoriam

(This is the last oPeace CorpsT poem;
it is the last poem written in India.) A democratic dust lies in peace
Dust of New York and California
Dust of India and even of the place
Where the last breath of life
The last thought of life came
In the darkness

In sleep
We all shall pass this way
And our dust will be of these places
And of the people we have known

And of the lives we have led

Sleep softly child sleep softly

The winds of change blow slowly
And we are a small moment in time
That builds slowly and passes swiftly

In our long and troubled history
Movements have been made

revolutions have come to pass
And men rise to carry the banners
And take the blame and the praise
Civilizations rise and fall

cultures and traditions pass
But we the people continue on
Living and learning and building and dying
We individual blocks of Humanity
Are the stuff from which civilizations rise
We are the spiritual and physical beings
That occupy time and space
And produce a world of life and death

a world of growth and change

Time will pass and what we did

Even our tombs and dust

Will be blown away by the winds
the winds of change

Sleep softly child sleep softly
and Adieu... .

New Delhi, India, February 23, 1967

It is not ours to know the time
Nor to determine the place
We enter a world of life
We travel a path of change
We commit our lives to causes
That we had no part in beginning
That we will have no part in ending
But it is ours for one brief moment
To hold the banner

to carry the flame
And our duty ts done



Sleep softly child sleep softly



The dust that reposes is more
Than what we have known
More than a life and a blue eyed look
And a way of thinking and being

The dust is of people touched

The dust is of the soil and water

Of the places traveled and food eaten
Of a life giving and taking what passes

aS,
Ne ea on I Ta ae a a A Bae ce ge ogee en ee OIE EA eT RO FEO ET OO OE a -
Sa ee eS OT ee ee

FICTION

OBETUARY

by Nancie Allen

It was August in Wyndham. A street light flick-
ered in through the large bay window and fell
across the seascape above the mantel in the Colby
living room. A German shephard, the NelsonsT dog,
chased an injured black cat across the street and
into the alley behind MalcomTs Furniture Store.
Laughter and voices came from the house across
the street.

Randall Colby was alone in the dark house. He
sat in his dark green rocking chair in the living
room. In his hands was the local newspaper, The
Wyndham Herald, opened to the obituary section.
Colby could not see the words in the darkness of
his living room, but he was familiar with them
already. He grasped the newspaper tighter and
wept aloud trying to keep back his tears, trying
to push the thoughts of his wife out of his mind"
Liane Colby, deceased. Liane Colby, deceased,
deceased, deceased. Survived by Randall Colby.
Survived?

Colby walked to the front door and looked out
on the lawn and the sidewalk. Only two days be-
fore Liane had met him out on the sidewalk. She
had welcomed him home, then, for the last time.

On that day, Colby paced himself as he passed
the corner of Carey and Claremont and walked
briskly down the cracked pavement to his house.
The house had belonged to his grandfather and
to his father. He had been raised there. He
noticed that the white paint had cracked and was
peeling again. The house was protected by tower-
ing oak trees which hovered over the sidewalk and
shaded the walkway that led to the red-bricked
front steps. As he picked up The Wyndham Herald
from the yard, he rubbed his fingers through the
dirt and was pleased with himself for having sown
the grass on Wednesday, his day off. A cobweb
on the right chain of the front porch caught his
interest. A small spider was busy weaving its net.

With a careless, youthful stride, he swung his

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oAll right, woman, get to it,�

lanky body forward, skipped three steps, and land-
ed on the porch. When he reached the door, he
pushed the bell and hollered, oSoupTs on.� Liane
stood in the kitchen doorway and waited for him.
He kissed her hello and she smiled.

oNo coffee tonight,� Liane teased.

oAll right, woman get to it,� He pretended to
scowl but laughed. He had never known his wife
not to make coffee.

The routine never changed. Li always served
supper at 5:15. She always sat on the left; and he
always sat on the right, looking out at his garden
from the rear window. Their grace was a moment
of silent meditation which always made them feel
closer.

oIT went to the garden this afternoon, Rand.�
LiTs face glowed with excitement.

oOh, thatTs wonderful darling. How is your
sketch coming?�

oT think itTs .. . it has potential,� she said with
enthusiasm. oOh Rand, that fig tree has so much
beauty. If I can only bring the drawing to life;
give it warmth and vitality.�

oTf you can give it your image, itTll be unique.�

After washing and drying the dishes, they went
into the living room. Rand read the final section
of The New York Times and Liane sketched de-
signs of him on watercolor paper.

After a few minutes of silence, Rand spoke,
oWant to talk hon?

oNot now,T she replied in a tone that suggested
he should leave her to her thoughts.

Rand continued looking at the paper, but his
mind was not on the stock market. From time to
time he stared at her as she was preoccupied in
her work. He hoped that she would look up and
talk to him, but she seemed detached.

tie

oYes?� she raised her eyebrows and looked ex-
pectantly into his troubled face.

oLi, darling, I donTt think Doctor Lewis should
have let you come home,� he said hesitantly and
softly while he watched her. Even at twenty-eight,
she reminded him of the same small but vivacious
woman he had known in high school. oI mean so
soon.T His voice was gentle.

oNo, it was not soon, at all. He said it was my
decision, and ITm here to stay.� Li was firm.

oT worry when you're in the hospital, and I wor-

ry even more when youre away from it.� Rand
looked at her sadly.

~ThereTs no need to worry; letTs not talk about
it tonight.

oYou know I care. I want you well and always
here with me.�

oYou're dreaming again. What will it take to
make you listen to me?� Her voice was almost
anery.

oTl never listen to any of that nonsense .. .
Im convinced ... �

oOt what? The truth"maybe? That I will re-
main a person with normal feelings and desires for
another two weeks or three or six?�

oNo, you canTt be sure. You could be well and
active for another year.�

oYou think so? You are seeing it all as a mirage,
Rand.

oTm not, Li. Where is your confidence? Doctor
Lewis isnTt as pessimistic as you are. They could
find a cure any day now. You canTt say they
won't. You donTt know.�

oOh, don't I? Don't you know that I've read all
the recent medical journals and ITve discussed it
with Lewis, Sloan, Scott, and all the others?�

Rand only looked at her. He knew what she
was saying was true.

oWhat kind of a man are you? You've never
refused me anything before, and now, when I need
you most, you reject me. You refuse to face the
truth because it 1s painful?�

oIya mot tryime to hurt you. Cant you see
that?� he pleaded. oWhat you ask is impossible.�

Li only looked off, away from him.

oYou don �,� fave the rizhi te ask. | cant...
Tl never help kill you.�

oNo... have the right! I saw both my parents
die. Dad died suddenly. You knew him Rand, you
know he couldnTt have faced being an invalid.�

oWhy not? PTve known many invalids. TheyTve
all accepted it.�

oLet them. [ cant. Vl be lucky if I have two
weeks left to be what I am. After that, Ill only
have a memory, not a present or a future. I saw
Mom in her last months. Would you have me live
that way? How can you be willing to see me like
that for the rest of my life? You must have no
feeling for me.�

oIT want you with me as long as I can have

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24 2

oWhere are the pills, Rand?�

vou. No matter what way"lI'll take you as you
are. I married you until death; not until I could
help you die.�

Nothing could change LiTs condition. The dis-
ease was real and it was fatal. Doctor Lewis called
it by a strange medical name and that had been
it. He knew Li would die before the next spring.
She would never again smell the yellow roses that
erew on the vines or watch the lilacs bloom. He
had said everything. He had tried every way to
convince Li that she would not be a nuisance to
him. She didnTt believe him and he was very tired,
so very tired.

oWhere are the pills, Rand?� Li asked cau-
tiously.

oThereTs no need to ask, Li.�T He was solemn and
quiet. oTheyTre safe.�

He knew what she was thinking. The pills kept
her alive. oAll you have to do is wait,� she had
said. oWait until I have another attack. ItTs so
easy, Rand. For me"to throw the pills away. It
would be over for me and for you.�

oDonTt worry, honey. ThereTs no decision to
make.� RandTs voice was soft and easy. oWe'll be
together for a long, long time.� He put the paper
down on the floor and walked over to her and
kissed her gently. oITm going out in the garden.
Will you be all right for a few minutes?�

Li smiled. oYes, I'll be fine.�

oTl be meht back.�

oTT'll relax,� she promised. oTITll work for a while
longer on the sketch.�

oThat 6 iay eo

Rand unlocked the back door that led to the
screened-in porch. A cool breeze was blowing. The
gate to the garden was rusty and it creaked as he
pushed it. In a glance, he saw that the garden was
in good condition. The fig tree looked healthy, the
erapes were ready to be picked, and the tomatoes
were red and firm. A fallen branch from the old
pecan tree swished against his legs. Rand decided
to pick butter beans and shell them tonight for Li
so that she could cook them for lunch tomorrow.
He walked into the kitchen carrying the beans in
a newspaper and put them into a pan.

He wanted to surprise Li. He walked quietly
through the dining room and stopped outside the
door. Li was completely absorbed in her work. He
did not want to disturb her. He moved quietly to

a chair next to the door and watched her hands
move deftly across the paper. Suddenly LiTs hand
twitched and the paint brush and board went
flying across the room.

Rand rushed into the living room. Li was in
convulsions. She stared up at him through her
tears. They looked at each other and at last he
understood her suffering.

Rand heard her muffled sobbing as he opened
the screen to the back porch. She was crying as
he had never heard her before. As he flung open
the gate to the garden he saw the garden so
differently now. For the first time he realized it
was under his control. Rand was the master of the
garden and he hated this power. The garden
thrived on his strength.

oHow can such a power be mine?� Li was under
his control, too. oAll P've ever wanted is her
happiness. She has that right. Pm keeping her
alive and unhappy. ITm forcing her to survive with
a disease that is destroying her. No man should
have that power.�

For a few minutes he was glad to walk through
the darkness of the garden. oMaybe Li would like
some figs.� His thoughts softened. He picked up a
handful of figs and rushed into the kitchen"eager
to be with his beloved Li. As he put the figs into
a bowl he heard a strange sound of deep gasping
from the living room. oThe pills!T his mind
shouted. He tore the pills from his pocket and
seized a glass. But his hands stopped. Randall
Colby tried to black out the sound of death in
the living room.

The darkness was a quiet cushion to him now.
The nightmare had passed, and so had his life.
Survived by, Randall Colby sat alone with the
past.

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These photographs were taken on hot
afternoons across Tenth Street near the
railroad tracks. Most of the roads are
hot, dry earth littered:with rusted bottle
caps, old newspaper pages and empty
tin cans. Every shack has a screen door
out of necessity. Each small yard has
room for vegetables, large dahlias, old
tires, septic tanks or outhouses, bony
wide-eyed cats and young children.

Both white and black people live
here. They are slaves of the Twentieth
Century " slaves to apathy built on

ations of Co ;

fore them did not care. For them there
is no reason or need to care. |
They are slaves because they are pre-

occupied with watching time go by, fill-
ing up their days with idle hours. And
time will consume their generation just.
as time consumed their ancestorsT.

Ss because we are

occupied with Firseives, wasting
time on idle pleasures. We are consu
ed with ourselves just as time will cc
sume our generation, as time consum

And all those things about God and
umanism and brother loving brother
will have really meant nothing for
after all. " J

gh rag z
ee ee

=

SS

Sometimes a white man forgets to see in terms of black
and white when he walks on the wrong side of the railroad
tracks. Over there one forgets he is in Greenville.

Even on a warm afternoon in October, it is winter in the
slums. Black shanty houses, window panes stuffed with
rags ... and a little boy props against a tree fingering
the small black belly peeping through the hole in his shirt.

~| donTt want no picture of me,� he grins. ~~AinTt you
EE take my picture?T "o

And a woman comes around the corner of the house,
her bare feet stepping over a gaunt faced cat. Her arms
are laden with bits and pieces of wood for the pot-bellied
stove in the kitchen. She has the slender body of a young
girl, but there is something of timelessness in her face.
Brown eyes are passive with the look of old age. She is
the mother of a child; she is old in the wisdom of today.

Without a word she drags the boy into the house...
down a dark empty hall to the dirty perspiring smell of the
kitchen. And the little boy tugs at her skirt: ~~But Ma they
was gonna take my picture.�

oHush, boy,TT Ma says. ~~They jest wants the hole in
your shirt.�T a

And back of the house with its falling down steps,
thereTs an outhouse for three families to use. So a white
man wonders how they ever make it without a bathroom.

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A dirty outhouse i IS about the most beautiful thing acros:js

the tracks. A white man notices all the yellow brown-eyei|ii

\

Susans that bloom there. Fresh, sweet smelling. flower §

for an outhouse..
And brown-eyed Susans grow bigger in black dirt. The)
rustle and vibrate when a train lumbers down the AM |

And when it passes they are still . . . silent like all thy
7 3 :

flowers. that fell before them. 7 :

Negroes and brown-eyed Susans. And each generation i
born into Twentieth Century slavery. But thereTs no white
master these days; no plantation in the midst of grim
ale! poverty. : !

So an old gray- chaired man sits on the front porch stoop
and tells the card players under the chainyball tree how
a poor boy like Abe Lincoln set the Negro free from white!
bondage. 2 |

His fourteen- -year- -old sauattes comes home from school.
And unlike her Pa, she can read and write. In school the}
teacher tells her class about the Civil Rights Bill and how

things are already getting better for this generation. And

Johnson has his war on poverty . . . even when she goes
home to sleep with five other kids in a shack.

oNegroes and whites are equal now,� she says,
~*. . » equal to all the whites who live in rich homes acros:
the tracks.� |

And her Ma and Pa say things will be better for thei
children. Nobody speaks of a generation gap. They oi
keep looking for tomorrow.

Tomorrow when a little Negro boy wonTt see his belly
sticking through his shirt . . . tomorrow when he'll live it
a white house where people have jobs and donTt have to
wait for welfare checks to buy bread and shirts.

Brown-eyed Susans grow a little taller each year . ..
even when they live in white slums. Black and white, bu!
the change isnTt too different for the slaves of poverty.

Tomorrow there will be another game of cards to play
WT ake(-Yam dit mele! chainyball tree. And youth just goes on living
in the shadow of the old. " N.J.L.

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interview

D. D. Garrett is not an ordinary citizen. He has
run four times for the Greenville City Council and
lost each time, but he plans to run again. He is a
Negro, and he has a sensitivity about being a Negro
and about the character and the role of the Negro
in the Greenville community that is rare. He talks
about the particular problems of the Negro and the
relations of these problems to the white man in
terms that are calculating, with insight that has been
seasoned with a lifetime of experience in working
in the middle of these problems and hoping perhaps
one day to solve them.

In attempting to break the ice with Mr. Garrett
and get the interview off on a casual note we men-
tioned to him that he almost won in the last race
for a seat on the City Council. He looked at us slyly
as if he knew what we were trying to do and said
with a quiet laugh, ~o~And, you know, that ~almostT
business is just like almost swimming across the
river.�

We asked Garrett first why there had not been
any protests and demonstrations in the Greenville
area like there had been in other North Carolina
towns and cities.

He explained that the absence of demonstrations
could be attributed to the communication between
whites and Negroes in the community and to the
work that the interracial organizations such as the
Inter-Racial Committee and the city and countyTs
Good Neighbor Councils have been doing. Garrett
has been a member of the Inter-Racial Committee,
which has been established for eight years.

Is the lack of protests in the community because
the Negro has no complaints?

~Unfortunately, the Negro in this community Is
too complacent. He doesnTt want enough of the
worldly concerns .. . You see, he struck It early.
It is inherited. It is a hand down from the Civil War
when people were told, and believed, that they had
enough.

oAlso, our Negro leaders in the community, have
been thoroughly brain-washed . . . it has stuck out
more prevalently among our school officials and
ministers who are far too willing to settle for much
less.�

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14

Do you think perhaps you would get more results
from the young people in the community if they
knew the older people, the leaders in the community,
were interested and willing to help them?

oYes, | think so... the young Negro would need
the confidence of these people. They ask, ~if | get in
jall WhO S$ @eins to set me outT... . If the young
Negro would get the assurance of these people, he
would be much more militant.�

Do you think the Inter-Racial Committee is doing
as effective a job as it can?

~The Committee has done a good job in the past,
especially when you consider that they were operat-
ing at a time when the town was one huge sign of
segregation all over . . . We were able to get a lot
of things changed without a march, or a demon-
stration. Since that time, however, | think weTve been
dragging our feet.�

What do you think should be done about the
slums, and what do you think can be done?

~| definitely think that every human being needs
a decent place to live, regardless of his income. |
think that itTs up to the government to provide for
those people if theyTre not up to it.

~Take for instance today, a woman was in here,
trying to find a place for her mother. Her mother
had been paying rent at this one place for 65 years

. now, you know its got to be a trap by now.

~We really have a problem. . . and this is where
the white man is fumbling the ball the most... all
over the country people are trying to build the tang-
ible . . . And really, until you build the intangible
in the Negro, his spirit, all this other won't stand.
ItTs the spirit of the Negro thatTs been destroyed.
When you begin to realize that you are a member
of a bastard race, it lowers your spirit, it begins to
destroy you. You can kill all the rats you like, but
until you build up the NegroTs spirit, you haven't
got anything, and you won't get anywhere.�T

In relation to improving the economic condition
of the Negro, wouldnTt more industry in this area
create the needed jobs? And why has industry not
been attracted to this region?

oItTs not that this area has not attracted industry
. we were just so wrapped up in our tobacco that
when other industries would apply, we would say

































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no. The powers that be wanted to keep the industry
out of this area, so they would have their labor.�T

How successful is the CommitteeTs work in find-
ing jobs for these people?

~We need more jobs, better jobs, on-the-job-
training. | think they are having some success .
but everybody is too satisfied. | think when it comes
to the people working, we know that itTs difficult for
a boy or girl out of high school to get a job.
But there are times when even a sparrow is provided
for. It is sad when the community canTt provide for
its people. There could be work provided. The city
could provide for more... The Neighborhood Youth
Corps is doing some work here, but more could be
done.�T

Do you foresee in the next ten years the Negro
being able to get the same type of job as the white
man?

oYes, | think weTre definitely headed in this direc-
tion. The white man doesnTt want to give up his
status quo; he has been used to the Negro being
his servant . then suddenly when the Negro Is
better off than he, he cannot be the Almighty he
has always been... . On top of this, itTs going to be
hard for him to give it up.�T

What future does the Negro have in Greenville?

oThereTs a long job and a big job ahead... . |
donTt know how weTre going to overcome this rut
that weTre in.�

What can the university do?

oThe tools to work with do not lie within the
university . . . You can only go as far as the com-
munity will let you. If you get too far out you'll find
them saying, ~Maybe we ought to talk this over be-
fore we go any further.T �T

Do you think college people, especially radicals,
can be a source of invigoration, a source of energy?

oYou need this militancy . . . but you still need
the sparks at home . If the community doesnTt
want something badly enough, thereTs nothing we
can do.�T

Do you think educators can play a role of educat-
ing the Negroes about their problem as well as
educating the upcoming generation?

~~Fducation so far as the adults are concerned Is

af

lee

one of the major factors. We must bring them
around to the point where they realize ~it is not
good enough for me, it is not good enough for my
children.T . . . The adults feel that if they donTt play
ball then they will lose their jobs, their children will
be mistreated. They feel like if they speak out for
human rights somewhere they will be penalized. If
we could get this inborn fear out of the community,
we could move faster.�T

The schools here, dentistsT and doctorsT offices,
and some other places are still segregated. Why
doesnTt the Negro complain? Why donTt the concern-
ed people in the community do something about it?

oWe have not been willing to fight it; the white
man isnTt going to give you anything, you know. If
you want it you have to fight for it. We are not will-
ing to demand it.

oFor example, | remember a few years ago | was
kicked out of a restaurant in town. Well, this past
year, some friends and | went there. The owner was
courteous this time . . . But a lot of people won't
push that far, most people wonTt keep coming back.

~oHereTs another thing . . . | donTt buy segregation.
You might not admit me on an equal level with you,
but I'll be doggone if ITm going to pay you to do
He

How in the world can this go on? ItTs beyond
understanding.

~No, you will never understand . . . Once upon a
time there were two ministers, an old one and a
young one, at a church picnic. The people decided
to have a contest to see who could read the Twenty-
third Psalm the best. So the young man got up to
read the psalm. He had had voice and diction and
had been to divinity school, and he got a round of
applause when he finished. Then the older man, who
had never studied voice or never had any formal
study of religion got up and read the psalm. And
when he finished, everyone was crying. Well, natur-
ally, the old man won the contest. You see, one
man had lived through the point of being a shepherd,
the other had only studied about it . . . We can ap-
preciate your trying to understand us, but thereTs no
way in the world that a white man can know what a
Negro has to go through in this country.

oBut thereTs still hope . . . twenty years ago this

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22

Pa a a ae

could never have happened. You all wouldnTt have
come down here .. .. then there wasnTt enough peo-
ple to meet enough people on an equal level. They
thought, ~If | associate with a Negro, what will they
do to my family, children... I'll be called a ~nigger
loverT; this kind of attitude slows you down.�T

Could the Committee do more in the way of direct
action, to bring a stop to discrimination, and an end
to segregation?

oAt our last meeting we agreed that we would
make a list of demands that pretty soon the radicals
are going to be asking for . . . we feel that if the
citizens would make these demands prematurely,
and use their influence now, that this would go a
long way to stopping segregation.

~They tell us... ~The time isnTt right.T The time
isn't right. We tried to get a Negro policeman here,
they said the time isnTt right. Well we finally got
one. | have worked to get a Negro attorney here,
they say the time isnTt right. Several years ago we
wanted to desegregate the swimming pool. They said
the time isnTt right. So what happened when we
got to the swimming pool, the pool ~sprungT a leak
and they made a parking lot out of it.�T

What about the future? Can you get assistance
from the local district attorney or from the federal
judiciary?

~We have moved forward in this direction. If you
can get the same thing without fighting, or march-
ing, then this is the best way to do it... if this is
the only way to do it, then we have to resort to it.

~If we found a situation contrary to the Civil
Rights law . . . only if the person would open up
and come around . . . | think we ought to use any
force that is necessary.

~oT canTt help but believe the day will come when
the color of a manTs skin will have nothing to do
with whether he will be a first or second class citizen
. . . One day we will learn that the color of manTs
skin doesnTt have anything to do with his inner
being.�T

What do you think will have to happen before
this change will take place?

~The educational system will have to be a com-
plete one-system, without any race involved. How-
ever, we will not get that until weTve done some-
thing about housing, as long as a man canTt live in
a decent place, as long as heTs forced to work for
lesser wages . . . The whole economic and social
structure will have to change . . . This is going to



play a great part in the total concept of the com-
munity, even our religion will have to change. Why
have all-white churches,and all-Negro churches?
oBut before any of this change can take place |
would like to stress the most important thing of
all . . . building the spirit of the Negro. You see,
you say he is complacent, apathetic, but he is that
way for a reason. For example, once upon a time
there was an aquarium. On one side of the aquarium
was the redfish and on the other side was the blue-
fish, with a glass partition in between. Well, the
bluefish at first just kept knocking themselves up
against that glass trying to get through. Well, sooner
or later, they quit trying and went to their corner
of the aquarium, and just gave up. Well, then the
owner decided to take out the partition and all of a
sudden all the redfish were swimming around the
bluefish, but the bluefish just stayed in the corner.
You see, the Negro has been beat over the head
so much with the club of injustice that when an
opportunity comes to stand up and be counted, he
is not so interested anymore; they donTt rise to meet
it. How do you get through to the bluefish and tell
them that the wall is no longer there? Especially
when they tell you, ~it was the last time | tried it.T �T
J. R.A.

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24 tare)

REVIEWS

THE CONFESSIONS OF

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On August 21, 1831, Nat Turner, a thirty-year-
old educated slave who felt himself divinely or-
dained to annihilate all the white people in the
southeastern otidewater� region of Virginia, set
out with a small band of followers for Jerusalem,
the county seat. During the three day uprising
that followed, sixty white people were killed. Over
two hundred Negroes, slave and free, died in
retaliation before the uprising was put down.

William StyronTs new book, The Confessions of
Nat Turner, released by Random House October
9, is about TurnerTs early life and the germination
of the rebellion. History offers little about the life
of Nat Turner and it is in this area that StyronTs
imagination takes over.

Turner becomes a believable person of extreme
warmth and sensitivity; one that can be closely
identified with the sensitivities of the present day
Negro. But Turner is not an ordinary boy; he is
an educated Negro. He grows up in an absurd land
of white people. His education becomes a personal
handicap and at the same time a measure of
freedom.

Through the eyes of the young Turner the
reader comes to focus on the white manTs con-
descending attitudes toward the Negro. One sees
that the educated Negro is as capable and
personable as any white man and that he possesses
the same basic needs and potentialities.

Styron has called his book less a historical novel
than a meditation on history. The novel, narrated
from the point of view of Nat Turner himself, 1s
much more than that because the setting in the
book, and especially Turner, comes vividly to life.

The following paragraphs are excerpted from
The Confessions of Nat Turner, e. 1967 by Wilham
St vrei

The most futile thing a man can do is to ponder

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Fo
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the alternatives, to stew and fret over the life that
might have been if circumstances had not pointed
his future in a certain direction. Nonetheless, it is
a failing which, when ill luck befalls us, most of us
succumb to; and during the dark years of my
twenties, after I had passed out of Samuel TurnerTs
life and he and I were shut of each other forever,
I spent a great deal of idle and useless time
wondering what may have befallen my lot had I
not been so unfortunate as to have become the
beneficiary (or perhaps the victim) of my ownerTs
zeal to tamper with a niggerTs destiny. Suppose in
the first place I had lived out my life at TurnerTs
Mill. Suppose then I had been considerably less
avid in my thirst for knowledge, so that it would
not have occurred to me to steal that book. Or
suppose, even more simply, that Samuel Turner"
however decent and just an owner he might have
remained anyway"had been less affected with
that feverish and idealistic conviction that slaves
were capable of intellectual enlightenment and
enrichment of the spirit and had not, in his passion
to prove this to himself and to all who would bear
witness, fastened upon me as an oexperiment.�
(No, I understand that I am not being quite fair,
for surely when I recollect the man with all the
honesty I can muster I know that we were joined
by strong ties of emotion; yet still the unhappy
fact remains: despite warmth and _ friendship,
despite a kind of love, I began as surely an
experiment as a lesson in pigbreeding or the
broadcasting of a new type of manure.)

Well, under these circumstances I would doubt-
less have become an ordinary run-of-the-mill house
nigger, mildly efficient at some stupid task like
wringing chickensT necks or smoking hams _ or
polishing silver, a malingerer wherever possible yet
withal too jealous of my security to risk real
censure or trouble and thus cautions in my tiny
thefts, circumspect in the secrecy of my afternoon
naps, furtive in my anxious lecheries with the
plump yellow-skilled cleaning maids upstairs in
the dark attic, growing ever more servile and
unctious as I became older, always the crafty
flatterer on the lookout for some bonus of flannel
or stew beef or tobacco, yet behind my stately
paunch and fancy bib and waistcoat developing, as
I advanced into old age, a kind of purse-lipped
dignity, known as Uncle Nat, well-loved and
adoring in return, a palsied stroker of the silken
pates of little white grandchildren, rheumatic,
illiterate, and filled with sleepiness, half yearning
for that lonely death which at long last would
lead me to rest in some tumbledown graveyard
tangled with chokeberry and jimson weed. It

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would not have been, to be sure, much of an
existence, but how can I honestly say that J might
not have been happier?

For the Preacher was right: He that increaseth
knowledge increaseth sorrow. And Samuel Turner
(whom I shall call Marse Samuel from now on, for
that is how he was known to me) could not have
realized, in his innocence and decency, in his
awesome goodness and softness of heart, what
sorrow he was guilty of creating by feeding me
that half-loaf of learning; far more bearable no loaf
UE aan,

wokeT, ave, blue,

(I Never Promised You A Rose Garden, by
Hannah Green, The New American Liberty, 256
pp., $.75)

Hannah GreenTs short novel, 1 Never Promised
You A Rose Garden, a best seller, was a frequent
topic of conversation among various poets and
fiction writers at a writersT workshop held in
Aspen, Colorado this past summer. Its simplicity
of expression combined with its images of the
psychedelic world of the hippies are perhaps valid
reasons for its current popularity.

The frantic world of a sixteen year old schizo-
phrenic touches one with the hopes and fears of a
cirl caught on the edge of reality and fantasy. The
story 1s an unbelievable account of the pain of
mental illness.

Termed oabsorbing, powerful, moving� by the
Saturday Review, the novel is also called a justifi-
cation ofor retreating into the security of madness�
by the New York Times Book Review.

Focusing upon a somewhat grotesque aspect of
life, Hannah Green has created a moving picture
of what could happen to each one of us.

The powers of fantasy amazingly lift the girl to
a oKingdom of Yr.� The kingdom ohad a kind of
neutral place which was called the Fourth Level
.. . At the Fourth Level there was no emotion
to endure, no past or future to grind against.� The
author tries not to convince or to repulse the
reader, but merely to present that which is so
much a part of todayTs problems and _ todayTs
times. One becomes convinced, perhaps even more
so, that the world is indeed lacking in gardeners
and rose gardens. Jennifer Salinger

14 ls I Ia 18 Tg 20 Pal 22

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GOD'S gay people

(Toward a Christian Understanding of the
Homosexual. By H. Kimball Jones. New York:
Association Press. 160 pp: $4.95)

In Toward a Christian Understanding of the
Homosexual, H. Kimball JonesT theme is that the
Church has made no attempt to understand the
phenomenon of the homosexual and has itself in
fact persecuted homosexuals; therefore to rectify
the situation, the Church needs o~to reevaluate the
traditional Christian attitude toward the homo-
sexual and to arrive at a responsible Christian ethic
which is valid for the time in which we are living.�
Jones divides his study into three themes: the
nature of the problem, homosexuality and the
Judeo-Christian tradition, and proposed solutions
acceptable to modern society in terms of the
Christian understanding of sexuality. He uses
sociological, religious, medical, legal, and psycho-
logical data as a basis to evaluate the ChurchTs
attitude traditionally and to make a valid Chris-
tian appraisal currently. He believes it important
to understand homosexuality before discussing it
oin the light of the Christian Gospel.�

JonesT book will satisfy neither homosexuals or
heterosexuals completely and proper coverage of
the subject would require innumerable volumes,
but he provides a good, arbitrary condensation of
available information and thought which will
serve as an enlightening guide to help establish a
real Christian conscience with regard to a com-
plex and disturbing phenomenon.

Patience Collie

Ol

lee

ADDICTION

(Naked Lunch. By William Burroughs. New
York: Grove Press. Inc., 235 pp. $1.25)

William Burroughs had been a drug addict for
fifteen years. Before flying to London to take the
Apomorphine Treatment, he lived in one room in
the Native Quarter of Tangier. He had not taken
a bath or changed his clothes in a year. His room
was filthy with garbage. The lights and water had
long since been turned off for non-payment. He
seldom moved from the one chair in his room,
except to get money for his habit. His future was
a needle in his arm every hour.

Burroughs wrote Naked Lunch. while taking
drugs, and continued writing while he was trying
to break the habit. The subject of the book 1s
addiction. Burroughs discusses addiction to many
things"sex, power, money,"in terms of addiction
to drugs. He employs every obscene word, every
word with a bad connotation in an effort to shock,
frighten, excite, and sicken the reader. His
descriptions are vivid, yet he writes with no sen-
timent at all. He explains the oAlgebra of Need�
that addiction causes with only one weapon"the
startling reality of his fantasy.

Naked Lunch was first published in the United
States in 1962. On July 7, 1966, the Supreme
Court of Massachusetts declared that the book 1s
not obscene. During the four years before the
Court gave its decision, there was much discussion
as to the bookTs se value. The Court admitted
that the book is ogrossly offensive� yet it has

oredeeming soci al importance.T

Read Naked Lunch if you are taking drugs or
have ever thought of taking drugs. Read it to
stimulate your mind. Read it to excite your
senses. Read it if you enjoy pornography. Read
it for its modern literary value. But do not read
Naked Lunch if you have a weak stomach.

Lynn Anderson

Ls: 14 ls I Ia 18 Tg 20 Pal

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Coming into the room,

You made no sound

But I knew you were standing there behind me.
I pictured what you must have seen:

A silhouette at the window, arising

Out of shadow,

Motionless, disturbingly remote.

I know too what you must have felt:
A longing to touch, to share solemnity,

And a sad awareness that

To do more than look would be intrusion.

And so you left again, but knew

You were not beyond the range of thought.

I think this means more than all the other things"
That you understand silences.

Jane Marston

Love is a heartstring

Pulled in a dream

Not quite touched

Yet, deep, unseen.

Sextet

Damn the standards!
I must write these words
of truth in the order that they
come to me"no matter
The great rules I might
prostitute in so doing.
With this Waltz pounding
upon my ears...
With this smoke martyring
my lungs
With this coffee burning
I neue
With my tongue... burning
the hell out of heaven:
Damn the Disciplines!
My mind was not created
to be molded into non-creativity.
My body did not withstand
anti-life this long
to be mutilated within.
My soul demands freedom:
from meaningless boredom
of facts and non-fiction;
from being computerized
into a compartmentalized cubicle.
Damn the Norms!
As life is more than
the sum-total of the living,
so am I more than
the holes punched in my card.
I am more than
the sperm of my father
and the egg of my mother.
I have got to be. more than
just me"to me:
Damn the Life-haters!
Consuming orders from birth...
Demanding obedience till death ...
Being hated by all...
Pagmec ai...
Hating themselves ...
Breeding hate .. . that breeds hate.
Damn me!
For being hated
For hating.
Damn the Damn!
for being damned .
For Damning.

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~Let there be silence!� cried the hummingbird.
oMy wings are tired and sore.
I cannot hear my song.�

oLet there be silence!� shrieked the mockingbird.
oMy notes are garbled in the roar.
I fear I'll get them wrong.�

... There are jam sessions nightly in Jerusalem.

oLet there be silence!� croaked the jumping frog.
oThe swamp is discontent;
My lady sleeps alone.�

oLet there be silence!� creaked the cricket.
Unnerved by all the stress,
The owls began to groan.

... But there are jam sessions nightly in Jerusalem.

Oh, rest your weary heads among the thorns,
You harbingers of day and night.

The din you hear would startle any ear
And set wild things to flight.

Once there was a little boy

Who carried hammers to and fro
The nails he bore foretold a task
That would bring the world to woe.

Yet on that hill he claimed a cross,

And yielded with a sigh

That hushed the worldTs discordant voice
And brought the silence by.

Two thousands years almost, since then.

A slow, resounding roar:

So subtly it increased its force

And then accrued some more.

Cacaphony reigns with the scientistsT brains,
Much ado about nothing evermore!
Euphony fills the churchesT monthly bills

And the television ads we deplore.

If you think the worldTs gone flat, you havenTt discovered South Africa!

And there are jam sessions nightly in Jerusalem.

Barbara Knott

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Y Yul Swibiig

I awoke, and in the dream-quiet of the night
Arose and drifted to the window that cast a light
On the mystery of moving eternity.




Surrounded by cosmic cries, still I know
The isolation of the upward-striving soul that views
Itself alone at each turn upon the stars.

Long into the night I stood, unrestful and alone;
My searching soul yearned toward the dawn
Of its own day, or death to its despair.

T stood until, at length,
Dejection overcame my strength;
My spirit turned upon the stars and sighed.

Moving through the night airTs chill,
It bent toward earth and knew a passingT thrill
In the crisp ery of crickets and the nightbirdsT song.

Returning then into its cell, it settled there
And thanked God for having had a momentTs care
For those brief spirits that sing into the tranquil air.

Barbara Knott

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UNASHAMED

Unashamed, I stood there waiting,

No foolish tears of guilt,
Though a PuritanTs notions once made me

Tight with represession, tense,

Adudtangla Terr, taunt with suppression

Or openly I love him.

No one ae. bea amy not fear aihetTs s-Cares.

The young man, with. recent frailty of frustration, Z

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hone impatient am 1 Tf Desites ares strains.
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The note on the board had said, oMy good
friend: You and I have yet to meet. I have met
most of your friends on The Rebel staff, but for
one reason or another our paths have never had
the pleasure of crossing. If you can spare the time
I would like to greet you tonight. Perhaps if you
meet me in the elevator we shall have a quiet
place to talk.� The note was signed simply,
oHulk

Later that night I sat in the old elevator car
in feverish anticipation. The one naked light
bulb was glaring furiously. I looked up the
shaft into darkness. A small cough startled me.
Two soft yellow-brown eyes glowed from the other
corner of the elevator and blinked without a
sound coming from (Hulk?). A small white box
rested in his lap and presently one of his hands
fished through its contents. He then withdrew his
hand from the box and offered forth a small object
to me.

oWonTt you have a chocolate chip cookie?�

oOh, yes, thank you. Are you the Hulk?�

oRight baby. I am the Hulk and I am hip. Do
you know what I mean when IJ say hip?�

oWel

oGood! You know, there are a lot of people
around here who cannot really comprehend the
more exquisite variations of life. They have no
sensitivity to one another, no talent, no sense of
culture, and no guts. But you know, THEY are
not really like US. By the way, whatTs your bag,
cutie?�

oMy bag? I am not sure I know what you
mean.�

oNo-o-o bag? Are you joking?�

oOl no si

oNo thing of your own? That is incredible! Why
son, we are talking about the greatest philosophy
of the land. ~Do your own thing.T That is what



oo

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they say. Nothing new of course. It is the same
thing ole Aristotle baby had in mind. You know,
~To thine own self be true.T �

oWasnTt that Shakespeare?�T

o| ,. All of that has a meaning you know. Take
freedom for an example. Freedom has to be exer-
cised much like the human body, to keep it
strong. But do people exercise their freedom?
Quick! Guess how many people you know who
exercise their freedom?�

UWE...

oSee! Nobody . all of them are too safe in
their seedy, selfish homes to worry about their
freedom"the silly rabbits. You know bigboy,
freedom is heady stuff, nothing to fool with. Ex-
cept once in a while for therapy.�

oFor therapy?�

oSure. You know. Courage. It is like liquor,
only cheaper. Maybe more constructive. Certainly
a lot more fun. Yes, you should exercise freedom
every day. You do not have to be splashy. Just
fool with it to see how far you can push. Unless,
of course, you have something important to do.�

oTTm not sure I understand.�

oT will try to explain. If you had a Bag, you
would have a goal, a purpose. You know, a reason
to live.�

oT understand that.�

oRight. Now if you HAD a Bag, you would be
groovy, intellectual, meaningful, important to
societyTs unimportancies, a real warm person.�

oGosh.�

oHmmmmmm. This IS going to be hard. YouTre
not very bright, are you? I suppose we will have
to start from the beginning and get you a Bag...
LetTs see. To begin with, what do you like?�

Well, | like omls ...

oNO! NO! Important things! Think of impor-
tant thines!"

o1 i) NOL so Sure...

oOh dear mother. You really are tied up in that
little mushpie mind.�

oNow walla...

oI SEE that I will have to become your Guru.
I shall lead you steadfastly up the elevator of
lightness to the right world and meaningfulness.
I think we have some sort of communication dis-
tortion, that our meaningful potentials are not
spanning the SO SO Factor.�

oThe SO SO Factor?�

oRight. The meaningless world. The blah peo-
ple. People who live in Graham Cracker boxes.
A Cracker Jacks box is so much more refined and
useful. In order to strengthen our SO SO gap jump
we will have to work on energy buildups. We will

99

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2.5, (CR SR SST St ag

se I vy merry whistle of Hulk. Safe in his confines Hulk
~Then we shall have _revelled in his triumph. The rabbits had once again
ul and the optimum been bared to the bones. oOh, Hulk, what a man

ii pbsaii o a men 4
LAS AE SE EERE SSIES te a att Sak EI Ci AR ERLE SS NERS BELLE I, SS SRR Bi ca a

harder! Yes I think
Yes, yes! trying

: er shall shock every-
hing int A Ready? One,
two, thre |
see?�

oWell .

ey | about. You cee

|
|
:

4

a SAN ORR RRR RS a PE AL Si Re Ai nt a in nb et

photo credits

Walter Quade_____pgs. 1, 7, 9, 19, 20,
21 (top left) ,
22 (top left & top right)
23 (top left) , and 25

Charles Griffin___pgs. 11, 13, 14,
22 (bottom left & bottom right)
23 (top right & bottom right)
24 (top left) , and 40

George Weigand_pg. 24 (bottom left)
Maurice Joyner__.pg. 20 (top left)
Sid Morris F 21-22

art credits

Sid Morris
Caroline Crawford, assistant
Steve Booker, assistant

Cover by Walter Quade and Sid Morris

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