[This text is machine generated and may contain errors.]
the rebel yell
This issue of The Rebel represents a variety of student writing and art work as well as re-
views of some of the latest books and an interview with a prominent poet. But the editors
feel that the magazine needs a wider range of student participation. We encourage all stu-
dents to submit any material that they feel would be of benefit to The Rebel.
The staff feels that perhaps this is the place and occasion to include a statement of our
policy about contributions to The Rebel from faculty members. It is felt by us that although
The Rebel is primarily intended as an undergraduate publication, faculty members could con-
conceivably be interested in submitting work of their own which they consider to have special
meaning for the student and the faculty of the college. We believe that the magazine should
remain predominantly undergraduate, but we shall welcome from others whatever will give the
magazine life, variety, and significence.
Peter Viereck won the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry with his volume, Terror and Decorum in
1949. A professor of history at Mt. Holyoke College at South Hadley, Massachusetts, he vis-
ited East Carolina College in connection with the Danforth Lecture Series here in February.
On February 16th, he recorded an interview with the staff of The Rebel in which he discussed
his own poetry, student writing, the ~beat generationTT and problems of general education.
The interview was tape-recorded through the courtesy and facilities of WWS Campus Radio.
Special notice goes to Jay Robbins whose woodcut, Beaching, supplied this issueTs cover.
Jay is from Ahoskie, a Senior majoring in Art. Other Artists featured in this issue, whose
works are displayed on pages 4, 10, and 16, are Harrley Woodard, Nelson Dudley, and David
Mathews.
Rachel Steinbeck, whose story, The Journal, was published in the Winter issue of The Rebel
contributes A Bag of Gold. Miss Steinbeck graduated prior to publication and is now serving
on Senator Sam D. ErvinTs staff in Washington, D.C. Miss Steinbeck is a native of Greenville.
Sherry Maske submits her first short story, Old Man SamTs Garden., Miss Maske is a Junior
and a business major from Rockingham.
Poetry appearing in thi issue was contributed by Betty Jo Chappell, Lewis Gordon, and David
Lane.
Sandra Mills, a past contributor to The Rebel, reviews three Doubleday Anchor Books for
this issue. Hugh Aqee, former Book Review Editor of The Rebel reviews an important _work of
criticism. Robert L. Harper, who previously has contributed short stories, reviews Erskine
CaldwellTs latest novel. Bryan Harrison, Editor of The Rebel contributes an essay on books
about the South, using two recent books for comparison.
Sketch for the short story, Old Man Sam's Garden, was contributed by Nelson Dudley. Nelson
has been selected by the Art Department to succeed Bob Harper, who is graduating, as Art
Editor of The Rebel.
2 the REBEL
eS Me CE RE
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
Dan Williams
Art Editor
Robert Harper
Exchange Editor
Betty Vic Gaskins
Asst. Business Mgr.
John Filicky
Asst. to Editors
Annette Willoughby
Woodrow Davis
PRINTED BY
OFFSET PRINTING CO,
SPRING, 1959
IN THIS ISSUE
rit ton
Old Man SamTs Garden
A short story by Sherry Maske 13
Bag of Gold
A short story by Rachel Steinbeck 17
ESSAYS
An Old and New Look at the New and Old South 19
WOODCUTS
Harrley Woodard 4
Nelson Dudley 10
David Mathews 16
POETRY
Barbara Jo Chappell 22
Dave Lane 22
FEATURES
An Editorial 11
An Interview with Peter Viereck 5
VOLUME 1 SPRING « 1959 NUMBER 4
NOTICE- Contributions to THE REBEL should be directed
to P.O. Box 1420, E.C.C. Editorial and business offices
are located at 309% Austin Building. Manuscripts and art-
work 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.
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 publications of student
material,
3
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AN INTERVIEW WITH
PETER VIERECK
Interviewer
When do you write your poetry?
Viereck
Well, the first ideas usually come to me when I'm walking. I walk a lot. We have some beautiful
woods - white birch forests and pine forests - where | live in New England. So when ITm strol-
ling along very often the rhythm of my walk determines the rhythm of the verse. In other words,
I often have the rhythm earlier than the words, and ITm likely to jot down rhythms as I walk
and this is how it originates. The hard work on the poem afterwards, putting in the words and
making sense of them, takes place usually at night at my typewriter.
Interviewer
Would you say there is a dominant theme in your poetry?
Viereck
I think that that would be for others to say, really. I donTt think a man can judge his own writ-
ing. D. H. Lawrence once said one should never listen to the artist about his work, but should
listen to the art. In other words, the artist thinks he is doing so and so. (Tolstoy thought he
was doing certain things in ~War and PeaceTT.) But what he is really doing is quite different,
because in the poem, the unconscious of the artist is doing a lot of things that the artist does-
n't know and doesnTt intend. What he produces may be entirely against his intentions. The
poet may think that his theme has some high resounding moral message proclaiming some new
philosophy. Milton probably thought that was his purpose proclaiming his Puritan philosophy
in his ~'Paradise Lost'T, and yet, the real verse may be: something he is unaware of - the thing
that really gives it beauty and excitement. And this is why I would say of myself and of any
poet - donTt listen to the poet about his work, listen to his art and decide for yourself what
the themes are. I can tell you one little anecdote about the aerlier question about whether a
poet should self-teach poetry. There is a story of a centipede which had been walking very
happily all of his life until one day somebody said to him, 'T Which foot do you walk with first.T
After that he could never walk again. Do you see what I mean about a poet teaching poetry,
becoming too critical to have spontaneity?
Interviewer
We have noticed a great concern over World War II in your poetry. Is there a particular reason
for this?
Viereck
Well, not except to use the cliché,TTThe best years of oneTs life.TT The best years of my life,
I was a soldier in the African attack. I wasn't a soldier in World War I. I hope I will not be
one in World War III. Therefore, itTs only natural that the war in which I was a soldier, march-
ing up and down Africa and Italy, would give me the images and the subjects one has observed.
A poet writes about what he sees; otherwise, he lacks concreteness. This was the particular
war in which I happened to have fought. This takes me to my first book, Terror and Decorum,
which was written while I was a G.I., and that was battlefield pdetry. The later books, I think,
are less concerned because they were written in other places. The book I like best of mine,
The Persimmon Tree, was written in Italy where I spent two years recently.
Interviewer
Do you think that the poetry written today is among some of the best poetry ever written?
SPRING, 1959 5
Viereck
I donTt know. We donTt know what to expect of it. Maybe the g ood poet of today is not even
being noticed, but starving in some garret. I think time will have to tell. I don't particularly
think that, though. There is no reason to think that. I think this is an age of over-adjustedness
and gregariousness, and it's not an age of exciting individualism, such as the Elizabethan age
and the Renaissance in Italy. Today, smugness and mass pressure concerns high living stand-
ards rather than the zest for life and individual experience that you have in the Elizabethan
age in England or the Renaissance in Florence. My hunch would be that this age will not pro-
duce anything to equal Elizabethan.
Interviewer
Do you think there is any good writing at all being produced by t he so-called "beat gener-
ationTT writers?
Viereck
Yes, I would say when they forget about being beat. Also, when they are not grinding an axe
or hawking their wares. ThereTs a lot of talent there, but I think the talent will come despite
themselves, just as the work of art may be quite different than what the artist intends. So I
think that though they have a lot of talent, they misdirect it when they put their talent in the
form of manifestos, saying how daring and non-conformist they are. I think thatTs misdirected
because there is a false situation. We all sympathize with the non-conformist as being op-
pressed and demanding individual freedom. You see, the paradox is that the west coast - the
San Fransisco - non-conformists are not being oppressed. They are having a wonderful time,
making money, getting large audiences, reading their poems in night clubs, and so on. So you
have a kind of shadow boxing taking place in which they proclaim how beat they are, and how
they are persecuted. Meanwhile, everybody applauds them and makes a success of them, and
I think thatTs a false situation, having the best of both worlds: I mean a lot of conformists
saying how non-conformist they are, how they suffer. I think thatTs false situation and
doesnTt have the kind of tension that genuine rebellious verse would have.
Interviewer
Who is your favorite contemporary poet?
Viereck
Well, I want to stress contemporary a little to mean not living necessarily, but poets of the
twentieth century. Otherwise, I'd have a hard time answering it. I would then answer without
hesitation, Yeats, if it means modern poets close to the twentieth century. Yeats, I think, is
the greatest lyric poet since Shakespeare.
Interviewer
Do you find college teaching a satisfactory profession to be in when writing?
Viereck
Not normally - no, I donTt think so. I think it is for me, personally, very good. As it applies
in general to writing, I would say no. In my case I avoid teaching poetry and deliberately
teach a different subject - history, so I find it very helpful. But I feel that most poets donTt
have knowledge of another subject. I have training in college history, meaning my training
might be interesting. But most poets have to teach English, thatTs their only union card, and I
feel that if a poet teaches English this is very bad. He becomes s elf-conscious. He loses
spontaneity, and the whole fun and point of lyricism should be its spontaneity. Thus the aca-
demic poets tend to be critics and analyists rather than feel the joy of spontaneity, and at
that you have so much modern poetry being too critical, too intellectual, too dry, too lacking
in music. I think this partly resolves from the academicism of it.
Interviewer
Robert Graves has implied that modern education, or more specifically, modern English facul-
ties have helped to further obscurity in poetry and aided in the decline of poetry. Would you
you support this?
6 the REBEL
Viereck
I think that makes sense. We had the pleasure of meeting Robert Graves at our college recently.
He came over from England and gave a lecture there and he seemed to be a man with real in-
sight. He sometimes will exaggerate a point in order to sharpen it up, and perhaps the state-
ment as you read it is a little over-dramatical, a little sweeping, but I would say that in gen-
eral the professional teacher is summed up by the words, ~~/Whysay things simply and then
make them complicated?TT I mean this is the way of the profession. They come between the
free air and the poem and they read in the poem things they think are there. Whether those
things are really there or not is debatable. ItTs certainly true of most teachers. It doesnTt
seem to be true here. The teachers out here seem to be awfully able and sincere people.
Interviewer
We have noticed that college students writing poetry seem to lack a respect for accepted form.
Do you have any advice for them?
Viereck
I think that everyone has to go through this little form, not because I believe in being a slave
to it, but rather precisely because I think you should be free of it. And you can only be free
of form by having learned to discipline and then reject it. A great musician has to know all
the finger exercises. After that he can dispense with form and violate whenever necessary, but
a person doesnTt have a right to violate forms until he knows what they are. Then he should
move beyond them. If he sticks to the finger exercises and sticks to rigid forms he may be
very dull and pedantic, but he has no right to go beyond them until he has gone through the
discipline. In other words, there is no objection to free verse when there is very fine free
verse, but first you have to show you know how to use a form before you discard it. In any
case itTs a very good discipline when considered as something temporary.
Interviewer
Today, in what seems to be a too-materialistic society, what is the place of the non-science
major? In other words, as you stated in your recent Saturday Review article, ~TThe Unadjusted
ManTT, what is the place of those majors in the ~~impractical, humanistic, and spiritual stud-
iesT'?
Viereck
I would say that both are necessary. I hope I am not being maneuvered into the position of be-
ing against science. Obviously we need science to survive in the modern world. Military sci-
ence to survive deadly enemies in Moscow, and also the various physical sciences in order
to keep our industrial machines going. You need both and the accomplishment of the scient-
ist is as important as our humanities may be. What is different is the fact that the scientist's
contribution is an obvious one and you can see what he is doing, dealing with chemicals to
make soil more fertile. In other words, what the humanities man gives is subtler, and if in my
articles and books I deal more with that, it isnTt because I want to exclude the other, but be-
cause itTs subtler and less easily understood. To put it briefly, I would say that it science
gives us the 'T know how "T which we definitely need, the humanities, manwith his understand-
ing of human nature, literature, holding a mirror up to life, and so on gives us the 'T know whyT!
to match the TT know howTT. If you have only the 'T know howTT, what is to prevent our scien-
tific knowledge from being used destructively instead constructively. So the humanities man
would give the ethical and the esthetic guidance to the 'T know howTT. Does that count in your
answer? The TT know why�! guiding the TT know how�T,
Interviewer
Lately, we have noticed a trend from educational theory represented by the so called education-
ists, who have made a science out of education.
Viereck
I think itTs an art, not a science. I think any attempt to make it a science is ridiculous as, well
trying to make anything dealing with human beings a science. You can only have science with
SPRING, 1959 7
chemicals, dealing with a dead man, but when you are dealing with human beings it's an art
that has to be played by ear, and if you try to make it a science it would just make everything
pedantic and dry.
Interviewer
Would you say there is a trend back toward education in the fine arts away from this trend to-
ward education as a science?
Viereck
I donTt know whether there is or not and I wouldn't be concerned about it. I say and do what
I think is right whether itTs fashionable or unfashionable, whether it's a trend or not a trend.
I wouldnTt bother to investigate it. Its very hard to measure trend in a country as big as this
You've got one trend in one college and another trend in another college. One shouldn't worry
too much about trends. If one thinks too much about trends it's a kind of a Gallup poll approach.
Instead of doing what is right, one begins to have a public relations approach to oneTs liter-
ary training. think one should just do and say what is right in educational liberty, regard-
less of whether itTs a trend or whether not a trend. If enough people say the right thing theyT1l
make a trend of it even if itTs against the grain.
Interviewer :
Do you feel high school teachers should have a good background in the humanities?
Viereck
Well not if itTs a trade school or something like that, but normally, yes. I think a high school
education should not be merely teaching you some specialized trade, but preparing you for life
as a whole, and the humanities seem to be the best preparation for life as a whole. There
are two aspects of them, you could say. Those with religious and spiritual values, and those
that deal with the esthetic discipline, and the spiritual and religious disciplines will teach
you how to improve yourself and how to guide yourself. The humanities, to my knowledge, em-
brace both the esthetic and the spiritual. Without that it seems to me you just become a boor-
ish, narrow specialist at some trade, but you are not going to find life very rewarding nor con-
tribute much to it without that kind of training and self-knowledge which the humanities give.
So I would insist on humanities having absolute priority in any general education unless you
are going to some trade school and learn to be a good typist.
Interviewer
Would you say that it is a mistake for undergraduates to specializd in college?
Viereck
Yes, if they have the choice, it is a mistake. There may be cases of economic necessity
where they have no choice, and that would have to be taken into account But in general,
I wouldsay it is a great mistake to specialize that early. The important thing is general train-
ing for life. Ithink if you talk with the big firms, in engineering, and law, and so on, the really
big ones, they'll say again and again: ~TWe donTt want a man to specialize in our field. He
can pick up that knowledge quickly in the office anyway. We want a man with a general train-
ing for life such as the humanities give.TT ItTs a mistake to think that specializing is helpful.
The really top lawyers, doctors, engineers are people with a broad, humane wisdom and un-
derstanding of life in general. The number two man, the plodding truck horses, will be the
specialists, not the race horses.
Interviewer
We know you can not tell anyone how to write, but student verse writers are always willing to
hear what a practising poet has to say about his art. Could you say something to them which
would help them avoid some of the pitfalls in verse writing?
8 the REBEL
Viereck
I think the kindest and best thing I could do would be discourage them as cruelly and sar-
castically as possible. Throw cold water on their tenderest dreams. Tell them to burn their
most precious manuscripts. Because it seems to me someone who is really born to be a poet,
has a real sense of divine calling, will do it anyway. You canTt stop them. ItTs an obsession
for those of us who are really writers. One talks of alcoholics anonymous. We could have poets
anonymous - an obsession. It seems to me those who clutter up the literary market would cer-
tainly be those who are doing it because itTs fashionable and itTs a way of getting ahead. And
so by being as cruel and discouraging as possible I would help to eliminate those who are do-
ing it, not out of a necessary urge, but out of fashionableness and forgetting. In other words,
nothing I could say would ever discourage a real poet because he has no choice but to be one.
COLLEGE VIEW
CLEANERS
AND LAUNDRY, INC.
109 Grande Avenue---Main Plant
Fifth Street and Colonial Heights
Branches
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COMPANY, Inc.
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FORD - CARS - TRUCKS - TRACTORS - IMPLEMENTS
Coca-Cola Bottling Company 4th & Cotanche St.
Greenville, N.C. GREENVILLE, N. C.
SPRING, 1959 9
editorial
(This editorial appeared in a college literary
magazine some years ago; we feel that it
has some application to all colleges and un-
iversities that publish a literay magazine,
and we are reprinting it with the permission
of the author.)
* * *
Most college literary magazines sooner
or later go the same road. They hold, by vir-
ture of their purpose alone, compromising
stands in the collegiate pattern; their sub-
sistence has been due to authorization by
publication boards and the more less per-
functory backing of faculty members rather
than to general student interest and partici-
pation. It is suggested to members of liter-
ary staffs that they make their obeisances
for having presumed to maintain standards in
literary work and that they start again on the
so-called semi-humorous basis. College mag-
azines have been promised readers for all
jokes and cartoons and purposely lewd stor-
ies that they might publish; and this is the
compromise that a considerable number of the
college magazines make, with a resulting
publication that can stand on not one of its
own feet and which finally finds itself in
limbo. But whether the magazine reaches
the greater part of the student readers or not,
its purpose still is to publish creditable lit-
erary attempts written by students, that be-
ing, as the staff sees, its sole raison deTetre.
Aganist the type of criticism existing in
the university life, the staff of the magazine
wishes to protest, believing it wholl y un-
justifiable; and that is the unsympathetic
criticism that all sincere dramatic, literary,
and cultural attempts have recieved in the
last three or four years; not that the teachers
and students instigating these attempts are
afraid of criticism or are in any way trying to
shun it. But they do legitimately ask for
criticism from those who are capable of crit-
icising, from those who do have some drama-
tic, literary, and cultural discernment. The
SPRING, 1959
limitations upon those persons who are work-
ing sincerely for those things are obvious
enough; and the burden of discouragement
and indifference makes the tasks the more
difficult. This is not a veiled plea for high-
schoolish praise upon attempts for the reason
that they are made by students, but it isa
plea for approval upon the honest work that
merits approval. A student is the harshest
critic that a student has; in fact there seems
to be a notion among college students that
the first principle of review is a search for
flaws.
There has been in the past, at least in
the undergraduate school of the university,
an apparent absence of any cultural consci-
ousness; there has been a none too eager
appreciation of those aspects of college life
which can make the individual imprint by
which a student is known from other men
after he has completed his college training.
For the greater part of the students, life in
college seems to have been reduced to the
simple schedule of compulsory classes,
broken intermittently by dances, fraternity.
smokers, and football games. Perhaps that
consciousness, which is atmospheric and
must be felt rather than seen, will grow with
the years.
The changes in policy which the staff
anticipates will be made in the hope of bring-
ing the magazine home, of making it a publi-
cation of regional study, and of local inter-
pretation. The staff is of the opinion that
more distinctive work can be. done by stu-
dents the more closely they restrict the
scope of their study. Most young writers feel
that in order to be recognized they must be
profound, they .must write for literature im-
mediately. It apparently never occurs to
writers beginning that they can describe
best, that they can say best, w hat they
know best. Almost without exception those
works in American prose since 1900 which
will continue to be read are those by writers
11
who have restricted themselves most nar-
rowly to regional interpretations. In survey
of these works, DuBose HeywardTs Porgy
might be mentioned, Julia PeterkinTs Green
Thursday, James Boyd's Drums, Roark Brad-
fordTs Old Man Adam anT His Chillun, and
Ellen Glasgow's Barren Ground; in New Eng-
land, the poetry of Robert Frost and Amy
Lowell and Edith WhartonTs Ethan Frome;
in the West and Mid-West, the poetry of Carl
Sandburg and Vachel Lindsay, Ruth SuckowTs
studies of common-nace life, and Willa
CatherTs O Pioneers and My Antonia. This
is by no means an adequate but a very gen-
eral survey.
The hope of the staff will be to capture,
in so far as possible, something of this spirit
of local study, believing that in that direction
its best efforts lie.
THe Searcu
12
2s HARPER
the REBEL
OWD MAN SAM
by SHERRY MASKE
Old Man Sam died on the afternoon of a
scorching-hot day in the middle of July. He
was sitting on his front porch in the over-
sized, green-painted rocking chair when his
heart stopped beating. I found him there. At
first I thought he was asleep. He looked just
as he had so many times before as we sat
there together talking quietly or in a com-
panionable silence. I sat down in the other
green chair and waited for him to wake.
I must have been there twenty minutes
before I noticed his hand. It hung limply down
by the side of the chair. It was a big ,rough
hand. I suddenly realized that I had never
before seen the hand still.Even when he was
idle, the old manTs hands shook gently, as
did his head. The hands only stopped shak-
ing when they were clasped around a hoe or
a water bucket or some other tool connect-
ed with his garden. But now the hand was
still. The old man was dead.
I called his daughter. Soon the little
house was filled with people. I went home
and sat down on the back steps. I could still
see the little house and the people and Old
Man SamT~s garden.
The first time 1 sawMr. Sam he was work-
ing in the garden. It was in the spring of the
year. I had just arrived in Lilesville after a
serious illness had forced me to retire, at the
ripe old age of forty-nine, from my profession,
the honorable and poorly-paid profession of
teaching. Dr. Phillip James, formerly Pro-
fessor of English, now a fully-trained and
oriented idler. I had come to Lilesville be-
cause I owned a house here, an inheritance
from a maiden aunt, and because I had neither
the means nor the desire to go anywhere else.
I intended, when I arrived, to spend the rest
of my days doing absolutely nothing, and my
first glimpse of the town assured me that it
would be remarkably easy to realize my am-
bition. The town was composed of one street,
lined with a dozen or so business establish-
ments, with the residential section extending
on either side for several blocks. My house
SPRING, 1959
was several blocks from the center of town;
there was a vacant lot next to mine, and the
Johnsons lived next to the vacant lot. Beyond
their house was open country, except for a
small frame house, surrounded by huge old
trees, which was set well back from the road.
I discovered later that Mrs. Johnson's father
lived there; his name was Mr. Sam Cooper,
andhe was known tothe town as OldMan Sam.
Mrs. Johnson called on me several days
after I arrived, bringing with her a lemon pie
and an invitation to supper - both of which
I gratefully accepted. The Johnsons were
very nice, I decided; a typical American fam-
ily. I asked them about the frame house, ex-
plaining that I had seen no one about the
place at all.
"My Daddy lives there,TT Mrs. Johnson
told me. ~We tried to get him to stay up here,
but heTd rather be by himself. And since
thatTs what he wants, we donTt insist on any-
thing else.TT
"He's visiting another of his daughters
now,T! her husband added, ~but heTll be back
sometime next week.T!
The next week he was back. I saw him
giving directions to a man with a tractor. The
next week he was again outside, this time
working in the space that had been plowed
and smoothed. I walked across the open field
until I reached him.
''T'm Phillip James,'T I told him. ~TI live
over there,TT waving in the general direction
of my house.
~My nameTs Sam Cooper,'T he returned.
'INice to meet you. Lois and Paul told me
about you. If you donTt mind waiting a while,
we can go over and sit on the porch fora
spell.T
''Fine,'' I said, and waited.
He continued with his work and I watched
him. He was a big, burly man, probably in his
sixties, I told myself. His hair was white and
his skin was wrinkled and burned by the sun.
His face was almost square, covered now with
13
a stubbly beard. The eyes that he turned to
me when he was ready to go were small and a
faded blue.
We walked the few yards to the house in
silence. Mr. Sam (everybody called him ~TMr.
Sam!! when they spoke to him, ~TOld Man Sam!T
when they spoke of him) pointed to a chair on
the tiny porch. We both sat, and after that we
sat there nearly every afternoon until the sun
went down, sometimes talking, sometimes
silent.
Old Man Sam worked in his garden every
morning except Sunday. The Johnsons remon-
strated with him about working in the sun. ~/He
has a weak heart,TT Lois told me. ~~HeTs al-
ready had two bad attacks. But you canTt tell
him anything; heTs stubborn as a mule.T
Once I asked him why he put so much
labor into the garden. He spat a brown stream
of tobacco juice over the porch railing before
he answered me.
''Reen talkinT to Lois and Paul, have
you? They think itTs bad for me to work, but
it ain't near as bad as not workinT would be."T
He looked down at his hands, lifted them for
me to see.'TSee these hands? TheyTve always
worked, ever since I was a kid. Never went
to school a day in my life - canTt read, canTt
write nothinT except my name. I got to do
something, Phil, and I canTt do nothinT except
work. I been a farmer and a carpenter and
these hands have turned out a mess of work.
I donTt aim to quit now."T
Another day I asked him, ~~How many
children do you have, Mr. Sam? �
"Six - five girls and one boy,T he an~-
swered. ''I got twenty-three grandchildren and
five great-grandchildren. You'll meet ~em
FatherTs Day; we always have a picnic up
here and everybody comes. The youngunsTll
prob/ly run you crazy, hoopinT and hollerinT.
I got a couple of grandchildrenTs been to col-
lege, though; one of ~em~s a English teacher.
Maybe she can swap some fancy language
with you.T
Mr. Sam was proud of his family, and that
they loved him was very evident at the picnic.
They fussed over him and filled his plate with
the very best pieces of chicken and his fav-
orite pie and beans, that had been canned
from his garden last year. Mr. Sam pointed out.
his daughter Sue to me. ~TSheTs. the most like
Dorie,'T he said.
14
The next week I asked him about Dorie.
"She was your wife?!T I asked.
~'KA-huh. SheTs been dead twenty-two
years come October,TT he said. 'TI near about
went crazy when she died. I knew there wonTt
no God, else he wouldnTt have taken her away
from me. I started drinkinT, thinkinT it'd help
me forget. It didnTt. I drunk heavy for near
about fifteen years. Then I had a little spell
of trouble with my heart. So I started going to
church, thought that'dhelp me get straightened
out. But I couldn't feel any God in that church-
house full of dressed-up folks and fancy
singinT. Then I planted me a garden.'T The
old man paused for a minute, then turned to
me and said slowly, '~It just ainTt possible,
Phil, to watch a seed no biggerTn a ant grow
into a stalk of corn highTn your head and still
believe there ainTt no God. I feel like a man
again in my garden. It's the only thing I| got.
I even feel closer to Dorie there. I know I got
a bad heart, and I know | could set in the
shade and live ten years longer. But I ainTt
scared of dyinT, and I got to take care of my
garden. It's all I got left to do.TT
The next week was hot and dry. The
plants in Old Man SamTs garden looked wilted
and brown around the edges.I saw the old man
look at them with a hopeless look on his face.
Then his jaw tightened. ''I ainTt goinT to let
them plants die,TT he said.
The next morning about 1] o'clock I
looked out to see Mr. Sam trudging toward the
garden with a bucket in each hand. ~TMy God!T
I thought, ~He can't be carrying water all the
way from the spring!TT But he was. The spring
was at least two city blocks away from the
garden. I hurried across the field. ~~Stop it,
you fool!!/I shouted at him. ~TYou'll kill your-
self!!T I was damp with perspiration from the
short run; the old man, who had probably been
out since early morning, was dripping wet.
Great beads of perspiration stood out on his
foreh2ad. His shirt stuck to his back.
He grinned at me, showing tobacco-stained
teeth. ~DonTt get so het up, Phil, you'll bust
ablood vessel if you ainTt careful.'T I watched
asT heT emptied the contents of the buckets on
the plants. ~TI'm through,T he said. Every row
of plants had been watered.
~Don't do it again,TT I pleaded. ~~It isnTt
worth it, Mr. Sam.!T
~'Come on down and set awhile, son. I
the REBEL
got to rest up a little bit.TT But he didnTt
promise not to water the plants again. The
next morning he repeated the watering pro-
cedure - and the next - and the next. Lois and
Paul threatened and pleaded - to no avail. I
went to help, but he said no in a way that
brooked no argument, so I went home and
prayed for rain.
It didnTt rain though, and for two weeks,
even on Sundays, Mr. Sam watered his garden.
On the last Sunday afternoon I went down to
see him and found him dead.
The day after Old Man Sam died the rain
came. It fell in torrents for three days. On
Thursday the sun came out and Old Man Sam
was buried. I had thought heTd be buried in
SPRING, 1959
the shade of one of the huge old trees around
his little house. Instead he was taken to the
cemetary in Albermarle where his Dorie had
lain for ~Ttwenty-two years come October,TT and
buried beside her.
When I got home from the funeral,I walked
down to Old Man SamTs garden. The sun had
dried it out, and already the weeds were push-
ing up between the even green rows. I picked
up a hoe, and awkwardly began to destroy the
weeds. Presently the Johnson's gangling
twelve-year-old son came with another hoe
and began to chop along with me. He had blue
eyes and a square jaw. He handled the hoe
expertly and cleared the weeds from three
rows before I had finished my first one.
15
SMABHLLYW NVHIVN TIIW LN3TS
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In that splendid, old mansion on the hill
Jim Cutright is finally breathing his last. I
can see him now, lying in his musty bedroom
with the mildewed quilt pulled up tightly under
his chin. He was like that a week ago when I
was there glaring wildly at the cracks in the
plaster and gripping the edge of the quilt with
vulture-like hands. Luke Rowan was sitting
by the iron four-poster which caged his friend
and, from what I hear, he is still there.
I was about ten years old when first
saw Jim and Luke. It was early summer and I
was pulling weeds in the rhubarb patch when
I happened to see two strangers sauntering
around the bend in the road. The shorter man
was wiping his round face with a bright red
handkerchief which clashed loudly with his
glistening pink skin. He jerked along on two
thick legs which seemed completely over-
powered by his pear-like, shape. His overalls
were stretched over his protruding middle and
his light blue shirt revealed its true shade in
scattered patches which weren't stuck to his
greasy body. The taller man took one step to
his partnerTs two, and his long legs carried
him gracefully over the rutted clay of the
road. Although his arms swung loosely at his
sides, his whole body gave the appearance of
delicate strength, like that of a steel coil
ready to spring. When he came closer, his
ice-blue eyes glittered coldly. I remember
shuddering underneath the hot sun which
sprayed the rhubarb patch after they had
passed out of sight. Then I plunged my hands
below the warm earth and tried to forget about
the two strangers for the moment.
I saw Jim and Luke only two or three
more times that summer. They moved into the
deserted Rohrbough cabin on the farm adjoin-
ing ours, but they kept pretty much to them-
selves.
Another man who came by during those
vacant months was the cattle buyer, Jake
Andrews. He usually visited the farm once a
year, and we always were on the lookout for
him. That summer he had bought a new white
mare on which he galloped up the dusty road
in fine style. And his faithful shepherd dog
SPRING, 1959
Of Gold
by RACHEL STEINBECK
ran close behind. Dad met him at the gate,
and I hung around hoping I would get a chance
to rub down the new horse. She was a beauty.
I can still feel the hard ripples of muscles
beneath her soft skin and hear her hoofs click
behind me on the slate slab path leading to
the barn. As I was slipping the saddle off,
I heard Jake come running and yelling down
that path. He stopped for a moment in the
doorway io catch his breath and let his eyes
become accustomed to the shadows. Then he
came towards me without saying a word and
tore the saddle bags out of my hand. Hundreds
of gold coins fell from the pocket of that sad-
dle bag.
They glittered there in the dust on the
dirty planks. Even the dust which rose in the
air seemed to contain that same golden shim-
mer. I had never seen so much money in my
life. There must have been at least a quart of
gold coins lying there at my feet. Immediately
Jake began to scrape the money back into the
bag, and I bent over to help. Before I touched
a single coin, JakeTs shepherd stood growling
in front of me. I donTt know where he appeared
from, but I didnTt stay long enough to find out.
I never mentioned what had happened that
day. I felt guilty somehow over what I had
seen, and I never felt exactly right about that
cattle man again. I noticed he never came
around any more after that day.
That's what's strange about the whole
incident. Jake never came back, but his dog
did. That shepherd couldn't have been missed
- not by me anyway. He was a _ large black-
maned shepherd with black blotches down his
forelegs. His nose was more blunt than a col-
lieTs, but he held his head collie-proud and
carried his body in a delicate way. Jake used
him to herd in the cattle on the different farms,
and Dad said the dog was one of the best
cattle dogs he had ever seen. I donTt know
about his being a good cattle dog, but I do
know he knew how to protect Jake. You never
saw one without the other -- the dog even
slept at the foot of his masterTs bed. That
used to bother Mom quite a bit when Jake
would stay with us, but she always gave in.
1?
One night when he was visiting us, Mom
was going to the cellarhouse to get a crock of
buttermilk when she thought she heard some-
one slipping around outside the cow-shed. She
screamed and the giant shepherd bounded out
the kitchen door. He sniffed and poked around
the cow-shed for awhile and then stood pat-
iently while Mom got her crock from the cellar-
house. Later he followed her back to the kit-
chen. Jake laughed and said something about
the dog was just hunting around for someone
to protect, and that he was a poor one to need
protection. Mother laughed too, but the dog
got an extra serving of food that night and
from then on he was doubly welcome at our
house.
The last time I saw the shepherd was
around the last of July. He streaked across
our barnyard like all hell had broken loose. I
wasn't too surprised to see him in the neigh-
borhood because he had been hanging around
the Rohrbough farm ever since Jake had left
three weeks before. But I sure was surprised
to see him bounding across our farm with Jim
Cutright loping along close behind. Jim's
long legs easily lifted him over the fence, and
his arms waved a double-barreled shotgun
wildly above his head. They rounded the corn
crib twice and then both flew down toward the
river. I jumped on old Frank and rode after
them. At the edge of the river both Jim and
the Shepherd paused, and then the dog pushed
himself off the bank and into the water. Jim
raised the shot gun to his shoulder and aimed
it at the swimming dog. There was a sharp
report and the dog sank with barely a ripple.
He didnTt even yell out. The shot must have
hit him right in the head. Jim just stood there
for a long time, from where I was, I could
only see his tall black shape pinned against
the red sky. He didnTt look strong then. He
just looked tired.
I guess Jim and Luke grew aggravated
because the dog stayed around their farm so
much. Folks talked like he might have gone
mad because of his peculiar behavior.
After the cattle buyer left, we didnTt see
the dog for awhile until one day when I was
up in the north quarter -- where our property
joins the old Rohrbough place. I saw that dog
jumping over the fence that divides the land.
He would jump over at one place, go a couple
of steps, and crawl under the fence. Then he
would run around a black circle on the other
side of the tence where a fire had burned at
one time. He didnTt notice me. He just kept
18
on jumping over, crawling under, and circling
the charred pieces of wood. His black mane
was full of cockle burrs and his sides were
beginning to cave in. All the grass was worn
away where he had been making that circle.
He must have been at it for a long time, be-
cause the path was so definite and the grass
beginning to cover up the remains of the fire.
People said that at night he would just stand
over the black dust and howl like his heart
would break. I never did understand why Jake
Andrews would ride off and leave such a fine
animal like that.
Not too long after I saw Jim shoot the
Shepherd, Jim and Luke paid us a visit. That
was the only time they ever came on our land
just to be sociable. They stood under the
grape arbor near the barn and talked to Dad
for a long time. I didnTt hear too much of what
they were saying, but I could tell that Jim
was doing most of the talking. He would fling
those long arms out making swooping g2stures
toward their farm, and then Jake would nod
his funny, round blob of a head. He still had
that red handkerchief and was making good
use of it that day. His hands shook and his
black eyes kept jumping to Dad and then to
Jim. ITve never seen the heat get away with
anyone like it did with Luke Rowan. Dad
wasn't saying much. He just leaned up against
one of the arbor posts and chewed on a piece
of straw. About the only motion he made was
to brush a fly away from his bald head. Fin-
ally, Dad nodded yes to what must have been
a very important question, because Jim's
ice-blue eyes lit up. Luke quit wiping with
his red handkerchief. Then they all shook
hands and Dad came up to the porch where |
was. He said, ~TSon, we just bought the Rohr-
bough place,TT and I looked back at the two
men who were now leaving. Jim sure was tall.
He just stepped right over the fence, while
squatty Luke had to crawl through.
Jim and Luke moved into town after they
left the river. It seems like they came into
quite a bit of money. In fact, John Lovette
who works at the bank told Dad that those men
bought the mansion on the hill with cash -
gold coins right across the counter. John must
have known because he counted the gold out
himself. Anyway, they have been living up
there for years now, and they haven~t made
friends with too many people. They would
rather be by themselves.
Luke sure is going to be lonely after Jim
dies.
the REBEL
the rebel review
AN OLD AND NEW LOOK AT THE NEW AND OLD SOUTH
The South, as a geographical area, is,
except for its history, little differen t from
any other regional areas in the United States.
Its people are possessed with the same
faults and virtues, the same prides and pre-
judices as people generally are. The South-
erner has been exposed to the same good and
evil forces as other people in other lands.
Any realistic analysis of the South will re-
veal that there is no such thing as a South-
ern mind, a Southern temper, a Southern atti-
tude, a Southern hospitality, or, for that mat-
ter, a Southern violence. The only real thing
that distinguishes a Southerner isT that he
happens to live in a state that once made up
a part of the Confedercy.
Yet, for one hundred and fifty years out-
siders have assumed that the South is dif-
ferent and have assigned to it a uniqueness
which it does not deserve. Because of this
assumption, the Southerner has often as-
sumed the role he is expected to play and is,
therefore, partly responsible for perpetuat-
ing the myths about the South.
And for the same period of time the South
has been exposed to constant moral indict-
ment. From the days of New England aboli-
tionists to the present, the South has been
attacked for evils, which, though present,
are not necessarily indigenous. Such a con-
dition has forced the Southerner to defend
himself.
It is not surprising, therefore, that one
still find books which do no more than re-
peat all the earlier clichés of condemnation.
It is refreshing to find a book written in
1959 which seeks to interpret the South rea-
listically and objectively. Such a book is
Hodding CarterTs, The Angry Scar (Double-
day, 425 pp., $5.95), which tells the awful
story of Reconstruction. It is a book which
has no respect for professional Southerners
or professional anti-S aitherners, for it clear-
ly reveals how their counterparts of a hundred
years ago engendreed a bitterness tha t is
still with us.
SPRING, 1959
After the fighting was over in 1865, the
stage for tragedy was already set. The sorry
performance and its aftermath is the general
concern of this book, which shows how Re-
construction entered into every phase of
Southern life, political, religious, economic,
and social. It is the story of the carpetbag-
ger, the scatawags, the radical politicians,
and the Ku Klux Klan. It is a story of pill-
age, waste, and human exploitation.
It is an old story, but this time freshly
told in narrative form. The author attempts
to minimize the sensational. aspects of Re-
construction and to relate only those which
account for present-day attitudes. In order
to account for the present, he must examine
the past.
Hodding Carter has made an effort to give
his book meaning for the present genera-
tion. He has done something good, for he
has shown that roots lie deep.
Unfortunately, other interpreters are not
equipped with CarterTs background and un-
derstanding. This includes William Peters,
a free-lance writer, who has recently written
a book on the South called The Southern
Temper (Doubleday: 283 pp., $3.95). Peters
is a Northerner who has written about sports,
crime, politics, and medicine for nearly every
publication in the United States, and has
now taken an extensive trip throughout the
South.
Peters is an integrationist and his book
is little more ~than a biased account of the
movement to desegregate Southern schools.
"Tt is not surprising,TT he says, ~~that the
literature of the segregationists m the eve
desegregation should bear a strong resemb-
lance to that of the apologists for slavery on
the eve of the Civil War.TT It is therefore,
not surprising that the literature of the de-
segregationists should bear a strong resemb-
lance to that of the abolitionists of the
1850's.
This is unfortunate, for it enables the
modern critic of the South to pass off social
propaganda for fact.
19
There is nothing at all objective about
this book. Nor is the picture of the South a
fresh one. One chapter includes the amaz-:
ing, almost ludicrous analysis of Southern
womanhood. The Southern woman, as pictur--
ed here, is sexually. suffering from a com-
plex which is somehow related to the racial
problem. A far different picture of the South-
ern woman is found in: CarterTs story of re-
construction.
The Southern Temper is filled with a
monotonous barrage of statistics, recorded
conversations and glorified accounts of act-
ive integratimists. The main fault, as it is
with other superficial indictments, is over-
simplification.
* * *
The Masters, C. P . Snow, 352 pp. Double-
day Co., Garden City, N. Y. 1959, $1.25.
This is the best known volume of C. P.
SnowTs series, Strangers and Brothers, on
English life during the last half century.
The book traces the progress of Lewis Eliot
from his lower class provincial background
to a position of prominence. However, the
story is also a record of the radical transitions
that have taken place in English society in
the 20th Century.
*
* *
The Classic Theatre, Volume II, Edited by
Eric Bently, 512 pp., Doubleday B ook Co.,
Garned City, N. Y., 1959. $1.15.
Volume II The Classic Theater Series
presents five German plays. New transla-
tions of these classics were made especial-
ly for this series. The plays are: Egmont,
by Goethe; Mary Stuart and Don Carlos, by
Schiller; Renthesilia and Prince of Homburg,
by Kleist.
* *
Prefaces To Criticism, Walter J. Bate, 218
pp. Doubleday Book Co., Garden City, N. Y.
1959, $.95.
A briefT but comprehensive history of liter-
ary criticism, it is divided into two sections:
The first section deals with classical and
neo-classical criticism. Aristotle, by virtue
of his Poetics, which mark the beginning of
literary criticism, is considered to be the
representative of classic antiquity. Sir Philip
Sidney, as the first great English poet-critic,
represents the Renaissance statement of clas-
sicism. John Dayden, who embodied the neo-
20
classical ideals of correctness, unity, and
clarity, and who wrote in so many genres, is
considered to be the great model of neo-clas-
sicism. Representing the close of :the classi-
cal tradition is Samuel Johnson, who main-
tained a conviction that the aim of artis
~'the mental and moral enlargement of man.TT
The. second part of the. book deals with
modern literary criticism. William Hazlitt,
the main figure of Romantic individualism,
exemplifies the union of empiricism with
emotional intuition. Samuel Coleridge repre-
sents the group of Romantic Transcendental-
ists. Because of his constant support of the
dignity of critical thinking, Matthew Arnold
represents the period of Humanism and Nat-
uralism. T.S. Eliot is examined as the central
figure in modern criticism.
Through examination of their work, theories,
contemporaries, and period, Professor Bate
provides a valuable guide to the study of
these critics who have so influenced western
literary thought and practice.
SANDRA PORTER MILLS
* * *
The Picaresque Saint by R. W. B. Lewis.
Philadelphia: Lippincott 317 pp. $6.00
In The Picaresque Saint, R.W.B. Lewis
explores a generation of writers, European
and American, through the works of its most
representative figures: Alberto Moravia, Albert
Camus, Ignazio Silone, William Faulkner,
Graham Greene, and Andre Malraus. In this
study of these writers he unearths a basic
clay from which he molds his ~~picaresque
saintTT --a saint-sinner-rogue fashioned in
some degree after the old hero of the early
picaresque novels.
~'Paradoxical as he is, the picaresque saint
is the logical hero of our paradoxical ageTT,
Mr. Lewis contends. He emphasizes the change
in two generations by pointing out the almost
complete about-face from the artist prototype
of the generation of Thomas Mann, James
Joyce, and Marcel Proust to the picaresque
saint of the present generation. In the former
generation, Mr. Lewis finds ~Ta world in which
the aesthetic experience was supreme, and
one which criticism dealt with properly enough
by means of close technjcal analysis, by de-
licate discrimination of texture and design.TT
However, the world of the present generation
is one ~~in which the chief experience has
been the discovery of what it means to bea
human being and to be alive.TT
the REBEL
Although the trend of the present generation
has been away from the ~~aesthetic experience!T
of its predecessor, Mr. Lewis calls our atten-
tion to the unmistakable debt owed it by the
comtemporary writers in question. Certainly
the picaresque saint of the contemporaries
is not without artistic undertones.
Mr. Lewis has written a very important crit-
ical work. His observations and conclusions
show a genuine freshness of approach, which,
in the final analysis, makes the author one
of the outstanding young critics at work today.
HUGH AGEE
* * *
Claudelle Inglish. By Erskine Caldwell.
Boston-Toronto: Little, Brown and Company.
1958. 208 pp. $3.75
Erskine Caldwell received first acclaim
with the publication of Tobacco Road in 1932
and God's Little Acre in 1933. In his latest
novel, Claudelle Inglish, he follows the same
formula employed in these books with a poor,
earth-tied tenant family stuggling to eke out
a living on the dusty soil of the deep South.
In CladwellTs early novels he uses as a
setting the depression-ridden thirties of the
lower South. With Claudelle Inglish. how-
ever, he has attempted to modernize this
South. He put telephones in the tenant houses
and tractors on the farms.
As for sex, this book has it. Claudelle
Inglish, the tenant farmerTs daughter, has
just been jilted by her lover who leaves her
heart shattered. After brooding for half a day,
she proceeds to go to bed with almost every
farm boy and wayward husband in Smyrna
county. Even the Preacher of the Stony Creek
Free Will Church cannot resist the seducing
methods of Claudelle.
Caldwell also uses the one other con-
vention of popular fiction: violence. He winds
up the book with a liberal amount of blood-
shed.
In summary, the reader cannot say the
book is a masterpiece carrying a deep, earth-
shaking theme; it is, however, entertaining.
ROBERT L. HARPER
* * *
Joyner Library - Available Books of Interest
The Russian Novel in English Fiction by
Gilbert Phelps London: Hutchinson's Uni-
versity Library.
SPRING, 1959
Mr. Phelps traces the reception of pre-
Revolution Russian novels in English trans-
lation; particularly those of Turganev, and
attempts to show their impact on English and
American wr iters.
Dickens at Work by John Butt and Kathleen
Tillotson. Fairlawn, New Jersey: Essential
Books, Inc.
An examination of a number of DickensT
novels in light of the conditions under which
he wrote them.
Style in the French Novel by Stephen Ullmann
An examination of certain elements in
the style of French novelists. The last two
chapters dealing with imagery in the novel
are particularly interesting.
The Sinai Sort by Norman Mac Caig . New
York: The Macmillan Company
The second book of poetry by Norman
Mac Gaig to be published in the United States
(The first was Riding Lights.) Mr. Mac CaigTs
stirring images makes this book worthwhile
reading.
Cas I A Play in Five Acts by George Kaiser
An English translation of George Kaiser-
's second play in a dramatic trilogy that de-
picts the conflict of social morality and the
complusion of power. Kaiser got thumbs
down from the Hitler gang for his efforts.
Afternoon of an Author by FT. Scott Fitzgerald
New York: Charles ScribnerTs Sons
A selection of uncollected stories and
essays arranged in near chronological order
to show the pattern of maturation in Fitz-
geraldTs writing. Arthur Mizener writes a co-
gent introduction, along with appropriate
notes with each selection.
* * *
The Nigger of the Narcissus by Joseph Con-
rad Garden City, New York Doubleday.
190 pp. $2.95.
A reissue of the novel originally publish-
ed in 1897, The Nigger of the Narcissus is
one of ConradTs memorable tales of men at
sea. James Wait is the ~~NiggerTT of the
ship Narcissus, and around him revolves the
Struggle of the crew aganist the sea and
aganist each other.
21
| YOUTH VIEWED IN MOOD
Yesterday we walked upon the beach,
| (Copper pennies on a gleaming desert)
. Flung our laughter skyward
| to mingle with the spray,
) Clasped hands and watched the crimson rim
) disappear beneath fiery horizon.
) Then the sand grew cold,
We sought warmth in embrace,
and love was born mid wind and salt.
Then time with malevolent mien,
Caressed our cheeks and hair,
Perfumed our agile bodies
With the scent of death,
And severed Youth's grip.
Today we speak no more of tomorrow,
But fearing the coldness of the earth,
Seek warmth in permanent embrace.
BARBARA JO CHAPPELL
22
Conrad's prose style captivates the read- and misshapen with a tormented face-a face
er. He sculptures each character with delicate pathetic and brutal: the tragic, the mysterious
forceful strokes. Wait is a fine example: the repulsive mask of a niggerTs soul.
~'He held his head up in the glare of the Conrad's work is of a quality that de-
lamp-a head vigorously modelled into deep serves to be reread; certainly many readers
shadows and shining lights-a head powerful _ will enjoy their voyage with the Narcissus.
NELL AGEE
CHIAROSCURO
pneumatic crush-puff snow generalizes rooftops,
fillets fences, butter-welds walls;
all this white, salt-shakered on
the fields (like humus-dark)
on the streets (like soot saved scars)
now all sub-snow.
power cables that once hung like abrupt pencil lines
aganist the summer sky now hang
wan concavities of thin-lined smiles
drooling ice-rime saliva.
and the trees, the ones behind the wire-squared fence,
stand (stiffeden stock) black in the dayTs late light.
but gently
the silence
and in the snow dusted distance dart
two brilliant, rigid tentacles
really reaching rays
colliding coldly in the air.
but gently the
silence
and as I step, my silhouetted legs puncture the vast
pillow-soft plot and
like a fly on dull white paint
I fly-track through the snow;
the wee bit of gravel on the sclerotic coat
and always, though chance vehicles pass,
snow-bulged and mechanized,
even with three hundred horsepower passing by,
always gently
the silence
DAVE LANE
the REBEL
HAVE A NICE SUMMER...
WE SHALL LOOK FORWARD
TO SEEING YOU NEXT YEAR.
voila! le jacket pour
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ideal for participating in all sorts
of vacation fun. Get it-and all your
vacation apparel-here...the
the better.
sooner
MENS WEAR
307 EVANS STREET
GREENVILLE, N. C.
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PROGRESSIVE
PRINTER�
PHONE
201 WEST 9th ST PLaza 2-7245
-- Welcome to --
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ooTHE BARBECUE HOUSE�
Intersection Ayden-F armville H ighway
Greenville, N. C. Phone 4160
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A Cordial Welcome to College
Students and Faculty
Air Conditioned 127 S. EVANS ST GREENVILLE,N.C.
519 Cotanche St.
SPRING 1959 23
GUARANTY BANK
and
TRUST COMPANY
Serving Eastern North Carolina
Since 1901
Member Federal Deposit Insurance Corp.
"*CLOTHES TO SUIT THE COLLEGE TASTE�
222 EAST FIFTH STREET
we
328 Evans St.
~Eastern Carolina's
Shopping CenterTT
Greenville, N.C.
fo Milk and Ice Cream
Grade A
Compliments of
PERSON-GARRETT
TOBACCO CO.
Leaf Tobacco
Greenville, North Carolina
KNOW HOW, WHEN, AND WHERE TO SAVE
YOUR MONEY PROFITABLY.
SEE US
HOME SAVINGS AND LOAN
ASSOCIATION
405 Evans St. Greenville, N.C.
24
the REBEL
