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Sy ne RR Rage RR RE RE OT Met te ne Ce ee rae SIO EOL LE REELED AGEL LLL LA ELE A AIS, OE ee, LE LOBE IB LE LS IE LE ENE II oy eT Re A ONS SEE IE er ""s .. > = -

RUNT: Like whoTs been throwing around
all dem bad checks in all the stores around
here.

BUSTER? You know somethinT I ought to
know, Runt? Huh?

RUNT: Remember when ole Pepe tried to pay
me for whiskey with a check and I wouldn't
take it to save his soul in hell?

BUSTER: Yea, but you donTt think TootsieTs
ferris wheel man...

RUNT:I know all about ole Pepe. I know
more than he thanks [ khow dnd a liitle
sideTs that I imagine!

BUSTER~ LOORRDEE! That's good to me!

RUNT Just keep ye mouth shut, and I mean
shut. Just stay right here till I git back.

BUSTER: Whoooo! They'll thank you come to
stand somebody's bond. Runt. (Buster laughs
wildly)

RUNT: Just you make shore you keep your
mouth closed. (RUNT leaves and BUSTER
does a self-invented dance and winds up the
little episode by throwing his bop hat to the
ground and stomping it. He then realizes that
TOOTSIE is dressing in the trailer. He walks
over near the doorway quietly and ponders
the situation for a moment, scratching his
head, picks up a rock and imitates a baseball
pitcher going through the windup, studies
the situation further, and moves over near
the door)

BUSTER: You in there ain't you, Tootsie?

TOOTSIE: (From within trailer) AinTt nothinT
io you i Vm io fer ia itZ

BUSTER:(Grinning) I can see you. Can see
you, Tootsie.

TOOTSIE: Git away from here or you wonTt
never. see no mofe in your life.

BUSTER: CominT in, Tootsie. (There is no
reply to this suggestion)

BUSTER: (Feeling that for some reason he
just might be making progress, he changes
his tone to a plea) Let me come in, Tootsie.
You gonna let me come in ain~t you, Tootsie?

PAY TCIO. O41. ~ iiaad =e A ese
TOOTSIE: (Sticking her head out) You Know
ai we wpa 4 eet ta ee a
what you'll git if I tell Daddy you been mes-
i f ¥ 17 1 | 2 ~ ~ ~ eg en ceca a + sl
sinT around here. Better leave right quick

4
j

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cn
oo

ee es ee
FALL,

re Fea tk ai a lr 0s Fe Spt 9 IN AEE ME 88 SERRA Ay Sa RE NER GR MLE LTR NE RA ae Me Ce GEE ORE. ERR at IE LEE AG LEE: OR. RPh a gn Se IE SR RE ESTE RETR RL EON TOR

cause [I'll tell him or my name ain't Elsie
Thigpen and you'll wished you'd never come
near this here trailer.

BUSTER? (With the familiar wild laugh) Just
wanted to know if you wanted to go to the
carnival with me. They'll be moving out in
a ile bit.

TOOTSIE: Git dway from here.

BUSTER: You'll cnhswer the phone, won't
you?
Poorer, Mo, 1 Wont,

BUSTER: You better. Tell Runt I stepped
over to the carnival.

Tit J7 ole: Leb 'em vyourse 7.

BUSTER: RuntTs aone. Yessir, RuntTs gone.
(He leaves)

(PEPE appears on the left away from the
trailer. He sounds the familiar whistle which
TOOTSIE understands as her personal call.
He glances around to try and determine if
RUNT er BUSTER are around. (O01 se
bounces from the trailer, carrying a battered
suitcase and a big, over-stuffed paper bag.
The music from the carnival grows louder as
she drops her belongings to the ground and
rushes over to PEPE, throwing her arms
around him. He responds for a second and
then pushes her away.)

TOOTSIE: We ready, honey? Thank I've
packed ~bout all I need. After I git hold of
some money I~ll buy me some new cloths
that/ll knock your eyes out.

PEPE:(Quite upset) Told you while ago [
was in a little trouble. And we ain't going
nowhere unless I get my hands on some
money.

TOOTSIE: What kinda trouble? Thought we
were ~bout ready to leave. You told me last
night to have ever thang ready. | donTt know
at 4a what 47 is youre takinT oboul.

PEPE:(Glancing around nervously) Han~t got
time to tell you ever thing now.

TOOTSIE: TheyTre both off somewhere's.

PEPE: That ainTt what's worrying me. | just
need fifty dollars and I need it in a hurry.
You got to help me.

TOOTSIE: All I got is my pay check--thirty-
three dollars and forty-nine cent. You can

Paes ] ~ , L oet ia a / sery\11 2)
git by with that, can't you?

es See jis eee: BE Se ~e é = ee :
PEPE: DonTt want your money.

| ae]
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ORS ESR RR NB RQ ON TRS ae RR LEE SERS A EEO DEL EMIT OE ARE ILE OTE AME A HAE EOE GR, GE LE A OG RIE SE ME ER LE eR RE EN SS Nar RRL ng A NA BRR WE RE A ER eT SD ERED: Poa

THE REBEL

Box 1420
East Carolina College
Greenville, North Carolina

Editor

Bryan Harrison

Business Manager
Nancy Davis

Faculty Advisor
Ovid Pierce

Managing Editor
David Lane

Book Review Editor
Hugh Agee

Art Editor
Nancy Lily

Exchange Editor
Marty Kellam

Asst Business Mgr.
John Filicky

Asst to Editors
Judy Bishop

Staff Artists:
Billy Arnold

Mary M. Kelly
Nelson Dudley
LaVerne Strickland
E. |, Rogers

Tom Mims

Anne Rankin

Ed Lancaster

Bob Harper

PRINTED BY
OFFSET PRINTING CO,

in THIS 1st

FICTION
The October Wife
A one-act play by Jimmy Ferrell 16
The Voyage
A short story by Lewis Newsome 12
ESoA TS
The Poetic Mind
A critical essay by Purvis Boyette 8
POETRY
By John Quinn 28
By John Hudgins 1D .
By Billy Arnold js,
By Bob Harper 3
By Hugh Agee 3
By ETS 3
By Dan Yancheson 3
FEATURES
An Editorial by David Lane 6
The Rebel Yell. 4
The Rebel Review 30
VOLUME 1 NUMBER 2

Published by the Student Government Association of East Carolina College.
Created by the Publications Board of East Carolina College as a literary
magazine to be edited by students and designed for the publication of
student material.

NOTICE--Deadline for material for the next issue of The Rebel is January
7, 1959. Contributions may be submitted in person to the editors or by mail:
Box 1420, ECC. Editorial and business offices are located at 309% Austin
Building. Manuscripts and artwork submitted by mail should be accompanied
by a self-addressed envelope and return postage. The publishers assume no
responsibility for the return of manuscripts or artwork.

polb yh�

oSportswear Headquarters for Young
Men and Young Ladies
IN GREENVILLE

Milk and Ice Cream

Grade A

FALL, 1952

PSA R AE I I LR BE iS AN ENS ATE Mls CRRA A i AGL Sh 8 ES ABs Be A EE na SRA ll ly ic ROE i ne GR WE AR SA cal NA RA Ri aia Sai ty ai it i ti Ta esis i



eee:

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ns

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lhree Poems

by John Hudgins

sestina: A IS FOR AVERAGE

I stare at the star-scattered sky tonight,
winking like bits of glass, glad to be many,
reflecting collected bites of daylight.

Or, maybe its junked costume jewelry,
thrown at the moon by a kid-carrier.

One empty glass, or fingersT plea for plenty.

Desire is your gas, you have plenty

to visit all the blazing suns tonight.

I will not be your hearth, or carrier,

your bawling bastards count up too many.
I will not take your glad glass, no jewelry,
no nothing, not even a cigarette light.

How cold you are, like winter moonlight,

Though you gave much love, you still have
plenty.

DonTt put it away like the family jewelry,

to admire while combing your hair at night.

I canTt send sperm by the mail carrier.

I, at the end of the line, behind so many.

I wear my crimson letter, unlike many

THE UIHER SCs.

blessed are they who squat
and bend their backs like us.
our lot is not a must

we agree we toil not

but we knew love and hate
before syph stiffered us,

or rain washed our crops off,
or dust choked our women,
or little earth gods put

out their fingers and said---

excuse me, but your footTs
on a good one, ah yes,
that! a real nice long butt.
why do I scratch myself?
they call it creeping crud.
what, thank you I sure
could go for a mug oTsuds.

see that woman, not there,
here, the one by the door.
the naughty bitch. you're
tight.

painted up like a common
whore.

FALL, 1958

; :
GN aE a aE aR a a EF BEB YN ESE BEER SE RRL SRR CA EL SN EB AEE PRE AT BSAA i TE a RRA REN a EA SE, AN PE. ach i ROP RF tt ae SR I tw apie CS

faces ironing the glass, as bugs to light.

Love's like picked over dime-store jewelry.
] am weary and ~~nine bean rows�! are plenty.
Now I lay me---to sleep---Christ Carrier?
May magistrates toss and turn tonight.

Do not forget that stars are bright at night.
Tales of Dimmesdales, DTurbervilles are many.
You know Iago was but pretended jewelry.

I cannot say you/re carried or carrier}

I do not have Miltonic sense or light,

yet he corrupted Comus, with his plenty.

O you yes men, yes you Yahoos plenty,

you teachers, who taught teachers blackest night
is worse than day. Your words are not jewelry,
you who started tagging wild. There are many
preachers preaching, without a speck of light.

A ise! and oco 16 dny Wee camier.

Where is pity plenty, or many mutual carriers?
Must I learn of light by night-skysT jewelry?
| stl Stare = at might:

NOW OR THEN

the sun hid itself from our half.
it is a warm november night.

down stairs someone let loose a laugh
with stirring sultry appetite,
next---no---now ad pause,

muffled

by musicTs splashing blact:
shake---shake---shakeitbaby,

a voice, rang with, a twang-alang.
wang, wang, the guitars clang.
step, step, a stoop a step

stomp the savage paraphrase.

AS

SNES Ree elas SR Een A ee iene SIRE OE ha Ss cap wim i " "s

yo eRe. Pigs Sine soni Wt te a can Sa AAA taht Na AI EE i Bs RR BT a a i at tite ai aah NE A TR AR «RA i i i ik Re Mi a ee Ses Smy Sew Saha RPM Nm > at i An ash on sao Diage SS SSDs sa

She SRS a a iris EL OSI PARR te eg a Na aR AFR NR aay na mae ee irs RR aS mye 8S BT AN Rr tw EO Se A nie en Owe RIAN ADL

Thenan Danmeo

the rebel yell

As we see it, the current literary argument over the segregation-integration issue is a
little unnecessary. If politicians and sociologists want to argue over something they can, or
will, do little about, we are more than willing they be allowed to do so. But when novelists
and playwrights begin to get into the struggle, the whole picture takes on a new and unpleas-
ant aspect. The South is fortunate to possess, at one of the most crucial times in its history,
an impressive list of world recognized literary figures. People like William Faulkner and
Eudora Welty are writing honest books about the South. Yet, they never allow themselves to
fall for the stock ideas and images of the South, which are twin-born with its peculiar prob-
lems. These writers are approaching their native land with fresh vision, and that is all that is
required of honest writing.

Yet for each of their books, ten more are being written to advance social argument, which
results in most Americans receiving a melodramatic and false view of the South and the racial
question. Most of the real trouble and ignorance which characterizes the race problem is caused
by the people who claim to have all the answers. And the tragedy is that many of them are in-
corporating their views into novels and plays. It is difficult to see what they are accomplishing
except a prostitution of the art of fiction, for social argument is no place for an art form when
it is advanced at the expense of honesty and perspective.

Now when the South is recognized as perhaps the richest geographical area in the literary
world, its people should listen to the words of their own sons, rather than to the politicians
and the propagandists.

* * *

In the coming months, the Danforth Project Lecture Series will be devoted to the theme
of The Student and His Environment. The specific point of concentration will be Creativity and
Productivity In An Age of Tensions and Stereotypes.

The Danforth series is the perfect answer to one of the most pressing needs of East Caro-
lina students. In a school such as ours, which is still largely provincial, any effort to bring
recognized people from other parts of the world, so that we may develop an appreciation for
the distant and the different, should be encouraged.

~-In February, the Danforth series will bring Peter Viereck here. Although he is listed as a
philosopher and an historian, he is also a great contemporary poet. His volume of poetry,
Terror and Decorum, won the Pulitzer Prize in 1949. Many of the poems stem from the war
years.

Dr. Viereck is a professor of history at Mt. Holyhoke College. Among his other books, he
has written an analysis of Prince Metternick, the famous 19th century Austrian diplomat. In
this book he questions the notions concerning conservatism, which he defines as diming to
conserve the values underlying civilization. Peter Viereck is one of the truly brilliant minds
in this country. His ability to deal with values is demonstrated by this poem from Terror and
Decorum.

The DayTs No Rounder Than Its Angles Are

Mere dark is not so night-like as. it seems.

So many dark things are not night at all:

The cupboard where the cakes and poisons are;
The coffin where old men get locked in dreams
Alive, and no one hears their knocks and screams;
Shadows; and lightlessness of curtainTs fall.

4 the REBEL

x
1 P- 5 ci

Fg

Shaw Gave Up

An Unfinished Novel. By
London: Constable. 97 pp.

Bernard Shaw.

Little attention is given to Bernard
Shaw's prose works today, but the novel
fragment recently published by Constable
of London may serve to remind readers of
Shaw's early period wherein his one desire
was to be a novelist. In some respects, this
raw, unpolished manuscript gives a clear
insight into Shaw the dramatist. Occasionally
his genius for dialogue appears in the con-
versations of his characters. Otherwise, the
dialogue is all too often dull and metallic.

In this fragment, Shaw is writing about
doctors, as he did so often. He began writ-
ing the projected novel in 1887, but it was
soon obvious to him that his interest in the
story was ebbing. It was following this that
his interest in playwriting was aroused. Up
to that time, Shaw had written five novels.
Although they delighted such men as Robert
Louis Stevenson, Shaw's career as anovelist
was doomed to economic failure. In a preface
to the rediscovered manuscript which Shaw
wrote in 1946, he states that he ~Tshould
deny its existenceTT if it were not before
him. He says further that it is the same ~tri-
angle of husband, wife and loverTT who re-
appear in his play Candida.

Shaw disposes of the fragment with the
concluding statement, ~TLet who will and
can finish it to their taste if they can bear
to give it another thought.TT

Stanley Weintraub has written a worthy
introduction, in addition to editing the man-
uscript for publication. He has taken partic-
ular pains to fill in the background material
that lends to a more detailed analysis of the
authorTs plot and character innovations.

By all standards, the fragment fits into
the pattern set by the better known Victorian
novelists. It would be very interesting, not
to mention the challenge involved, to see a
capable hand attempt to complete the web
begun around Dr. Kincaid, Dr. and Mrs. Mad-
dick, and the shrewish Lady Laurie. Even
as it stands, the unfinished novel may still
be examined profitably.

Fred Henry

FALL, '7539

| | hey Daned 70 Zi ght

The Long Dream by Richard Wright. Garden
City, New York: Doubleday, 384 pp. $3.95;

The Long Dream isa novel about a Negro
boy growing up amid the violence and intrigue
ot d Mississippi town. Ht is the stofy of Hex
Lucker, nickhamed Fishbeliy, who learns
through experience the great underlying sig-
nificance of racial differences.

Richard Wright is looked upon by many
as the spokesman for the American Negro.
His own boyhood spent in Mississippi, and
his exodus in his mid-teens, furnish for the
author a reliable background for his treatment
of conditions in Clintonville, the scéne: of
the novel. The book, quite naturally, is writ-
ten entirely from the Negro viewpoint.

In The Long Dream, Richard Wright con-
veys two central impressions. On one hand,
he shows the extent to which prejudicial
practices on the part of Southern whites dom-
inates the lives of the Negro residents, On
the other hand, he attempts to point out the
various degrees of compliance by the Negroes
who accept white rule, all the while implying
that to do so is to invite destruction.

FishbellyTs first exposure to the true
state of things comes early in the novel as
he views the mutilated corpse in his fatherTs
undertaking establishment of a Negro who
had been found in bed with a white woman--
a known prostitute, but a white woman, never-
theless. The image burned on his mind comes
back to haunt him throughout the book.

Fishbelly's inability to accept the siaius
quo keys his actions. Impetuous and indig-
nant, he quickly learns to hate his fatherTs
homage to the white men who have occasion
to deal with him. Even aiter he leams nis
father is behind the ohousesTT operated in
the Negro district, he is still unable to justi-
fy nis actions.

The riovel is essentially a good one,
although the author is guilty on several oc-
casions of putting words into the mouths of
youthful Negro boys that may, in essence,
embody their thoughts, but they are not in
accordance with their age and orientation,
culturally. Otherwise, the story is well pre-

as

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the October Wife

A One-Act Play by Jimmy Ferrell

The corner of a littered vacant lot at an
intersection approximately two blocks south
of the main business district, bordering a
heavily populated Negro section, in a thriving
eastern North Carolina town. It is early Sep-
tember.

At stage center is the main and only -

otfice of the Dixie Cab Company, which is
housed in the rear section of a black school
bus--a model of the 1940's. One light bulb,
hanging from a suspended cord, burns in the
doorway of the bus. On the left, parked at an
angle from the office, is an early model trailer.
The section of the trailer which we see has a
small doorway which is open throughout the
play. The section between the bus and a pro-
truding section of the trailer gives an alley-
like effect. Ladies undergarments and other

16

illustrations by Billy Arnold

recently-washed clothes hang on a_ short
clothesline strung between the two. DIXIE
CAB COMPANY is scrawled on a wooden sign

above the doorway of the bus.

A poorly constructed tin shelter, supported
by two small poles, is attached to the right
Side of the bus. It is approximately 10 p.m.
on a saturday night. Music and a variety of
noises can be heard from a carnival which is
located on the same lot behind the cab stand.
The glare of lights from the midway spread
over the set. The cab stand and trailer are
only a few yards back from the busy street
and directly across from the townTs only hotel.
Autos can be heard traveling along the street.

RUN? THIGPEN, 40, proprietor of the
Dixie Cab Company, reclines in a huge rocker
under the shelter. His dirty, crumpled hat

the REBEL

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72 _ ~~ " a

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)

A Short Story by Lewis Newsome

The heavy waves pounded aganist the
smail boat. Jim took a match from his pocket
as he dropped the bailing-bucket to the floor of
the boat. He tried to light his cigarette, but
the wind extinguished the flame each time he
struck the match. Finally, in desperation, he
tossed the unlit cigarette toward the open
sea. The wind picked it up immediately and
tossed it about in the strong currents. After
a second or two, it fell into the angry green
sea and disappeared.

Jim retrieved the bucket and resumed his
bailing. It seemed aimost fruitless. He felt
that for every bucket he threw out, several
more climbed into the boat as it bobbed in
the snarling sea.

He was exhausted. He had had no sleep
in the past thirty-six hours. The storm had
come up two days ago, or was it the day be-
fore that? His mind was so fuzzy that he
couldn't quite remember.

Every time he threw a pail of water over-
head, he had to feel around inside the bucket
to be sure that he didnTt throw away some of
his supplies that were floating freely in the
bottom of the boat. The box of food had over-
turned, and the cans were rolling back and
forth almost rhythmically as the boat rolled
from side to side.

JimTs bailing grew slower and slower.
His body sank slowly over the tiller, which
was tied with a heavy rope. He fought feebly
to right himself, then gave in to exhaustion.

The rhythm of the boat's movement, the
pounding of the sea, and the constant howling
of the wind sounded almost symphonic. Vag-
uely, he thought that he heard music. Yes, it
was something by Debussy....

La-Mer issued resplendently from the
triple speakers of the high-fidelity phono-
graph.

Jim sat alone in the living room, listening
and reading. He hadn't had the hi-fi set very
long, and_dida't have. gany,albums, but he

Rees

" Pe ed Pe i cnet AON ete a ee Neh Ac ht NBs BEET A BG tN IG at A ES AE eS: eT ON a ee ee tet PRE ELIS NT tO AN IR Ant a is ny ES A Ts ROA RD a in NEA em Tonys a MRRP

illustrations by Nancy Lilly

could listen to this recording many times
without tiring of it. There was something
powerful and calm and enticing about the sea.

His mother barged into the room.

oShut that damnT thing off! It drives me
crazy. Why canTt you listen to something be-
sides that classical stuii?"'

He hadnTt even heard the car when it
pulled into the drive. He thought they were
still at the club. Obviously, she had been
drinking quite a bil.

He got up, cut off the phonograph, care-
fully took ithe record and slid it into its
cover.

The music was so beautiful; why had she
come back to interfere?

He felt that he had to get out of the
house. He grabbed his coat and started for
the door. Over his shoulder he said, ~'/ITm go-
ing to walk down to the drug store.�

it's too (ate.�T

aNoe, 4) let. [f doen't eldse until
eleven oTclock. ITll be back in a little while,�
he answered, and closed the door behind him.

The corner drug store was crowded. It
always was at night; it was the only place in
town that stayed open at night. All of the

kids congregated here.

When Jim walked in, a group of boys were
standing around the magazine rack talking
about the fool Frenchman whohad just crossed
the Atlantic in a twenty-five-foot sloop. It
had taken him a hundred and forty days. The
boys didnTt seem to think that a man was
capable of crossing the ocean under these
circumstances, and the consensus of opinon
was that it was a publicity stunt of some
kind. Jim picked up the latest edition of
~'YachtingTT and started toward the cashier,
ignoring the crowd of boys standing nearby.
One of them called to him. He turned,

~~Jim, you spend all of your time in the
bay; you like to sail, Do you think a mancan

the REBEL

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.

Se. SELES Ce ee aeES

Pikes

�"� _ _~=-_ et

he had made in high school, and opened the
lock. He took out all of the maps and charts
that he had been working on, and laid them
out on the desk and immediately became en-
grossed in them.

He worked on his maps, charting and plan-
ning, for a long time before he realized that
the television set was no longer on, and that
the house was quiet. He glanced at his watch,
then pulled his cold supper over in front of
Bitie a.

He shook the slimy label from his hand
and it occurred to him that he couldn't remem-
ber how long it had been since he had eaten
fdel. A Gan brushéd: dgdinst His foot Gs it
rolled across the floor of the boat. He reached
down and picked it up. He didnTt know what
it contained, but he didnTt. care. He was just
thankful that the key was attached to the side
of it, because he didnTt know what had hap-
pened to the tool box with the can opener in it.

He fumbled with the key, and eventually
managed to open the can. It was corned beef.
The boat was tossing so badly that he could
hardly find his mouth, but the fitst taste
was delicious, and he gulped it down quickly.
He crammed more food in his mouth, but chew-
ed slowly, because he had difficulty in swal-
lowing.

When he had finished, he wanted some
water. The corned beef had been dry and
salty. He couldn't remember when he had had
water the last time. He felt a tremendous
desire to bend down and drink from the salt

a ee ne ee eo ee oe

water in the boat, but somehow he controlled
himself. How long it had been since he had
had a drink of water? ...

Foam spewed from the frosty can. Jim
quickly raised the beer to his lips to prevent
it from dripping.

The seashore was quiet and peaceful. He
was dlone. He came here to enjoy the solitude
and to lie on the beach, to read and think.

He never could understand manTs relation-
ship with other men. Why do men, although
they must depend on one another, strive to
take advantage of one another? Why can't
they work together for mutual benefit? If not
why canTt they stand alone?

He looked di the ocean. o] can,'' he said.
~'T can do one thing on my own, without any
help from anyone.T

The screech of a sea gull broke his chain
of thought. He became aware that darkness
was approaching, and that he would be late
agadin.

He hurriedly gulped the rest of his last
can of beer and hurled the can into the sea.
It fell on the crest of an incoming wave, and
was tossed violently...

The surging sea dashed him into con-
sciousness. As he looked up, he saw the
ocean climbing into the frail boat. He thought,
~Why was all this necessary? Why couldn't |
realize that all men are alone?"!

the REBEL

oye a RRM i ma 8 A Em RHA SOA ARABIC ADD a TR Aa aS Wane UMS oe gh

"a Se past =. "" on) Sal ee URE ee rE TE renee ae map catihietiee Piast sstie oes o i Nie ini Ste: Tih EON Roe Ma ei y= SCO
PES a a sitgg PCat: eb MO A EAA AACE APNE CAE ALG A NGA LAC Ait ieee eine ese Nt Mn rs ra en - =

Soa RCE a psi p cel hat eb OMA Rc A ABB ih PURE ASA APO ER TR A IY ON AR et ESE EEE NET Nt NN a a te asin enh ET RT RPO Re ett Se ink SDR Smy>

BUSTER: Yes, Runt. But tTniteTs the big time.
Sornival Ss miGvinT Gul and somebody's dot
somethinT up their sleeve.

RUNT: You heard her say anthing? Heard her
say anything out of the way to that crook, Pepe?

Dost oa: Ain't blind yit, Rumi.
BUNT: HoanT? been seeinT no moreTn me.

oe tee fell you | ain't quite blind, Suni.
Not yet. Naw, sir! Somebody done and got
somethinT up their sleeve.

RUNT: She has been kinda keepinT to herself
here right lately.

BJUolER: (Yelling so POUISIE com hear.)
Whol if the temis whee! man he donTt come
tonight, Runt?

RAUNT: Better not hang dround here. Done and
hod enough oc: that deadbeat. HeTd stedl a
penny offa dead manTs eye.

BUSITER: Just bel he donTt come at. ~tall.
RekTn he'll come, Tootsie?

(TOOTSIE rushes to the clothesline and takes
the clothes)

BUNT: Where is it you're a going?

TOC TSIE: (se uing) You mean right now or a
Hitiie later on ia the aight? Right now [I'm
demnd wesken up a little. 1t don't make no
difference to ~mount to nothing does it?

(suo lam @md MUNI] resume short, private

conversation)

BUSTER: You won'there when she come home

m {ix ner gd mouthiul ef dinner, Runt. Let me
tell you fight now she couldnTt hardly eat

Monn i Pim teu stircigiteninT up
clothes and washinT clothes and doing first
one thing and another. AinTt blind [ tell you.

RUNT: (Growing worried) I'd hate to see that
little devil Pepe try somethinT with my girl.
Shore would hate like hell to see him try some-
tainT.

BUSTER: (90 TOOTSIE ean hear) Seen him
today with that little blonde that works in the
hoocnie koochie. .. WHOOOOOOEEE|!

TOOTSIE: (Sticking her head from the door)
Well they work right side by side, donTt they?
Ferris wheel's rite side of it.

BUSTIER: Side by side, Runt.
RUNT: UHHHHH, OHHHHH! Little blondy, hey?

20

ae a a a ee ee ee on or or eo ok eee os ee Te oe »

Fico BUSTIER) Kiiow tight much ~Sout him and
the little hot blonde. Tell you, 1 know right
plenty.

BUSTERS (lo RUNI) | seen enough. Me, l

seen right much myself.
RUNT: Seen too much, myself.

BUS Er irectinghiis comments to TOOTSIE
dodia) fep, Perly good iocoking little hot
blondy in the hooch show.

POO sie. (Peering from the trailer doorway
again) YTall thank you know soooo much. Both
of ye give me abig pain inthe you know what
Tudikidae you know so much, bui let-me tell
you one thang you donTt know half as much as
VOU might Know in a liftle while. You might
Tedily know somethinT in just a little while.

BUSTER: Jest tellinT you what | seen ever
day this week. Then nitetime he comes over
here. AinT: fic? rite, Hunt?

RUNT: Nitetime? Yea, bTlieve you~re right.
Ever nite.

Poole: Ever nite the music stops. and that
ole wheel she stops turning, den he comes.
Maybe the music'll stop t'nite and the ferris
wheel man he wonTt come, Tootsie.

TOOTSIE: (Screaming from within the trailer)
Thos tor yall te worry obout. Ain't hearinT
a word either one of you says.

(BUSTER laughs hysterically and walks over
near the trailer to continue with the bickering
which makes him feel so imporfant)

BUSTER: Maybe our banker friend's coming
over t/nite, too. ] seen that ole big cat parked
at the hotel. loot. Joot. WhereTs the ole cat
t'nite ?

TOOSTIE (teps from the doorway and throws
6 snoe ai BUol| ER) Daddy, make himshuddup
his messinT. Got to dress a little!

BUSTER: Mewww!

Pies fee releving in his. chair oceatin,
Swinging at bugs in his reach with the fly
swatter. He rises again) Whatta you talkin!
"hour cal ?

MUore (re to MNT) Now thie might he
somethinT to thank about, Runt. (Turns away
qe yells so |OC [ole ean hear) Don't you
know the man with the cat, Runt? That ole
big black cdddy cat that pulls un to the hotel
for them big suppers bankers has over there

Phttt! Phttt! Mewwwww!

the REBEL

See ee Ch a. Set fk or a> ee Te ok ee acer hoe oe te ws.

a

ait.

SER Ra eR RAL OR HO Ae A ARN RR APSR AR SE IEEE A ES 2 a RC ROO IR RO A SE Ma ARR AHS OR ER SRP IE SARE AOE eI EST nS ae Tig cS

RUNT: Okay, Buster. Okay. Just

that mouth of yours.

Keep running

(TOOTSIE is now parading infront of the men,
the small phone book on her head. She tries
to balance it, striving for the perfect walk)

TOOTSIE: (Giggling and pointing towards the
stoplight at the intersection) Count how long
yeller stays on, stupid.

BUSTER: Sheddup. I know a few things about

you little lady you wouldn't want told.

(TOOTSIE laughs wildly, walks towards the
end of the shelter, and looks longingly to-
wards the direction of the carnival.)

BUSTER: CarnivalTs movinT on tTnite.

RUNT: And I'm so glad.

BUSTER: Meeeeeee too!

(TOOTSIE ignores their remarks, and con-
tinues her practice)

RUNT: What you doing with that book on top
of your head?

BUSTER: SheTs learninT herself how to beone
of dem models.

RUNT: What kinda model you mean?
TOOTSIE: A model's model. That's alll know.
RUNT: Better be readinT a book stead of

walkinT round here with one settin on top of
ye head.

TOOTSIE: This happens to be the phone book.
RUNT: I mean any kinda book.

BUSTER: (Pretending to be romantic) Not dem
romance books. Books that learn you somethinT.

TOOTSIE: ITve read some thangs thatTd make
your eyes pop right wide open. Only thang
you everread is the numbers on a decka cards.
BUSTER: Naw, we ain't talkinT bout them
romantic love books.

TOOTSIE: Books you have to read at school
is just as badTn worser sometimeT than

funny books or love books.

BRUNT: Yes, sit. Yes, sit. That's always the
way it is! :

BUSTER (Pulls an Ivy-league type cap out

of his hip pocket--the style which carries the
small buckle in back) Wanna go ride on the

PALL, 1938

pat FRE RR gk CE A Ft BEB ARLE Bs SEER AGT REL TAR te OSE IEE EEE, ALO EE ORE isnt es ge a li an atin Sin Sti tt lg tpt a ag ih laa ae

tog wey

ER oes
geass, JOS ie ety fs i jf he we Ee pe "~ry | 7} Paes 1B } Cw one cet pO ala
PL Potro VIORE Hil COM Rne Biste sole laee Ss,

RUNT: You ain't gonT over there to dat carn-
ival mess.

FOU TSE; Have | sdid 1 was?

BUSTER: Runt, sheTs dying to git on that
ferris wheel.

TOOTSIE: Shut your mouth! (She goes beyond
the shelter again as if she were looking for
Pepe at any minute)

BUSTER: (Reminiscing) Rode on one of ther
damn thangs at the fair one night and the next
day some of the boys told me that a little
while after I got off the whole thang come a
hell farTn down.

TOOTSIE: That snore wos bad luck.

BUSTER: But the ole carnival sheTs a movin!T
on tTnite.

(TOOTSIE knows what is coming and darts
inside the frdiier, BUSTER ase AUN) car
tinue talking loudly enough so as .to be sure
that TOOTSIE is hearing them. They turn and
stare at the trailer often.)

BUSTER: Just tell me what you gonna do if
he donTt show hisself t'nite?

(During this scene, while TOOTSIE is pack-
ing and dressing in the trailer, RUNT and
BUSTER stand out from the shelter and en-
gage in snatches of conversation which TOOT-
SIE is unable to hear.

RUNT: (Quietly to BUSTER) He's been comin!

ever nite hanTt he?

oi | : A a SN T
Ae NN N ay & Ss: ~ 3
(v) NSS ANNI

| wf ~S %

fie Yed

Vy Mf /

19

iia tn sac nea Di i a ae aan a eee

biit) x

LETTS S35
Betts 353)



SSE ere ct a ger Sgt a a a SR ERE Sy RE ER SE A Ree SSSA ley lS ma Se eg ln On ete in BI SU age er Rr a a

eee:

Byron: Shelley:

And I was laid asleep, spirit and limb,
And all my being became bright or dim

As the moonTs image in a summer sea,
According as she smiled or frowned on me;
And there I lay, within a chaste cold bed:

Slaves, scoff not at my will!
The mind, the spirit, the Promethean spark,
The lightning of my being, is as bright,
Pervading, and far darting as your own,
And shall not yield to yours, though coopTd

in clay! Alas, I then was nor alive nor dead: -
For at her silver voice came Death and Life,
Shelley: Unmindful each of their accustomed strife.

The lightning is his slave; heaven's utmost
deep

Gives up her stars, and like a flock of sheep

They pass before his eyes, are numbered,
and roli on!

The tempest is his steed, he strides the air.

Byron seems almost a child experienc-
ing his first case of oTpuppy loveT while
Shelley seems to have realized the maturi-
ty of adult love and captures this maturity
in incomparable imagery.

A iirsl impression is that SyronTs

- With these examples, the writer has
lines are more powerful, but upon a closer

Sxamination, one iinds that olmelley has
Sdid iich more. me &aqs Given to hic
spirit a much more encompassing power.
byron reseubles a modera day ~~heli tire
anc damnationT preqcner: Shelley more
closely resembles the highly toned in-
tellectualism of a trained theologian.

Something close to the hearts and
often-times the beds, of both Byron and
Shelley were women and love. A great
preponderance of their poetry is concern-
ed with these subjects. [he effect and
beauty of these associations may be easi-
ly detected. Likewise, a prevailing atti-
tude -may be seen, and this Giiiiide is
what determines the return to the original
spirituality.

Byron:

He had no breath, no being, but in hers;
She was his voice; he did not speak to her,

attempted to explain the power of the writ-
ten word to establish in the mind of the
reader a concept of poetic truth which
grows out of the poetic mind. Poetry be-
comes a vehicle which conveys the non-
genius into the world of the genius, a
spiritual world and a mystic world. of
intuitive truth. The degree to which a poet
may be considered successful is determin-
ed by how well he is able to reproduce for
the reader his own spirituality, which in
itself has a measurable magnitude.

But trembled on her words; she was his sight,
For his eye followTd hers, and saw with hers
Which colourTd all his objects:--he had ceased
To live within himself; she was his life,

The ocean to the river of his thoughts,

Which terminated all.

FALL, 1958 11

Et EE EE LE IE LEE EAE BEE LE EN AOE. LEED ESTE AEE ALE ALGAE ELLA IIE EEL AEE NE AED BEE MG BESO AAS AEN EE AER AE ta OR EEE tat ata Sn Et EG Oe ta a ies a iis sonatas sais Heavies jicaiac cians sapiacaites, Si ian Sa ED ast See :
: aera aman EN ERE ELE NENG SANE IA TEEN ees I DEE i a a cai ae Sey a ae ED

SBR.

meee 1a eh ee ee ae ae eR Re SR ae aE oa cae a eb eR NE ee IR ee HE SSP ROR OR Re ae Re PSEA OES he SS Ss PA DB OS ee Sy aew wT e

Three Poems

by John Quinn

I am the voice which breaks
long on my closely-housed
Sel.

Here there is
youth-of-snows gone.

Here is the mouth.

Here is your dark-gained
form seen partaken so.
A second knowing.

I walk now
under the racing moon
and hurricane clouds

in the south wind.

Into the warm blown
and stormed-fall night.

Here is no dying.

NO
CLOUDS When darkness

broke upon the corpse
Mr. K. had a terrible time, of his life
had not a dime but snow.

o teenie Gite
a ete a ileal aameaaniT ""~Siiatiinmmm mn _commmmmantiliatiti obist

he went walking

Mr. K. had a great love scene: I where his feet
am loving you, he thought; directed
as God made clouds. which was nowhere
And Mr. K. many people |
got up to go. walked
nowhere many people
were |
28 the REBEL

Ea en eR IS ERR NE PON i ae ea Te ca! Nig Me arm RINE Sm AGRE PEGA SAH OWRD Me WERE! Aig. Sigal ea hye Se bugs
Te

nal oP 5 del ae ais ll ni cia NG ate iat ie ep ie iti ANA SAR he ne ERT A Mt i n> SEG Sanne
SP REL acco o .

Ca see ORE SS SRR RR Se Serre ee ta LR RISE RNR on guage ean PF " : ae ; is
Saas . eee et a RRR IE Smee NG ¥ a I ORIG HS SAI BN Ne a RI TU gt he 2S = jeseanie rere in 7 mnie ~ cst . S : peut
gs we ; 3 EL SST IES EE RS me Rey th Oe ee ny De te wea Re Ls

4 - 7 a iain ay

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SPURE a pita Web Ct eta d isa Onia ian nee cae AeA

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Member of FDIC WE SERVE PARTIES ANYWHERE
the REBEL

ee a SDR Sime ARS OAS ARR NN RO A NUABP mam eet at Amina on cag SBS. ADSI Mas Sapa wp

ee. Sy

A og eso

rp. nee oh

sco NEE NS PLE DAS LID III AEE LEIS ITT BSAA Ta a ye i Oa Pil Oe AR HB RS ATR ym TE i 9 I RD Ot BENS cape Ie = ee ri

the rebel review

The award of the 1958 Nobel Prize in
Literature to Boris Pasternak, the Russian
poet-novelist, for his Doctor Zhivago put
the Communists in a most embarrassing po-
sition. [he fact that Pasternack has been
acclaimed by the Western world is of tre-
mendous importance. PasternakTs refusal of
the Prize does little to alter the impact; the
damage has been done.

It must have pained Pasternak consid-
erably to be condemned by his '~fellow writ-
ers./' Yet, one wonders how many of them
inwardly envy Pasternak -for having been
dedicated enough to truth to dare to express
i. Gs such.

It is regretable that a sincere effort is
not made by the Russians to use this event
to bridge the gap between it and the rest of
the world. Indeed, there is no better vehicle
for bringing men together than an open ex-
change of ideas,

* * *

In an article in The Times Literary
Supplement (August 15, 1958) entitled ~TThe
Nevelist ond his Vateria|�T L. ©. Hartley
made the following remarks, which we sub-
mit to writer and reader alike:

Mh ot proceeds from feeling, and
most of all the novelistTs art; if feeling is
is absent, no amount of mental cross-breed-
ing between abstractions and the problems
of technique will take its place as an in-
centive. They are substitutes, and about as
much like the real thing as a self-induced
Orctsein 12 Hae fie true Gci of love. Ine
influence of science is another danger, for
many people genuinely believe that if you
knew the technique, the formula, for writing
a good novel, you could write one. They put
the cart before the horse, for each work of
art dictates its own technique.

* * *

We were looking over The Autobiography
of William Butler Yeats (Doubleday Anchor)
recently. For those who want a better under-

30

i I i Re re a RAPS ILIA E LE ARE. NONI A ELE OR IEEE TREAT GG AP EG Rt ERAS AI RTE RO OT IR I ts NA in St Ei Ti Fg Re Man St ea SDI B49

standing of Yeats poetry, The Autobiog-
raphy is essential. We noted that with Yeats,
as with other Irish literary figures, Parnell,
the Irish nationalist, plays an important role.
And rightly so. A strong feeling for oneTs
country will invariably be a wellspring of

good literature.
* * *

We call the readerTs attention to a won-
derfully conceived book of cartoons by Jules
Feifier entitled Sick. Sick, Sick. the car-
toons originally appeared in The Village
Voice in New York, and they have been re-
produced quite effectively in Playboy. We
particularly like the cartoon that presents
Oedipus on the you-know-whoTs couci. It
causes us to wonder how Hamlet might have
reacted had he been able to take advantage
of modern psychiatry.

* * *

We would like to take this opportunity
to express our grateful appreciation to the
many publishing companies that have re-
sponded to our requests for review books.
We feel that an up-to-date review section
greatly enhances the overall value of the
magazine.

* * *

Our review of Short Story lin this issue
should be of considerable interest to those
who have a talent for writing. Charles Scrir-
nerTs Sons have informed us that the deas-
(ie oO: feceip| Of mMc@iuecripis ior Shert
Story 2 is December |. They will be glaa :-
consider stories written by any writer wre
has not been previously published in boox
form. ScribnerTs recognition of new talent
is highly commendable, and we look forward
to seeing more in this proposed series. We~d
be proud to see an East Carolina writer in a

future edition.
* * *

Look for a barrage of Civil War books
in the near future as ~61 draws near. We will
try to bring you many of the better ones as
possible in our review section.

fhe REBEL

© aA ER OSS RRA Sat va Nae aie | eee! sip a alin isa oe sco eo IR abualuae gaPA SARE Awa? WETS ga Sige ae Bye S cai

ieihapuablahi: abieii bess:

Pie

Aros Zing ~or Lolita

NabokovTs Dozen. By Vladimir Nabokov.
Garden City: Doubleday. 214 pp. $3.50.

Vladimir Nabokov earned his place in
the gallery of outstanding writers with the
publication of his exciting novel, Lolita. The
thirteen stories that appear in NabokovTs
Dozen come as frosting heaped upon his
blazing success. All of the stories in this
collection have appeared in print in various
magazines, some of them having been origin-
ally written in Russian and French.

No one reading Nabokov can deny that
he is one of the most creative writers at work
today. His images steal up on you, permeate
your senses, and steal away leaving you in
that delightful state of having lived with his
characters. In oLance,� a fantasy of sorts,
he employs the physiography of the earth to
create for his detached observer ~the painted
oceans, and the praying woman of the Baltic,
and a still of the elegant Americans caught in
their trapeze act, and Australia like a baby
Africa lying on its side.T

The characterization in NabokovTs stor-
ies is superb. To some extent, this may be
attributed to the fact that many of Mr. Nabo-
kov's stories ave strong reflections of his
personal experience. ~TMademoiselle OTT and
~First LoveTT are admittedly true in every
detail of the authorTs remembered life.

One trend this writer noted in many of
the stories was the authorTs frequent use of
a character who has a decided interest in
some form of entomology. Perhaps one of his
most forceful stories, ~The Aurelian,TT foc-
uses on an old man whose lifelong desire is
to escape the confines of his drab, little
shop and go forth into the wonderful world
of insects. The dramatic conclusion to Herr
PilgramTs beautifully executed scheme for
ultimate freedom is well handled.

Some ofthe stories have weak plot struc-
ture, if any at all, which may disturb some
readers. Yet, in an overall evaluation, this
collection of stories offers to the reader
much in the way of good writing.

-HUGH AGEE

FALL, 3958

New Faces

Short Story 1. New York: Charles ScribnerTs
Sons. 1958. 304 pp. $3.95.

Charles Scribner's Sons have published
the first in an annual series of books of
short stories by writers who have not been
published before in book form. This collect-
ion, entitled Short Story 1, includes twenty-
one stories by four young authors, Richard
Yates, Gina Bemiqul, B. L. Barrett, and
Seymour Epstein.

This book would be valuable, both as
an incentive and as a study, for writing
students who hope someday to be published.
ror here one can study the techniques of
writers who are not so advanced that they
are beyond the applicable grasp of an ama-
tuer. Ihe idea of publishing young writers in
this way also creates a challenging new
prospect for the young writer.

However, any student should be warned
against imitating these authors, for one big
weakness in many of their stories is u heavy
Teliance on imitation dnd slock devices.
Sometimes, these writers appear to be ex-
perimenting with a cleverness which may
help them get published, but won't help them
become writers of real merit.

One cevice is @ varidtiong oF ime old
surprize ending. Instead of a surprize twist
in the plot, the story ends with an ironic
note which seeks to sum up or give meaning
to the preceeding delion. [nis is usualy
achieved by some characterTs siciement of
action revealing that he has learned some
moral lesson. A good illustration of this
jevice, in its most effective use, is the end-
ing of Ernest Hemingway's The Killers.

Most of the stories in Short Story 1 that
use this device, however, fail to accomplish
the same effect that Hemingway did. Often,
the device is used in an attempt to appear
profound, and the reader is neither suffic-
iently prepared for it, nor does the action
support its use. lo consciously use a device
without reason reveals a touch of sentimen-
tality on the part of the author.

3]

Se Cn a eee

cen, SEE SRR erence ecw: cme ec jes inra a

: ga ee ae

somethinT outta you.

TOCISIE: He's gonna mamy me, thatTs whatl
and help me!

Pid + Reckon fell marry you dil riehi, vou i
thank you're married.

POCTOIEs Why aonT) you go om to bed?

RUNT: Got enough sense to know you needa
mama that can set down and tell you just
what you're doing to yourseli. But could |
help it if she run off like a dog in heat?

TOOTois: Don't need mobody. Got along this
top. Least = o: all | donTt need you. That's
one thang for shore.

RUNT: Wouldn't be so shore oi fhat. Naw sir,
{ ain't so shore myself!

(TOCTSle walks over near the trailer, RUNT
can be seen in the doorway of the bus, re-
moving tie samt. BUSTER is heard offstage
screaming RUNTT'S name)

BoOSlER: RUNNN 11! HEYYYY. RUNNI TZ!
They gottem, Runt. Just walked right up and
took ~em in. Boy you shoulda seenhow skeered
ole Pepe was when them two detectives
walked up. I was standing right there in the
middle of ever thang when they walked right
be ced ~Tested Him! Ever time | thank of ole
Wid Ss ils Name | Wict laug@ to lall me. Fhey
didn't give him no time to say nothing.

(TOOTSIE tenes over. RUN! leaves the bus)
TOOTSIE: ~Rested who: Who's been ~rested?

BUSTER (Laughing)
Tootsie, Wootsie.

Your Gle Pepe boy,

TOOTSIE: DonTt bT lieve a word you're saying.
You Wist G1 the time tVing fo wermy me to
death and ITm gettin tard of it....

RUNT: Now you know what it was you were
gonna run of with!

TOO lo) Wedt susiness they dot orestinT
him outta the clear blue sky? They hanTt got
no business ~restinT him!

RUNT: Naw, he just give about a dozen bad
cheeks round town. That's all.

TOOTSIE: So what. He was gonna pay ~em
back. He was planninTt to git the money right
tonight cause he told me he owed a little
money he had to pay back fore we left here.

BUSTER: Prat gin~tall] heard is it you, Runt?

26

Pts Br papa AI EAL ROUBLE AA LAI AA NIE SE ILL AN IO IEA LRN NE AEG RESO IS AD LE A CAIN ease! TIERRA ENSIGN TR AR tN a at Re TT TB Te RBA RE NR a ie Be Ry. SEI ew ES

ai ead ao cain oe a PRs ~ LN LENE LOLS ICT EL LGI LD TE ISI TE a BAA a sp ee sy se 8 RID HS Al I Be Ste RT eS oeg EO ie eS Sea eS = a

RUN]: Amd you thought he was suci a big
shot.

TOOTsis :11 ain't none of your business what
| thought. | knew tiey canTt go Going no such
a thing as that all over a few debts.

PIN?! 1 Won: get dems. tleT d been givinT
bod Gieécks, Sul Glial won't ail. HeTd been
buying tickets for younguns so they could
Get i dat mootchic Koociie show. Can't you
just see that devil talkinT to ever youngun
[nal GOl on ihe fairis wheel that won't old
enough to buy a ticket but knowed what was
in that there tent. And donTt thank for a minute
le didn t sell em at twice the price.

POC SIE You done ui didn't you? Y oi took
It on yourself to put the law on ~em just like
you took it on yourself to putme onthat waitin!
Hist di tae slirt iactrie.

(She kicks over the suitcase and throws the
paper bag against the trailer.)

RUN: Bat listen bere, | octsic. | talked with
some of the girls in the hooch. They bought
liquor from me ever now and then and they
toldme about how he was married to this little
blond one cdlled Fifi. But shewon~t nothing
put his September girl. Got that? His Septem-
ber girl and nothing but that.

FOOTSIE: (Almost hysterical) 11] get it paid
ot. I'll show all of you...they ain't gonna ~be
no changes made farTs we're concerned.

MOUNT: Net hardly, little lady. They ain't no
Hse Wellin Ho more. vee he had this other
wife in New Jersey or somewhereTs like that.
I reckon she washis August wife and his July
wife too cause they got two younguns and
sheTs suing the hell outta him for non-support!
They'll be shipping that rascal back to New
Jersey figat quick. One of the girls in the
show told me straight from her mouth, and she
knows what she wads talkinT ~bout. Said this
judge up there had told him last time he had
just One more chance to stay with that wife
ond younguns and support ~em or he'd go
straight to the roads.

TOOTSIE: Could lal) you! Hadda gun [I'd do
it, too. Running around spreadinT bunch. a
dirty lies.

RUNT: Honey, you won~t going to be nothing
but his October wife. (Attempting to be sym-
pathetic) He'd probably kept you round till
the last of October and then heTd wind up

the REBEL

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perly executed effect the first purpose of
poetry which is to establish the spirit-
uality of the poetTs mind in the mind of
the reader. If the written expression is
completely disciplined and controlled, it
is a more forceful means of creating a
given reaction. A literary inertia is devel-
oped, thus the more forcefully is the reader
swept into a relization of the poetic
truth,

This theory assumes to have establish-
ed the objective of poetry--to bring the read-
er intothe spirituality of a poetic mind, sy-
nonyms for which are poetic truthand insight,
and the creative intuition. The writer be-
lieves that this theory may be tested and
validated by a simple comparison. In order to
make the comparison most effective, it is
wise to choose poetry from a single peroid
as the climate of opinion, economics and
political situation, etc. will have had
similar influences upon the poets. Natural-
ly the poetry to be compared must be of
related subject matter. This necessitates
a certain amount of selectivity. Due to the
emotionality and intellectual atmosphere
at the beginning of the Nineteenth Century,
the writer has chosen, for the purpose of
supporting his theory, Lord Byron and
Percy Bysshe Shelley, who are perhaps,
the best representatives of the Romantic
Peric.

Comparing the two poets on the basis
of the criteria set forth in this paper, the
writer believes that Shelley is a better
poet than Byron, for he more consistantly
brings the reader into the spirituality of
his genius. Kenneth Cameron has stated,
~'He (Shelley) saw farther and deeper than
his contemporaries and was able to project
hig vision in searing -verse.T' Byron's
poetry is seldom deep; the meaning is al-
most always surfaced. It is the exception
when one of ByronTs poems requires a
second or third reading. This is not to
suggest that ShelleyTs poetry is camsist-
ently obscure or that obscure poetry is
desirable. The point is that- Shelley's
poetry is more profound and requires both
study and a poetic sense. These factors
may be seen in a comparison of passages
from the two poets. Observe how each
depicts life and death.

10

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Shelley: |

The painted veil, by those who were, called life, ,
Which mimicked, as with colours idly spread,
All men believedand hoped, is torn aside;
Theloathsome mask has fallen, the man remains
Sceptreless, free, uncircumscribed, but man
Equal, unclassed, tribeless, and nationless,
Exempt from awe, worship, degree, the king
Over himself; just, gentle, wise.

|

Byron:

Days
Steal on us, and steal from us; yet we live
Loathing our life, and dreading still to die.
In all the days of this detested yoke
This vital weight upon the struggling heart :

Which sinks with sorrow, or beats quick with pail

Or joy that ends in agony or faintness--

In all the days of past and future, for

In life there is no present, we can number
How few--how less than few--wherein the soul
Forbears to pant for death, and yet draws back
As from a stream in winter, though the chill
Be but a momentTs.

The lines by Shelley seem to capture the |
essence of life and death. One is im- |
mediately impressed with the deep sinceri-
ty of the lines, the magnificent imagery,
and, atter a moment's. consideration, the
truth and beauty of his thought. Byron
seems to toy with the idea, doing nothing
more-than pricking the surface. His ima-
gery seems dead and liteless when com-
pared with the grandeur of Shelley's.
Byron seems almost to have missed the
profundity of life and an understanding
of death eludes him.

Byron has often been said to be the
epitome of the unconventional :nan, his
individuality of mind commanding the
physical. One would think that Byron
might best express this concept of mind
over matter because he lived as one pos-
sessed of the idea. But compare his poet-
ry with ShelleyTs.

the REBEL

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git the money. I just owe a little money a-
found Gere didT if 1 donTt stari paying up
Somebody's gonna think |Tm trying to run
out on ~6m and put the law on me.

TOO ore: How much you need?

PEPE: Finy dollars cought to be enough. And
You cada get it tor me, baby. |lhis is some-

iim you got t6 do fer me.

TOO se. led you cil | golf te my pay
check.

PEPE: We'll need your pay check. But we
need fifty dollars worse right now.

POOTSIE: Where you thank ITm gonna pick
up filly dollars just lixe that?

PEPE: Your banker friend, thatTs where.

VOOTSin: (sececmng hostile) Mr. Joby
Kyle? How you thank ITm gonna find him
Hits time of Nicht, mucn less gia lim to loan
me that much money on the spot?

Frew He.git. comma legn you nothing!
Way I got it planned they ainTt gonna be no
loaning done tonight.

POOToiey Now mold of just a minute,Pepe.
You know whadt | teld you when we started
goinT tqagether. [hat [ was through fooling
Ground with that married man. HeTs forever
telling me about. his wife being off some-
whereTs and how they're having troubles all
the time. He always gits around to trying to
idlk me info goimg with nim to that old big
house in Pine Vadiley that heTs got and if
you thankT! hanTt got enough sense to know
wie e's got on His mind...

Pere: Listen, you don't have to worry about
wat tes dot on his mind, ITd Nate to think
you canTt handle yourself. That old fogeyTs
Crazy about you. He'd do anything for you.

TOOTelE: He fust ainT! going to. fork over
no fifty dollars like I was his own youngun
Of something. He ain't that crazy by oa long
shot. You gotta nerve, Pepe. PuttinT me up
to any such thing.

PEPE: You wanna leave here tonight? (Takes
her by the arm) You wanna get away from this
place and be somebody like I told you youTre
gonna be?

TOOTSIE: Good God, Pepe. What you want
me to do rob the old man or somethinT?

FEE? (fired of arguing) Hell yea, if you
24

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hails BR: 3 aaa = PS

have to. If thatTs the only way you can get it!

TOOTSIE (Stalking away): And me thanking
all the time that you really thought somethinT
of me.

PEPE (Going after her) Thought something of
you? Tell me what I been doing all week.
What else is it that ITve got to do to let you
know fiat 1 think something of you? But it
donTt matter what I think if I donTt get some
money. You want to see me in trouble just
cause I owe a little money or you want to be
in my car heading up 301 tonight?

POOTsIE: Bui I swore oita ole man Kyle. |
got a feelinT that ole man could be dangerous
Heard some of the other girls tellinT ~bout
some thangs they'd heard. And ITd swore offa
of ~em even if I hadnTt met you. That's the
truth. Now you think..

PEPE (Wins her over by taking her in his arms
and kissing her passionately on the face and
throdt): You can do just one little thing for
me, honey. {his is just one night. Think of it.
just one night. Then think about what we got
Coming. Me and you livinT free das birds all
the nights ahead. ITm gonna show you what
it's like to redily be free as a bird and live.

TOO leslie: You can ange i. Shore ain't
q@onna tun all over town and try to tind ~em.
Probably laying up drunk somewhereTs.

PEPEHappy with his triumph) Already have.
Took off a few seconds and called him up at
hie home. He was happy as hell, too, Let me
tell you that ole fogey~ll jump for you. Said
he'd stop at the corner and pick you up.

TOO Tole: Wonder what Daddy'li thank if he
sees me leaving with ~em. Done and told him
about me and you.

PEPE: You what?
TOO Tsle: Just told him | was leavinT and |

reckon heTs got sense enough to put two and
two together. What does it matter anyway?

Pere: You did? nove to do that. Not: the
way he is about me. I just donTt like the way
your old man looks at me. Like 1 donTt know
nothing and he knows it all.

TOOTSIE: ls just eause you han't paid him
for the whiskey, I reckon. He just donTt like
it when people donTt pay him, that's all.

PEPE: Looks like he wants to spit on me all
the time. Yea. If-I got close enough I bet you

the REBEL

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a




























BUSTER: The stoplight! The stoplight, Runt!
It stays on red thirty-two seconds. Got so |
can close my eyes when it turns red (he closes
his eyes) and count jest like seconds--till I
thank ITve hit thirty-two--den open my eyes
jest as it turns to green agen. | can guess
jest about ever time when thirty-two seconds
is over with.

PEPE: That crazy bastard! ITm gonna run on
back to the wheel, but Ill slip back in a few
minutes and whistle for you. The crowd ain't
much for nothing tonight, but I got to get back
right now.

TOOTSIE: Tell me what's the matter. Tell me
what you talkinT ~bout.

(PEPE slips around behind the trailer.)

Well, ITm gonna start packinT my bags.
(TOOTSIE marches up to the men. The bag
hings correctly from her shoulder now).

TOOTSIE: muster, | swear you git crazier
ever day. Can tell ever day you're just a
little bit nuttier. Ask Daddy. I tell him ever
day, T'I swear BusterTs gittin worse and worse

eu!
(RUNT is chasing a bug with a fly swatter)

RUNT:Where is it you're off to.

TOOTSIE (Sits on the steps of the bus and
begins to comb her hair) NowhereTs! Just got
off from work. PepeTs cominT in a little while.

BUSTER (Almost shouting and in a sing-song
cynical tone) CarnivalTs movinT t/nite. Dey
done and tore up the bingo place. CarnivalTs
movin! t'nite!

18

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. - eR P
Fe 51S me il a Rep a ne ee SNR RR RD DY Re Fe Sy aw

ee bee es ca Aa
RUN] s WOEis, tile is tne Last Higiit tie i. COME.

Just keep him away from me. DonTt know
which'll tickle me the best, not hearing all
that fuss over there or not seeing that gypsy
ferris wheel operater hanging around here
trying to beatme outta another bottle of liquor.

TOOTSIE (Pepe ain't no gypsy, thank you.

BUSTIER: Looks like about half of ~emTs
nigger.

TOOTSIE: His daddy was borned in Mexico
or somewhereTs like that.

BUSTER (With the usual grin and short gig-
gles) Where'd his ole lady come from?

(RUNT rushes over and snaps off the radio)

RUNT: Damn sorriest team we've had here in
ten years.

TOOTSIE: Well, whoTs ahead? That cute one
that plays centerfield eat in the hotel t/nite
and he told me heTd hit me one clean over
the fence.

RUNT: The other crowd is. AinTt heard much
of it. If you and him ainTt fussing, Buster's
just as bad by himself. BettinT me how many
cars~ll pass down the street in five minutes
and countinT how many seconds it takes the
stoplight to change. (Moves the cigar from
one side of mouth to other)

TOOTSIE: You ought to make that sorry Bus-
ter git in the cab and go around to the train
station and bus station. Some ought to be
pulling in about now. (Giggling) But I always
wanted to know how many seconds it took the
stoplight to change.

(BUSTER forms 'Tgo to hellTT with the move-
ment of his lips)

BUSTER: We gotus some stuff under the seat.
Anybody wanting us can look us up till the
liquor stores open up on Monday morning,
cainTt they Runt?

(TOOTSIE has slipped into the bus, bounces

out again, carrying a small phone book)

RUNT: Awright, stupid. Shut that big mouth
right now or you might wind up in that little
court room next Monday morning. Wouldn't
Surprise me none way you keep running your
mouth. lainTt a gonna keep tellinT you neither!

BUSTER: Den you'll pay it off and we'll stick
some more under the seat next Saturday, won't

the REBEL

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lwo Poems

| by Billy Arnold

F Lolitas |

I boarded the plane at Oxford and
before I could seat-belt fasten
We had failed to vibrate like mad.
lo! I shouted at the Autumn barley
Outside.
lo! I shouted at Abraham, even the
Old man.
lo! I shouted at the navigator in
3 The cockpit.
lo! I shouted at the wind in the
Willows.
lo! I shouted at the mechanics that
hovered.
lo! I shouted at the engines and
The maid servants.
lo! I shouted at the men servants
and spat.
You tell me, I shouted, when we are
goimmg To go.

A MORNING TALE

John Barleycorn belched in the wood stove:
In the stove, in the roaring fire.

And he turned with a twist of his underwear
And a qrunt that a goat canTt acquire.

With a mod of his pipe in his nostril
And @ snort of his grull granny coat,

He became twice the man that he had been
With this tale that 1 often donTt quote:

| o'T once was a burly young bastard,
| | In the days when the management cared
Whether money was made or money was lost
And the profits and losses were shared.
TTwas the morning when Moses got angry
And the rock in the forest he smote;
And the water came tumbling forward,
Like a voice from a sorrowful] throat.
} I became what I often broke bread for,
| In the dawn of that bruising new day--
And I smote Moses back on his head,
For his trouble, and then, ran away.�T

FALL, 1958 29

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Rue

« ") ss 7 at . . by . A : . nf
on BE aa gy = ea mania htt: it A a IE aR A cA EN PUBL A AN EEA LAO. NCEE! ELITE LG A CG Ret CELE AED ONO AEA A ANA D BI EEE TAL A AB ANB Si ER Ne Fy. 6
Eat "lB o �"�

sented, which should be the sole responsi-_

ibility of any novelist. Any attempt to inter-

polate more than the story conveys merely
détracts from the overall. effectiveness of
any novel.

HM arTlan /n Yaslon

The Old Man and the Sky. By Robert Portune.
New York: Putnam, 1958. 316 pp. $3.95.

Ve Old Nien and the Sky is @ firsi novel
and g@ good one, di tat. If is ime first book
tO be published under the Putnam [alent
search Program. The author, a mathematics
teacher in aCincinnati high school, has woven
his story around an old man--Gramp Ellis"
who believes that the world is going to hell,
and that only a people of superior intelligence
can save the world from complete chaos: And
in atime of space exploration and flying saucer
SCdrec, What Could be more convenient to
Gramp than a Martian invasion--if it would
come? The old man is certain that the Mar-
tides are awdre of conditions on Earth, and,
feeling that they will come at any moment, he
establishes a day-and-night vigil in a wicker
rocking eadair on his tront lawn.

This immediately becomes a public spec-
tacle as people come around to watch--quietly
at first, then with hoots and catcalls when the
man they think insane refuses to utter a word.
For two days, the span of the novel, the
world tevolves around Charlie Ellis. Life
does a spread on him, and every newspaper
in the country is crying for more about the old
sky watcher, sitting patiently in West Mad-
ison, Ohio for the world to change.

And indeed it does change for the people
that become directly involvedin Gramp EllisTs
attair. Hank Gordon, a high school math teach-
er (strangely enough) who is suspended for
writing a rebellious letter to a newspaper ex-
pressing his contempt for modern education,
accepts a week-end assignment from the same
newspaper to return to his old home town and
get a statement from the old man (other re-
porters had failed to induce Gramp to talk to
them). Hank Gordon finds the answers to a lot
of questions inthose dramatic two days, many
of them difficult to accept. Hank and Meg
Cramer, the mayorTs daughter, provide the
story with its love element, although it is a
strange one. It appears that when Meg was a

34

SATIN HS NTL Se SO AA RE EN EI AES RS SUR PR ae AO OE Nas mya Ro GRIN REY HC I ee Sh A IT gS ep we Ee

aR HS a Anns Gwe Ry vee ee NR IRR Ra TR DR

student under Hank Gordon six years before,
she had such a crush on him that her football
star-boyfriend resented it. And this placed
quite a sirdin on their relationship, so much
so that, after Meg resists the boyTs animal
advances, he joins the army, goes to Korea,
and is killed. The boyTs father feels that in-
directly Meg Cramer is responsible for the
death of his son.In fact, there are many people
in this little town who think that the Cramers
nave gone too far in their exalted position
of number one family, which leads to an in-
teresting class conflict.

Another character who learns an important
leeson im West Madison is First Lieutenant
William McHenry, an Air Force Air Intelligence
Cilicer sentin to nip any tlying saucer stories
in the bud. He arrives with a handicap, how-
ever, for fhe has leit at home a career-con-
scious wife whose life centers around a one-
sOlg spot Of a Friday |V show (which she
hopes, with the proper tactics, will lead to
bigger things).

One of the strong points of this novel is
the quality of its chdrdcterization. E.ven the
Miner characters exert a major influence on
the author's theme. [he Cramer family is ex-
plored thoroughly. George Potter, the tough-
but-sincere police chief of West Madison:
Harley Gayle, West Madison's dedicated school
superintendent; and Frank Howard, the boy
whose desire for recognition ignites an angry
mob, ali contribute to a dramatic conclusion
that leaves the reader stunned.

Robert PortuneTs book is well-written,
and it deserves to be ranked with the best
novels of the year. | might add that the Mar-
tians donTt come, but the impact is equal to
or greater than a Martian invasion.

o" 2 On
oo re
a \s ro)

oCLOTHES TO SUIT THE COLLEGE TASTE*
44a EAST FIFTH STREET

_asamseneaay?

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Pour Poems

How shall we praise you
Who out-Bebeed Beebe?

What can you tell us
Of a darkling see?

Was there a day to greet,

A night to bless in quiet holiness?
Did you feel the silent fingers

Of a moon-drawn tide?

Look! See! they cry;
And next the sky!

And yet

Tomorrow's spawning will never know
The song we sang at seawolfTs show.

Hugh Agee

The leaves were forced by nature
To unfasten their grip and flutter
Through the crisp air

To find it colder on the ground

To be
To be
To be

To be swiftly carried to the city dump

To be
To be
7@ be

To regret losing the hold to the inevitable change

Of Nature

PALL,

-Bob Harper

17358

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stabbed by a Negro with a nail in a stick
carelessly brushed up in a crowded heap
recklessly heaved into the back of an open truck

tossed on a pile of already-burning leaves
cursed by the Negro when the fire nearly smothers
grinned at when there are no more leaves to burn

The City at Night is hard dna harsh.
White lights every hundred feet,
Giving sallow shadows of sadness;

Showing the shabbiness in sharp detail
Of the filthy slimes.

Here one walks and wails,
But there is no comfort, no sympathy:
Not in this tall cantankerbus Goty.

City of tall thin skyscrapers,
City of hollow footsteps,
City of empty hearts.

All through the night, there is only Sin.
Sin and Shame, two wierd sisters
Shaping the City, painting the people;
In dark hues, shades of shallowness.

Dan Yancheson

1 am alone in you,

my lost desires

awaken to your touch;
the dead dreams of youth
return with renewed exuberance.

You, my new creator,
architect unsurpassed,
rebuild and reinforce
the crumbled towers
of my heart.

Eo

. 3 Ese S sein ae a, i oe ee Re Oe: «ee eee
Sl ee Ne a SD ate ON, See A ee etna ge agp eta, Gait ae SES 5

now and then. Tootsie can tell you all about
that ole big black cat.

TOOTSIE (gpringing from the trailer) You're
just @bout tae...

BUSTIER Qising His hands as a ca? would

use its paws to ward off enemies) MEWWWW!

PHTTTT! (BUSTER rushes to extreme down-
stage as if looking across the street towards

the hotel)

BUSTER (With palms cupped over his: eyes)
Lemme see do I see that big ole black caddy
cat. (calling) Joeeeee! Hey, Joeeecee!

TOOTSIE: Wished youTd git run over! Would
tickle me to death!

RUNT: Now letTs hear what this Joe mess is
all about.

TOOTSIE (Extremely upset by this time and
returns to sit on the steps of the bus) Oh,
heTs talking about this Mr. Joby Kyle. Just
cause I serve them bankers sometimes when
they eat together in the hotel.

RUNT: You know that Kyle fellow whoTs a
headknocker? That one in the bank? That
headknocker?

TOOTSIE: A little bi.

RUNT: Whatta you mean a little bit. If I find

Oui =.

TOOTSIE: Good God above, he eats at the
hotel sometimes just like a hundred other
people in this town.

RUNT: What I want to know is what BusterTs
HintinT at.

TOOTSIE: One of the girls quit so when
they needed somebody in the dining room |
just quit selling at the newstand and started
working there. That's all they is to it. Tips
is purty good sometimes. And the people
eating just talk to you once in a while when
you're settinT stuff on the table and thatTs
how I got to know Joe Kyle.

RUNT: Joe? Now by God itTs Joe all the
time.

BUSTER: I! seenTem pick her up right over
dere on the corner, Runt. ] mean eeeeeevelrir
once in a while!

TOOTSIE: You hanTt seen ne such 2. thing
you crazy loudmouth. (To her father) see

FALL, 1953

~ ips tea
Sr [Fe 0 a RDS REAR at eR LE ih Sa AA SLAC SRE ME BE EM EI SRE RE AA RROD | AEE ET A ERIE ERNE TS A ORT RES Son ie a alana Sed Fane Se We ee Rae

one night we were talkinT ~bout a job and he
picked me up after | got offa work at the
hotel so we could go get a co-cola and talk
about it a little. He knows ITm dying to learn
how to be one of dese models and he said he
might could help me git a good job to make
me a little money. And thatTs all!

RUNT: AinTt he a married man, this head-
knocker?

TOOTSIE? Good God 1] donTt run arotiid ask-
ing ever man | run into if heTs married or not.
(BUSTER laughs wildly, phone rings, and he
ducks inside bus)

RUNT: Maybe we finally gonna make some
money for a change. (TOOTSIE, sensing the
possibility thgt her father might probe furth-
er, takes advantage of his interest in the
phone call by slipping into the trailer. RUNT
stands near bus.)

BUSTER (From within bus) Yea. Yea. Well.
Uh Huh. Well let me talk to Runt about if.
(Steps out of bus)

RUNT: Somebody lookinT something we got?

BUSTER: Three pints for the door man at the
hotel.

RUNT (Considering the idea for a moment)
Is he gonna meet you over here on the corner?
(Jerks his thumb to the right)

BUSTIER: Said he would. Said he'd slip right
across over here and pick it up hisself.

BRUNT: Well, go on and cet 1, Su goat
lettem try to jew you down none, That nig-
gerTll jew you down if he gets half a chance.
He pays my price or his customers can drink
water t/nite. (As BUSTER turns away) And
just remember if anybody just happens to ask
you anything, I donTt know you and I hanTt
never seen you before.

BUSTER (Giggling) Shere thang, Runt. |
kinda get what youTre talkinT bout.

RUNT (Returning to matter at hand) TOQOO-
TSIE! Hold on here a minute. Aint through
with you!

TOOTSIE (Yelling from the fdiler) Jom
you I got to get ready. PepeTs spose to be
over here.

RUNT: It was my understandinT you were
gonna work in the news stand. Hadn't heard
nothinT ~bout no waitress job or whatever it

21

cis ae Ri 6 ei asa Sa anata eile wees SR in ns Sa a eS

3 |

The night is further than the dark is far.

The night is famess, farnesses that reel.
The day is nearness, nearnesses that jar.
The dayTs no rounder than its angles are.
But though its angles gash you with a wound
Invisible, each night is soft and round.

The night is softer than the dark is sdtin.

The night is softness, softnesses that heal
The many, many gashes where you bled.

The day is loudness, loudnesses that threaten;
An evil secton-dwarf hides in your head.

Oh where escape his bells that peal and peal?

The night is stiller than the dark is dead.
¥ ¥ ¥

A new student movement is developing with hopes of providing the campus with adifferent
type of activity. The East Carolina Historical Association, which holds its first meeting this
month, plans to offer its members a stimulating panel discussion on some matter of historical
interest. The discussions are limited to members, but membership is open to any interested
student.

In this issue of The Rebel the editors have tried to furnish you with a generous cross-
section of campus writing. On these pages you will find ad play, d saort story, a crilica.
essay, and a liberal sprinkling of poetry. We feel that there are many students on the campus
who are both able and willing to write. We feel that many are interested in creative activity
and we encourage them all to contribute in some way to The Rebel.

In this issue, the contributors represent a group of students with varied backgrounds,
interests, and abilities.

Jimmy Ferrell submitted his play to the editors before leaving the campus as a student.
He is doing graduate work at East Carolina during the summer sessions. When he was an under-
graduate, he was editor of the East Carolinian and the author of a one-act play which was
produced hy the East Carolina Playhouse in 1957. The Playhouse will produce The October
Wife sometime in the winter quarter. He is currently a member of the:English faculty at Farm-

ville High School.

Purvis Boyette is the Composition Editor of the Buccaneer. One of his main interests
is studying the work of the romantic poets. Mr. Boyette has held editorial positions on the East
Carolinian He is an English major from Raleigh, N. C.

Lewis T. Newsome has written for The Rebel in the past. He is a graduate student and a
writer-director for WNCT-TV. :

The poets include:

Billy Arnold, a senior from Greenville, N. C.

John Quinn, a senior from New York City.

John Hudgins, a sophomore from Charlotte,.N. C.

EPS (Evelyn Patricia Smith), a junior from Washington, N. C.
Hugh Agee, a senior from Petersburg, Virginia

Bob Harper, a junior from Enfield, N. C.

Dan Yanchenson, a senior from Kinston, N. C.

FALL, 193532

Si el le ei ia in sams bain tele, SIRE Sa et

TOSSES aR ag ART A REAR ng PN Se AR Rt SA eR: RY NE CREE AINE eA A EOE REESE At MRE SUE A SGI OES AI a GR ER SB IIE ERGY LE AI LES NEE OLNEY NS EAE I BTA EARL IESE NLA EN seni gl Si Se ee os ESOS IN SEES RE Bee aw

ae
PPR er zee 2 Red

enti

SABA a SD IE IS PO EAB, Vd ARTE NR et SOTERA SE a as

SESS RS SEEN REGS ARS OAT SA SR SRR SR aR OR ROSIER ANA ey HR ECAR ER aE RIE EF gs SRR SP CS aa tS Re a Rae OBST HS epee ang ck AE RE SPA ORY OF EN CANN EAI Pw

(the creative intuition), but he cannot
react to his own spirituality because in
actuality it does not exist. He does,
nevertheless, know of its existence and
understand its existence because of his
faculty to perceive and learn.

Relating tis ideq to the didgram
spirituality is known to the non-artist only
through the first orbit of perception where-
@s. the poet knows of lilies Spiritudiily
through the second orbit of creative
intuition.

This theory works into the question,
~'What is the duty of poetry?TT A poem may
be compared to an engine forcing the mind
of the reader back into the spirituality of
the poetTs mind. [It should be remembered
that this sa@me spiritudiity is-diso the
creative intuition. Another diagram may be
of assistance.

selectively to environmental influences.
Fhe selectivity 1s governed, of course,
by the original impulse of the creative
intuition. The first progression (as _ indi-
cated by the diagram) represents a series
of unrelated emotional reactions, having
no order or consistency. It cannot be de-
fined just as fear, hate, love, etc. cannot

be defined other than abstractly. Yet,
their existence is unquestionable and
positive. As the potter molds the clay, the
rational mind in the second progression
confines the kaleidoscopic configurations
of the emotional experience into a compre-
hendible thought process. In the final pro-
gression, the poet disciplines the exper-
ience into a written form capable of trans-
porting the reader into the poets own
emotionality.

The. written expression may take a

series of forms. The forms may have a
successive order, one evolving into the

Se rt
puseee w ~

bua : =5S1
=, Caw ME, ERE ,
= ROT peRieae= | |
Fin RE of THE © ram yeeene
Emo rien, oe Qui ru
CREATIVE sEnsiT! eee ; oe AXIS
INTLITION G
(SPiRiTaALiTy ) |
EXJENT OF =

The diagram developes a logical pro-
gression from the impulse (the creative
intuition) tothe written expression which
if properly executed is capable of sweep-
ing the mind of the reader back into the
spirituality of the poetTs mind. This is the
duty of poetry and the obligation of the
poet. For irom the spirituality of the poet's
mind will come an individual truth if not
an universal one. Truth is moral and thus
all true poetry is moral. There is no im-
morality in art.

The diagram is constructed with «
basic assumption that comprehendible
poetry is emotion or the emotional exper-
jence MmOdiied by te mtellec|. ihe
Romanticists , according to Cameron, pro-
claimed ~~that truth could be found only by
a combination of the reason with imagina-
tion and emotion.'T The creative intuition
in an effort to manifest itself, gives rise
to an emotional sensitivity. And from this
sensitivity the poet is able to respond

FALL, 1958

NEE LSE I ECE ST SERIE AE cA RAAT te EE at St a gs it 8 esi api Sea Ti

MODERN POETRY
DEVELCPMENT

other as indicated by the diagram. The
first order is described as_ selective
diction. This involves the use and choice
of words in order to communicate to the
reader. The purpose of the communication
is to carry the reader back into an appreci-
ation and understanding of the spirituality
of the poetTs mind, an emotionality not
of the readerTs mind but that of the poet's
With its activating force, ihe erective
intuition. Modern poetry does not disci-
pline itself further, thus relying wholly on
the selective use and combindtion of
words. Classical poetry or perhaps more
aptly put, conventional poetry, does sub-
mit to Gg more fiderous discipline, (iis
inclides @ slUsidimed and syotemauc
rhythm and often a closely followed
rhyme scheme. Obviausly, diction is the
basic development and therefore the most
important. Here, the techniques and
mechanics of poetry may serve as a
'feound track!T to the poem and when pyro-

a a lt ance ee,

eh ee SS

" ee

oe sts Pe cB nica ki iLO DM A eA

(6 PeR ee

Despite the reliance on devices in a
few instances, these writers reveal a sur-
prising degree of originality. Most of these
stories reveal fresh ideas, they are well-
written, and they command a sincere and
6aqmes! eftort on the part of the authors.
All of these people maintain an intense feel-
ing for their subject matter and each story
reads as if it were written with both strain
and restraint. These four names will be ap-
pearing again in the future and their works
will be looked forward to with interest and
enthusiam.

-BRYAN HARRISON

Values Under 7 WA

More in Anger by Marya Mannes. Philadel-
pala: Lippincott. 189 pp. 63.50.

More in Anger is a book that will force
the reader to halt his hectic pace and take
stock of himself. In it, Miss Mannes says
things that need to be said loudly and often.
It is a delightful book, in all respects; yet
it will invariably offend some readers.

oMy anger,TT Miss Moannes says, ~~is

one of indignation, not of bitterness.TT And
Miss Mannes should be no less indignant
than the average American who allows room
for careful thought.

She cries out against the dangerous
trend towards ~Tcomplacency and accommo-
qciion.� Her approdch is fot that of a tra-
ditional sore-head: rather, it is that of ma-
ture, intelligent being whose concern for
modern Americana is honest and sincere.
Miss Mannes seems to imply, and rightly so,
that the average American is, in effect,
being sold short by our robust, commercial-
ized culture.

Miss Mannes points out the fallacies
of the concept of Togetherness. Looking
back over the history of this nation, we can-
not help but note the mold of individuality
in which our national character was cast. In
doing so, we must agree with Miss Mannes:
Togetherness and individualism cannot ex-
ist, each for the other,

In her discussion of the ~fallacy of
equality,TT she states that 'Tto admit infer-
lority is to be a fool, and to admit superi-
ority isto be an outcast.TT How will you vote?

32

ks Aap BUD AAA co Gh cto Gc tc tik as mr a i tate PER cA ARTE RO ME RO Rt «EEN i Ne A EA A IS SH Dy

i ae Re Ms
precocial SE eng TOO SAR a SR ey aoe RD NN RS cae ag Ra CRANE eee ENR SG ROE OS I a et A ie Ye i BEEN PNR ER oe RE Dae Te ee a awe ~

Miss Mannes covers all phases of life,
and her coverage is not confined to strict
techniques. Often her argument is presented
in the form of a television script, sometimes
as aletter, sometimes in the form of a sketch
rendered by some fictional character apropos
to the case in point--all of which adds to
the freshness of her work.

Miss Mannes has been on the staff of
The Reporter for the last six years as a
critic and satirist. Portions of More in Anger
have appeared in that magazine. She has

published one novel. HUGH ACEE

Ar T7187 OF Fine

The Burning Man. By Stephen Longstreet
New York: Random House, 1958.428 pp.$4.95

He starved and he froze and he loved
and always he painted, and his paintings were
as tempestuous as his living. For this man,
who is called Julie Diaz Navarre, was and
is one of the most important figures in mod-
ern art history-- he brought contemporary art
through a stormy adolescence into a fruitful
INGLuIrity.

Wr. lLermgstreetTs novel is similar to
other fairly recent novels popularizing the
lives of famous artists, and it should prove
quite readable for anyone who is looking for
@ good tale of adventure. But it is. partic-
ularly: stimulating to those interested in the
turbulent artistic and philosophic. climate
after the turn of the century. Matisse, who
painted luscious fruit while his family starved:
Gertrude Stein, who confused the dictionary
and appointed herself high priestess of the
Dadaists; Modigliani, who cared for nothing
but women dad daiconol, and yet remains
famous as a painter---the many names who
are known because they are names wander
into this book and become people.

The author became a little too interested
in glamorizing the so-called ~artistic lifeTT--
even starving sounds like fun--and his pre-
sentation is rather jerky and disconnected
in parts, but the fast pace of the book makes
up for the semetimes faulty structure. The
man called Navarre is brought from the dry
pinnacle of the ~~twentieth century enigmaT!
to the world of flesh and blood, and a much
deeper insight into his work and the driving
force which compels him is gained.

oENC Y LILLY

the REBEL

esha RT" RES AA ee 8 i a Sy MEHR IONE i hSDN ye SORROWS Pa aet ERA. Sipe wrt aa ae GTN ore Mig

Bes Pers Bi tag = WE PA ani A LL te PE ER AAA G8 NRE ARRAS. AOA ERP IEG TOME EA A A te PER HS ce ENSEE NOR OR ee a NE PRE Re MA SD FS

is you're a doingd.

TO oe: Done die id you 4 tiousdnT
times one of the girls quit. In a place like
tat you. wind up doing just a little bit of

everthing.

RUNT: Still got your name on the list at the
shirt factory out here. I'll settle you down if
b Gn Git you Of dt ine Shift iactory.

TOOTSIE (Leaving trailer. She is bathing

her face with a washcloth) One thangTs for

shore. I certainly hanTt lost nothing at no

Shirt factory Gnd 1 don't intend fosing noth-
ing there neither. Not by a long shot!

RUNT (Shaking the swatter at her) ReckTn
you do just dapout like I tell you to do.

POOISIE: Yea, bic tan? You can't lordly
make me do nothing if I ainTt stuck right here
under your nose no more.

PUNT: You'll be fete, awiight.: | hey. ain't
mo 1 géck'Tn about that.

TOOTSIE. (Tosses washcloth, inte. trailerand
walks toward RUNT with a look of hatred on
her f¢cs.) Big man, | dot scmethingT!! pop
your yTears right wide open. ITm gonna dump
my duds in the first paper sack | tind lying
around and |Tm gonna leave this place for
good. I mean for good. Nobody won't never
push this little gal around no more. Not no
more!

RUNT (Threatening her with the swatter)
[7060 Gd Might to lay this tly tlap on you!

TOOTSIE (Wits Gm cir of arrogance. AUNT
is speechless) Don't thank you will, ole man.
Poa) Givaid © Yai me more. Don't thank
you'll doT it and say you done it. Hope you
didnTt thank I'd stay in this place rest of my
life. You can have it. Good God above knows
Won @an fave it. . .@il of iL

TOOTSIE wanders towards the direction of
ite carnival, baGeks in the ilgnts fromT the

midway and smiles as the music rises louder .

RUNT is still speechless and in a state of
almost complete shock.

TOOTSIE {Turning © him @¢din) Whetta
you thank itTs doing to me? Just look at me
one minute and tell me what itTs doing to me.
100% it just gs long de i can. [ook 1 lang
enough to find out that nobody down here
never ~mounts to nothing. (Her voice grows
tense) Tell me one, I mean just anybody

2%

te te te

down here, who's ever gone anywhereTs and
done somethinT to ~mount to anything. People
laugh and say, ~TAh, you aint never gonna
mount to nothing,TT

(Starts back towards the trailer) Me, I can
change that. All | need is hali a chance and
I can change dat awright. Men have got off
the train plenty times and come in the
hotel dnd téld tie How good lookinT | was.
Plenty of: timeTs. You thank |Tm gonna set
mysell down tere On tiis Corner rest of my
life so the people can ride by in their big
cars dnd state dnd théir prissy little girls
con sHicker? [hen their stinkinT boys can
leave them big dances at the hotel and come
in the news stand and lean over the counter
when they ask for a pack of cigarettes and
expect you to pull ~em over ontop of you?

(She reaches the trailer, leans aganist it,
tien turns to AUNT) And you got the gall to
tell me youTre gonna stick me in some shirt
factory. You doiTt even dsk me. You just
priss your lazy tail up there dnd put me
down mm the waitinT list. (Almost screaming)
Well, the shirt factory can go to hell and all
them rich bastards can too cause one day I'm
gonna be right up there riding withTem.

RUN: dust watch your mouth or...

TOOTSIE Nobedy han't tied me down yit and
nobody ainTt startin® now. Nobody needn't
never try to tie me down. (Goes into trailer)
(EUSIER skips in and hands RUNT a wad of
bills. During this scene we notice a distinct
endnge i7 AUNT'S ehorecter. There is .a
nervous tone in his voice)

BUSTER: Here she is, Runt, he didn't try to

jow me onary @ bit,

RUNT:Stay here, Buster. Got to go down to
the police station on a little business.

Bol ent ime POLICE STATION!

RUNT:Want to have a word with one of my
detective friends.

BUSTER:When I see a damn detective | just
go the other say.

PoNT: You don? keow A, Buster. Think |
hanTt got some friends down there? Think
I'd stayed on this here corner all dese years
if I didnTt have some friends down there? Al-
ways know a lot of thangs theyTd like to get
their hande on. | mean @ lot Gf -thangs.

BUSTER: What kinda thangs?

the REBEL

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a

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e wre " oS - ci aE OSL he Rt FE A AEB AASB ig 22 ND SE PLEAD LL.
Pe Fs Bata = CAO NE 3

mm

scoala SE A OI PAG) Da SIG SEY Te ICE ETI IE Tet BY ITT ae Sap te ye 8 jo Yo,» Sa ORV REN AR

ee eee
oe eh be Ss See Rep eS ae TP

The Poetic Mind.T A Theory

A Critical Essay by Purvis Boyette

Toere are poets and there are non-
poets. To the logical mind there must be
a definable difference, a difference sign-
ificant enough to be described in words.
Many theories have been propounded.
Plato, pernaps, first attempted to express
fae Geligitien, Silice, such men ds Sir
Pailip Sindey and Percy Bysshe Shelley
have ~-coniributed their- ideas. And in
modern fimes Jacques Martain has at-
tempted to relegate the old and the new.

Through a familiarity with these vari-
ous concepts and definitions, the writer
has developed a composite picture both
logical and imaginative of what makes the
poet. For surely if there are good poets
and bad poets and mediocre poets and non-
poets, there must be a determining factor.
This factor appears to lie in a concept
termed the creative intuition. For the pur-
poses of this discussion (and with a fear
of being too limiting) one might construct
a schematic diagram such as the following.

Orbit 1: perception of the environment

rational mind of man

Orbit 2: creative intuition

(spirituality)

with diagrams by the author

This diagram presents three concepts.
The rational mind of man should be thought
of as a living organism situated in circum-
stances which are continually acting upon
it. Rather than creating ~~outTT as is the
process of art and the conscious mind, it
is creatingTTin'Twhich is the process of the
sub-conscious mind, a mind over which
the individual has no control. A simple
analogy may be found in the sponge with
its tapacity to abserb until a saturation
point is reached. The mind of man may be
compared with the sponge and the satura-
point may relate to the psychologist's
term, the o1. ©.T Atter this imbihbitionof
the mind, it may in turn create thought.
(This is not necessarily art.) Continuing
the analogy, one might think of this
~thought creationTT as squeezing the
the sponge, the human will being the hand
that executes. The second concept is the
perception of the environment. Here the
environment acts upon the mind of man in
that man is able to perceive and under-
stand. There are, obviously, differences
according to the individual. However, this
concept of differences does not ~apply nor
does it influence the theory. The point is
that man is able to react to his situation
as it exists about him. He may create
thought, but without the influence of a
third concept, the creative intuition, may
it extend into art. This last concept is the
most important. It is a result of this intan-
gible quality that the poet is able to
create, or in fact, to be a poet at all. It is
from the schematic area of the creative
intuition that all true art comes. The term
~inspirationT! might be applied: however
it would imply that the creative intuition
is a stimulus acting on the mind rather
than a force acting through the mind. The
concept is that the creative intuition is
striving to manifest itself; it is the spirit-
uality of man seeking expression. Only
the artist possesses the faculty to feel
his spirituality. However, the non-artist
may experience the knowledge of its exis-
tence. In other words, the non-artist is able
to appreciate the spirituality of manTs mind

the REBEL

ee ote et ee en ee Seats oe i eerirc sf

» : a
RED me WORE tn aga A ESE sighs #

ee i a gE A EY tN ey A a SR APR SR RE ROLES EI A EET OL EEL I, LO RS TE A REE LEA LE LSE ML AOL AEG S| ELL LEIS AE LAE EI

Sovers Als @yes Gnc 6 cigd! is if is moun.
The radio On the cldnc Secide alm caries a
local baseball game. He can be heard snoring
at various intervals.

BUSTER BUNCH, his sole employee,
who is in his late twenties, sits in a straight-
back chair which leans against one of the
poles supporting the shelter.His head isback,
his eyes are closed, and he nods his head and
right hand simultaneously with each count,
attempting to measure the number of seconds
elapsing before the traffic light on the corner
changes signals.

PEPE, operator of the carnivalTs ferris
wheel, is seen slouching against the trailer
on the right side of the stage, smoking a cig-
arette nervously. He chances an occasional
glance around at Runt and Buster to make
sure that they are completely unaware of his
presence. He is da small, dark but fim and
muscular man in his mid-twenties. When he
sees Tootsie (Elsie) leaving the hotel and
crossing the street, he whistles softly to
catch her attention.

TOCTSIL approcches, Swinging a
shoulder-type bag as she walks. She is RuntTs
17-year-old daughter and is a rather attractive
girl, but the lack of proper training and guid-
ance through the years show conspicuously
in her taste for clothes andthe use of makeup.

TOOTSIE (Surprised but happy to see Pepe)
Well, I want you to look at you! How come
you ainTt working?

PEPE (Pulling her into the semi-darkness)
You want your ole man to see me and start
yelling his head off about the money I owe
him for the whiskey?

TOOTSIE (ities to give fim a fig, but fe
pushes her away) Ah, I bet five dollars heTs
done and forgot that. HowTd you manage fo
get away from the ferris wheel?

(Without giving him a chance to answer) Pepe,
I canTt hardly help but laugh right out loud.
None of them at the hotel believe me when |
toldTem about pullinT out tonight. I lettem
know right quick that this corner han~t got
nothing else to offer me.

PEPE (Taking her by the arm) Shuddup a min-
ute and listen to me orthere might not be no-
thing to laugh for. (His accent is not that of
a southerner)

FALL, 1953

TOOTSIE (Overcome with happiness) But |
just said ~byeT 10 everbody and walked out
just as purty as you please. Somebody said,
~Where you going, [ootsie?TT- And I just kept
Saying tight back, ~oNowhereTs you'd kiow
apour.!T

PEPE! Dammit, Gsten to me ad minute, 1 got
to get back to work.

TOOTSIE: I'd like to Rnow whal's wrong wilh
you ail of a suddenly! You ack like some-
body just got outta the ~sylum.

PEPE (Attempting to make her realize the
seriousness of the problem) ITm in a little
trouble, Just @ little toublie, (ou gor io do
something for me before we go anywhere to-

night.

TOOTSIE: What kinda trouble you talkin
~bout? Whatta you mean we might not go any-
where's tonight? You done and said we'd be
pulling outtahere by one o/clock at the latest!

(PEPE starts to speak when BUSTER leaps
to his feet with a loud yell)

BUSTER {Extremely happy with his calcu-
lations) Done if again, Rumt! [hirty-tvo sec-
onds. Hit it just like the little hand on my
watch here.

(PEPE pushes TOOTSIE further into the dark-
ness. RUN? tesponds with a sardonic and
somewhat vulgar grunt, pushes his hat up,
and sits upright)

RUNT: What're you carryinT on about?

17

aa Ee a EBs =

Pena AR et Oe ED iS il ATE Ei, SECA GR TESA EBB LA OER ES AO AEM ALI RAE NRE SE Ac egos a an ctl PRCA RE i A Sa AP RS ERE A IE GREE LEREA DLE Ap EEE LEA LOS ee

leaving you lying somewhereTs. Seen his kind
around here too many times. It woulda took
him jest about till the last part of October to
get rid of you.

TOOTSIE: You wanted to see me catch it!
Well, you seen it, now go off somewhereTs
and laugh yourself to death. DonTt blame Ma
for leaving you. Not one bit I donTt blame her!

RUNT: Tell you the last of October woulda
been all they was to it.

(Acar is heardon stage left beyond the trailer
The lights glare on the set, and a horn blows)

RUNT: See who dat is, Buster.

BUSTER: (Walking towards the left, his hands
cupped over his eyes) Look what I see, look
what I do see. ItTs that ole big black cat.
Looka there, Runt. ThereTs that ole big black
caddy cat been tellinT you ~bout.

RUNT: Kyle? You mean that's the headknocker
from the bank out dere?

(The horn sounds again)

TOOTSIE: (Brushing the hair from her face)
Wait just a minute, Joe. Let me run a comb
through my hair. It won't take me a second to
run a comb through my hdir.

(TOOTSIE dashes under the shelter where a
small mirror hangs and begins combing her
hair and applying makeup)

RUNT: Where you thank you going now?

TOOTSIE: (She has gained back her courage
considerably) I thank ITm going to git in that
Caddilac. That's where I thank ITm going.
And then I'll go anywhereTs. And I mean any-
where's.

BUSTER: Seen her do it before, Runt. Told
you I'd seen him pull up there many a time.

[yt

328 Evans St.

~*Eastern Carolina's

Shopping Center�T

Greenville, N.C.

FALL, 1956

eaSHR isk i Rk min Sti BSE a SLA ts SRR Ea ih ML SLR SO I MORI REE A LEE SRO EE Ai OAS RE AGES i iii aca an nd ts cae sti Siig ot Hil inns aig

SA ee A Re A IM CER ENCES HE EER OE EER I TLS LL AG aor se oe ia Re SSI ii ei ie AE AOS REA ALLL ALLL LLL EL OEE LANE LE GENE ELAR ees

TOOTSIE: You han~t seen nothing yet, Buster
ole boy.

RUNT: And you tried to tell ne ~bout how
good you are and all that mess. Naw sir, you
won't the kind that goes running round with
ever thang with pants on.

TOOTSIE: Won't den, big man! I really won't
when I told you that. But if I have to do it to
make somethinT of myself I shore will. Do
anythang without battinT a eye to get away
from here. Don't need you big man.

RUNT: We'll see about that. You might find
out somethinT one of dese days.

TOOTSIE: Found out today--tonight--right
here! Know where I'm going, too. I canTt wait
till the day ITm somebody and I won't have to
claim you. Everbody'1l be askinT me all about
myself and I'll just say that ITm an orphan.
Just a orphan. That's exactly what I'll say.
Can't wait till I can buy and sell you and tell
you just where to go.

(Banker sounds his horn again)

TOO oie Mere | an, Joe, Comin rile now.
(BUSTER and RUNT watch her leave)
BUSTER: She shore is a go getter lately.

RUNT: Shore didnTt thank sheTd ever be like
her Ma was. That was one thang I didnTt want
to see. (Shaking his head, looking away sadly)

Too late now.
(A door slams and the car leaves)
Put some more liquor under the seat, Buster.

(BUSTER stafids with his head back, eyes
closed, counting the seconds elapsing before
the stoplight changes)

THE STAGE DARKENS

/CLIFF'S OYSTER BAR|

Washington Hwy. Greenville, N.C.

"eae Sa a8
Deanna mene ear :

LE

TS a ee Rom EA OQ RS ery eR SE RY EE EES eg EER OER ERE ESR A RR EO Me RRS EGR I SI BBS IAS SSR ANE AE ANE AS cE) ONE SRT NS CET EI TA OE IS LETTE LE EN Se eS ers:

cross the ocean in a twenty-five foot sloop
bY fimseli?�*

Jim thought for a second. ~yes, | think
he could, 1f he knew the seq.�

One of them laughed and said, 'TWhy donTt
you try it, you drip?!T

Jim hated the Smari-qiecks. He had al-
ways hated them. For as long as he could re-
member, they had laughed at him for one rea-
son or another.

He tumed to the Cashier oaid fcr his
magazine, and left without giving them the
satisfaction of an argument.

He looked up at the sky when he felt the
soft rain drops falling...

ihe mist, stinging ais face, roused him.
He shook his head slowly as he opened his
eyes. He didnTt know how long he had been
asleep, but the darkness had slipped away
while he dozed.

The sky was heavy with black clouds,
mot dt cll like daylight. but not ike dare
ness either.

The boat was half filled with water. He
knew that he must start bailing quickly. be-
cause the water was still pouring in as the
boat bounded qm the churning sea.

As he reached for the pail, pains shot up
his back and down his arms. After he tilled
the bucket with the dirty green water, he was
so exhausted that he couldn't lift the full
pail, He emptied out part of the water and

started bailing. Bucketful after bucketful he
tossed over the side. Finally, he was forced
to stop; he could no longer lift the bucket.
The pain in his arms and shoulders became
agonizing. He rested.

Suddenly, he thought of his chart case;
he mustnTt allow his maps to be destroyed.
The case must have fallen to the bottom of
the boat. He reached down into the water be-
tween his feet, not daring to get out of his
seat. Something slimy clung to his hand.

lt was a label from a cam of bork aad
pecus....

Mr . Wallace walked by as he put the last
can of beans on the shelf.

FALL, 14958

PBR sa EIB RE ML i tb Fe iE Ned ON

EMRE el AE 8 SE ah SAC lL SL ME AEE RC Rai Be OE sc eg ser Sain esa asap Ft ese Sipe nt TR Se art apis a

oPanished, son?! he said,

oNo, SirT, Jim replied. o1 sill have jo
pul Up the rest of this siock belore | can co
home, ~

He didnTt understand why they had io re
stock the market after the store closed. They
had plenty of time in the diterncons. when
they weren't busy with customers. But Mr.
Wallace didn't like for them to put the boxes
in the aisles while the store was open.

Jim finished about the same time Sam did.
They met as they were headed for the store--
TOOm 10 put up thelr aprons. lhey aod worked
at the same market for about the same length
of time and fad become 4ticends, ai least
during working hours .

sam asked Jim if he would like to go ic
~the movies with him, but Jim told him that he
wos busy.

Jim was always busy when Sam wanted
him to go Out with him ai night, because Sam
was such a slob. He was all tight in ine stoie.
At least he worked and didnTt spend his time
telling dirty jokes around the coke machine
like the rest of the clerks did.

They 1ei the store and lreqded jor the
corner, where they parted company. Jim started
home and Sam headed downtown.

When Jim got home, his folks had already
eaten. They never waited for him. He walked
down the hall foward ais toon.

Ashe passed the den, he heardhis mother's
voice above the sound of the television set.
MY our supper 3s On ie Kitchen fable. | don i
see why you canTt get home earlier; the store
�,�losed aimost on hour ago,�

He didn't bother to answer. He knew she
wouldn't understand; she didnTt really care
whether or not he came home at all.

He went into the kitchen and picked up
the plate from the table: took a knife, ferk,
and spoem ttom @ drawer by the sink, and
went into his bedroom. He locked the door,
placed his supper on the desk, and went over

to the amg that

13



SSE See ies a ree A eee SiR OER SS a ee a

De no DOES ALLELE LL a ee » LEAL LE DNL DLAI OL LON EES IEA IIE PN GOA Fo Pit Pe SS OBES IS i Hs IS BEDS SP WDE Bie OS, ay we Ti�

Ai ee

An Editorial

Education: Its Role Today

A recent cartoon depicted three bullet-
shaped, triple-finned rockets en-route to the
moon. They were humorously labeled the
Pinta, the Nina and the Santa Maria: a
graphic representation of two analogous
instances in the history of the world. More
than a good joke, the cartoon connotes a
deeper commentary on history. That is, today,
as in the time of Columbus, there has been
a revolution in the concept of the known
world. The advent of the Rocket Age has
added a whole new immensity to manTs con-
cept of his everyday world. These days, like
the days of Columbus, are pivotal, and with
the passage of these days the world has
evolved into an orbit of greater scope and
awareness.

Rockets and the Rocket Age, however,
do not necessarily imply the same things to
all people. Popularly rockets are conceived
of as implements of war, and from this con-
ception the present day /~crash program for
scientists education planTT has arisen. It is
a plan based on fear, and it does not place
educational values in their proper perspec-
tive. The actual situation which has arisen
has been overlooked by people in their panic
to produce scientists. The majority of people
are not aware of the latent potentiality that
lies in the Rocket Age.

With the pioneering of rockets into space
the boundary of manTs sphere of awareness
has expanded. Simultaneously, the relative
size of the earth has diminished. This dimi-
nution of the earth, it is hoped by many, might
well be the catalyst that will turnTTmenTs
minds away from their present tribal squab-
bles (and help them see) the problems of
today in their true proportions.�!

Education, then, in the Rocket Age
should be carefully proportioned, and not
forced on its people (as is Science) for its

6

yo" Pegs. ~_i EE hare et ite Ra AAAI a Nt NO LE ARLE AB A I ARR ER aS ROT IR Me ti tag ARN I NS NR I a AR «NR Na Ne ET TNT ROE Re Mh ia ER NII TS
PERE a pasiie~ : ss coma

own sake. Indeed, to subordinate the overall
needs of the people to produce a protective
bloc of scientists for the state is not only
educationally unsound but is undemocratic
Therefore, it is the obligation of this nationTs
educational program, and other nations as
well, to enlighten its citizens and make
certain that the enlightenment is accomp-
lished proportionally. The real need of the
worldTs nations is the scientist; but not the
scientist, per se, not the mere physical
mechanic. Nations must, in their educational
systems, produce for themselves and for the
world, men of insight, proportion, and wis-
dom. For it is these men, these scientists,
who must interpret for the layman and lead
him into the world of the future.

The panic to ~TproduceTT scientists is,
of course, somewhat justifiable, since every
major world power has the capacity to ob-
literate itself and the rest of the world. We
do not intend here to minimize national de-
fense. Rather it is to emphasize that it is
the obligation of all nations to envision the
Age of the Rocket as more than the jeopar-
dizing of menTs lives. Nations should edu-
cate their people in preparation for what
could truly be called a Golden Age.

The true immensity and implication of
this Rocket Age has been best expressed by
Arthur C. Clarke in his book The Exploration
of Space. It was his hope that an historian
of the future would see the twentieth century
as ~the prelude to some great drama played
on the narrow strip of stage before the cur-
tainhas risen and revealed the scenery (and)
as the curtain begins inexorably to rise, mar
realized at last that the earth was only one
of many worlds; the sun only one of many
stars. The coming of the rocket brought to
an end a million years of isolation...the
childhood of our race was over...!!

-DAVID E. LANE

the REBEL

Nah Da ERS ARIAS ME YA Me Nai ae tle Ni AL RELI om SMR INS OTN eR BAAD OWNS NS eS Aas AS Sapam Seatac ama Pe aud! Ry MSS one ne
ES

NIE SRE EE I EM LG EE GEE TA AEE LEG LEER EE EER ALE NEB AN OO ER IE EE Bt MOL ELEN AEP a i RE TE ht a ka

OE ae me RNR A SER SNE re AR ARC SEE RE RE IN OAR INAS Sy A RR A ER EE RCE SF A AN ROR RR a SS AER I Ae A A SN SEE NS REE A ST I AR TL AE INET REN

heTd do it too. Right in the damn eye. Looks
like somebody that would go around spittinT
all over hell!

TOOTSIE: Maybe it's ~cause he ainTt got too
much to show for nothing. Whatta mean is they
took over the farm, some bank another did,
and then Ma left when I won't but ten and we
han~t seen nothinT of her since. (Tootsie sits
on the suitcase. Pepe, extremely bored,
stands with his back to her, lights a cigarette,
and gazes across towards the midway) About
all I can remember is that sheTd drink just
about anything she could get her hands on
after she drunk for so long. Daddy, he'll git
mad with me sometimes and heTll laugh and
tell about the time I had to nurse her through
the bars. She was that way when I was a little
ole thing. They claimed she was gettinT some
kinda dope from somewhereTs. (Turns to Pepe
for solace) Honey, I mean right through the
bars. Just about drives me crazy ever time I
start to think about it. And he won't take it
back neither. Then that Buster, he got a hold
of it and heTs always snickering about when
I had to nurse Ma through the jail bars. God,
I hate that whacky Buster. (PEPE turns and
starts toward her) SometimeTs I try to ask God
some things...sometimes I donTt even know
whicha way to turn to ask him...sometimeTs |
swear I donTt believe theyTs such a thing as
a God...if they is he must not know about this
place right around here.

PEPE: You're leaving, Don't forget you're

leaving. ITm gonna make something outta you.
(PEPE turns, then steps) You donna bring
the money on over when you get it? (TCOTSIE
buries her face in her hands and nods that
she will carry out his plans) I said you gonna
bring me the money?

TOOTSIE (Stands, turns away and walks be-
hind the trailer) Nodded my head! I said yes,
didn't [?

(PEPE exits as the carnival music grows
louder and people on the midway can be heard
laughing)

(Music grows soft again and a car can be
heard driving into the lot. A door s ams and
RUNT approaches)

RUNT: BUSTERRRRR! Hey Buster. ComeTere.

TOOTSIE (Solemn during the first part of this

scene) He ain't here.
RUNT: ITm callinT you, Buster Bunch!

PALL, 1958

� ' en .
Etat ai Sm Ds i MRS RIERA: Sa Sat Sn I a ESR Si Ci I i pte hat ca tes asa aa

TOOTSIE: Told you he din't here;
RUNT: Well, where is he.

TOOTSIE: Said somethinT bout going over to
the carnival.

RUNT: Told him to stay here, but he: donTt
lissen to a word I say. (Notices the bags) Tell
~em he can go home, ITm gonna lie down on
the little cot here in the bus.

TOOTSIE: Don't imagine I'll be here when he
comes back.

RUNT: (Seriously) Can tell you one thing.
You don't know what you're doing.

~POOTSIE: (Harshly). Just tell me
That's all l-wanat to hea is obyeTT.

RUNT: (Starts into bus) You goinT with him?
(Nodding his head toward the carnival)

TOOTSIE: Quit beatinT oround the bush. You
know ITm going with Tem.

RUNT: And you want me to stand up here and
say ~~byeTT to you and watch you walk off with
that bum. God knows, Tootsie, I donTt ~spect
you to run off with no preacher's son, but
when you start runninT ~round with the devil
thatTs somethinT to thank about.

TOOTSIE: Just tell him te go on! Thats all
I want you to say. Tell me you want me to go
out and make somethinT of myself.

RUNT: Make somethinT of ya'self? What you
gonna do parade around in a tent rest of your
life stark naked so a bunch of men can laugh
at you? Then run off and sleep with every
goddam crook in the carnival?

TOOTSIE: You might think Um theta way.
Know you thank it, but you just donTt know
what you're talkinT ~bout. I ~magine I'm just
as good or better than them little high society
flirts that come to all them big dances at the
hotel and they pass right by the newsstand
half the time and I can smell whiskey on their
breath a mile away. Heard about ~em, I'm
better than some of ~em. God knows I coulda
been anything hanging around here all my life
~round a bunch of men like you and Buster.
All of a suddenly you're so high and mighty
and know so much.

RUNT: Know what I'm talkinT ~bout now. What
do you know about this Pepe: fella? He comes
into tovn on Sunday and you pack up your
drawers and run off with him Saturday.
Yessir, | ~magine heTs gonna rec''v make

"bye"?

SR ei i ms aR A ates eee, SiR