<?xml version="1.0"?>
<TEI xmlns="http://www.tei-c.org/ns/1.0" xmlns:xsi="http://www.w3.org/2001/XMLSchema-instance" xsi:schemaLocation="http://www.tei-c.org/ns/1.0 http://digital.lib.ecu.edu/tei/xsd/tei_P5.xsd">
  <teiHeader>
    <fileDesc>
      <titleStmt>
        <title>
        </title>
        <author>
        </author>
        <respStmt>
          <resp>Text encoded by</resp>
          <name>Digital Collections</name>
        </respStmt>
      </titleStmt>
      <publicationStmt>
        <distributor>East Carolina University. J. Y. Joyner Library</distributor>
        <address>
          <addrLine>Digital Collections</addrLine>
          <addrLine>Joyner Library, East Carolina University</addrLine>
          <addrLine>East Fifth Street, Greenville NC 27858-4353 USA</addrLine>
        </address>
        <date>2012</date>
      </publicationStmt>
      <sourceDesc>
        <bibl>
        </bibl>
      </sourceDesc>
    </fileDesc>
    <encodingDesc>
      <samplingDecl>
        <p>All quotation marks retained as data.</p>
        <p>All end-of-line hyphens have been removed, and the trailing part of a word has been joined to the preceding line.</p>
        <p>All smart quotes have been converted into straight quotes.</p>
      </samplingDecl>
      <classDecl>
        <taxonomy xml:id="LCSH">
          <bibl>Library of Congress Subject Headings</bibl>
        </taxonomy>
      </classDecl>
    </encodingDesc>
    <profileDesc>
      <creation>
        <date>
        </date>
      </creation>
      <langUsage xml:lang="en-US">
        <language ident="en-US" usage="100">English</language>
      </langUsage>
      <textClass>
        <keywords scheme="#LCSH">
          <list>
            <item>
            </item>
          </list>
        </keywords>
      </textClass>
    </profileDesc>
  </teiHeader>
  <text>
    <body>
      <div type="other">
        <p rend="align(centerbold)">[This text is machine generated and may contain errors.]</p>
        <pb facs="00062548_0001" />
        <p>
          <lb />
          <lb />FALL<lb />1959<lb /><lb /></p>
        <pb facs="00062548_0002" />
        <p>
          <lb />
          <lb />The REBEL VOLUME 3<lb /><lb />FALL, 1959 NUMBER 1<lb /><lb />Published by the Student Government Association of East Carolina College. Created by<lb />the Publications Board of East Carolina College as a literary magazine to be edited by<lb />students and designed for the publications of student material.<lb /><lb />Staff<lb /><lb />BUSINESS MANAGER<lb />Woody Davis<lb /><lb />EDITOR<lb />Dan Williams<lb /><lb />Know How, When and Where To Save<lb />Your Money Profitably<lb /><lb />SEE US<lb />HOME SAVINGS AND<lb /><lb />LOAN ASSOCIATION<lb />405 Evans St. Greenville, N. C.<lb /><lb />f<lb /><lb />Tender, Juicy, Charcoal<lb />STEAKS<lb />bring the family<lb /><lb />Private Dining Room<lb />For Banquets<lb />Seating Capacity Up to 85<lb /><lb />Dial PL 2-2185<lb /><lb />CINDERELLA<lb />RESTAURANT<lb /><lb />Hwy. 264 Greenville, N. C.<lb /><lb />FACULTY ADVISOR<lb />Ovid Pierce<lb /><lb />ASSISTANT TO THE EDITOR<lb />Jesse Moore<lb /><lb />BOOK REVIEW EDITOR<lb />Sandra Porter<lb /><lb />EXCHANGE EDITOR<lb />Kay McLawhorn<lb /><lb />ART EDITOR<lb />Nelson Dudley<lb /><lb />ADVERTISING MANAGER<lb />Nancy Keith<lb /><lb />ASSISTANTS TO EDITORS<lb /><lb />Gail Cohoon<lb /><lb />Betsy Goodwin<lb /><lb />Jim Roper<lb /><lb />Larry Blizzard<lb /><lb />Lee Lovette<lb /><lb />Joyce Mustian<lb /><lb />Pat Farmer<lb /><lb />Li)<lb /><lb />CHARGE ACCOUNTS INVITED<lb />FORMALS RENTED<lb /><lb />The College Shop<lb /><lb />oClothes To Suit The College Taste�<lb /><lb />222 East Fifth Street<lb /><lb />The REBEL<lb /></p>
        <pb facs="00062548_0003" />
        <p>
          <lb />
          <lb />ART<lb /><lb />NOTICE"Contributors to The REBEL<lb />business offices are located at 309T Austin Building.<lb /><lb />REBEL REVIEW edited by Sandra Porter<lb /><lb />Table of Centents<lb /><lb />COVER, oThe ThinkerT, by Larry Blizzard<lb /><lb />REBEL YELL .-<lb />FEATURES<lb /><lb />An Interview with Inglis Fletcher<lb /><lb />ESSAYS<lb /><lb />The World of Hemingway by James Bearden<lb /><lb />_ 138<lb /><lb />Satire of Organized Religion in some of the Writings i<lb /><lb />of Sinclair Lewis by Claire Holt<lb />La Cuisine Des Anges or My Three<lb />Angels by Dr. Roy Prince<lb />The Wood Cutter by Dr. Bruce Carter<lb /><lb />FICTION<lb /><lb />oConfidentially, Russ Warren� by Tom Carson<lb />oHero� by Tom Jackson i<lb /><lb />Silent Sentinel (frontice) by Rose Marie Gornto<lb />Boats by Emily Neele ___ Bee oS:<lb />The Brothers by Larry Blizzard<lb /><lb />Jam Session by Rose Marie Gornto<lb /><lb />Steeple by Emily Neele ___.<lb /><lb />Number One by Nelson Dudley<lb /><lb />Fear by Rose Marie Gornto<lb /><lb />POETRY<lb /><lb />The Masses by Kay McLawhon<lb /><lb />Do Not Tap Your Tunes by Janice Brand<lb />Beware The Treacherous Horizons<lb />Song of the Bough by Janice Brand<lb /><lb />The Light House Re<lb /><lb />Reviews by Dr. Herbert R. Paschal, Bryan Harrison,<lb />Virginia Evans, Hugh Agee, Dr. Hubert Coleman,<lb />Sherre Maske.<lb /><lb />22<lb /><lb />28<lb />26<lb /><lb />should be directed to P. O. Box 1420, E. C. C. Editorial and<lb />Manuscripts and artwork submitted by mail<lb /><lb />should be accompanied by a self-addressed envelope and return postage. The publishers assume no<lb />responsibility for the return of manuscripts or artwork.<lb /><lb />FALL, 1959<lb /><lb />co<lb /></p>
        <pb facs="00062548_0004" />
        <p>
          <lb />
          <lb />The REBEL<lb /><lb /></p>
        <pb facs="00062548_0005" />
        <p>AN<lb /><lb />INTERVIEW WITH<lb /><lb />INGLIS FLETCHER<lb /><lb />One of North CarolinaTs most promi-<lb />nent novelists, Mrs. Inglis Fletcher, was<lb />generous in affording the Rebel a per-<lb />sonal interview transcribed on the fol-<lb />lowing pages. Mrs. FletcherTs home, Ban-<lb />don which is seventeen miles from Eden-<lb />ton, possesses the atmosphere of the old<lb />southern plantation. Many of Mrs. Flet-<lb />cherTs manuscripts are typed by her hus-<lb />band, Mr. John Fletcher, who enjoys her<lb />work very much. They are both interest-<lb />ed in colonial history, and Bandon con-<lb />tains many antiques of that period.<lb /><lb />Highlighting the long list of Mrs.<lb /><lb />1. What aroused your interest in North<lb />Carolina history?<lb /><lb />My grandfather. His name wag Jo-<lb />seph Chapman from Tyrrell County.<lb /><lb />Then he lived in Illinois. On his place<lb /><lb />he had every tree and plant that grows<lb /><lb />in N.C. The funny thing about this<lb />was that some of these plants are<lb />considered weeds here " beautiful<lb />trumpet vine across the end of the<lb />house"people came for miles to see<lb />those; here we try to get rid of them.<lb /><lb />Joseph Chapman came here in 1688.<lb />He had a shipyard on the Alligator<lb /><lb />River.<lb /><lb />. Did you feel that North Carolina<lb />history had been neglected in fic-<lb />tion?<lb /><lb />Yes, decidedly. My first book really<lb />came about while looking in Satro<lb />Library in San Francisco. The li-<lb />brarian suggested that I write a novel<lb />about this section because no one had<lb />ever written one with the exception<lb />of James Boyd, who wrote a juvenile<lb />called Drums. North Carolinians<lb />know their own history and they donTt<lb />care if anyone else does or not.<lb /><lb />3. Could you comment on the locations<lb />of your major sources of information?<lb />In North Carolina? in England?<lb /><lb />A great many papers in the Chowan<lb />County Courthouse and in Edenton<lb />have helped me. Both contain quan-<lb />tities of papers filled with informa-<lb />~tion. Also, the Library of Congress<lb /><lb />FALL, 1959<lb /><lb />bo<lb /><lb />FletcherTs historical novels are: Man of<lb />Albemarle, RaleighTs Eden, Roanoke<lb />Hundred, The Scotswoman, and Lusty<lb />Wind for Carolina, which was a best-<lb />seller. CormorantTs Brood, her latest nov-<lb /><lb />el, is superbly reviewed in this issue of<lb />the Rebel by Dr. Herbert R. Paschal. An-<lb />other of Mrs. FletcherTs recent releases,<lb />Pay, Pack, and Follow, also promises to<lb />be widely read. Mrs. Fletcher is repre-<lb />sented on the East Carolina campus by<lb />two grandchildren, Carolista and Dav-<lb />id Fletcher<lb /><lb />and the University of North Carolina<lb />Library. In England, my major source<lb />is the British Museum. My first in-<lb />formation came from the Huntington<lb />Library in Pasedena, where there is<lb />a great collection of early colonial<lb />material. In connection with this ques-<lb />tion perhaps I should tell you of my<lb />new method of getting information<lb />on the period. Each semester at the<lb />University of North Carolina, Dr.<lb />Hugh Lefler hag a class which covers<lb />this general period. I find out when<lb />he is teaching the particular part of<lb />the period in which I am interested<lb />and I go up and attend his class. This<lb />takes about ten days. At the end of<lb />this time, after I have ograduated,� I<lb />address ~he graduate students of the<lb />class.<lb /><lb />4. Do you fee] that the North Carolina<lb />background still remains an unde-<lb />veloped area in so far as fiction goes?<lb />I do, indeed. There could be hundreds<lb />of books written even about colonial<lb />history prior to the Revolution. I<lb />donTt think it has been even touched.<lb /><lb />5. What are some of your' favorite books<lb />(fiction) on North Carolina life?<lb /><lb />I donTt know so much about the fic-<lb />tion in North Carolina. I know more<lb />about the source material. You know,<lb />they say that authors donTt read! I<lb />think ithe most extremely interpreta-<lb />tive books would be The Plantation<lb />6. Do you feel that it helps a novelist<lb /><lb />5<lb /><lb /></p>
        <pb facs="00062548_0006" />
        <p>10.<lb /><lb />to have others write about the same<lb />area before him?<lb /><lb />I think youTre better off if you come<lb />first. ItTs better to have someone else<lb />to keep up to you than for you to<lb />by Mr. Ovid Pierce and William<lb />PolkTs book on Southern Accent.<lb />keep up to someone else I was influ-<lb />enced by Sir Walter Scott. I still en-<lb />joy reading Scott. He is the greatest<lb />of all historical novelists. None of the<lb />moderns can touch him. His historical<lb />facts were not so accurate, but he<lb />wrote a terrific story. Now itTs the<lb />fashion to keep to the history and in<lb />doing this you lose some of the story<lb />which really carries the book. So, I<lb />think it would help to follow some-<lb />one. However, I donTt think it is good<lb />to follow anyone too closely because<lb />youTve got to have your own individ-<lb />uality and your own methods.<lb /><lb />. Do you feel that historical fiction<lb /><lb />imposes an additional burden upon<lb />the novelists?<lb /><lb />ItTs much harder to write historical<lb />novels because you have to be two<lb />things"a writer of fiction and a his-<lb />torian. The historical novelist is look-<lb />ed down on by critics ag a sort of<lb />maverick"one who doesnTt belong to<lb />anyone.<lb /><lb />. Do you feel that your novels offer a<lb /><lb />pattern for historical fiction, that is,<lb />in so far as they reflect varieties of<lb />mood and behavior?<lb /><lb />No, I donTt write to what is called a<lb />pattern. I think that in order to get<lb />a mood, you must tell other things<lb />besides the action without being ob-<lb />vious about it. For example, the scen-<lb />ery, sounds and smell of a certain<lb />locality. This wa'y you put your read-<lb />ers in the background. The same thing<lb />applies to characters. If you donTt see<lb />your characters moving around, talk-<lb />ing and acting, you might as well get<lb />rid of ~them because no one else (the<lb />reader) will see them.<lb /><lb />. Do you do much re-writing?<lb /><lb />Considerable. My trouble is that I<lb />have too much material. I rewrote<lb />RaleighTs Eden six times. I started<lb />out with 1200 pages and it turned out<lb />to be around 500.<lb /><lb />Do you revise as you go or wait un-<lb />til you have finished a manuscript?<lb />No, I write it right through. YouTd<lb /><lb />11.<lb /><lb />12.<lb /><lb />13.<lb /><lb />14.<lb /><lb />15.<lb /><lb />16.<lb /><lb />never get to the end of it the other<lb />way.<lb /><lb />Does revision ever change the theme<lb />of a novel for you?<lb /><lb />The theme igs never changed. The<lb />theme of all my novels is the same"<lb />the land and the freedom that comes<lb />from ~the land. This is just brought<lb />out in various ways.<lb /><lb />Would you discuss your methods?<lb />How much do you do a day?<lb /><lb />I have an organized pattern of writ-<lb />ing. I go to work everyday at 9 oT-<lb />clock and work until 4 oTclock. No one<lb />comes to see or calls until] after 4 oT-<lb />clock. The number of pages per day<lb />varies. Some days as few as two or<lb />three. Ideas come fast when they<lb />start.<lb /><lb />Do you feel that you are exhausting<lb />your interest in North Carolina ma-<lb />terial ?<lb />Oh, no. I could write all around about<lb />this part of the country. My origina]<lb />idea was to take a family across from<lb />England to North America, but ITve<lb />never been able to get my heroes out<lb />of North Carolina.<lb />Would you be interested in coming<lb />up to the Civil War period? the mod-<lb />ern period?<lb />No, I donTt know anything about the<lb />Civil War. I have said publically that<lb />I would go no further foward than the<lb />signing of the Constitution by North<lb />Carolina. One reason I like to write<lb />about North Carolina is that it is the<lb />purest example of democracy as the<lb />founding fathers planned it. I think<lb />it is the most democratic state in the<lb />Union.<lb />Do you submit your manuscripts to<lb />your publisher in its completed form<lb />or do you send in parts of it as they<lb />are completed?<lb />That is something I have done both<lb />ways. I prefer to send it al] in at one<lb />time. ThatTs the way I give it to my<lb />husband. He types all of my manu-<lb />scripts in a little two fingered meth-<lb />od of his. He never sees the first man-<lb />uscript until it is all finished.<lb />Do you discuss your work with some-<lb />one"perhaps your husband"for pos-<lb />sible suggestions or comments?<lb />No. Generally, I think lots of people<lb />discuss their work with other people.<lb />(Continued on Page 20)<lb /><lb />The REBEL<lb /></p>
        <pb facs="00062548_0007" />
        <p>Confidentially Russ Warren<lb /><lb />by Tom Carson<lb /><lb />Paris! London! Switzerland! Neuren-<lb />burg! HeTd seen them all, Russ Warren<lb />had. His life as a newspaper reporter<lb />had been long and rough.<lb /><lb />As he leaned over the rail of the ship,<lb />he thought of what it was going to be<lb />like now: no racing to get that almighty<lb />story; no commie on his tail; no sleeping<lb />in crummy, second class hotels.<lb /><lb />He laughed aloud and said, oThose<lb />damn hotels.�<lb /><lb />oYah, did you speak?�<lb /><lb />At first Russ thought he had im-<lb />agined the voice, but after adjusting his<lb />eyes to the fog, he saw standing next to<lb />him a girl. Yes, thatTs exactly what he<lb />sa *: just a girl.<lb /><lb />He looked closer and saw a plain face.<lb />On that face was a nose too large to go<lb />unnoticed, sharp blue eyes jutting out<lb />from under unplucked eyebrows, and an<lb />oversized mouth with lips untouched by<lb />rouge.<lb /><lb />Then there was sleep.<lb /><lb />Russ awoke with a slow, dull feeling<lb />and looked around. Slowly he became<lb /><lb />He saw standing next to him a girl.<lb />FALL, 1959<lb /><lb />He decided from her accent that she<lb />must be Swedish.<lb /><lb />A child-like expression crept over her<lb />face.<lb /><lb />oYou are American, huh?� she asked.<lb /><lb />oSure, American,� Russ answered flat-<lb />ly.<lb />Evidently the girl didnTt catch the bit-<lb />ter sarcasm in his voice. or maybe she<lb />was use to it. Russ didnTt know and<lb />cared less.<lb /><lb />oYah, I know,� she replied. Russ leaned<lb />again on the railing.<lb /><lb />The fog was beginning to lift.<lb /><lb />The girl went on. Her broken speech,<lb />though crude, was spoken carefully, al-<lb />most cautiously.<lb /><lb />oT, too, am going one time to be Ameri-<lb />can. Do you go alone? I do, but I hear<lb />that in America if you go alone, you not<lb />so very long. People are all friends: like<lb />you.�<lb /><lb />Russ Warren, You friendly? This he<lb />thought to himself: oDamn,� again aloud,<lb />oNaive.�<lb /><lb />oT know fella. He a soldier. He say<lb />you come to America. We have good time<lb />there. So I come.�<lb /><lb />So I come, thought Russ, as easy as<lb />as that. Now sheTs almost there. So<lb />what now?<lb /><lb />Russ knew the story so well: G.lITs.<lb />occupation, leaves.<lb /><lb />Russ had always looked forward to<lb />those leaves.<lb /><lb />All of a sudden he found himself re-<lb />membering a leave which he hadnTt<lb />thought about in ages.<lb /><lb />He remembered receiving his paper<lb />entitling him to forty-eight hours to de-<lb />vote to his own leisure " leave. He could<lb />remember how he had laughed about hav-<lb />ing a whole two days to paint the town<lb />a fire-truck red.<lb /><lb />ThereTd been only one problem, no town.<lb />Oh sure, there was a hint of a village<lb />two or three miles up the side of ~a moun-<lb />tain.<lb /><lb />That was one time he had wished to be<lb />right in the middle of the hottest war<lb /><lb />7<lb /><lb /></p>
        <pb facs="00062548_0008" />
        <p>- er fought.<lb /><lb />HeTd been out covering an assignment<lb />which carried him out in the middle of<lb />nowhere, and here he was stuck for two<lb />miserable days.<lb /><lb />But after thinking it over, Russ had<lb />decided to try to paint the village a rosy<lb />hue if not a fire-truck red.<lb /><lb />The snow fell softly around him ag he<lb />made his way up the mountainside.<lb /><lb />It seemed as if he had walked a mil-<lb />lion miles, when Russ saw the village:<lb />five houses on one side of the little path,<lb />on the other side sat the center of activi-<lb />ty, the Inn.<lb /><lb />Russ walked up on the wooden porch<lb />of the Inn and hit his heavy combat boots<lb />against the wooden railing encircling the<lb />porch.<lb /><lb />A light shining through a tiny window<lb />and from under the door made a patch-<lb />work pattern on the freshly fallen: snow.<lb /><lb />The door swung open before Russ<lb />could knock, and standing in the door-<lb />way was a tall, big-framed man.<lb /><lb />oWelcome, friend. Bad night, yah?�<lb /><lb />oYah,� mumbled Russ and walked in.<lb /><lb />A warm bright flame leaped and danced<lb />in the huge, old-fashioned fireplace at<lb />the far end of the long room.<lb /><lb />The furnishings were scant and un-<lb />attractive, but there was an atmosphere<lb />of home and Russ liked it.<lb /><lb />Before realizing it, Russ was out of his<lb />coat, hat, gloves, and boots and sitting in<lb />a tall, straight back chair in front of the<lb />fire.<lb /><lb />The old man had not said another word<lb />since his welcome, and Russ was begin-<lb />ning to feel like a bug under glass studied<lb />by a biology student.<lb /><lb />Suddenly the old man called to another<lb />room, shouting excited commands.<lb /><lb />Russ looked toward the door where a<lb />young girl stood. She was_ shabbily<lb />dressed but carried herself in a graceful<lb />manner.<lb /><lb />She carried a beer mug on a wooden<lb />tray.<lb /><lb />The old man rattled off something in<lb />Swedish.<lb /><lb />She answered and brought the mug<lb />over to Russ and curtsied.<lb /><lb />oPapa say he hopes you warm again.�<lb /><lb />He glanced at her. She was plain, all<lb />right, but she had a tranquility about her<lb />which couldnTt have been mistaken for<lb />ignorance.<lb /><lb />8<lb /><lb />oSure,� Russ answered and took the<lb />mug, brimming over with foam.<lb /><lb />oMy name Katrine,T she murmured<lb />and sat down on a small scatter rug near<lb />the fire.<lb /><lb />oHe doesnTt speak English?� he asked,<lb />nodding his head at the old man gazing<lb />intently at him.<lb /><lb />oNiah, Papa he only learn few words<lb />from soldiers that come through.�<lb /><lb />Russ looked at her questioningly. He<lb />wondered how she had learned the lan-<lb />guage so well.<lb /><lb />She must have understood because she<lb />continued, oI young. I learn English easy<lb />and very good, huh?�<lb /><lb />oYes,� he said.<lb /><lb />oDo you and the old man live here<lb />alone,� Russ asked, not knowing why.<lb />Perhaps he was just trying to make con-<lb />versation.<lb /><lb />oPapa and me always live here.� Her<lb />eyes saddened as she continued, oOne<lb />time Papa, Mama, and me live here.�<lb /><lb />He didnTt ask what had happened to<lb />her mother, but she continued.<lb /><lb />oMama die. She just die. Papa and me<lb />miss her, but Papa say Mama in better<lb />place, now, so we still happy.�<lb /><lb />Russ sat there wondering and amazed<lb />how such a child and an old man could<lb />find such peace when all around them<lb />everything was in such turmoil and con-<lb />fusion.<lb /><lb />Katrine refilled the beer mug, then<lb />poked the fire, adding a few logs from<lb />off the side of the hearth.<lb /><lb />oYou from the city?� she asked and her<lb />eyes brightened with interest.<lb /><lb />He looked at her. He thought carefully<lb />before he spoke. How could he tell her<lb />of the horror, of the brutality of the<lb />world she had never seen.<lb /><lb />Russ glanced down again. He supposed<lb />the beer, mellow with age, had the same<lb />affect on him.<lb /><lb />He talked and talked, Lord knows about<lb />what, and she sat there, never taking her<lb />eyes from his face. Russ just knew he<lb />made things beautiful and pleasant. He<lb />did remember saying something about<lb />America.<lb />aware of the Inn with its rustic atmos-<lb />phere, and he remembered where he was.<lb /><lb />He sw the fireplace in which lay the<lb />burned, charred logs.<lb /><lb />Then he glanced down. There lay Kat-<lb />rine, her head resting on the scatter rug.<lb /><lb />The REBEL<lb /></p>
        <pb facs="00062548_0009" />
        <p>She had curled up to keep warm when the<lb />fire had gone out.<lb /><lb />Over his legs someone had laid a big,<lb />plaid blanket.<lb /><lb />Somehow as he sat there, he knew he<lb />had to leave this place or heTd stay.<lb /><lb />He couldnTt remember what he had<lb />said and that worried him.<lb /><lb />He quickly rose from the chair and<lb />made his way over to the table on which<lb />lay his clothing. Noiselessly he slipped<lb />everything on.<lb /><lb />The old man stirred a little but didnTt<lb />wake when he opened the log slatted door.<lb /><lb />Russ walked down off the porch and<lb />out onto the path, trackless from the new-<lb />fallen snow.<lb /><lb />He didnTt look back because he knew<lb />that if he had he would have returned.<lb />He looked down to see his ring was gone,<lb />but even that did not matter at this point.<lb /><lb />The rocking of the ship brought Russ<lb />back into the present, but he could still<lb />see that little Inn.<lb /><lb />He chuckled to himself remembering.<lb />Suddenly the chuckle was gone and a<lb />sharp pang of guilt came over him.<lb /><lb />His mind returned to the girl standing<lb />beside him and to her problem; at least<lb />he considered it a problem.<lb /><lb />Russ thought: I must be getting soft.<lb />How can I tell her that all G.I.Ts look alike<lb />in the khakis.<lb /><lb />He remembered his uniform. He also<lb />remembered how he had never been cov-<lb />ered with frontline dirt. Understanding,<lb />he hadnTt complained. Reporting all dur-<lb />ing the war had been his obaby.� There<lb />had been enough human interest back of<lb />the lines to keep him busy.<lb /><lb />Somehow he never got away from re-<lb />porting. In civies he had still plugged<lb />away at it, that is, until recently. The<lb />main office had politely, for his health,<lb />they said, relieved him of his job. One<lb />thing Russ Warren had never done was<lb />pretty up a story.<lb /><lb />The guys at the office had weak<lb />stomachs, he had reasoned.<lb /><lb />Russ glanced up in time to see the girlTs<lb />eyes straining into the distance. He<lb />thought to himself, what sort of person<lb />was this guy who could bring such hope<lb />to a person? He knew he could never be<lb />that convincing.<lb /><lb />oHow big America?T<lb /><lb />oBig enough, kid. Look.� Russ pointed<lb /><lb />FALL, 1959<lb /><lb />to the New York skyline which appeared<lb />to be big toy blocks stacked in various<lb />sizes and shapes in the gray morning fog.<lb /><lb />The girl clamped one hand over her<lb />mouth.<lb /><lb />Russ noticed her large, bony hand held<lb />tightly over her mouth.<lb /><lb />He could almost feel her tremble with<lb />excitement and anticipation.<lb /><lb />Then he saw it. On one finger of her<lb />hand was a ring. One like his, only he<lb />had lost his. He stopped suddenly. There<lb />went that pang again. Had he lost it, or<lb />given it away?<lb /><lb />His cheeks felt hot and his eyes burned.<lb /><lb />He suddenly knew that that was his<lb />ring.<lb /><lb />Without thinking, Russ thrust out his<lb />hand towards where the girl was stand-<lb />ing.<lb /><lb />There was nothing there, nothing at<lb />all! He just knew he couldnTt have<lb />dreamed it.<lb /><lb />The fog had lifted!<lb /><lb />Maybe you do need a rest, Russ War-<lb />ren thought.<lb /><lb /><lb /><lb /><lb /><lb />4A<lb />wr &gt;<lb />LL)<lb /><lb />2 type Olt LD<lb /><lb />Standing in the doorway was a tall,<lb />hig-framed man.<lb /></p>
        <pb facs="00062548_0010" />
        <p>
          <lb />
          <lb />The REBEL<lb /><lb />10<lb /></p>
        <pb facs="00062548_0011" />
        <p>Rebel Yell<lb /><lb />With the new school year, the Rebel has<lb />taken on a new face. This issue and those<lb /><lb />following will endeavor to present a more<lb />comprehensive view of East Carolina Col-<lb />lege and reach more fully its members.<lb />Basic changes in policy will be evident<lb />in this issue by larger faculty representa-<lb />tion, national advertising, and increased<lb />publication. Through the efforts of an<lb />increased staff, the Rebel hopes to bring<lb />you during the school year a better mag-<lb />azine giving non-collegiate readers a more<lb />favorable introduction ~to East Carolina<lb />College.<lb /><lb />The fall issue includes several articles<lb />contributed by faculty members. Dr.<lb />James Prince is the author of oLa Cuisine<lb />Des Anges and My Three Angels,� a<lb />critical essay dealing with the compari-<lb />sons of the original French play and the<lb />popular production. The business depart-<lb />ment is represented by James H. Bearden<lb />with oThe World of Hemingway.� Mrs.<lb />Claire Holt, wife of registar Robert Holt,<lb />presents her work on the organized re-<lb />ligion theme of Sinclair Lewis.<lb /><lb />Student contributions are deservedly<lb />noteworthy in this issue. Kay McLawhon,<lb />winner of the Second Congressional Dis-<lb />trict Book Prize presented by the Poetry<lb />Council of North Carolina, contributes<lb />her award-winning poem, oThe Masses.�<lb />Janice Brand also adds some of her poetic<lb />work.<lb /><lb />In view of the increased interest in<lb />North Carolina literature, an interview<lb />with Inglis Fletcher is included. Conduct-<lb />ed by staff member, Gail Cohoon from<lb />Columbia, N. C., the interview deals with<lb />Mrs. FletcherTs approach to writing and<lb />her attitudes on contemporary literature.<lb />This should be of particular interest to<lb />aspiring writers and literary enthusiasts.<lb /><lb />For fiction lovers, short stories by<lb />Tom Carson and Tom Jackson may be<lb />found. The book review section has been<lb /><lb />FALL, 1959<lb /><lb />enlarged to meet the demand for more<lb />complete coverage. These should provide<lb />a larger area of interest for amateur and<lb />professional work.<lb /><lb />Nelson Dudley, junior from Greenville,<lb />heads the newly organized art depart-<lb /><lb />meant for the Rebel. His assistants, Jim<lb />Roper and Larry Blizzard, are well-known<lb />for their previous art work. By posing for<lb />the fall cover, Jim Roper illustrates his<lb />talents as a othinker� as well as an ar-<lb />tist<lb /><lb />This first issue carries a special wel-<lb />come to the freshmen. In many respects<lb />the Rebel and you are both embarking<lb />on a new experiment. We will need the<lb />combined efforts of the faculty and older<lb />students to firmly acclamate ourselves<lb />into East Carolina College. However,<lb />above all else the Rebel will need the sup-<lb />port of you, the freshmen, to become the<lb />type of magazine worthy of your partici-<lb />pation. The staff welcomes you to the<lb />college and to the magazine. Contribute<lb />actively in both to make both an integral<lb />part of your college life.<lb /><lb />With student and faculty co-operation<lb />the Rebel hopes to entertain, enlighten,<lb />and instruct its readers during the year.<lb />By increasing the exchange program be-<lb />tween national and collegiate magazines,<lb />the Rebel will serve as an example of the<lb />student-faculty talents at East Carolina<lb />College. To correctly present the total<lb />view of the college, faculty contributions<lb />will be presented. This does in no way<lb />alter the initial purpose of the Rebel as<lb />a student publication. The policy has<lb />been put into motion and the exchanges<lb />have been mailed; the worth of the Rebel<lb />now rests in the hands of you, the stu-<lb />dents. It is primarily dedicated to your<lb />efforts and ultimately designed for your<lb />benefit. Only. through your interest can<lb />the Rebel hope to achieve its creative<lb />potential.<lb /><lb />11<lb /></p>
        <pb facs="00062548_0012" />
        <p>12<lb /><lb />THE MASSES<lb /><lb />The Masses<lb />Entangled<lb />Entwined<lb />In that clinging, engulfing trap of<lb />footless netting,<lb />Grasping<lb />Clutching<lb />Octagonal shapes of pliable, yet<lb />impenetrable threads,<lb />Caught within its sticky grip<lb />Hurling<lb />Stumbling<lb />Fighting against the force inevitable.<lb /><lb />Let them fight.<lb /><lb />They are the masses whose pious,<lb />hypocritical reasoning<lb /><lb />Means nothing to the net which binds<lb />them all with its<lb /><lb />Silent grip.<lb /><lb />Their cries and sounds of fury beat<lb />against the walls and<lb /><lb />Resound again<lb /><lb />As though the net-wall were an echo<lb />chamber of all their<lb /><lb />Moanings.<lb /><lb />The net is unmoved by the masses<lb />huddled there<lb />And with camouflaged strength it holds<lb />them in steel bondage<lb />Deafened to their outraged fury<lb />and even to their<lb />cries of repentance.<lb /><lb />DO NOT TAP YOUR BEWARE THE<lb />TUNES TREACHEROUS HORIZONS<lb /><lb />Do not tap your tunes<lb /><lb />upon this wall<lb /><lb />Beware the treacherous horizons.<lb />They daily and intently swim<lb /><lb />however delicate. back within their casual beginnings.<lb /><lb />Beware the horizons.<lb /><lb />The silver egg is They swim convexly,<lb /><lb />nullity<lb /><lb />you will not break<lb /><lb />its shell.<lb /><lb />lizard-lipped and grim.<lb />Jaws wide,<lb /><lb />they clamp upon the tails<lb />of their origins.<lb /><lb />The REBEL<lb /></p>
        <pb facs="00062548_0013" />
        <p>The World of Hemingway<lb /><lb />by James Bearden<lb /><lb />In his critical biography of Ernest<lb />Hemingway, Phillip Young says: oEvery<lb />true novelist has a world of some kind,<lb />an imaginary vision of some sphere or<lb />scene of life and action which his indivi-<lb />sual has caused him to see, and which tie<lb />re-creates in fiction. This is his equiva-<lb />lent for what, if he wrote philosophy,<lb />would be a system of ideas. He sees a<lb />kind of life going against some _ back-<lb />ground, and he tries to make it coherent<lb />and dramatic. He induces us to see it all<lb />through his eyes, and after we have done<lb />this we ask ourselves questions about the<lb />breadth of his vision and the depth of<lb />his perspective. We ask if this is a real<lb />world, one we can recognize, and accept.<lb /><lb />A characteristic not of the world of<lb />Ernest Hemingway is his love for the<lb />good earth, of cool streams, of clean air,<lb />of the fresh smell of woodlands, and of<lb />the challenge of a long hike. It is this<lb />same type of thing that annually lures<lb />the office-ridden and the factory work-<lb />ing city dweller to the streams and moun-<lb />tains of parks and vacation spots through-<lb />out the country. In this phenomenon is<lb />found a kind of instinctive admission that<lb />man is a creature of earth and derives<lb />his strength and physical well-being<lb />from intimate contact with her.<lb /><lb />The words of Hemingway convey so<lb />exactly the taste, smell, and feel of ex-<lb />perience as it was, that we unconsciously<lb />translate our own senzations into their<lb />terms.<lb /><lb />This intense awareness of the world of<lb />the senses is one of the things that makes<lb />his work seem so fresh and pure. The<lb />beauty of the physical world is a back-<lb />ground for the human predicament, and<lb />this beauty usually represents some form<lb />of compensation possitle in the midst of<lb />the predicament.<lb /><lb />HemingwayTs world, ultimately, is a<lb />world at war. Sometimes it exists in the<lb />literal sense of armed and calculated con-<lb />flict, and sometimes it exists figuratively<lb /><lb />FALL, 1959<lb /><lb />as marked everywhere with violence,<lb />potential or present.<lb /><lb />In the early stories and novels Hem-<lb />ingway was able to realize all he knew<lb /><lb />in terms of his first education at war.<lb />It served him as a barricade against every<lb />emotion. The code of hig best heroes was<lb />the code of war. Either the war went<lb />fine, or it went badly. If a man broke<lb />down in the war, if his nerves went to<lb />pieces under pressure, then he was lost.<lb />If he behaved badly in the peace, he was<lb />also lost.<lb /><lb />In The Sun Also Rises there emerges<lb />apart from the war of guns and munitions<lb />a war between men and women. This too<lb />is a conflict that continues through all<lb />Hemingway. Through story after story<lb />it is love that defeats man of his heroes.<lb /><lb />As for the typical characters of Hem-<lb />ingwayTs world, they are usually tough<lb />men, experienced in the hard worlds they<lb />inhabit, and not obviously given to emo-<lb />tional display or sensitive shrinking. Or<lb />if the typical character is not of this<lb />seasonal order, he is a very young man,<lb />or boy, first entering the violent world<lb />and adjusting to it.<lb /><lb />The typical character faces defeat or<lb />death. But out of defeat or death the<lb />characters usually manage to salvage<lb />something. His heroes are not defeated<lb />except under their own terms. They are<lb />not cowards, and when they confront de-<lb />feat they realize that the stance they take<lb />means a kind of victory. If they are to<lb />be defeated, they are defeated upon their<lb />own terms. They represent a code, some<lb />brand of honor, that makes a man, and<lb />that is his claim to the realm of distinc-<lb />tion.<lb /><lb />oT did not care what it was all about.<lb />All I wanted to know was how to live it.�<lb /><lb />The heroes of Hemingway live in a<lb />world beyond moral good and evil. Liquor<lb />fails to break down this emotional imper-<lb />viousness, and they are men of action<lb />rather than thinkers. In most of the cen-<lb /><lb />13<lb /><lb /></p>
        <pb facs="00062548_0014" />
        <p>tral figures there is a hint of the anti-<lb />social and loneliness.<lb /><lb />Typical of the ovictory-in-defeat�T con-<lb />cept is Robert Jordan, in For Whom the<lb />Bell Tolls, as he appears happy lying<lb />wounded behind a machine gun covering<lb />the escape of his friends and his sweet-<lb />heart. Similarly, in The Sun Also Rises,<lb />Lady Brett Ashley has her moment of<lb />virtue when she renounces the seduction<lb />of a young bullfighter interpreting her<lb />sacrifice to Jake Barnes as, oyou know<lb />it makes one feel rather good deciding<lb />not to be a bitch.� Again in The Old Man<lb />and the Sea the central figure, an old<lb />fisherman, though defeated in his attempt<lb />to reach the mainland with his tremen-<lb />dous catch, emerge the victor.<lb /><lb />HemingwayTs character is character-<lb />ized in a statement he once made, oThere<lb />is honor among pickpockets and honor<lb />among whores. It is simply that the stan-<lb />dards differ.�<lb /><lb />The situation in this world of Heming-<lb />way is usually violent. There is the hard-<lb />drinking and sexually promiscuous world<lb />of The Sun Also Rises; the chaotic and<lb />brutal world of war as in A Farewell to<lb />Arms; For Whom the Bell Tolls, and<lb />many of the sketches of In Our Time;<lb />the world of sport, as in Fifty Grand,<lb />and My Old Man; the world of crime, as<lb />in The Gambler, The Nun, and The Radio.<lb />Even when the story does not fall into<lb />one of these categories, it usually involves<lb />a desperate risk, and behind it is the<lb />shadow of ruin.<lb /><lb />Maxwell Geiswer said that in creat-<lb />ing this situation Hemingway oemerges<lb />most clearly as the artist of disaster, the<lb />poet of catastrophe, the natural histor-<lb />ian of the organism that seeks to die in<lb />its own way.�<lb /><lb />HemingwayTs principle opposition has<lb />come from ~those who have attacked him<lb />for being pessimistic, bitter and for paint-<lb />ing only a dark picture of life. Some dis-<lb />paragement of his works stems from<lb />his expatriation. Perhaps the ogood life�<lb />has not been elucidated with the same<lb />vigor as the tragic tone, but his portray-<lb />als have been real.<lb /><lb />The scene shifts in the situations, but<lb />the violence remains the typical condi-<lb /><lb />14<lb /><lb />tion of life. This tragic sense is the one<lb /><lb />factor in his craft that sets him apart<lb />from writers of the oordinary life.� In<lb />a period which has been dominated by<lb />the view of manTs ultimate and certain<lb />triumph, the ability of Hemingway to<lb />maintain this tragic spirit has been as-<lb />tounding.<lb /><lb />It is quite possible that Hemingway<lb />commands most respect as a stylist. The<lb />style characteristically is simple, both<lb />in diction and sentence structure. The<lb />words are chiefly short and common ones,<lb />and there is a severe and austere econ-<lb />omy in their use. Hemingway has put<lb />the raw language of the street, the pool-<lb />room, the barracks, and the brothel into<lb />modern literature. The typical sentence<lb />is a simple declarative sentence, or a<lb />couple of these joined by a conjunction.<lb />The paragraph structure is usually based<lb />on simple sequence. The rhythmic, clipped<lb />march of sentences contributes to his<lb />narrative power.<lb /><lb />The simplicity of style makes for much<lb />imitation, but it also is a style that keeps<lb />out of sight the intelligence behind it.<lb />The sequence in which events are des-<lb />cribed is the sequence in which they oc-<lb />curred. Writing in Death in the After-<lb />noon of his apprentice days in Paris he<lb />put it this way:<lb /><lb />oIT was trying to write then and I founa<lb />the greatest difficulty, aside from know-<lb />ing what you really felt, rather than what<lb />you were supposed to feel, and had been<lb />taught to feel, was to put down what real-<lb />ly happened in action: what the actual<lb />things were which produced the emotion<lb />that you experienced .. . the real thing,<lb />the sequence of motion and fact which<lb />made the emotion . . . I was trying to<lb />learn to write, commencing with the<lb />simplest things.�<lb /><lb />Many characteristics can be listed<lb />in the makeup of this style. Impersonal<lb />tone, objectivity, immediacy, and econo-<lb />my of prose are butt a few of the multi-<lb />farious elements that characterize Hem-<lb />ingwayTs work. For good or for bad Hem-<lb />ingway has maintained this style. It has<lb />become his trademark; it is Hemingway<lb />the man.<lb /><lb />In the field of literature, Hemingway,<lb />(Continued on Page 31)<lb /><lb />The REBEL<lb /></p>
        <pb facs="00062548_0015" />
        <p>S49YLOAT IY T,,<lb /><lb />pipzzyg hssyT<lb /><lb />FALL, 1959<lb /><lb />15<lb /></p>
        <pb facs="00062548_0016" />
        <p>HERO<lb /><lb />by Tom Jackson<lb /><lb />UAUAS TAS<lb /><lb />We Talked As We Drank.<lb /><lb />The juke box was blaring, and occa-<lb /><lb />sionally I could hear a couvle of words<lb />from the song above the roar of the<lb />crowd. It was a hot night, and sweat<lb />streamed down my face as I struggled<lb />toward the door to catch a few minutes<lb />of fresh air from the breeze that is al-<lb />ways coming off the lake.<lb /><lb />The bunch was really in rare form to-<lb />night, and I could see Sylvia Jean swing-<lb />ing her hips to the delight of that circle<lb />of boys that always forms around her<lb />when she dances. She and Raymond real-<lb />ly had the beat, and they had been danc-<lb />ing together all night, really having a<lb />ball. I think everyone was having a pret-<lb /><lb />16<lb /><lb />ty good time, we were all trying hard<lb />enough. After all, this would be the last<lb /><lb />summer that the bunch would be together<lb />and really swing as we had all through<lb />high school. At least thatTs what every-<lb />one told us, so we were living it up. But<lb />I donTt think any of us really thought it<lb />would end. I didnTt, anyway.<lb /><lb />I was almost to the door when Jimmy<lb />stopped me to get a cigarette. We shout-<lb />ed to each other above the noise for a<lb />minute or two, and I was about to go on<lb />when, for the first time in my life, I saw<lb />Samuel Rowland.<lb /><lb />He had just come in and was edging<lb />his way through the crowd. [ think I was<lb /><lb />The REBEL<lb /></p>
        <pb facs="00062548_0017" />
        <p>the only one who noticed him, and I donTt<lb />know why I did unless it was because I<lb /><lb />knew everybody who hung out at Sam-<lb />boTs Place, and this was a new one to me.<lb />He was a little guy, kind of dried up<lb />looking with wrinkles around the corner<lb />of his eyes and his mouth. I couldnTt tell<lb />if they were from squinting or from<lb />laughing, but I figured he must be a<lb />li~tle older than most of us to have wrin-<lb />kles so deep.<lb /><lb />He bumped into Raymond, and I knew<lb />the wrinkles around his eyes didnTt come<lb />from squinting as I saw a wide grin cov-<lb />er his entire face and spread into the<lb />edge of his soot-black hair when he apolo-<lb />gized. It was then that I really noticed<lb />his hair. It was black and _ perfectly<lb />groomed. Not just plain black, but al-<lb />most blue-black like a crow or maybe the<lb />blued steel of a gun barrel, and it looked<lb />like he had just left a barber shop. Fun-<lb />ny how that hair made me think of a<lb />gun barrel. I mean hair and gun barrels<lb />just arenTt alike, but his was. The blue-<lb />blackness and the precision in combing<lb />made me think of it then and often later<lb />in the summer when | knew him better,<lb />I still thought of the same thing when<lb />I noticed his hair.<lb /><lb />I went on out and the breeze felt so<lb />good that I slipped out to the car and<lb />opened one of the beers iced down there<lb />and carried it with me up on the dam<lb />where that big beech tree blew down a<lb />couple of years ago.<lb /><lb />As IJ sat there on the tree trunk sipping<lb />my beer and smiling occasionally as I<lb />s2°y an initial that I recognized among<lb />the many carved there in the tree bark,<lb />I could see a few of the mob spilling out<lb />of the door and standing there talking<lb />and laughing. Now and then a cackle<lb />would break out ~above the continuous<lb />murmur as one of them laughed a little<lb />louder than the rest. And above the<lb />crowd and the roar of the water falling<lb />in the mill house behind me I could hear<lb />Jimmy shout out tto somebody inside,<lb />oCome on, throw me a damn cigarette,<lb />will ya?�<lb /><lb />Pretty soon I stood up, tossed the beer<lb />can into the lake and lighted a cigarette.<lb />I watched for a while as the waves push-<lb />ed the can back and ferth slowly filling<lb />it with water until it sank. Then flipping<lb />the cigarette out over the dark water I<lb />headed back for the dance hall.<lb /><lb />FALL, 1959<lb /><lb />When I got back inside the music had<lb />stopped momentarily and the crowd was<lb /><lb />milling around the edge of the dance<lb />floor. I saw the little guy with the black<lb />hair again. He was standing a little fur-<lb />ther out on the floor than the others and<lb />as another record started playing I watch-<lb />ed him make his way over to the knot of<lb />people standing around Sylvia Jean and<lb />ask her to dance. Almost everybody in<lb />there noticed him then. Sylvia Jean was<lb />the best dancer in the crowd and nobody<lb />but the best ever danced with her because<lb />she made you look foolish if you werenTt<lb />really good. She looked at him for a min-<lb />ute and tilted up the corners of her mouth<lb />in a little grin. Nobody else started for<lb />the floor. We all knew that she was going<lb />to show this character up on the dance<lb />floor and we wanted to see it. He and<lb />Sylvia Jean walked out to the center of<lb />the big circle of people that was already<lb />starting to form and the talking and<lb />laughing dropped low enough you could<lb />hear the music. It was a pretty fast rec-<lb />ord and they just stood there and looked<lb />at each other for a while like a couple<lb />of chickens fixing to fight. The colored<lb />reflections from the revolving lights in<lb />the jukebox danced with the shadows on<lb />the ceiling and I could smell the sour<lb />tingle of the mud flats as a light breeze<lb />shift came in from the open back win-<lb />dows and pushed out some of the beer<lb />breath and stale sweat odor.<lb /><lb />Then they started. With a little twist<lb />he was moving all over at once. His<lb />cleated shoes clattered in perfect time to<lb />the music and they were moving so fast<lb />you could hardly see them. He slipped<lb />over the floor one way and then the other,<lb />doing steps that were more complicated<lb />than any of us had ever been able to do<lb />and he was leading Sylvia Jean almost<lb />faster than she could keep up. He would<lb />skiddle sideways and do a quick turn that<lb />would get her out of step every time. This<lb />had never happened before. She was the<lb />best, and he was dancing circles around<lb />her. Pretty soon the grin left her face<lb />and she started looking jas serious as he<lb />did. Then he.started grinning in a devil-<lb />ish sort of way. The grin spread like a<lb />blush over his face and disappeared into<lb />that midnight of hair.<lb /><lb />Just before the record was over he did<lb />a complicated turn that left Sylvia Jean<lb />completely confused because she, as well<lb /><lb />17<lb /><lb /></p>
        <pb facs="00062548_0018" />
        <p>as the rest of us, had never seen it done<lb />but a couple of times in our lives. Just<lb />as the record ended he ducked down,<lb />quickly swung her all the way over his<lb />back, and dropped her right side up on<lb />the floor on the other side. During all<lb />this he never lost step to the music.<lb />For a few seconds after the record ended<lb />there was not a sound in the dance hall<lb />except for Sylvia JeanTs breathing. Boy,<lb />she was tired. Then everybody was talk-<lb />ing at once. oWho is this guy.� oWhere<lb />did he come from, and where did he<lb />learn to dance like that?� We gathered<lb />around him and before the night was<lb />over his name, Samuel had been short-<lb />ened to Sammy and he was one of the<lb />bunch.<lb /><lb />Sammy and I got to be pretty good<lb />friends that summer. I guess it was be-<lb />cause he didnTt have a car and I did.<lb />Anyway we started hanging around to-<lb />gether right much. We double dated, we<lb />went to SamboTs or to the beach, we drank<lb />together, and we talked.<lb /><lb />Sammy was funny, but he was a great<lb />guy too. His body could never be called<lb />the ohe man� type, he was more of a o97<lb />pound weakling� just from looks, but ac-<lb />tually he weighed about 115 and was at<lb />least five feet six or seven. He was freck-<lb />led all over and never had a good sun<lb />tan. He just turned bright red and then<lb />spotted up when he got in the sun. His<lb />skinny freckled arms always seemed just<lb />a little bit too little for his body, but<lb />then clothes did a lot for that body. In a<lb />bathing suit he was all arms and legs,<lb />or knees and elbows I ought to say. He<lb />could fool you though, because he was<lb />pretty strong for his size and had the<lb />spunk of a bantam rooster. He wouldnTt<lb />just get in a fight, he would jump in it.<lb />I guess he got in ten or twelve fights<lb />during the time I knew him and I never<lb />saw him win one yet. But he loved to<lb />fight and would do it until he was beat<lb />black and blue. The next day he would<lb />come around blue all over with both eyes<lb />puffed shut and say, oWell he got a good<lb />sized meal off of me, but I got a sand-<lb />wich off the big s.o.b.� then he would<lb />laugh in that high pitched cackle of his<lb />and forget about it.<lb /><lb />Sammy never was much for holding<lb />down a job either. It wasnTt that he mind-<lb />ed work so much, it was just that he did-<lb />not like regular jobs. He would fool<lb /><lb />18<lb /><lb />around every evening until he ran up<lb />with somebody that was busy, and then<lb />he would do whatever they were doing.<lb />It didnTt matter to him if they were<lb />fishing or digging ditches heTd fall right<lb />in and help. Sammy seemed to get in the<lb />way more than anything else, but he al-<lb />ways got right much done in spite of<lb />that.<lb /><lb />Once in a while he would get a pay-<lb />ing job for a day or two to get a little<lb />cigarette and beer money, but he never<lb />stayed at work long. He drove dump<lb />trucks a little, barned tobacco, painted<lb />signs, and stuff like that as long as he<lb />didnTt have to work over two or three<lb />days in a stretch.<lb /><lb />Sammy wasnTt the kind of guy that<lb />would ever really be important, but there<lb />was something about him that you had to<lb />like. When you got to know him, you<lb />wished you had known him all your life.<lb />He danced better than anybody around<lb />home, played the piano a little, piddled at<lb />singing, and could tel! dirty jokes all<lb />night without stopping except maybe to<lb />open another beer now and then or to<lb />light a cigarette.<lb /><lb />Have you ever tried to eat one salty<lb />peanut and stop? ThatTs the way it was<lb />talking to Sammy. If you spoke, you had<lb />to hang around and shoot the bull a few<lb />minutes. When he was serious or even<lb />mad, talking to him was still a pleasant<lb />experience. Sometimes heTd really get hot<lb />about something, but no matter what he<lb />said, it came out funny.<lb /><lb />As the summer went by Sammy and I<lb />developed a kind of a weekly ritual that<lb />we both enjoyed. Every Thursday night,<lb />as regular as a clock, we would go up<lb />town and as soon as Sammy had finished<lb />getting his hair cut we would go to DickTs<lb />Coffee Shop and sit around talking and<lb />drinking beer. Yessir, just as sure as it<lb />got to be Thursday night, we were in<lb />DickTs with those big cold beer mugs on<lb />the table in front of us. Dick always kept<lb />his mugs in a big ice cream freezer and<lb />they were colder than the beer. When<lb />you poured the beer in, the foam would<lb />bubble up over the top and run down the<lb />side and freeze, making a thin skim of<lb />ice on the side of the mug. We would sco-<lb />op the frozen foam off the top with our<lb />fingers and lick them clean before drink-<lb />ing ~the beer. We talked as we drank and<lb />Sammy used to tell me all about Sylvia<lb /><lb />The REBEL<lb /></p>
        <pb facs="00062548_0019" />
        <p>Jean. He was dating her right much, but<lb />she kept trying to give him a run-around<lb />and it worried him sometimes.<lb /><lb />Well, weTd sit there and drink one beer<lb />after another until SammyTs ears turned<lb />bright red and the skin on my forehead<lb />began to feel tight and everything got<lb />real funny. About the time we reached<lb />this stage, Dick would blink the lights<lb />three times, which meant it was 11:45<lb />and time to go. We would get three or<lb />four beers oto go� and drink them on the<lb />way home with the radio turned wide<lb />open. Sammy could always out drink me<lb />so he drove the car on Thursday nights.<lb />We would drive home and he would park<lb />in the garage for me and walk on to his<lb />house. I didnTt think he should have to<lb />walk home; but after I ditched the Chevy<lb />on the second night I tried it from his<lb />house to mine, he had insisted on walking.<lb /><lb />Well as you know, things change, and<lb />since I left at the end of that summer<lb />they have changed a hell of a lot. ITve<lb />been gone for about two years now, ex-<lb />cept for one weekend right after basic<lb />training and this past time; and it was<lb />hard to understand what had happened<lb />when I was here the last time.<lb /><lb />You see, itTs like this. About the same<lb />time I enlisted, most of the rest of the<lb />little bunch that hung around SamboTs<lb />left too. Sylvia Jean finally married a<lb />Benton boy from uptown, Buzz went to<lb />the army with Dickie and Pete. Ray went<lb />to a barber schoo] in Charlotte, Sondra<lb />works in Raleigh now and Frankie made<lb />it to Duke. Some of them I donTt know<lb />where they are. They just all left at one<lb />time and you never hear from them any<lb />more except once in a while you'll see in<lb />the paper where another one of them is<lb />getting married or shipped overseas.<lb /><lb />Well, Sammy was left by himself and<lb />I guess he was pretty lonesome because<lb />he never could stand not to be in a crowd.<lb />I didnTt hear from him for a long time<lb />and then the last time I was home I ran<lb />into Doc Huggins and he told me that<lb />Sammy was driving a dump truck for<lb />Bud Williamson and had been at it for<lb />some time. And he said Sammy was<lb />drinking pretty heavy all the time. I was<lb />a little surprised to know that Sammy<lb />had been driving a truck, but I didnTt<lb />think anything about the drinking part<lb />until sometime later in the day when<lb />three or four other people said something<lb /><lb />FALL, 1959<lb /><lb />about it to me.<lb /><lb />Well I began trying to look Sammy<lb />up. He wasnTt at home, he wasnTt at Bud<lb />WilliamsonTs and I was beginning to be<lb />afraid that I was not going to find him<lb />before my week at home was up, but I<lb />did. It was Sunday evening when I final-<lb />ly ran into him.<lb /><lb />He was asleep on a bench in LeaTs<lb />Truck Stop just out of town a little on<lb />713. He had on » filthy green truck driv-<lb />erTs uniform and he hadnTt shaved for at<lb />least five days. There was a long streak<lb />of grease on his left arm and his knuckles<lb />and both elbows were covered with thick<lb />red scabs. One of them was bleeding a<lb />little. And his hair, it had grown down<lb />around his ears and low on the back of<lb />his neck in ragged strands.<lb /><lb />I felt ag if the very air I was breathing<lb />had congealed in my mouth. I watched<lb />him for a minute or two, lighted a cigar-<lb />ette, then ground it out and tried to wake<lb />him up. He was shaking pretty bad and<lb />didnTt recognize me for a minute.<lb /><lb />When he did recognize me he just<lb />stared at me for a minute and then kind<lb />of grinned. He got up off the bench and<lb />we shook hands and mumbled hello to<lb />each other. oCome on Sammy, letTs go<lb />get a hot dog and a Coke,� I said.<lb /><lb />Well, we had our hot dog, and our Coke<lb />too. And we talked. But it was not the<lb />same. In ten minutes we had talked out<lb />every possible subject we had in common<lb />and were discussing the weather.<lb /><lb />He wanted to borrow five dollars, and<lb />I let him have it. He said he would pay<lb />me back the next day.<lb /><lb />Pretty soon after I gave him the money,<lb />he said he had to meet somebody; and so,<lb />I carried him to a filling station out on<lb />the other side of town and left him there<lb />where he was supposed to meet him. He<lb />said heTd see me Monday.<lb /><lb />The next day I tried to get up with him<lb />again, but I couldnTt find him anywhere.<lb />He had just left every place I asked. I<lb />didnTt find him again until the Wednes-<lb />day afternoon that I was leaving. I was<lb />all packed and started back when I ran<lb />across him. I stopped at Lea~s to gas up<lb />and while I was talking to Bill, the man<lb />that runs the store there, I mentioned<lb />that I hadnTt been able to find Sammy.<lb />Bill kind of smiled and said Sammy was<lb />there and had gone around back a few<lb />minutes before, so I walked around to the<lb /><lb />19<lb /></p>
        <pb facs="00062548_0020" />
        <p>back of the store.<lb /><lb />Sammy wag there all right. He was<lb />lying face down in the edge of the corn<lb />field behind the store. His feet and legs<lb />were in a little drainage ditch and the<lb />rest of him was draped over the bank of<lb />it. He had not shaved. The only dif-<lb />ference was his hair. It had been cut and<lb />combed. He still looked pretty run down.<lb />His face was grey except for the black<lb />stubble of beard and two eyes that look-<lb />ed like blood clots. Then he turned to me.<lb /><lb />On the top of all the filth on his clothes<lb />there was a layer of red mud, still wet<lb />from the drainage ditch. From his back<lb />pocket stuck a half filled wine bottle and<lb />he was crying like a baby. He blubbered<lb />and slobbered all over the place and didnTt<lb />make much sense when he talked. It was<lb />beginning to drizzle rain again, so I got<lb />him up and helped him to a little shelter<lb />that stuck out from the side of the build-<lb />ing and covered him up with some old<lb />cotton bagging I found there, and he went<lb />to sleep. I figured he was broke so I left<lb />a couple of dollars in his pocket, took the<lb />rest of the wine and earried it across the<lb />yard to the ditch. I threw the bottle in<lb />and stood there watching it bouncing<lb />around as the water carried it down the<lb />tiling that ran under the highway and to<lb />the creek on the other side. It bumped<lb />into one bank and then the other ag it<lb />was carried faster and faster by the<lb />water.<lb /><lb />I looked back at Sammy, and then I<lb />scrambled down the bank after that bot-<lb />tle. I grabbed for it, but the current car-<lb />ried it over to the other bank, and it<lb />lodged in some weeds. I went back up the<lb />bank and got an old tobacco stick that I<lb />found there and pulled the bottle back out<lb />of the weeds, but before I could get it, the<lb />current had carried it further down. I<lb />moved along, just out of reach almost to<lb />the tiling until I reached a spot where<lb />the ditch had partially filled in and was<lb />not as wide. Ag I stepped out on the little<lb />mound of dirt that had washed down,<lb />the dull red mud ran in cold and sticky<lb />over the top of my right shoe and soaked<lb />in my sock. I got pretty wet in the rain,<lb />but I finally got the bottle just as it start-<lb />ed into the tile.<lb /><lb />I carried it back to the shelter and<lb />wiped it off with a burlap bag and left<lb />it sitting there beside Sammy with the<lb />flies buzzing around it.<lb /><lb />20<lb /><lb />East Carolina College<lb />Music Foundation<lb /><lb />Some six years ago the East Carolina<lb />Music Foundation was incorporated. It<lb />was formed by the members of the Music<lb />Department and also by numerous in-<lb />terested people in the community.<lb /><lb />The purpose of the Foundation is to<lb />provide funds for various types of needs<lb />that cannot be included in the state and<lb />college budget. Some of the many pur-<lb />poses of the fund are: 1) to provide ad-<lb />ditional scholarships for outstanding and<lb />needy students, both in rectuiting ond<lb />helping keep students we now have, who<lb />have financial problems, 2) ~to bring to<lb />the campus outstanding composers, con-<lb />ductors, and clinicians, 3) to bring to<lb />the campus guest lecturers of national<lb />reputation, 4) to bring to the department<lb />guest instructors of national reputation<lb />for one or more quarters to teach in the<lb />area of their speciality. Other uses of the<lb />fund are: 1) to secure graduate teaching<lb />assistantships in areas where instructional<lb />assistance is needed, 2) to enable the de-<lb />partment to affiliate with additional pro-<lb />fessional music organizations that are<lb />national in scope, 3) to purchase addi-<lb />tional equipment above and beyond what<lb />can be dene with our state music budget,<lb />(harp, harpsichord, audio-visual equip-<lb />ment, organ-electronic and pipe, and 4)<lb />to enable the department to hold recep-<lb />tions for guest artists so students, faculty,<lb /><lb />and townspeople have the opportunity<lb />of meeting them.<lb /><lb />(Continued from Page 6)<lb /><lb />This throws you off your track. No<lb />one has any say so about my work<lb />except my editor.<lb /><lb />17. Where do you do most of your writ-<lb />ing?<lb /><lb />In one or two vacant rooms up-<lb />stairs. In the summer I work in the<lb />schoolhouse. This building dates back<lb />to 1750 and is one of the oldest plan-<lb />tation school houses.<lb /><lb />The REBEL<lb /></p>
        <pb facs="00062548_0021" />
        <p>
          <lb />
          <lb />;<lb /><lb />sd f VEG bE<lb />SM<lb />em SAE it<lb /><lb />AS ie h}<lb /><lb />eee<lb /><lb />.<lb />eee<lb /><lb />Seer<lb /><lb />1959<lb /><lb />FALL,<lb /><lb />- 7 : , . ° es ." --f<lb />Sn sipgicg a<lb />~~ ne Ce EES PE 2 A: igi<lb /><lb /></p>
        <pb facs="00062548_0022" />
        <p>Satire of Organized Religion In Some<lb />of The Writings of Sinclair Lewis<lb /><lb />by Claire Holt<lb /><lb />oLittle Harry Lewis of the Sauk Cen-<lb />tre Congregational Sunday School could<lb />still (as an adult) sing hymns and quote<lb />from the Bible, but he had no faith in<lb />organized religion. oThe moment it be-<lb />comes organized it ceases to be effective,�<lb />he said. Thus Grace Hegger Lewis, first<lb />wife of Sinclair Lewis, pinpoints the<lb />source of one of Mr. LewisTs strongest<lb />satirical attacks.<lb /><lb />Although one of his novels, Elmer<lb /><lb />Gantry, deals specifically and almost<lb />wholly with the war against organized<lb />religion, it does not stand alone or apart<lb />from other of his works. For through-<lb />out the bulk of his writing he carries at<lb />least a strain of this thinking.<lb /><lb />The religious satire in the novels of<lb />Sinclair Lewis may be broken down into<lb />three major aspects: the institution and<lb />institutions of the church (protestant in<lb />the main) ; the membership of the church;<lb />and the leadership of the church " its<lb />ministers, evangelists, and lay-leaders.<lb /><lb />Lewis depicts the institution of the<lb />general church, first of all, as being a<lb />tradition-bound organization which is of<lb />itself evil and misleading to its member-<lb />ship. In Main Street, Carol Kennicott<lb />feelingly decries: oNot individuals but<lb />institutions are the enemies, and they<lb />most afflict the disciples who the most<lb />generously serve them. They insinuate<lb />their tyranny under a hundred guises and<lb />pompous names, such as .. . the Church<lb /><lb />The church, with all its tradition, is<lb />seen again by Lewis as being the force<lb />from which its members can not free<lb />themselves. Elmer GantryTs church ohad<lb />nurtured him in a fear of religious ma-<lb />chinery which he could never lose... .<lb />(It) had been the center of all its emo-<lb />tions. . .. oHe had, in fact, got every-<lb />thing from the church and Sunday<lb />School, except, perhaps, any longing<lb />whatever for decency and kindness and<lb /><lb />22<lb /><lb />reason.�<lb /><lb />And, further, Lewis views the church<lb />as an institution interested primarily in<lb />economic gain. This is evident again in<lb />the words of Carol Kennicott: oWhat an<lb />eternal art"finding names for our Op-<lb />ponents. How we do sanctify our efforts<lb />to keep them from getting the holy dollars<lb />we want for ourselves. The churches have<lb />always done it.�<lb /><lb />These remarks about the general church<lb />are aprons of the many various sects<lb />within it. And Lewis is particularly sa-<lb />tiric about the variety of faiths that make<lb />up the larger institutions, each of them<lb />claiming superiority: oThe Baptist (and,<lb />somewhat less, the Methodists, Congre-<lb />gational, and Presbyterian Churches) is<lb />the perfect, the divinely ordained stand-<lb />ard in music, oratory, philanthropy and<lb />ethics.�<lb /><lb />Within the individual sects there are<lb />yet smaller institutions which do not es-<lb />cape LewisTs sharp attack. A major ex-<lb />ample of this is seen in his treatment of<lb />the denominational college. Before her<lb />marriage Carol Kennicott attended Blod-<lb />gett College, othe bulwark of sound reli-<lb />gion ... Pious fiamilies...send their<lb />children thither, and Blodgett protects<lb />them from the wickedness of the univer-<lb />sities.�<lb /><lb />In the same novel, the lawyer Guy Pol-<lb />lock says: oI went to a denominational<lb />college and learned that since dictating<lb />the Bible, and hiring a perfect race of<lb />ministers to explain it, God has never<lb />done much but creep around and try to<lb />catch us disobeying it.�<lb /><lb />In Arrowsmith, Mugford Christian Col-<lb />lege is described as a small school with<lb />a faculty made up predominantly of<lb />ministers ~and with a curriculum that is<lb />vastly inadequate. Such faculty members<lb />as are found in the churchesT educational<lb />institutions are themselves a target for<lb />satire. This is depicted in the person of<lb /><lb />The REBEL<lb /><lb />""<lb /></p>
        <pb facs="00062548_0023" />
        <p>""<lb /><lb />the president of Elmer GantryTs Ter-<lb />willinger College, the Rev. Dr. Willough-<lb />by Quarlees, oformerly pastor of the Rock<lb />of Ages Baptist Church of Moline, [lli-<lb />nois, and than whom no man had written<lb />more about the necessity of baptism by<lb />immersion, in fact in every way a thor-<lb />oughly fine figureT.<lb /><lb />And, finally, the practices of such in-<lb />stitutions are satirized. Of Elmer Gan-<lb />try, Lewis writes, oThough he had an<lb />excellent opinion of himself, he had seen<lb />too much football, as played by denomina-<lb />tional colleges with the Christian accom-<lb />paniments of kneeing or gouging...�<lb /><lb />Another practice common in ElmerTs<lb />theological seminary was the oMispah<lb />sport of looking up Biblical texts to prove<lb />a preconceived opinion.�<lb /><lb />Besides denominational colleges, other<lb />Christian institutions with which Sin-<lb />clair Lewis makes a good deal of sport<lb />are the Y.W.C.A. and the Y.M.C.A.<lb /><lb />To Mr. Lewis the institutions of the<lb />church are made up of a mass of more or<lb />less conforming individuals. In a sense,<lb />therefore, his description of particular<lb />members of the church reflects his larger<lb />criticism of the church as an institution.<lb />There are at least four elements of mem-<lb />bers within the churches in LewisTs<lb />novels: the overly pioug and sanctimoni-<lb />ous, the lower class which must be kept<lb />in order, the ogood fellow� or obooster,�<lb />and the person who wishes to belong but<lb />who has no notion of reasons or doc-<lb />trines. This latter group takes part of<lb />its number from each of the other<lb />groups.<lb /><lb />A typical Lewis character who is over-<lb />ly pious is the Widow Bogart in Main<lb />Street. So repulsive is her religion that<lb />Carol Kennicott says of her: oIf that<lb />woman ig on the side of angels, then I<lb />have no choice; I must be on the side of<lb />the devil.�<lb /><lb />The lower class who must be kept in<lb />order are represented by such groups as<lb />the strikers who are vividly portrayed in<lb />Babbitt and the poor Swede farmer in<lb />Main Street. The strikers are presented<lb />solely as an economic group, though in-<lb />dividuals stand out in the latter element.<lb />Porticularly obstreperous and in need of<lb />heing okept in his place� is the Swede<lb />Miles Bjornstam who meets a deputa-<lb />tion from the local church just prior to<lb />the death of his wife and baby son with<lb /><lb />FALL, 1959<lb /><lb />the stinging words: oYouTre too late.<lb />You canTt do nothing now. BeaTs always<lb />kind of hoped that you folks would come<lb />to see her. ... She used to sit waiting for<lb />somebody to knock. . . . Now,"oh, you<lb />ainTt worth god-damning.� And with this,<lb />he shut the door in their faces.<lb /><lb />The last type of church member satir-<lb />ized by Lewis is the one who, like the<lb />obooster,� supports the church as a part<lb />of the community, though not necessarily<lb />for personal gain. This individual feels<lb />a kinship with the members, but has no<lb />understanding whatsoever of doctrines<lb />proclaimed by the institution to which<lb />he belongs. Main StreetTs Doc Kennicott<lb />is a typical example of this type of church<lb />member. oHe believed in the Christian<lb />religion, and never thought about it; he<lb />believed in the church, and seldom went<lb />near it; he was shocked by CarolTs lack<lb />of faith, and wasnTt quite sure what was<lb />the nature of the faith she lacked.�<lb /><lb />In all of these types of members, their<lb />so-called beliefs are not only mouthed<lb />without understanding but application<lb />of them is also rarely practiced. The<lb />church membersT lack of olove of neigh-<lb />bor� has already been pointed out in the<lb />Miles Bjornstam incident. Another ex-<lb />ample of this is the account of Carol] Ken-<lb />nicott being taken to task by more ar-<lb />dent church members for paying her<lb />maid a living wage. And in Elmer Gantry<lb />it is pointed up that though there are<lb />Jews, Negroes, and foreigners within the<lb />American population, it is a olot safer,<lb />to avoid the problem� which they create<lb />for a church that preaches brotherhood<lb />but whose general attitude is that Ameri-<lb />can born whites are superior.<lb /><lb />Generally this lack of a practical ap-<lb />plication of religion may be summed up<lb />in the words: oIn Gopher Prairie it is<lb />not good form to be holy except at church,<lb />between ten-thirty and twelve on Sun-<lb />day.�<lb /><lb />Just as the individuals making up the<lb />church reflect upon the institution itself,<lb />so does the leadership reflect upon the<lb />followers. And because the oblind are<lb />leading the blind,� the total structure of<lb />church organization becomes an endless<lb />circle of hypocrisy.<lb /><lb />In his depiction of the protestant min-<lb />istry, Lewis is not at his best, for his<lb />characters at times do not seem real, but<lb />rather as caricatures. And his forced<lb /><lb />23<lb /></p>
        <pb facs="00062548_0024" />
        <p>
          <lb />
          <lb />|<lb /><lb />The REBEL<lb /><lb />24<lb /><lb /></p>
        <pb facs="00062548_0025" />
        <p>humor and ribald treatment of sex de-<lb />tracts somewhat from what could be<lb />satire in its finest sense. Yet even so,<lb />Lewis does focus his search light upon<lb />many weak spots within the clergy and<lb />reveals situations which the church gen-<lb />erally prefers not to admit.<lb /><lb />The most colorful minister Sinclair<lb />Lewis paints is Elmer Gantry, whose<lb /><lb />career is traced from his religious con-<lb />version during college days, through<lb />seminary training, through a_ Baptist<lb />pastorate, into a moral slip necessitating<lb />his resignation, through a period as shoe<lb />salesman and one ag a roving evangelist,<lb />and finally into his acceptance of Metho-<lb />dist doctrines and subsequent climb in<lb />that denomination from the pastorate of<lb />a small rural church to that of a large<lb />city church. Throughout his entire story<lb />ElmerTs physical and emotional character-<lb />istics take precedence over his intellec-<lb />tual and spiritual qualities. Issue may be<lb />taken with Barbara Grace Spayd that<lb />Elmer Gantry is a opicture somewhat out<lb />of focus� and that he is a caricature. As<lb />detestable a character as he is, he does<lb />exist, nevertheless, within the protestant<lb />ministry. However, he is the exception<lb />rather than the rule of ministers. While<lb />many a minister has had ElmerTs thick<lb />lack of intelligence, many his ambitions<lb />to climb, many his pompous and pious<lb />use of phrases unmeaningful and inap-<lb />plicable to life, many his sensationalisms,<lb />some his characteristic of sex deviations,<lb />and some a combination of perhaps two<lb />of these, it is the very rare individual<lb />indeed whose life contains all of them.<lb /><lb />Saron Falconer, woman evangelist in<lb />the same story, appears, however, as a<lb />definite caricature. While the organiza-<lb />tion of her evangelistic troop, its eco-<lb />nomic outlook, and its conduction of re-<lb />ligious services are not unknown, LewisTs<lb />story of her religious sex orgy is cer-<lb />tainly a far-fetched one which is repul-<lb />sive and which does not captivate any<lb />belief on the part of the reader.<lb /><lb />Lewis is better in his satire of other<lb />evangelists, depicting them as_ proto-<lb />types of Billy Sunday, the controversial<lb />evangelistic orator who cast his influence<lb />across America during the period of<lb />LewisTs writing. For instance, in Babbitt<lb />Mike Monday, the oworldTs greatest sales-<lb /><lb />FALL, 1959<lb /><lb />man of salvation,� wasnTt asked to Ze-<lb />nith till it was reported that oin every<lb />city where he had appeared, Mr. Monday<lb />had turned the minds of workmen from<lb />wages and hours to higher things, and<lb />thus averted strikes.�<lb /><lb />The fanaticism of LewisTs evangelists<lb />is seen in pastozates and missions also.<lb />The Rev. Ira Hinkley, medical mission-<lb />ary from the Sanctification Bible and<lb />Missions School, discovered in his mis-<lb />sion his school mate, Dr. Martin Arrow-<lb />smith, who has come for scientific experi-<lb />mentation with an epidemic of the<lb />plague. With a near wildness he ex-<lb />claims: oOh, Mart, if you knew how my<lb />heart bleeds to see these ignorant fel-<lb />lows going unrepentant to eternal tor-<lb />ture! After all these years I know you<lb />canTt still be a scoffer. I come to you<lb />with open hands, begging you not mere-<lb />ly to comfort the sufferers but to snatch<lb />their souls from the burning lakes of sul-<lb />phur to which, in His everlasting mercy,<lb />(note: not justice but mercy) the Lord<lb />of Hosts hath condemned those that<lb />blaspheme against His gospel, freely<lb />given"�<lb /><lb />There is only one type of minister with<lb />whom Lewis apparently sympathizes.<lb />His strongest representation is found in<lb />Frank Shallard, a young liberal in Elmer<lb />Gantry. He came from an educated and<lb />devout family. Through his keen intel-<lb />lect and study he became aware of con-<lb />tradictions and fallacies within the<lb />church. He hopes to improve conditions<lb />from within. But from his seminary days<lb />with Elmer Gantry, and through several<lb />subsequent pastorates, his doubts and con-<lb />flicts grew. Finally because of his liber-<lb />al views he was forced to oresign� from<lb />his church. Although he did it in a con-<lb />ventional manner, his real desire was to<lb />be able to present his resignation by say-<lb />ing: oI have decided that no one in this<lb />room, including your pastor, believes in<lb />the Christian religion. Not one of us<lb />would turn the other cheek. Not one of<lb />us would sell all that he has and give to<lb />the poor. Not one of us would give his<lb />coat to some man who took his overcoat.<lb />Everyone of us lays up all the treasure he<lb />ean. We donTt practice the Christian re-<lb />ligion. We donTt intend to practice it.<lb />Therefore, we donTt believe in it. There-<lb /><lb />25<lb /></p>
        <pb facs="00062548_0026" />
        <p>fore I resign, and I advise you to quit<lb />lying and disband.�<lb /><lb />Thus, in a really tragic note, Sinclair<lb />Lewis directs the readerTs sympathy to-<lb />ward the very small element within or-<lb />ganized religion who feel their small-<lb /><lb />ness, their lack of understanding of<lb />omnipotent things, and who attempt at<lb />least in some measure to liberalize tra-<lb />ditional forms. Yet, if Lewis does not<lb />depict their case as being entirely hope-<lb />less, he certainly makes it our to be nearly<lb />so.<lb /><lb />The difficulties of organized religion<lb />are clearly pointed up; yet its solutions<lb />are never found. Even in LewisTs most<lb />genuine characters there remain varying<lb />degrees of hopelessness which, though<lb />mingled at times with optimism, present<lb />in the main a deep pessimism. His satire<lb />is most of the time graphically real. But<lb />the real is not beautiful to behold.<lb /><lb />The Woodcutter<lb /><lb />by Dr. Bruce Carter<lb />Art Department<lb /><lb />Printmaking is a creative art process,<lb />of which the layman has little or no<lb />awareness. Prints, which are mechanic-<lb />ally reproduced, are too often thought by<lb />the layman to be the same as original<lb />prints made from wood blocks, etching<lb />plates, or lithograph stones. Printmaking<lb />involves the creation of an origina] work<lb />of the artistTs expression. This product,<lb />unlike the Japanese, who combined the<lb />group efforts of three guilds of crafts-<lb />men, artists, woodcutters, and printers,<lb />is the result of one artist, who conceived<lb />the original idea, drew it, cut the block<lb />by means of a knife and chisels, and<lb />printed the inked block on paper. This<lb />print is an original work of an artist;<lb />and because more prints can be opulled�<lb />from the inked block, each original print<lb />is relatively economical for the layman<lb />to purchase.<lb /><lb />The traditional concept of a woodcut<lb />print is the organization of black lines<lb />on a white background. Although many<lb />woodcut artists are primarily concerned<lb /><lb />26<lb /><lb />with this relationship, there is a strong<lb />direction on the part of the contemporary<lb />printmaker not only to successfully or-<lb />ganize the black lines on a white back-<lb />ground, but to utilize the reverse, white<lb />lines on a black background, in the same<lb />print. ~The tools he employs are a sharp<lb />knife, chisels, V-shaped and _ gouges,<lb />nails, wire brushes, blow torches, ham-<lb />mers, awls, and any other tools by which<lb />he may create a line or texture on the<lb />wood surface to be printed. After the<lb />reverse image has been cut from the<lb />woodblock, the block is inked with a rol-<lb />ler or brayer and printing ink. The print<lb />itself is created by the application of a<lb />piece of paper, usually Japanese rice<lb />paper, to the inked block. The paper is<lb />lifted carefully from the block, and the<lb />result is the woodcut print.<lb /><lb />It is interesting to note that although<lb />the original print as an art work is rela-<lb />tively inexpensive, the print as an art<lb />form is not as popular with the American<lb />layman as in Europe and the Orient. This<lb />problem of the contemporary printmaker,<lb />in seeking appreciators of his craft and<lb />outlets for his work, can be rooted in<lb />our art educational systems. We have<lb />educated generations, who, unfortunate-<lb />ly are too, educating future generations,<lb />to the false concept that art is comprised<lb />solely of drawing and painting. As an ex-<lb />ample, the usual remark of a non-art<lb />major student in an art class is the trite,<lb />old statement, oI canTt draw a straight<lb />line.� This, although meant in jest, too<lb />often betrays a very narrow conception<lb />of art, which includes only drawing and<lb />painting, and fails to include the other<lb />forms of printmaking, sculpture, cer-<lb />amics, weaving, and photography.<lb /><lb />It is, therefore, the responsibility of an<lb />art educational system to a society, which<lb />stresses the rights of individual expres-<lb />sion, to broaden the societyTs conception<lb />of art and the numerous forms that it<lb />takes.<lb /><lb />The REBEL<lb /></p>
        <pb facs="00062548_0027" />
        <p>FALL, 1959<lb /><lb />27<lb /></p>
        <pb facs="00062548_0028" />
        <p>
          <lb />
          <lb />La Cuisine Des Anges or My Three<lb /><lb />Anyels - a comparison<lb /><lb />by Dr. Roy Prince<lb /><lb />oMy Three Angels� is an adaptation<lb />of ~La Cuisine des Anges,� a French play<lb />by Albert Husson. Mr. Husson is a gov-<lb /><lb />ernment employee, now 37 years of age,<lb />whose plays have been well received and<lb />have remained popular. For this play he<lb />won the Prix Tristan Bernard, an im-<lb />portant literary prize. The adaptation of<lb />this play wags made by Sam and Bella<lb />Spewack who also wrote oKiss Me Kate.�<lb /><lb />When oLa Cuisine� was first produced<lb />in Paris in January 1952, it was an im-<lb />mediate success. American producers saw<lb />its possibilities, and soon the Spewack<lb />version was ready and was produced in<lb />New York in March, 1953. It was a suc-<lb />cess at the box office, although the re-<lb />views were either mild or antagonistic<lb />towards it. It has since been produced<lb />with great success by drama groups all<lb />over the country, particularly by colleges<lb />and little theatres. The movie version<lb />under the title of ooWeTre No Angels� was<lb />produced by Paramount in 1955. Its re-<lb />views were even less favorable than those<lb />of the play although it was an interesting<lb />movie, particularly for people who had<lb />seen the play. The focal point of the<lb />criticism seemed to be the immoral do-<lb />ings of the three main characters. How-<lb />ever, the reason the play has been less a<lb />success than it might have been is that it<lb />has been almost universally misunder-<lb />stood. Actually it should be interpreted<lb />as being completely symbolic.<lb /><lb />The American play is shorter. The in-<lb />dividual] speeches of the characters are<lb />shorter. The Spewacks made some slight<lb />rearrangements in the action. They have<lb />made clear some of the subtleties of the<lb />language, and the intellectual depth of<lb />the characterizations has been made less<lb />deep. Neither of the plays can be said<lb />to be particularly deep intellectually, al-<lb />though the characters in oLa Cuisine� do<lb />often say things which would provoke<lb />philosophical thought. The French play<lb /><lb />28<lb /><lb />seems to have been written with the view<lb />of allowing character types to _ build<lb />themselves up, not just be words but ulso<lb /><lb />by pantomine and gestures, giving them-<lb />selves ample opportunity to reveal their<lb />abilities and to project themselves to<lb />their hearers. Laughter is meant to be<lb />provided not just by what the actors say,<lb />but more so by what they do and how<lb />they do it.<lb /><lb />The European idea is to see a play, not<lb />to find out how it comes out but to see<lb />how the actors play it. Thus, a production<lb />would be successful only if it is played<lb />by a cast of capable artists. European<lb />audiences are interested in hearing how<lb />the actors say their lines and also what<lb />they do at the same time. They are in-<lb />terested in the philosophical ideas of the<lb />play. They like pantomine which can be<lb />more forceful than words if properly exe-<lb />cuted. The American theatre-goers in<lb />general do not go to a play to see how<lb />well it is done, but to follow the literal<lb />meaning of the story, to see how it comes<lb />out, to be amused. They do not usually<lb />see a play more than once. It is our firm<lb />belief that anyone who gees this or any<lb />other play will enjoy it far more if he<lb />has read or seen it beforehand. When one<lb />knows the direction ef the action, when<lb />he has the thread of the story in mind,<lb />and is more or less familiar with what<lb />is being said, he does not need to con-<lb />centrate so much on catching the exact<lb />words lest he lose the train of thought.<lb />Then he can lend more attention to what<lb />is being said, what the actors are doing,<lb />and what philosophy the play develops.<lb />Thus, he has more time to appreciate the<lb />play and to meditate on the problems it<lb />has raised.<lb /><lb />The date of the French play was 1880;<lb />that of the American play was 1910. How-<lb />ever, in the important matterg the Ameri-<lb />can play follows the French play. If it<lb />is taken in its literal sense, the play be-<lb /><lb />The REBEL<lb /><lb /></p>
        <pb facs="00062548_0029" />
        <p>comes amusing yet bold and has a stand-<lb />ard of conduct which is quite shocking to<lb />our sense of justice and to due process of<lb />law. The French play gives more promi-<lb />nence to reflective thought; the American<lb />version depends on rapid-fire dialogue,<lb />action and comic situation. The French<lb />play has more speeches with double mean-<lb />ing (not necessarily suggestive of evil) ;<lb />the American play says things more di-<lb />rectly and positively. The French play<lb />opens when a native boy enters a store,<lb />and after looking around for a while, he<lb />steals a harmonica. No words are spoken<lb />for a few moments until he has gone<lb />out. The American play says only that<lb />a harmonica has been stolen. The seri-<lb />ousness of the previous love affair be-<lb />tween the daughter Marie-Louise and her<lb />cousin Paul is emphasized in the French<lb />play but minimized in the American play.<lb />The French play minimizes the forged<lb />will; the American play emphasizes it.<lb />The French play gives more emphasis to<lb />characterizations; the American play em-<lb />phasizes the setting and the action. Dis-<lb />regarding the language in which each<lb />is written, the French play would be bet-<lb />ter if done by French actors and for a<lb />French audience, and the American play<lb />would be better if done by American<lb />actors for an American audience.<lb /><lb />The play tells the story of the Ducotel<lb />family who have come to a penal colony<lb />in French Guiana to establish a store.<lb /><lb />Felix, the father, is not a good business<lb />man and his store has been losing business<lb />and is about to go to ruin. Emilie is his<lb />long suffering and loving wife who has<lb />more business sense than her husband.<lb />Since the business is going so poorly, its<lb />backer, an uncle, Henri Trochard, a tough<lb />man with eyes only for money, is coming<lb />to inspect everything, and the Ducotels<lb />fear he will throw them out. Their daugh-<lb />ter, Marie-Louise, is in love with a cousin<lb />Paul who has remained in France, but who<lb />is coming along with his Uncle Henri<lb />whose heir he is to be. Marie-Louise be-<lb />lieves that her love will at last be ful-<lb />filled, but Paul is coming to break off the<lb />affair since his uncle has induced him to<lb />promise to marry the daughter of a rich<lb />man " a union which would further so-<lb />lidify the Trochard business. The two<lb />arrive on Christmas Eve night, the same<lb />night on which Emilie has invited three<lb /><lb />FALL, 1959<lb /><lb />convicts (free on the island but not free<lb />to leave it) to spend Christmas Eve night<lb />with them. When the play opens the con-<lb />victs are busy repairing the roof of the<lb />Ducotel house. From above they over-<lb />hear enough of the conversations below<lb />to size-up the situation at once and to<lb />realize that the Ducotels are in danger<lb />of losing everything since business is so<lb />bad; the account books have not been<lb />kept up to date; and Marie-Louise is be-<lb />ing jilted. Only desperate action will<lb />save them, and the three convicts are<lb />prepared for it. They later decide to re-<lb />lease into the bedroom of the sleeping<lb />Henri a deadly snake named, Adolphe<lb />which they carry in a coconut shell. He<lb />does indeed find the bed of Henri and<lb />the result is sure. This having been ac-<lb />complished, and before Adolphe can be<lb />recaptured, the convicts find that the<lb />nephew Paul has been bitten when he<lb />puts his hand into the pocket of his dead<lb />uncle. In the meantime one of the crimi-<lb />nals has forged a will in the name of<lb />Henri in favor of the Ducotels. After<lb />Paul has died, the Angels cause Marie-<lb />Louise to meet a handsome naval officer,<lb />and having accomplished their mission<lb />on earth they go back up the ladder to<lb />the roof as the play ends.<lb /><lb />This play should not be taken at its<lb />face value for what it seems to be. If we<lb />do take it literally, it is a shocking and<lb /><lb />revolting story about a trio of criminals<lb />who cause the death of two people who<lb />they feel do not deserve to live. Thus, we<lb />would have a farcial mixture of the<lb />comic and the tragic. What may be easily<lb />overlooked igs that the play is symbolic.<lb />Even the title, oMy Three Angels,� makes<lb />this clear. While it may not be the duty<lb />of mankind consciously to speed-up the<lb />workings of Providence, still much of the<lb />work of the Almighty has always been<lb />done by man himelf. The oThree Angels�<lb />should not be looked on as murderers, but<lb />as instruments for the execution of di-<lb />vine judgment. Thus, the serpent Adolphe<lb />becomes the symbol of the wrath of God<lb />and the agent by which His will is exe-<lb />cuted. The Three Angels become inter-<lb />medizries between God and man, sent<lb />down to earth to carry out in a physical<lb />way the ends of divine justice.<lb /><lb />Further evidence of this is in the fact<lb />that in the play Adolphe bites two peo-<lb /><lb />29<lb /></p>
        <pb facs="00062548_0030" />
        <p>ple and only two " those who most de-<lb />serve to die. If Adolphe were a mere<lb />snake and the Angels base criminals,<lb />then it would be asking too much of a<lb />snake to expect him to bite only those who<lb />deserve death, and of the criminals to<lb /><lb />limit their activities to committing crimes<lb />for the good of others. We would not ex-<lb />pect a snake to be so discriminating in<lb />his tastes or criminals to protect the<lb />needy. In the beginning the Angels were<lb />on the roof repairing it. This is a symbol<lb />of the fact that they were there to per-<lb />form actions which would prevent the<lb />world of the Ducotels from caving in up-<lb />on them ag it was about to do. In the<lb />early scenes every time the Deity is men-<lb />tioned, hammering"thunder"is heard<lb />from above. The harmonica seems to be<lb />used to usher in the Angels and set the<lb />stage with heavenly music for the com-<lb />ing of the Three. The harmonica plays<lb />both on the entrance of the Angels and<lb />also on their final exit; as well as at<lb />times when the idea of Angels is men-<lb />tioned. When the Angels enter the scene,<lb />it is by climbing down the ladder from<lb />above as if they were coming down from<lb />heaven. In the French play the harmon-<lb />ica plays a Christmas carol oLe Christ<lb />est neTT"Christ is born, symbolizing the<lb />coming of Christ but in the form of his<lb />Angels. Significant also is the fact that<lb />the time of the play is Christmas Eve<lb />night and Christmas Day.<lb /><lb />One apparently superfluous character<lb />in both plays is Madam Parole (a signif-<lb />icant name). She offers some comic re-<lb />lief because she is a universal type. She<lb />warns the Ducotels to be on the lookout<lb />for thieves, yet in her manner and by her<lb />actions she reveals herself as the worst<lb />thief of jall since she deals in fraud and<lb />deceit under the hypocritical mask of re-<lb />spectability. It seems likely that she was<lb />put in as a contrast to the three Angels.<lb />She outwardly pretends to be respectable<lb />but she has no scruples and swindles any-<lb />body she can, but the three Angels, who<lb />admit being criminals, go about doing<lb />good. It would be dangerous to general-<lb />ize and say that so it is in life, but no<lb />doubt her type does exist.<lb /><lb />The Three Angels enter when they are<lb />first needed but not until they are needed,<lb />although their presence nearby has been<lb /><lb />30<lb /><lb />pointed out from the first. They seem to<lb />know all, to anticipate everything and to<lb />always have the right answers. They are<lb />uncannily superhuman in this regard.<lb />They hesitate only once and that is when<lb />they are trying to recapture Adolphe af-<lb />ter the death of Henri Trochard. This<lb />could mean that Angels can deal success-<lb />fully with man but that the ways of God<lb /><lb />sometimes elude anyone of lesser impor-<lb />tance.<lb /><lb />Adolphe in his cage is always present<lb />except when he is at work. The convicts<lb />first met Adolphe when he _ suddenly<lb />dropped down from above on the neck<lb />of a cruel guard. Henceforth he was a<lb />pal of the three. Again this is an illus-<lb />tration of the wrath of God coming down<lb />from heaven to punish an evil man.<lb /><lb />When Marie-Louise, disappointed in<lb />love, wants to run away to a convent,<lb />one of the Three asks her the right ques-<lb />tions and makes just the right comments<lb />to help her change her mind. He gives<lb />her hope because he helps her use her<lb />better judgment and good gense to solve<lb />a problem for which at first she saw no<lb />solution. This is just as God himself might<lb />help anyone to solve a problem"through<lb />the inner workings of his own mind and<lb />the tendency of his better judgment to<lb />prevail.<lb /><lb />The harmonica plays as omiracles� are<lb />being carried out. The Christmas tree and<lb />its trimmings have all come from the<lb />garden of the Governor"he who could<lb />best afford to share. For the preparation<lb />of the dinner, the procuring of food,<lb />flowers and the serving of the dinner, it<lb />is the Angels who unhesitatingly and<lb />swiftly provide for everything. Heavenly<lb />music from the harmonica towards the<lb />close of the first act tells of three Angels<lb />who came down to earth. When the toy<lb />Angels are placed as decorations on the<lb />top of the tree, they are shopworn, bruised<lb />and damaged"but Angels nevertheless"<lb />fallen Angels"just as these Angels on<lb />earth are. Surely the intention of the<lb />author to have the convicts become Angels<lb />in reality could not be more plain. They<lb />could hardly have been pictured as less<lb />like what they were in reality or more<lb />like what they represented. The things<lb />which happen in the play may be shock-<lb />ing to the senses, but one should not take<lb /><lb />The REBEL<lb /></p>
        <pb facs="00062548_0031" />
        <p>these murderers seriously. They werenTt<lb />meant that way, since as Angels they<lb />can do no wrong.<lb /><lb />The value of any play or of any piece<lb />of literature is, the larger number of pos-<lb />sible interpretations it can have. oMy<lb />Three Angels� ig an _ excellent and<lb />thought-provoking play, and all who have<lb />seen it enjoyed it, but those who are best<lb />acquainted with it in advance enjoy and<lb />profit from it most.<lb /><lb />East Carolina<lb />College Playhouse<lb /><lb />Director: Dr. J. A. Withey<lb />Assistant Director: Mr. James A. Brewer<lb />President: Bill Faulkner<lb /><lb />The Playhouse presented its first<lb />production on November 6, 7, and 8. This<lb />production, My Three Angels, wag pre-<lb />sented on Broadway and later made into<lb />a movie with Humphrey Bogart, Aldo<lb />Ray, and Peter Ustinov playing the lead-<lb />ing roles. In the E.C. production of this,<lb />Mr. J. A. Brewer served as director<lb />and played a leading role as one of the<lb />angels. Mr. Brewer played this role<lb />previously at the University of Southern<lb />California. Others in the playhouse who<lb />had leading roles in this production were<lb />Jim Roper, Ed Barcliff, Leigh Dob-<lb />son, Lynn Glassford, and Dan Yanchin-<lb />sin.<lb /><lb />The E.C. Playhouse will present an-<lb />other major production during January"<lb />The Diary of Anne Frank. There will also<lb />be the Shakespearean production in the<lb />spring.<lb /><lb />Other plans for the year include the<lb />annual childrenTs play and several work-<lb />shop plays. Mr. James A. Brewer will<lb />work with the Music Department next<lb />spring on the annual musical production,<lb />South Pacific.<lb /><lb />The playhouse definitely feels the need<lb />for more people who are interested in such<lb />things as make-up, publicity, and scenery.<lb />For the first time, the playhouse has pre-<lb />pared and sent out a brochure of plays<lb />for the year and a list of different classes<lb />to be taught concerning different aspects<lb />of drama such as acting interpretation<lb /><lb />FALL, 1959<lb /><lb />SONG OF THE BOUGH<lb /><lb />by Janice Brand<lb /><lb />Unter den linden,<lb />flowering now,<lb />Sweet leaves of sorrow<lb />Hung from a bough.<lb />Silent, I washed them,<lb />PityTs sweet brow,<lb />Hung from the lindenTs<lb />pondering bough.<lb />Shadows from under,<lb />green, like the bough,<lb />PassionTs sweet wonder<lb />sorrowing now.<lb />Sing, minnesingers,<lb />A linden is now<lb />Sweet from its way-winding,<lb />Stooped with its bough.<lb /><lb />(Written as ia sequel to Unter Den Liden,<lb />Walther von der Vogelweide, Middle<lb />Ages"1400?)<lb /><lb />(Continued from Page 14)<lb /><lb />undoubtedly, has his own little world. In<lb />his book, After the Lost Generation, John<lb />W. Peridge speaks of the boundaries of<lb />HemingwayTs world. oThe Hemingway of<lb />those first stories"printed in the small<lb />de luxe way by friends in Paris"had al-<lb />ready staked out the dimensions of this<lb />world. The boundaries of that world<lb />would extend from the Michigan woods<lb />to the battlefield at Caporetto and the<lb />bull rings of Spain around to the studios<lb />along the Paris Left Bank.�<lb /><lb />HemingwayTs world thrives on the utili-<lb />zation of the senses; HemingwayTs world<lb />is a world at war; the people of the world<lb />operate under such conditions as, des-<lb />paration, apprehension, emergency, and<lb />violence; HemingwayTs world is one in<lb />which things do not grow, but explode,<lb />break, or are eaten away<lb /><lb />It is easy to protest this world. It is<lb />sometimes hard to believe this world<lb />exists. It may be hard to distinguish<lb />which, of all the worlds our writers of-<lb />fer, will be the ones we shal] live in; but<lb />no matter which we choose, a little of<lb />HemingwayTs will be included.<lb /><lb />31<lb /></p>
        <pb facs="00062548_0032" />
        <p>
          <lb />
          <lb />|<lb />|<lb />|<lb /><lb />|<lb />I<lb />|<lb />|<lb /><lb /><lb /><lb />t<lb /><lb />'GORNTO<lb /><lb />ROSE MARIE<lb /><lb /><lb /><lb /><lb /><lb /><lb /><lb />esc ees<lb /><lb />o<lb />tis.<lb /><lb />\ l We a STM ic<lb /><lb />~<lb /><lb />The REBEL<lb /><lb />o2<lb /><lb /></p>
        <pb facs="00062548_0033" />
        <p>The Rebel Review<lb /><lb />The world of the printed word is, as<lb />always, full and rich. This world is a<lb />self-sustaining and self-educating realm.<lb />Its horizons are broad and its boundaries<lb />limitless. As one steps into this varigated<lb />realm, one sees a single factor which is<lb />common to all its component parts. Each<lb />has value for us. If we agree with the<lb />idea, there is the thrill which can be<lb />understood only if one has experienced<lb />the sensation of having certain words<lb />and phrases leap before his eyes and in-<lb />tuitively knowing, oThis is me.� If we<lb />violently disagree, there results a deeper<lb />examination of vur own views and the<lb />reasons underlying them. In any case,<lb />there is stimulation of oneTs mental pro-<lb />cesses, which is one of the most essential<lb />of the life activities.<lb /><lb />William F. Buckley, editor of the Na-<lb />tional Review and oenfant terrible of the<lb />Conservatives,� is the author of a contro-<lb />versial new book, Up From Liberalism.<lb />Its stated purpose is ~ooTo bring down this<lb />thing called liberalism which is powerful<lb />but decadent; and salvage conservatism<lb />which is weak but viable.� Buckley lauds<lb />McCarthyism as oa movement around<lb />which men of good will and stern moral-<lb />ity can close ranks.� Although many<lb />liberals have admitted that liberalism is<lb />in need of refining its foundations, it<lb />remains to be shown if Mr. Buckley has<lb />anything more than a negative approach<lb />to offer.<lb /><lb />Howells, His Life und Work by Van<lb />Wyck Brooks is another interesting new-<lb />comer. Because of the social documentary<lb />nature of some of his work, Howells has<lb />been placed by some in the field of cul-<lb />tural history rather than that of litera-<lb />ture. Brooks attempts to orecreate How-<lb />ells and restores him to his rightful place.�<lb />It should be noted that if the nature of<lb />HowellsT work eliminates him from the<lb />field of literature, the same must be said<lb />of Theodore Driser and Thomas Mann.<lb /><lb />Recently published is The Collected<lb />Essays of Aldous Huxley. This volume<lb />has been described as othe spiritual auto-<lb />biography of its author.� HuxleyTs keen<lb />mind probes into almost every area<lb /><lb />FALL, 1959<lb /><lb />known to man. In this writerTs opinion,<lb />Aldous Huxley is unrivaled for sheer<lb />force of the intellect.<lb /><lb />For an unusual and controversial con-<lb />mentary on the implications of FreudTs<lb />work and theories, see The Freudian Eth-<lb />ic, by Richard Ja Piere. A professor of<lb />sociology, La Piere holds the Freudian<lb />ethic and its implications strictly re-<lb />sponsible for the ills of Western civiliza-<lb />tion today.<lb /><lb />Albert Camus, a modern enigma in<lb />literature and philosophy, is further ex-<lb />plored in Albert Camus and the Litera-<lb />ture of Revolt by John Cruickshank. The<lb />author attempts to analyze CamusT ideas<lb />and ideology as well as his literary style<lb />and significance.<lb /><lb />O To Be A Dragon ig a thin volume of<lb />poetry by Marianne Moore (Her output<lb />seldom exceeds four poems a year.) Some<lb />critics consider Miss Moore dated and<lb />say that she is writing for the Twenties<lb />and Thirties rather than for the Fifties<lb />and Sixties. Certainly as the only real<lb />American disciple of T. S. Eliot, she<lb />writes for his school of criticism. Thus<lb />she receives her share of the criticism<lb />which maintains that modern poetry is<lb />too academic and text-bookish. By whose<lb />standard should she be judged, those of<lb />the criticism she strives to meet, or those<lb />of critics who have no appreciation of<lb />what she is attempting to do?<lb /><lb />Faulkner at the Unwersity"As Writ-<lb />v-In-Residence at the University of Vir-<lb />ginia 1957-1958, William Faulkner held<lb />several tape-recorded interviews. Ques-<lb />tions of his audience (ranging from a<lb />freshman English class to Department of<lb />psychiatry) and his replies appear in this<lb />book. Typical questions are ohas he tried<lb />to picture the South and Southern civili-<lb />zation?� (oNot at allT), oWhat does he<lb />consider the best novel by younger writ-<lb />ers?� (The Catcher in the Rye).<lb /><lb />oT donTt know too much about ideas. .<lb />ITm interested primarily in people, in man<lb />in conflict with himself, with his fellow<lb />man, or with his time and place, his en-<lb />vironment,� said Faulkner.<lb /><lb />33<lb /><lb /></p>
        <pb facs="00062548_0034" />
        <p>
          <lb />
          <lb />CormorantTs Brood<lb /><lb />by Dr. Herbert R. Paschal<lb /><lb />Inglis Fletcher, CormorantTs Brood (Philadelphia<lb />and New York: J. B. Lippincott Co., 1959) 345 pp.<lb />$3.95.<lb /><lb />For the tenth time Inglis Fletcher has<lb />turned to the history of colonial North<lb />Carolina for the background of a histori-<lb />cal novel. This is dramatic testimony to<lb />both the richness of the colonial history<lb />of this state and the prolific pen of Mrs.<lb />Fletcher.<lb /><lb />CormorantTs Brood is a story of life in<lb />Edenton and the surrounding plantation<lb />country in the 1720Ts. It is also a story of<lb />intrigue in high places as Governor George<lb />Burrington, one of the cormorantTs brood<lb />of the title, seeks to undermine his pro-<lb />prietary masterTs rule in North Carolina<lb />and establish royal control over the colony.<lb />Adding further to the intrigue is the ap-<lb />pearance on the scene of Anthony Gran-<lb />ville, nephew of the Palatine of Carolina,<lb />who arrives incognito in Edenton to re-<lb />port to his uncle on the state of proprie-<lb />tary government in the colony. Young<lb />Granville soon becomes involved with Di-<lb />erdra Treffry, well born and beautiful<lb />governess in BurringtonTs household, who<lb />spurns him for Allin Gorgas, illegitimate<lb />heir of an old and powerful Devon family.<lb />Moving through the pages are a galaxy<lb />of early North Carolina notables, Edward<lb />Moseley, Christopher Gale, John Lovyck,<lb />and many others. The most interesting<lb />character, and by far the best drawn, is<lb />Governor George Burrington. His erratic<lb />behaviour has apparently intrigued Mrs.<lb />Fletcher as much as it has historians of<lb />this period.<lb /><lb />In her foreword Mrs. Fletcher writes<lb />that this is oa novel about a quiet time.�<lb />Perhaps this is the explanation for a<lb />story that moves much too slowly and at<lb />time creaks almost to a halt. One reason<lb />for the slow pace of the action may have<lb />been the writerTs unwillingness to expand<lb />her story beyond the immediate vicinity of<lb />Edenton and paint her picture on a broad-<lb />er canvas.<lb /><lb />Yet she gives the reader an unusually<lb />fine picture of early Edenton and of the<lb /><lb />34<lb /><lb />petty, partisan politics and intrigue of<lb />late proprietary North Carolina. Such act-<lb />ual historical incidents as the Eden will<lb />case, the tria] of Mary Patten, and the<lb />Gale-Burrington feud, are skillfully<lb />woven into the tale. Nevertheless, the<lb />reader must bear in mind that Mrs. Flet-<lb />cher is not trying to write history as she<lb />would doubtless be the first to admit.<lb />Historical events are telescoped, rearrang-<lb />ed, and tossed aside as best suits the story.<lb />Her contribution to the history of the<lb />state is to awaken in the reader an in-<lb />tense desire to learn more of what actual-<lb />ly did happen in early Carolina. For this<lb />Mrs. Fletcher deserves the thanks of all<lb /><lb />who labor to unfold the true story of<lb />North CarolinaTs past.<lb /><lb />The Undefeated<lb /><lb />by Virginia Evans<lb />The Undefeated by George Paloczi-Horvath<lb /><lb />THE UNDEFEATED winner of At-<lb />lantic Non-Fiction Award, is a profound-<lb />ly moving autobiography of George Pal-<lb />oczi-Horvath, Hungarian writer and<lb />journalist. He describes his physical and<lb />intellectual growth in the midst of the<lb />most ideologica] clashes in our age, his<lb />deep concern for the people of Hungary,<lb />and his fight to free them from injustice<lb />by using his literary talents.<lb /><lb />His childhood was divided between<lb />two worlds, the feudalistic estate of his<lb />fatherTs family and friends, and the cul-<lb />tured atmosphere of his stepfather and<lb />motherTs home in Budapest. George re-<lb />belled against his fatherTs way of life on<lb />the feudal estate. At fifteen he left both<lb />homes for colleges in Hungary, Vienna,<lb />and the United States. At twenty-one he<lb />returned to Hungary and joined the staff<lb />of the liberal paper, Pesti Naplo.<lb /><lb />As the undercurrents of the Second<lb />World War began to be felt, George be-<lb />came one of the most conspicuous anti-<lb />Nazi publicists in Hungary. In 1941 he<lb />had to leave Hungary because his anti-<lb />Nazi work was enraging the Germans.<lb />He went to Cairo where he began prop-<lb /><lb />The REBEL<lb /></p>
        <pb facs="00062548_0035" />
        <p>aganda work with a secret British or-<lb />ganization.<lb /><lb />In 1947 he returned to Hungary, and<lb />bee2n drifting toward the ideals of com-<lb />munism. As an intellectual he felt that<lb />comrunismTs theory of the dictatorship<lb />oi the party leaders disguised as the dic-<lb />tatorship of the proletariat would be re-<lb />vised under the impact of the mid-twen-<lb />ti th century situation. He felt also that<lb />it was the duty of intellectuals from out-<lb />side the party to help in the rejuvenation<lb />of Marxism. Although he had reserva-<lb />tions about party discipline, he applied<lb />and s accepted by the communists as<lb />a j-arty member. He worked and devoted<lb />himself entirely to the ocause,� but sud-<lb />denly when he thought he was a true par-<lb />ty member, he was arrested by the secur-<lb />ity police. He was swiftly taken to an<lb />underground jail for a confession. He was<lb />b wildeved and confused by these actions.<lb />he was questioned for several hours with<lb />glaring lights shining in his eyes, and<lb />he was not allowed to sleep for two days.<lb />The communists had said when he became<lb />a member that his record was beyond<lb />reproach; he knew he was innocent and<lb />there must be a mistake. He found out<lb />from the officers during a oconfession�<lb />period that hig arrest concerned the work<lb />he did during the war with the British.<lb />The communists never gave him a con-<lb />crete reason for his arrest.<lb /><lb />Tortured, starved, and frozen, he was<lb />reduced to skin and bones within fifteen<lb />months. The officers always promised<lb />him blankets, and better food and clothes,<lb />but he never saw the results of their<lb />promises. Living a semi-existence with<lb />few rations, in verminous cells often<lb />ankle deep in water, and a board for a<lb />bed, he had to fight for strength to live<lb />and to keep his sanity. By daydreaming<lb />and giving himself lectures, he managed<lb />to keep his mind occupied. Because he<lb />was adept in six languages, his hard la-<lb />bor consisted of translating books; he ap-<lb />plied himself wholeheartedly to this<lb />task. He knew now that he was one of<lb />many innocent people imprisoned. by the<lb />communists while communism was _ un-<lb />dergoing a major change.<lb /><lb />When he gradually had accepted the<lb />idea that his beloved party had arrested<lb />him without a cause, he felt like ~~some-<lb /><lb />FALL, 1959<lb /><lb />one who is kicked in the stomach by his<lb />mother.� For two long and painful years<lb />in prison, he clung to the faith of com-<lb />munism. Suddenly he saw the utter dis-<lb />honesty of the ocause,� and he began to<lb />call himself a oformer communist.� Then<lb />as the years passed he stopped being a<lb />oformer communist.�<lb /><lb />Five years later in September, 1954, he<lb />was released, and he wag declared unfit<lb />to be a party member. He started to write<lb />articles for the Literary Gazette, which<lb />had a platform of free writing and proved<lb />immensely popular in Budopest. In 1956,<lb />poems, essays, and articles were printed<lb />attacking party dictatorship. Soon the<lb />entire city was in arms against Soviet<lb />Russia and communism. Demonstnations<lb />and firing started against the security<lb />police and Soviet troops. In November<lb />Russian tanks poured into Budapest.<lb />George Paloczi-Horvath again had to es-<lb />cape from his own country through a<lb />dark march under Russian bombing of<lb />the area. He is now living and writing<lb />in London still a political exile. He states,<lb />oT am confused and believe in simple<lb />things like common sense and common<lb />decency.�<lb /><lb />The Undefeated is a fascinating book.<lb />The scenes of the war years in Hungary<lb />and the fight of the Hungarians against<lb />communism ig described in vivid details.<lb />It is the story of a courageous man and<lb />his country fighting for their right to<lb />express themselves against uneven odds.<lb />Love, adventure, intrigue, and excitement<lb />are interwoven through the fast pace of<lb />an unforgettable book.<lb /><lb />What End But Love<lb /><lb />by Bryan Harrison<lb /><lb />Whkat End But Love by Gordon Webber. Little,<lb />Brown &amp; Co. 425 pp. $4.75.<lb /><lb />What End But Love is the story of a<lb /><lb />Northern family who have seen in their<lb /><lb />time a land of sprawling farms trans-<lb />formed into factory lots and consequently<lb />a change in their lives. The head of the<lb />tribe, Holly Hobart, still maintains the<lb />old home place although on a quiet day<lb />he can hear the whistles of the automobile<lb /><lb />35<lb /></p>
        <pb facs="00062548_0036" />
        <p>
          <lb />
          <lb />factories in nearby Flint, Michigan. His<lb />many sons and daughters have gone their<lb />own ways and he, a widower, is left alone<lb />to uphold the Hobart farm and what is<lb />left of the family tradition. However, he<lb />too finally submits to the inevitable<lb />changes of the times and makes a contract<lb />to sell the farm to a new production plant.<lb /><lb />The focal point of the novel is the an-<lb />nual family reunion where all the sons<lb />and daughters, uncles, cousins and aunts,<lb />come home. This year many are coming<lb />for curiosity, for they have heard the<lb />rumor that Holly has torn up his contract<lb />and despite his years has decided to take<lb />a young wife.<lb /><lb />The old manTs decision and how he<lb />faces it in spite of the pressures of many<lb />loves and approaching death is the dra-<lb />matic climax of the novel. In facing it he<lb />must fight a battle within himself and at<lb />hig age many old memories and relation-<lb />ships enter the fray. The memories and<lb />the recollections of the family form the<lb />narrative of the book. And through the<lb />web of memories and recollections, of de-<lb />tailed description of a rapidly-changing<lb />men and landscapes, a true theme emer-<lb />ges; that love, and that which goes under<lb />the name of love, is a manTs only salva-<lb />tion.<lb /><lb />Here is a book that examines the many<lb />facets of love; the love of husband and<lb />wife, of father and son, of man and na-<lb />ture. Gordon Webber, a superb techni-<lb />cian, remaing consistently true to his<lb />theme, which is expressed in a line in<lb />William Carlos WilliamsT poem from<lb />where he gets the title:<lb /><lb />Death will be too late to bring us aid.<lb />What end but love,<lb />That stares death in the eye?<lb /><lb />Advise and Consent<lb /><lb />by Dr. Hubert Coleman<lb /><lb />Advise and Consent. By Allen Drury. (Garden<lb />City: Doubleday and Company, 1959. pp. 616.<lb />$5.75. Book of the Month Edition).<lb /><lb />Here is a novel about government that<lb />will certainly supplement the civics books.<lb />The book is so believable, so true to nor-<lb /><lb />36<lb /><lb />mal and accepted behavior in the U. S.<lb />Senate, that one is likely to forget after<lb />the first few pages that it is supposed to<lb />be fiction. There is also the possibility<lb />that this novel may disturb the odoctor-<lb />patient� relationship between Senators<lb />and their constituents. At any rate, set<lb />down in this book is a complete explora-<lb />tion of the varied stresses and strains un-<lb />der which government officials operate.<lb /><lb />One can see the awful agonies suffered<lb />by Senators and other high government<lb />officials in making up their minds on is-<lb />sues when the pressures (both good and<lb />evil) reach the unbearable stage.<lb /><lb />The action in this book takes place<lb />chiefly in the U. S. Senate over the no-<lb />mination by the President of a contro-<lb />versial figure, Bob Leffingwell, to be Se-<lb />cretary of State. The Senate hearings are<lb />held against the background of the terri-<lb />ble fear of the Soviet Union, and this<lb />fact adds importance to the office of Se-<lb />cretary of State. The Senators know that<lb />this is to be a battle of a lifetime, oand<lb />each is wondering what it will mean for<lb />him in terms of power, reputation, ad-<lb />vantage, political fortune, national re-<lb />sponsibility, and integrity of soul.�<lb /><lb />The hearings developed that Mr. Lef-<lb />fingwell while at the University of Chica-<lb />go several years ago had belonged to a<lb />Communist cell. When asked about this<lb />the nominee chose to lie about it.<lb /><lb />The struggle between the President and<lb />the Senate gets rough. Both sides are<lb />sincere in what they think is necessary<lb />for the safety and defense of the country.<lb />The President is sincerely convinced that<lb />Leffingwell is essential to the welfare of<lb />the country. He uses the great powers of<lb />his office, even blackmail, to break the<lb />Senators who are holding up confirmation.<lb />One Senator committed suicide rather<lb />than submit to blackmail by the Presi-<lb />dent. Another key Senator got a written<lb />offer from the President that he would<lb />make the Senator his successor. This Se-<lb />nator had to decide whether to be Presi-<lb />dent or to be right. He could not be bought.<lb />The souls of these strong men who differ<lb />are bared to the reader. It is great writing,<lb />and the s«action moves with increasing<lb />Suspense and pressure to the climax: the<lb /><lb />The REBEL<lb /></p>
        <pb facs="00062548_0037" />
        <p>defeat of Leffingwell and the sudden<lb />death of the President.<lb /><lb />The characters are composite Senators,<lb />but close enough to some present Senators<lb />to cause a bit of chagrin. The events have<lb />paraliels in recent history, but they are<lb />generally used in different circumstances.<lb /><lb />This is a superb novel. It has impact.<lb />Moreover, it illuminates the strengths and<lb />weaknesses oi the operation of the Ameri-<lb />can government. There is also a fine ana-<lb />lysis of the bungling that led to the diffi-<lb />culties with the Soviet Union. The book<lb />has a fine plot and is beautifully written.<lb />It has excitement, suspense, drama, path-<lb />os, comedy, tragedy"all skillfully blend-<lb />ed to provide the reader with an interest-<lb />ing but sobering experience.<lb /><lb />Since Mr. Drury may feel a little chill<lb />in the Senate after the publication of this<lb />book, the reviewer suggests that he take<lb />his pot of gold (royalties) and subsidize<lb />himself as a politica] science professor.<lb /><lb />Case For Basic Education<lb /><lb />by Hugh Agee<lb /><lb />The Case For Basic Education Edited by James<lb />D. Koerner. Little, Brown, 1959. 256 pp. $4.00.<lb /><lb />Out of the tumult of the battle over<lb />American secondary schools comes The<lb />Case for Basic Education, a meaningful<lb />and hard hitting book that attacks the<lb />weaknesses of our school program and<lb />offers some possible solutions. The book<lb />is sponsored by The Council for Basic<lb />Education, and it represents the first<lb />book of its type to be written since 1894<lb />when the now-famous Committee of Ten<lb />published its recommendation.<lb /><lb />The writers of the various essays are<lb />distinguished scholars in their respective<lb />fields. Each writer concerns himself with<lb />the end product of secondary education"<lb />the graduate"and not the means to that<lb />end. Consequently, as the editor points<lb />out in his forward, it is not a book about<lb />curriculum, although it is difficult to<lb />divorce curriculum from the minds as<lb />one reads it.<lb /><lb />Clifton FadimanTs introductory essays<lb /><lb />FALL, 1959<lb /><lb />provides a challenging overture to the<lb />reader as he lays bare the need for basic<lb />education. His attitude, and a most formi-<lb />dable one, it would seem"may best be<lb />summarized in his own words:<lb /><lb />The root of our trouble... lies in the<lb />circumstance that somehow the average<lb />high school graduate does not know who<lb />he is, where he is, or how he got there.<lb />It lies in the fact that naturally enough<lb />he owill settle for shallow and trivial<lb />meanings.� If nothing in his early educa-<lb />tion hag convinced him that Newton,,<lb />Shakespeare and Lincoln are both more<lb />interesting and more admirable than<lb />Frank Sinatra, Jerry Lewis and Pat<lb />Boone, he will find answers to his ques-<lb />tions in Sinatra, Lewis and Boone, and<lb />not in Newton, Shakespeare and Lin-<lb />on css<lb /><lb />As Douglas Bush points out in his es-<lb />say on literature othe high school diploma<lb />should represent a measure of positive<lb />achievement and not simply attendance.�<lb />Some of our systems are already becom-<lb />ing aware of this fact as they do a re-<lb />appraisal of social promotions.<lb /><lb />Art, music, philosophy, and speech, the<lb />electives treated in this book, are point-<lb />edly listed as ~o~some electives,� and not as<lb />the most desirable in any curriculum.<lb />They are the most desirable from the stu-<lb />dent viewpoint, however, as they are<lb />most often elected.<lb /><lb />It is doubtful that this book will re-<lb />solve the conflict between the profession-<lb />ial educators and the academicians, but<lb />it does state the case for basic education<lb />very adequately. It also places the prob-<lb />lem into the laps of the laymen, who have<lb />stood quietly by all too long.<lb /><lb />The Years With Ross<lb /><lb />by Sherre Maske<lb /><lb />James Thurber hag written a fascinat-<lb />ing and, in places, hilariously funny bio-<lb />graphy of the founder and editor of the<lb />New Yorker, Harold Ross. Mr. Thurber<lb />was well qualified to write this book<lb /><lb />as he was on the staff of the magazine<lb /><lb />for 25 years and was intimately associ-<lb />ated with its editor.<lb /><lb />Harold Rosg was born in Aspen, Col-<lb />37<lb /><lb /></p>
        <pb facs="00062548_0038" />
        <p>
          <lb />
          <lb />orado, in 1892. He worked for seven dif-<lb />ferent newspapers before he was twen-<lb />ty-five years old, beginning when he<lb />was only fourteen. He established the<lb />New Yorker in 1925 and was its editor<lb />until his death in 1951. During these<lb />years Mr. Ross ocontributed something<lb />that had not happened before in his<lb />country, or anywhere else, to literature,<lb />comedy, and journalism.�<lb /><lb />Harold Ross was an important man and<lb />an imposing public figure, but James<lb />Thurber has succeeded in removing him<lb /><lb />from his pedestal of fame and revealing<lb />him as a warmly human and loveable<lb />person,<lb /><lb />Mr. Thurber began the book as a ser-<lb />ies for the Atlantic Monthly and later<lb />combined and supplemented these articles<lb />to form the book, which took eighteen<lb />months to write. The pattern is not one<lb />of strict chronological order"the book<lb />begins with the death of its subject"<lb />and the reader may enjoy each chapter<lb />as an entity in itself.<lb /><lb />The author says that one of the minor<lb />problems, that became a major problem<lb />as he went along, was RossTs ovirtual in-<lb />ability to talk without a continuous flow<lb />of profanity . . . RossTs ~goddamT referred<lb />to a god that had nothing to do with the<lb />Deity .. .� The fact that Ross was often<lb />not conscious of his profanity is appar-<lb />ent in his farewell to a friend: ~Well,<lb />God bless you, goddam it!�<lb /><lb />Ross did not have an extensive liter-<lb />ary background; one critic remarked of<lb />him, oRossTs mind is uncluttered with<lb />culture.� He had a seemingly instinctive<lb />knowledge of what was right and what<lb />was wrong in material submitted to the<lb />New Yorker, and this instinct served him<lb />well as editor of the magazine.<lb /><lb />Harold RossTs social habits were ec-<lb />centric, as Thurber expresses it. He de-<lb />lighted in playing practical jokes on his<lb />friends and often persuaded Thurber to<lb />help him. He was married othree times<lb />to women, and once, and for keeps, to<lb />the New Yorker magazine.T�T He was com-<lb />pletely wrapped up in his magazine and<lb />the men and women who contributed to<lb />it. Paul Nash, English artist, said of<lb /><lb />38<lb /><lb />Ross after his first meeting with him:<lb />oHe is like your skyscrapers. They are<lb />unelievable, but there they are.�<lb /><lb />The Years With Ross traces the career<lb />of James Thurber as well as that of Ross.<lb />Thurber first went to work for the New<lb />Yorker ag oadministrative editor. (Ross<lb />was firmly convinced that someday he<lb />would find a omiracle man� who would<lb />run the office with the smoothness and<lb />precision of a machine, and he tried<lb />everyone who came along in the position<lb />of ~administrative editor.�) Later both<lb />ThurberTs writings and his drawings be-<lb />came regular features of the magazine.<lb />Mr. Thurber describes many others con-<lb />nected with RossTs magazine over the<lb />years*" Robert Benchley, Alexander<lb />Woollcott, Ogden Nash, Peter Arno, Dor-<lb />othy Parker"to name but a few.<lb /><lb />The Years With Ross is more than a.<lb />biography. It is a history of the growth<lb />of the New Yorker from a shaky olittle<lb />magazine� to a osupposedly ~funnyT mag-<lb />azine doing one of the most intelligent,<lb />honest, public-spirited jobs, a service to<lb />civilization, that has ever been rendered<lb />by any one publication.�<lb /><lb />Man Who Would Be God<lb /><lb />by Sandra Porter<lb /><lb />Man Who Would Be God Haakon Chevalier, G. P.<lb />Putnam and Sons, New York. $4.95, 449 pages.<lb /><lb />This is a searching novel. While telling<lb />a fascinating story, the author is probing<lb />deep and exploring the area of the human<lb />spirit and its motivation. Haakon Cheva-<lb />lier attempts a full scale study of the<lb />maximum amount of endurance the hu-<lb />man spirit can take before reaching the<lb />breaking point. How far can one go into<lb />objectivity without losing all possible<lb />ability for subjectivity? How far can the<lb />human move without reaching the realm<lb />where comprehensible values become<lb />meaningless and communicable principles<lb />lose their validity? Questions such as<lb />these compose the theme of this book.<lb /><lb />The story is set in early World War II.<lb /><lb />The REBEL<lb /><lb /></p>
        <pb facs="00062548_0039" />
        <p>Dr. Sebastian Bloch, perhaps the most THE LIGHT HOUSE<lb /><lb />brilliant physicist in the world, is a much :<lb />admired professor and leader of the lib- Soft, embracing darkness<lb /><lb />eral left wing group on campus. His enfolds a brightened sphere"<lb />communistic tendencies come, not from<lb />any practical desire for revolution or<lb />loyalty to Russia and treason to America, Each sound echoes<lb />but from his idealistic humanitarian leaving in its wake<lb />ideas. When he is asked to head the work<lb />on the atom bomb he, for personal rea- ~<lb />sons of integrity, lays aside all political that glide softly<lb /><lb />affiliations and works merely as a scien- on the tides of night.<lb />tist for his country. He believes that if<lb />America gets the bomb first its prop-<lb />aganda value will eliminate the necessity<lb /><lb />of man made light;<lb /><lb />the ripples of silence<lb /><lb />for using it (this is his goal), while if ENJOY<lb />Germany gets it first she will certainly a ca<lb />use it. When America uses the bomb al- Carolina Dairies<lb /><lb />though it was not essential, Dr. Bloch<lb />rationolizes this, and it is here that his :<lb />real deterioration becomes inevitable. The Milk and Ice Cream<lb />remainder of the book reveals the effects heahk A<lb /><lb />of this and the fina] degeneration of the<lb />humanity of Sebastian Bloch. It is not a<lb />pretty picture"human using human, the<lb />fraility of friendship, the shaky relativity<lb />of truth and principles, the transitory 9<lb />nature of all things and above all, the S T E | N B E C K S<lb /><lb />isolation and alienation of the human<lb /><lb />spirit. SMART CLOTHES FOR<lb />This book has a valid message for the MEN "AND BOYS<lb />world today, especially concerning the ~A Condial Welcome. to Collade<lb />rivalry between science and the humani- Students and Faculty :<lb />ties. The Man Who Would Be God is<lb />deeply symbolic. It is the kind of book that 427 S. Evans St., Greenville, N. C.<lb /><lb />can be read over and over again gaining<lb />new inference and ideas each time.<lb /><lb />Guaranty Bank.<lb /><lb />AND TRUST COMPANY<lb /><lb />Member Federal Deposit Insurance Corposation<lb /><lb />FALL, 1959 39<lb /><lb /></p>
        <pb facs="00062548_0040" />
        <p>
          <lb />
          <lb />WELCOME TO BE SMART!<lb /><lb />RESPESS-JAMES " Save at "<lb />oThe Barbecue House� First Federal Savings<lb />Intersection Ayden-Farmville Highway and Loan Association<lb /><lb />Greenville, N. C. Phone PL 2-4160 324 Evans Street Greenville, N. C.<lb /><lb />Be Social<lb />Have A Pepsi<lb /><lb /><lb /><lb />EPSI:<lb /><lb />FELICIOUS- HEAL oad<lb /><lb />The Light Refreshment<lb /><lb />Eastern CarolinaTs Shopping Center<lb /><lb />Where a number of your fellow students<lb />are on hand to serve you.<lb /><lb />In the Modern MenTs Department there<lb />is a Varsity Shop containing the following<lb />items:<lb /><lb />Smart styled Shoes by Florsheim, Jarman,<lb />Bob Smart. Sweaters and Jackets by Jant-<lb />zen and Rugby. Shirts by Arrow, Van<lb />Heusen, and Manhattan. A big assortment g<lb />of fine. Hickok Jewelry, Accessories and ¢&amp;<lb />Belts.<lb /><lb />A wide assortment of Ivy League Styles.<lb />See Latest Styles in Raw] Dis-<lb />play during the month of<lb />December<lb /><lb />40 The REBEL<lb /></p>
        <pb facs="00062548_0041" />
        <p>
          <lb />
          <lb />TAFF OFFICE EQUIPMENT<lb />COMPANY<lb /><lb />Remington Standard and Portable<lb />Typewriters<lb /><lb />College School Supplies<lb />214 E. Fifth Street Greenville, N. C.<lb /><lb />LARRYTS SHOE STORE<lb />oSmart Styles for<lb />the Family�<lb /><lb />431 Evang Street<lb />Greenville, N. C.<lb /><lb />PERKINS-PROCTOR<lb /><lb />oThe House of Name Brands�<lb />oYour College StoreT�T<lb />Fifth and Cotanche Streets<lb /><lb />Greenville, N. C.<lb /><lb />Compliments of<lb /><lb />SOUTHERN GRAIN AND<lb />OIL, INC.<lb /><lb />TARBORO, N. C.<lb /><lb />We Appreciate Your Business at<lb /><lb />STATE BANK &amp; TRUST<lb />COMPANY<lb />AT FIVE POINTS IN GREENVILLE<lb /><lb />Member<lb />Federal Deposit Insurance Corporation<lb /><lb />COLLEGE VIEW<lb />CLEANERS<lb />AND LAUNDRY, INC.<lb /><lb />109 Grande Avenue"Main Plant<lb /><lb />Fifth Street and Colonial Heights<lb />Branches<lb /><lb />FRODE-MAPK REG. U.S. PAT. QFE<lb /><lb />COCA-COLA BOTTLING COMPANY, GREENVILLE, NORTH CAROLINA<lb /><lb />FALL, 1959<lb /><lb /></p>
        <pb facs="00062548_0042" />
        <p>
          <lb />
          <lb />Renfrew PRINTING Company<lb /><lb />COMMERCIAL PRINTERS<lb /><lb />GREENVILLE. NORTH CAROLINA<lb /><lb />42<lb /><lb />The REBEL</p>
      </div>
    </body>
  </text>
</TEI>