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The Light Refreshment

———————————— ———E ————————
eee :

The REBEL

Published by the Student Government Association of East Carolina College. Created by the Pub-
lications Board of East Carolina College as a literary magazine to be edited by students and de-
signed for the publication of student material.

VOLUME 3 WINTER, 1960 NUMBER 2
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Page
EDITORIAL 7
Faculty Advisor REBEL YELL 8
Ovip W. PIERCE FEATURE
An Interview With Paul Green 3
STAFF ESSAY
Raitor Universalism: Pearl Buck by Fred Ragan 13
DAN WILLIAMS FICTION
The House on the Swamp by Derry Walker 15
Assistant to the Editor The Arrival by Coleman Norris 20
ae wo Something In Common by Ronnie Gollobin 11
mon =e aaadd POETRY
SANDRA PORTER i ;
Night Song by David C. Coxe 7
Asst. Book Review Editor Father by Janice Brand 9
a Green Willow Gold Willow by Janice Brand 9
Art Editor The Letters by Janice Brand 9
NELSON DUDLEY The Exam by Louisa May Hall 33
Asst. Art Editor Sonnet 21 by Puck 22
LARRY BLIZZARD Black Spot by Eric Smith 22

Business Manager
Woopy DAvIis

ART

“Summertime” (Experimental Photo) by Robert Harper. 2
Exchange Editor “Machine” (Etching) by Larry Blizard 6
James C. MILLER “The Tavern” (Etching) by Emily Neale 10
installa tits “Woods” (Pen and ink drawing) by Al Dunkle 18
Sis atccey Sean “Alone” (Wood engraving) by Karen McLawhorn 19
ARE ae “Study of Head’ (Woodcut) by Emily Neale 28
ASSUSTANTS TO te Ldaitors ay . ~ . .
ie iene Pili ain “Forms In Suspension” (Etching) by Rose Marie Gornto 34
Par Farge “Of Sun and Sweat” (Etching) by Nelson Dudley 23
ee MUSIC
JOYCE WLUSTIAN . .
Musical Note by Joan Eudy 12
Typists Music As A Force In Campus Life by Marcelle Vogel 12
CAROLISTA FLETCHER Mak, ot OPE
LINDA ALLEN REBEL REVIEW 25-33

FRANCES FOSTER

Circulation and
Advertisement
Alpha Phi Omega
Fraternity

Reviews by Sandra Porter, Dr. Francis Adams, Dr. Edgar
Hirshberg, Katherine Prytherch, Dan Williams,
Dr. James Poindexter, Fred Ragan, Hugh
Agee, C. W. Warick.

COVER by Nelson Dudley

=

NOTICE—Contributions to THE REBEL should be directed to P.O. Box 1420, E. C.C. Editorial and business offices are located
at 309% Austin Building. Manuscripts and artwork submitted by mail should be accompanied by a self-addressed envelope
and return postage. The publishers assume no responsibility for the return of manuscripts or artwork.

‘/

wtih ® “dil, eggs . dpa S

“Summertime” (Experimental Photo) by ROBERT HARPER

2 THE REBEL

Interview With

PAUL GREEN

Note: The following interview will be printed in
two installments, the second to be printed in the
Spring Issue, and the opinions expressed herein do
not necessarily reflect the views of the staff or of
the administration of the College.

Interviewer :
regional writer?

Mr. Green: Well, the word regional, I guess,
is a good word for any writer to cling to as a
definition or delimitation of interests. But you
might ask, do you consider yourself even a writer,
whether regional, national, local color, or what
not.

Well, I suppose, I do regard myself as a regional
writer, maybe even more local than that, sec-
tional, or local color, or what not. Most of my
writing, except for the movies and these sym-
phonic dramas, has been connected with a small
section of North Carolina down in the eastern
part of the state, poor whites, Negroes, mules,
dogs, chickens, and all that sort of thing.

Do you regard yourself as a

Interviewer: Do you feel that the North Caro-
lina background still remains an undeveloped area
in so far as fiction goes?

Mr. Green: Well, what do you mean by North
Carolina background? Do you mean North Caro-
lina life? North Carolina customs? Well, pretty
much so. We’ve had the good work of that pioneer
down there at Southern Pines, my old friend
James Boyd who wrote Drums, Marching On, Long
Hunt, Roll River—some very fine historical novels.
Then, we’ve had a few earlier ones, you know,
Christian Reid and folks you’ve never heard of

WINTER, 1960

these days, but I heard of long ago. And of course
we have Inglis Fletcher’s good, honest, fine work;
and we have quite a number of people who are
working in that field; and, so, I think we are
making progress.

Interviewer: Do you feel that North Carolina
has been neglected in fiction?

Mr. Green: Well, if you mean North Carolina
has neglected herself in fiction, why, of course.
Just as she neglected herself in all the arts, in all
the sciences, and in all the great philosophies.
North Carolina has never done her part in that
glorious entourage of eponym spirits. We haven't
had ever a first-rate composer, never a first-rate
poet, never a first-rate scientist, that I know of,
and we have had one first-rate sort of lyric novelist
in Thomas Wolfe. You’d hardly call him a novel-
ist. He’s a kind of a poetic, autobiographical.
soaring voice. And, so, when we say North Caro-
lina has been neglected, if you mean has she been
done wrong by other people, why, heck no. Any
kind of lack that North Carolina has had she
has had through her own niggardly, lazy, poor
white point of view about the arts. Well, I could
talk for hours on that, so the answer is No.

Interviewer: What are some of your favorite
books on North Carolina life?

Mr. Green: Well, of course, I’ve liked a lot of
individual books. We have here tonight one of our
distinguished writers, Mr. Pierce. I’ve liked his
work. I’ve liked Hugh Lefler’s historical stuff;
and, as a young fellow picking cotton, I walked

9
vo

under the spell of John Charles McNeill, the poet
who used to live down on the Lumbee River and
down in Laurinburg. He used to work on the
Charlotte Observer and wrote a couple of books
full of nostalgia. He almost had the real stuff,
and he had something—Songs Merry and Sad and
Lyrics From Cottonland.

Interviewer: Do you feel that being a South-
ener has its advantages for writing?

Mr. Green: Now that’s a good question. In a
way it does. Maybe, yes and no. You got to re-
member that there was a Concord school up there
in New England, and they put out Longfellow, Al-
cott, Emily Dickinson, Hawthorne, Whittier, Low-
ell, William Cullen Bryant. They had more or
less of a coolish, Emersonian environment. So
you say, how do they turn out to be that? Well,
somebody started breeding climate; and others
added to it; and it got to be the thing to do, and so
on. Well, in the South if experience is the first
need for writing, then the South has had more
experience than any other part of the country. It
has experienced more hate; of course you have the
abolitionists in the North but they were scattered.
But there has been more hate in the South, more
anger, more prejudice. There has been more sin,
more sense of guilt; there has been more frustra-
tion, more imagination. Still is, in the South.
There has been more of the orator poet reach in
the South. The South is acquainted with sin, more
than any other part of the country. The South is
the part of the nation that has suffered the humil-
lation of military defeat. We’ve been occupied.
This hill here was occupied by Sherman’s soldiers.
The University was occupied. We had the carpet-
baggers, the hate of the carpetbaggers, we had the
Ku Klux here. My own uncle in Harnett County
started the Ku Klux there and waited on old Reu-
ben. He was a young Negro. Been talking sassy.
And he opened the door, and Heck Gaskins was in
front of my Uncle Heck. (They were both named
Heck). Old Reuben had an axe and killed Heck
Gaskins with the axe, and my Uncle Heck shot
Reuben six times. Left him dying on the floor, he
thought. Well, I lived to cut wheat in the fields
with Old Reuben. He loved Uncle Heck better than
his brother. When they would meet, they were bud-
dies. So, we had more love, more friendship. The
love between the Negro and the white is something
wonderful to behold in the South. Has been. So,
the material out of which art, writing and music
can be made is here. We are just full of the drip
of human tears. So, that if we can get rolling and

4

keep rolling, we might very well produce the great
renaissance. We’ve had sporadic people like
Faulkner, Wolfe, Eudora Welty, Tennessee Wil-
liams, Red Warren, and these that are making this
splash who, well Tom not so much, play a lot on
violence ... yes.

Interviewer: Do you feel that recent develop-
ments have borne out the wisdom of the Supreme
Court decision concerning integration?

Mr. Green: I talked to Carl Sandburg about
this. I said, “Carl, let’s get out a statement.” He
said, “Hell, letum fight, letum fight.’”’ He said,
“People gotta bleed, you know, kill each other and
so on.” And he said, “I’m busy.” Like old Arch-
imedes, he was drawing some figures in a tub of
sand. He invented all kinds of things, discovered
specific gravity. And the Roman soldiers captured
the town and there was a shadow behind him.
And he said, ‘‘Please stand out of the light.’”’ Well,
it made this Roman soldier mad, and he killed
him, you know. Well I told Carl, “Don’t you see
him?” Well, he said, “I got my poetry to write.”
“Still there is a Roman soldier in the room with
a spear. He’s here.” “No,” he said, “No.” I told

- Carl, “Don’t you see him?”

Well, it’s a question of right and wrong, I re-
member talking to the President of the United
States once as a humble citizen, and he said you
couldn’t settle things today on the basis of right
and wrong. I said, ‘What do you settle them on?”
He said, “Expediency.” So I figured to myself I
wouldn’t vote for him next time, because I re-
membered George Washington who said that a
nation was like a man, that it should have some
code of honor, its obligations were sacred, its
word was its bond. So here was the President of
the United States saying you can’t do business
that way. You’ve got to be expedient.

Well, what’s right? Was the Supreme Court
right? It was right, it was right. Then the events
that follow something that is right may be the
events caused by people who are wrong. So, when
you ask me, “Have the events borne out the wis-
dom?” I have to answer that there are certain
events. Some were caused by a man named Fau-
bus. His events did not prove the unwisdom of
the Supreme Court but proved the foolishness,
the narrowness of Faubus.

But, itis right that aman is aman. Jesus Christ
said so, and I believe it. When he said, “Suffer
little children to come unto me for such is the
Kingdom of Heaven,” he didn’t say let the brown
ones stay back or the black ones hide, bring on

THE REBEL

the white ones. When Charlie Aycock said, “I
want to educate all the people,’ somebody said,
“Godamighty, you mean all?” He said, “I mean
all.” The Governor of North Carolina, not too
long ago, told me right in there, ‘“‘I believe the
way you do.” I said, “Why?” He said, “I have
to play it the other way.” He’s told me that twice.
He believes, but he says we have to go slow. I
said, “How slow?” Three hundred years we have
been here; 1660 North Carolina started down
there in the Currituck Peninsula. Over twelve
million Negroes have lived and died here. Not six
have reached their full potential. They work out
here for me. Some with voices, they talk down
around low C. Great voices, Lawrence Tibbetts in
the Metropolitan. Could be, but never will be,
until the Supreme Court has made its ruling. So
we rob nobody but ourselves. A fellow came over
here from Kinston, said, “Jesus Christ, we people
down in Kinston have built a four hundred
thousand dollar school for the Negroes.” I said,
“Yes, and I’m sure tired of building for the Ne-
groes; I want them to build for themselves. Pay
their own taxes, get them up from here.”’ So I told
Luther Hodges, “No wonder you go hunting for
industry, but if over a million Negroes in North
Carolina got good wages, were lawyers, doctors,
owned farms, you wouldn’t have to hunt indus-
‘ry.

About the time you fellows were ten years old,
they had in North Carolina black arithmetic and
white arithmetic. A Negro teacher with an A cer-
tificate couldn’t get as good a price as a white
teacher with an A certificate. Well, now they get
the same pay with an A certificate. Nobody’s
been hurt. So, right here in Chapel Hill, there
are three or four hundred Negro boys and girls,
fine bright minds but will never go to college,
will never realize their full potential because they
haven’t got money to go on. But they could go
here, they could work on Saturday and at nights,
they could somehow, they could borrow from the
loan fund. So what a stupid thing, when a person
just because he happens to be darker than some-
one else has to sue for his rights. And Thomas
Jefferson said that the purpose of a Government
is to see that the talents of its people come to
fruition. The Negro race is a talented race. So,
every time we kick them down we rob not only
them but ourselves.

Of course, we are losing the confidence of the
world, because we have been so slow. This hor-
rible thing down in Mississippi, Emmet Till and
this Parker boy—You young fellows gonna see
things done right. You see, we wear this Christian

WINTER, 1960

———————

religion as something in our lapel. We don’t
really believe in Jesus Christ. We go to Church
and we pray to him and we adopt him as our folk
God to fit our folk mores. But if you really be-
lieve what that Man said, “Brotherhood: I am
my brother’s keeper,’’ why yes, yes, yes. Jesus
Christ didn’t know this prejudice. And He
would have been the first to have said, Yes the
Supreme Court is right, but a bit slow. But,
thank God, they have given the truth, that is
that no man is to be denied his rights because of
his color. So the events have simply bubbled up,
some due to prejudice, some to ignorance. So, as
the Attorney General said to me, “Green, you’re
reckless.”’ And I said to him, ‘‘Yeah, and you are
too damn slow.” So we had quits. Some due to
recklessness, some due to the tardiness, and so on.
So, it has got to be, it’s got to be, and we have got
to come to it. We have got a dull, dead fellow up
there in Washington named Sam Ervin. I was
in school with him, and I asked myself, “What
did they teach Sam Ervin here at the University ?”
They didn’t teach much. Somehow, they didn’t
reach him. So he fought this thing all the way
down. I was in Asia and saw the results—the
reaction of Asia to the Supreme Court. It made
a tremendous difference.

Interviewer: Do you feel that an important
purpose is filled by undergraduate courses in writ-
ing and college literary magazines?

Mr. Green: Yes, I certainly do. I think that
is all good, just like playing tennis, and baseball.
You got to get out on the sandlot. You got to,
you know, try. You gotta practice, practice, and
this—all is encouraging — gives encouragement,
gives a chance to practice. And it is a wonderful
thing. We ought to have more of it everywhere.
They even give doctor’s degrees at some of the
Universities. And that is all good because you
can’t do anything unless you try. And practice
makes perfect, or, anyway, helps. So this is a
wonderful thing, this thing you are doing down
there, this magazine, there’s nothing like it. There
is a fellow coming here tomorrow from Reader’s
Digest, and he’s a nice fellow; we were talking
on the phone today, and he says that he never
gets over opening that letter and seeing that check
in there for something he’s written. And he learn-
ed, started writing for the magazine in college.
Tom Wolfe used to write here at the University
for the magazine, just kept it full of stuff. Gave
him a chance to practice. And that’s good—it’s
wonderful.

“Machine”’ (Etching) by LARRY BLIZARD

6 THE REBEL

COMMENT TO REBEL READERS

Spring Quarter, 1958, a group of students and
a member of the English faculty decided that
East Carolina College ought to have a literary
magazine. This was a natural decision as far as
they were concerned because they were creative
writers, and they recognized the need for a crea-
tive outlet for the student body as a whole. On
our campus there were many activities that pro-
vided an opportunity for self expression, but
there was none offering a goal, an outlet, or a
challenge, specifically for the creative writer.
Through their efforts and initiative, The Rebel
was first published. This group limited by a
meager number of copies for a fast growing
campus, by inadequate financial support, and an
idea evoking almost no response, succeeded in
presenting East Carolina College with a publica-
tion that has made the initial steps toward a real
creative potential. When the plans were made
for the first issue, and material was being sought,
there was no guarantee of any later issue. At
the beginning of the 1958-59 school year. The
Rebel was guaranteed its existence for only three
issues. These three issues were a critical period.
Lack of copies prohibited an adequate introduc-
tion of The Rebel to the people on campus. Over
half the student body never saw a copy. It
was almost impossible to encourage students to
submit their work to a publication of which so
few were aware. Another formidable problem

was the organization of an enthusiastic staff will-
ing to spend time on a project with so little future.
Then the question was asked, “Does this magazine
really serve a purpose?” This question’ was
answered at a meeting of the Student Govern-
ment in the Spring of 1959 when they voted
unanimously to continue The Rebel. With the
school year of 1959-1960 The Rebel doubled
the number of copies of each issue, the staff was
doubled, and most important of all, the students
recognized The Rebel as their college literary
magazine, and began to contribute actively. Mem-
bers of the faculty have contributed some of their
work and added their support. Now, in scme re-
spects, The Rebel can represent a part of the
creative talents at East Carolina College. In the
future, through the exchange program, The
Rebel will represent East Carolina on many
college campuses; it will serve as a valuable proj-
ect for those interested in publications; it will
give the students and faculty the opportunity of
examining some of the creative work being done
on their campus, and most important of all, it
will encourage young writers, perhaps recording
their best efforts. Although our beginning was
discouraging, the future holds promise. This
year’s staff and all the ones to follow owe a salute
to that group who brought the idea to East Caro-
lina College.
—DAN W.

NIGHT SONG

The cool night winds

Blow enchantingly across lonely moors

Singing their ancient melodies

To the glittering stars.

Sing, O winds;

For I abhor your silence,

And the haunting refrains quench

The restless stirring in‘soul.

WINTER, 1960

DAVID C. COXE

The Rebel Yell

With the Winter Quarter The Rebel has at-
tempted to present to the campus a wider range
of student participation, and more variation in
the material published. The increase in page size
is necessary to keep pace with the growing amount
of available material, the larger staff, and the
stronger general interest in the magazine. The
staff believes that there is room to grow, and
that much still remains to be accomplished before
The Rebel represents the full creative interests of
the campus; we hope the efforts recorded on these
pages are representative of the best creative work
being done at the time at East Carolina College.

The writing contest is another attempt to en-
courage those students who have a sincere interest
in writing; the deadline for entries was set for
the first of February, but, due to the time in-
volved in selecting the winning composition, and
the steady flow of submissions, the closing date
for the contest has been extended to the first day
of April. The best essay, short story, or poem
submitted will receive the prize, and will be one
of the features of the Spring issue. The judges
will be: Miss Mary Green, Dr. James Poindexter,
Dr. Edgar Hirshberg, Mr. Hugh Agee, and Mr.
Ovid Pierce, the advisor for The Rebel. All stu-
dents are urged to mail their entries to Box 1420
or to bring them by The Rebel office at 309 Austin
building.

APO Fraternity has joineed The Rebel staff as
ex officio member. It will assist the business
management in circulation and advertising. As
a result of a vote by members of APO, The Rebel
was adopted as one of its service projects. Interest
such as theirs is important encouragement to the
magazine editors. Added encouragement has come
from the fact that a number of F'reshmen have
joined the staff. They were chosen on recommen-
dation by faculty members and are being trained

to replace editors graduating at the end of this
school year.

The art work for this issue was selected after
a careful examination of the available work in
the Art Department. Emily Neale, Larry Blizard
and Rose Marie Gornto are past contributors, who
have done some very fine work for The Rebel.
Karen McLawhorn, Al Dunkle, James Smith, and
James Sanders are newcomers who specialize in
wood engravings, pen and ink drawings, and
charcoal drawings. A new experiment in photo-
graphy is also included by former Art Editor,
Robert Harper. Nelson Dudley, presently Art Edi-
tor, designed the cover and contributed the etch-
ing “Of Sun and Sweat.” There are plans for an
art contest for The Rebel to be held during the
Spring Quarter.

Featured in this issue is an interview with
2aul Green which is one of the most valuable pre-
sentations of the magazine; short stories written
by Coleman Norris of the Business Department
and Derry Walker of the English Department
were chosen from the creative writing class. An
essay on the writings of Pearl Buck by Fred
Ragan was chosen because of its adept handling
of the clash between cultures as is shown in some
of the novels written by Mrs. Buck. The poetry
was chosen from contributions by a number of
past contributors as well as a number of new con-
tributors and there are two selections by fresh-
men. Featured in the poetry section is Janice
Brand; the poetry by Mrs. Brand appearing in
the last issue of The Rebel has been entered in
the Arts Festival to be held in Greensboro this
Spring. The book review section has been en-
larged still further to provide a larger area of
interest and a more complete coverage.

The Editors would like to extend to any the
invitation to criticize, or comment by letter. Let-
ters will be printed in the magazine on an Editor’s
page, with answering comments by the Editors.

THE REBEL

Father

Father! Father! Blood-tongued Neanderthal!

Fury-browed Neanderthal!

Kneel down again before your demon fire

Kneel now beneath the cryptic antelope

(Ten million revelations’ burnt your fire and
smoke has charred your cryptic antelope)
Father! Father!

© nit ,

CY 0eV oa

Green Willow Gold Willow

Children, listen:

Soft within the circle

of the green drenched waving willows
softly there I drink forbidden dreams
and softly there the secret tongues
lament rising fluttering then made mute
offering silvery serpents

their strange luminiousant fruit... .

Che Letters

By God! I burnt them all
and stood to watch

the ebon rose shrink
from the golden grasp;

then fixed my foot firmly
upon its breath,

and thought how sweet,

to watch black petals blow.

WINTER, 1960 9

“The Tavern”

10

tO = arrengpeeseen, cane
LOLOL LOLOL OL OO

~

net a ae

on ne eae af

eaecnenennenen

(Etching)

SS eee tee

by EMILY NEALE

THE REBEL

SOMETHING IN COMMON

by RONNIE GOLLOBIN

The door to the bar swung open and Martha
Deidi walked out into the sunshine of the side-
walk. Her high heels tapped down on the pave-
ment and faded in the city traffic sounds.

Inside the bar, Joe Cutler sat. An empty
whiskey glass was in front of him. Mike Garcias,
the bartender, came over to Joe’s table. No one
else was in the bar. Mike spoke.

“Will she come back?”

“T don’t know,” Joe replied.

“Where is she going?”

“T don’t know,” he said again.

“Do you care for her?”

“T don’t know. She was just another girl at
first.”

“A year is a long time.”

“Tt’s not so long.”

“Ts she different from the others?”’

“T don’t know.”

“Will you find another one?”

“T don’t know.”

‘Am I bothering you?”

“No. I don’t mind talking about her.” Joe
looked at his empty glass. Suddenly he looked up
at Mike. “You ever been in love, Mike?’ Mike
shrugged his shoulders.

“What is love? I thought I was in love once in
college. She told me she loved me and couldn’t
stand for anybody else but me to even look at her.”

“What happened?”

“She eloped with another guy.”

“Somebody she had dated before you?”

“No. Some sailor she had known about a week.”

“Ever think about her?”

“Sometimes. I got a letter from her last month.
She’s divorced and wants to see me.”

“You going?”

“Nope. I don’t want to get hurt any more.”
Joe stared at Mike. Mike stared out the window.
Without looking around, Mike spoke.

‘How about you?”

“What about me?”

“What are you going to do about Martha?”

“T don’t know.”

“Why did she leave?”

“She said that I didn’t really like her. That I
was just giving her a run around.”

“You treated her like the others.”

“You have to.”

WINTER, 1960

“Did she know about the others?”

“Yes. She knew.”

‘“‘What did she think about them?”

“T don’t know.” The bartender studied Joe for
a moment then he spoke.

“I think you love her.” Joe was silent for a
long time before he answered.

“T think I do too, now,” he said.

b

‘Better tell her,’’ the bartender said.
“Tl’ve told her before. She knew I didn’t mean
it then, and she won’t believe me now.

9?

Will she come back?

“Guess you are right. What are you going to
do now?”

“What can I do? If she wants to come back,
she will.”

“Suppose she doesn’t come back?”

“T don’t know.”

“Will you find another one?”

“T don’t know.”

Outside, the sun was still shining brightly. In-
side the dimly lit bar, Joe Cutler drank another
whiskey sour. The bartender, Mike Garcias, wiped
off the counter with a dirty rag.

11

Musical Note

Music is perhaps the most misunderstood crea-
tive art; of all the arts more misconceptions exist
concerning music than any other. A great num-
ber of people never develop their musical potential
beyond the more simple forms such as folk songs,
popular favorites, and rock and roll. One of the
reasons for the widespread appeal for this type
of music is the fact that it requires so little effort.
In classical music one particular selection may
contain any number of themes or ideas. The
theme or idea throughout the selection expresses
the feelings of the composer and attempts to in-
still a particular feeling within the listener. To
appreciate and understand classical music one
must sharpen his perception beyond the mono-
theme which is the basis for rock and roll. Of
course, there are compositions in all areas that

are exceptions to the rule; however, classical.

music for the most part is an ensemble which has
expression far beyond the repetitious beat of rock
and roll. The basic element in rock and roll is
one continuous rhythm, whereas classical music
varies from the simplest of solo melodies to the
greatest symphonic work. For example, the sim-
ple melody could be the song “To Love Again”
which was taken from the Eddie Duchin Story,
and is the theme from Chopin’s E flat Nocturne
written many years ago. Other such songs are
heard daily and people enjoy them without realiz-
ing that they are taken directly from a classical
selection or varied slightly from the original.
Some are:

“Don’t You Know”’—Della Reese—taken
from Musetto’s Waltz, LaBoheme, Puccini.

“T’m Always Chasing Rainbows” — taken
from Chopin’s Fantasie Impromptu.

Phillip Morris Theme Song—taken from
“On the Trail,” Fred Grofe.

“Tonight We Love’”—taken from Tschai-
kowsky’s Piano Concerto No. 1.

“Full Moon and Empty Arms’’—taken from
Rachmaninoff’s Piano Concerto No. 2.

““Where’’—Platters — taken from Tschai-
kowsky’s Romeo and Juliet.

12

“T Love You, Porgy’”—Nina Simone—taken
from Gershwin’s Porgy and Bess.

Creative arts owe their validity to the length
of time they enjoy recognition; classical music
as a creative art dates far back into history, per-
haps increasing its popularity with each succes-
sive year.

In comparison rock and roll has a history of
nearly a decade and is already on the decline.
The reason for the lack of durability of the tem-
porary music fads is evident when we examine
the intricate process which precedes the develop-
ment of a classical selection. Every classical
musical composition requires a knowledge of mus-
ical form on the parts of the composer, performer
and to some degree, the audience. Rock and roll
requires only the most elementary fundamentals
which for the most part are nothing more than
the recognition of a regular beat and three dif-
ferent chords.

In rock and roll the dominant expression is
excitement, whereas in classical music the expres-
sion can be a religious theme, one of happiness,
sorrow, jubilation, or triumph. These can be
fulfilled through voices, various combinations of
instruments, tempo, dynamics or the difference
in tonality.

JOAN EUDY

Music As A Force In
Campus Life

Have you ever thought of what the campus
would be like without any kind of music? With-
out the performance groups, operas, musicals,
and even without the radios, T.V. and record
players that almost every student has access to?

Music has become such a part of our life, that
we have come to take it for granted, without
realizing or thinking about the many new worlds
it can open for us. Everyone loves some kind of

(Continued on page 24)

THE REBEL

Universalism:
PEARL BU

by FRED RAGAN

A writer worthy of the title has something to
say to man. Pearl Buck has something to say
about two of our worlds; our limited secure
provincial world, and our complex frustrating
world of many cultures, strange manners, and
varying standards.

The works considered here, with one exception,
The Good Earth, cannot be defended as an artistic
presentation of an observation of life. Buck ap-
pears to be more interested, at times, in the idea
she is dealing with than in her characterization.
Malcolm Cowley describes Buck with this state-
ment, ‘‘Naturalists like to write about a communi-
ty or social environment.” The world community
is one of Mrs. Buck’s subjects. The objective here
is to trace the arguments that appear in some of
her writings for the world community, which is
the universal thesis. For she does more than
write about this community, she argues for it.

Provincialism is a very real and strong feeling
among men. As one’s eyes are opened to the
world beyond, usually it is to the immediate sur-
roundings of a larger world within the nation-
state. In The Good Earth, Wong Lung is forced
by famine to move South and leave his beloved
land. Here he becomes conscious of his differ-
ences: his language, his diet, and his appearance.
Wong Lung encounters a young man haranguing
a crowd, “China must have a revolution and
must rise against the hated foreigners... .’’ Wong
Lung becomes frightened, believing he is the
foreigner about whom the man speaks and moves
away from the crowd. Wong Lung’s feeling is
provincial. His realm of experience has not en-
compassed men in his own country. Little Josui
has a similar experience in The Hidden Flower,
a novel dealing with an inter-cultural marriage.
Josui, a first generation Japanese-American in

WINTER, 1960

California, is popular with her friends, but when
Japan bombed Pearl Harbor, her friends became
hostile. In this situation the people involved
could not separate their feelings of hate from
little Josui who brought to mind the bombing of
Pearl Harbor. The actions of her friends is the
result of a narrow provincial feeling.

From the provincial conflicts within the nation-
state, the line of argument can be traced next to
the point of ideological impact when the cultures
meet.

Pearl Buck’s first book, Hast Wind: West
Wind, reveals the astonishment of a young Chi-
nese woman when she learns that other people be-
lieve her habits, her customs, and her language
queer. The Chinese woman listens to her husband,
who has studied in America, tell her of life in
America.

He laughed when I exclaimed, ‘Oh, funny—
oh, strange!’ ‘No more strange than we are
to them,’ he said for some reason greatly
amused.

‘What!’ I cried in fresh astonishment. ‘Do
they think we are funny?’

‘Of course,’ he replied, still laughing. ‘You
should hear them talk! They think our clothes
are funny and our faces and our food and
all that we do! It does not occur to them that
people can look as we do and behave as we
do, and be wholly as human as they are.’

The husband serves as the agent through which
Buck argues for the acceptance of the universal
thesis. He stimulates his wife to think; Buck
attempts to stimulate the reader to think.

After the shock of the meeting, a clash develops.
Not all creatures withdraw from the crowd as did

13

Wong Lung. Some refuse to allow expressions of
the new culture to invade their life. The old
mistress in Hast Wind: West Wind refuses to
accept the new way brought home by her son who
studied in America. But as some will not accept
the new, others accept it after a period of con-
flict. In all cases, a conflict appears, and with its
appearance there is struggle and sorrow. “These
are ruthless days for the old. There is no com-
promise possible between old and young. They
are as clearly divided as though a new knife
hewed a branch from a tree.”

After the initial encounter of the cultures, a
universal feeling emerges in some shape or form.
The brother, in Hast Wind: West Wind, is re-
jected by his family. His American wife gives
birth to a son, the “world child.” The brother’s
sister, after contemplating the sorrow which
brought the “world child” into being and the
beauty of the child, wishes the “‘world child”’ “‘to
be a brother to my son.”

Josui, who had been carried back to Japan by
her parents after the war began, accepts the
universal thesis without great anxiety. But she
realizes that her American husband cannot give

up what is demanded by the combination of cul-’

tures that make up the universal thesis.

Mrs. Buck makes another strong argument for
the thesis in a scene with Dr. Stiner, a refugee
from Hitler’s Germany, who accepts Josui’s child,
after the mother decides she no longer wants the
“world child.”

At first, you must know, we could not imag-
ine that they really killed little children of
mixed blood. It was not your blood, but it
was my blood, mixed with the Germans. They
said we must have only pure blood—as though
human blood is not pure wherever it is found!

In East Wind: West Wind, The Hidden Flow-
er, and Command the Morning, scientists are the
instruments through which the universal thesis
is projected. The knowledge of science is used
as in the above quote to add substance to the
thesis.

And finally there is the attitude toward the new
life which is created or destroyed because of the
meeting of the cultures. Dr. Stiner’s helper de-

fends the ‘“‘world child” from the bitterness of
their neighbors.

‘Lennie ain’t Japanese,’ she retorted. ‘He’s
different from any baby I ever did see.’

‘Especially,’ they said cruelly, ‘when your
son was killed by a Jap.’

She still bled at the heart when her Sam
was mentioned, but she said, ‘It wasn’t Len-
nie that did it for sure.’

The husband of the Chinese woman in East
Wind: West Wind consoles his wife when she
reflects on the sadness which was necessary for
the “world child’s’” conception. “Think only of
this—with what joy of union he came into the
world! He has tied together the two hearts of
his parents into one. Those two hearts, with all
their differences in birth and rearing—differences
existing centuries ago! What union!”

Mrs. Buck emphatically maintains that a com-
bination of the cultures is a beautiful union. She
approves of the union of East and West, and she
has high hopes for the new creations coming
forth. East is East and West is West and the
twain shall meet!

In her latest book, Command the Morning, Mrs.
Buck attacks the problem of man’s ultimate loyal-
ty. Is it to man? Or is it to a political unit? This
book deals with the scientist and his conflict while
creating the atomic bomb. One point of conflict
was the question of the use of the bomb. And
after it was used on Hiroshima and Nagisaki,
each of the American scientists displays a sense
of guilt. The European born scientists continue
to work to ban the bomb from further use.

The philosophical question raised is one of
value. Mrs. Buck argues emphatically for the
world community. Each of the major characters
in Command the Morning withdraw from any
work which can be connected with destruction
after the bomb is used. Typical is Jane, a brilliant
young physicist, who changes her area of research
to biology, the study of life.

Pearl Buck adheres to the idea that mankind
is one. The question of our highest human value
is raised and her position is unequivocal. But any
question of human value must be individually
considered.

14

THE REBEL

THE HOUSE ON TH

Se = ae

SWAMP

by DERRY WALKER

eoOry

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Ys ‘ ait: rr
care ik Si

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me. (FST tes 3

E453

nee

Wie ty Nex che

me, aN
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Suddenly there was no floor beneath him.

“What a road,’ Dave muttered as his car
bounced over another series of rough bumps.
He glanced at the speedometer and noticed he was
only moving a few miles per hour, yet he felt
he was going to bounce through the roof of the
car any minute.

His headlights shone on the lumpy clay road
ahead. Rain speckled his windshield but there
wasn’t enough for the wipers yet. By his head-
lights and by the occasional big flashes of light-
ning he could see the thick undergrowth on both
sides of the road. The closely knitted dark green
foliage looked impenetrable.

“A Salem witch wouldn’t buy land around

here,” he thought. He leaned forward and squint-
ed at the distance ahead. He wished silently that

WINTER, 1960

the lightning would come more often; he was
afraid his headlights would miss the side road
he was to take. He chuckled softly as he recalled
how he had gotten into this predicament. He
was the unlucky pledge who happened to be con-
venient when the two fraternity brothers were
looking for someone to harass.

“Pledge,” one of the brothers had said, ‘‘you
are going to be an errand boy tonight. I left a
coonskin cap in the house on the swamp. Now I
think a lot of that cap and I want it back, so you
go get it.”

They didn’t tell him where the cap’s exact loca-
tion was, only that it was in the house and he had
better find it. So here he was.

The storm broke and waves of rain crashed

15

against his windshield with each gust of wind.
The clay road began to melt into a shapeless
mess, and he felt the rear end of his car slide and
he cursed the storm. He thought about the house
on the swamp. Haunted, they said. There was a
ghost legend behind it. He remembered hearing
it discussed one night when he and some of his
friends were swapping yarns about legendary
spooks. The house had been unoccupied for thirty
years, ever since the family that lived there had
been killed. There had been much talk about the
murder. Some said that it had been done by
robbers; others said it was done by a maniac who
was on the loose; a few said it was done by a
monster that inhabited the dingy swamp—a mon-
ster that wandered along the edge of the sy vamp
about this time of year.

Dave laughed aloud as he thought of the mon-
ster legend.

“Crazy people in this world,” he smiled. Ab-
ruptly he checked the smile as he caught sight of
a break in the undergrowth a few yards ahead on
his right; there was the road to the house.

“Now,” he mused, “I'll get in there and get
that cap and get out of this forsaken place.” He
cut the wheel sharply and headed into the road
to the house. It was an uphill climb and a wind-
ing one; low-hanging limbs raked across the top
of his car and he heard the tall weeds rub the
underparts of it as he passed over them. Rain
came so hard, his windshield wipers could scarcely
work fast enough.

The little road seemed endless; he drove on and
on watching the eerie scenery creep by. The storm
was reaching its peak. The wind grappled with
the vines and scrubs, twisting them about un-
mercifully, revealing the luminous bottoms of
their leaves. The sudden drop in temperature had
caused his windshield to fog, and he turned on his
defroster. At length, the road grew wider, and
he saw in the distance ahead what appeared to be
a Clearing; he shifted out of low gear into second
and increased his speed.

All at once he emerged from the leafy passage-
way. His headlights projected their beams across
a hundred and fifty yards of weedy terrain into
another wall of trees and undergrowth on the
opposite side of the clearing. To the right of his
lights and above him, he saw a huge dark form
at the top of the hill. A tremendous crack of
lightning nearby revealed an immense gray struc-
ture with large gables; four tall columns support-
ed the roof at the front door. The windows were
wide and the few shutters that had not blown
away hung by one or two nails. The building was

16

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Then he put his shoulder against it and shoved
it open.

square and very tall. A steel rail fence surrounded
it. This is the house on the swamp, thought Dave.

Dave came to an obstacle he had not expected.
The steel gate in the fence was closed. He stopped
his car and stared at it for a second, then opened
the door and stepped out. The wind wrenched
the door from him and slammed it shut. The
‘ain pounded him fiercely and nearly blinded him
as he made his way to the gate. He felt his cloth-
ing stick to him as the rain drenched him. He
fumbled with the catch in the gate and finally
heard it click, then he put his shoulder against it
and shoved it open.

He jumped back into his car and drove through
the opening. He felt water running off his fore-
head into his eyes and he felt it trickling down his
back. He was soaked. He drove as close to the
front of the house as he could and stopped. His
lights played on the porch and the huge oaken
door. He reached under the seat and groped for
a flashlight. Finding it, he raised up and pushed
the switch for his headlights in: he started in
his seat and jerked the switch out; he had seen
something move; he knew it, but now it was gone.
Just as his lights died, he saw a form leap from

THE REBEL

the porch into the darkness, but when he snap-
ped them on, it was gone.

Dave thought for a moment.

“So,” he whispered to himself, “they’re going
to try to put the scare on me, are they?” He
laughed to himself as he thought about how much
trouble his big brothers in the fraternity must
have had planning this one. They sure were
going to be disappointed, because he wasn’t
scared. He cut the headlights off again and step-
ped out of the car. He snapped on his flashlight
and jumped onto the porch. He found the knob
on the door and turned it; nothing happened.
He put his shoulder against the huge door and
shoved; it resisted at first, then gave finally and
swung around on its heavy iron hinges. Dave
flashed his light in a half circle before him. Just
to his left, stairs led to the second floor. The
banisters leaned away from the stairs and ap-
peared on the verge of toppling over. Wall-paper
hung in shreds from the walls and the floor was
littered with ancient debris. To his right an arch-
way led into a large room which appeared to be a
sitting room at one time. The hallway in which
he stood led by the stair-case and ended at a door
which probably led to rooms in the rear of the
house. Slowly, he brought his light to bear on an
open doorway a few feet in front of him. He
stopped and jerked his head in that direction;
his heart beat against his spine and he felt his
legs grow numb. His reaction to what he saw
seemed to rise abruptly to the base of his skull
and explode, sending thousands of pin pricks
across his forehead and down his back.

He took one step backward and stared at the
four huge fingers that curled around the door-
facing. Each finger was as large as three of his,
and was almost hidden by coarse black hair. They
ended in dark jagged nails, like claws. The hair
on the fingers glittered in the beam of his flash-
light and he saw a drop of rain-water fall from
them onto the floor. The someone or something
to whom the fingers belonged was wet, and must
belong to the same being he had seen leap from
the porch when he switched off his headlights.

His eardrums echoed his heartbeats and his
stomach seemed to shrivel into nothing. He pivot-
ed quickly and darted into the archway on his
left and as he did so, he heard a thump behind
as if someone had taken a sudden leap forward.
He pushed his legs hard against the floor and

ran across the huge sitting room. He whirled -

to the right at the other end of the room and
lunged through a doorway, bashing his knuckles
as he flung open the door. He heard another

WINTER, 1960

thump, closer behind him than before, and he in-
creased his speed. His foot slipped and he fell
to one knee, but was up running again until he
came to a door. He wrenched it open and felt a
muscle strain in his back as he darted through it,
then, suddenly there was no floor under him and
he catapulted downward. His flashlight flew from
his hands and he felt his knees grate against
heavy steps; he somersaulted over as he crashed
downward and finally smashed to a stop on a
heavy oaken floor. His head roared and his ears
buzzed; his body burned all over and his muscles
ached, and then he heard laughter all around him.
He opened his eyes and looked up. In the sparse
light from kerosene lamps he saw girls and boys
looking down on him, laughing. All his big bro-
thers in the fraternity were there, and there were
as many girls.

“Congratulations, pledge,” one brother laughed,
“vou made it to the party.” More laughter. “We’re
having a surprise party for all the pledges out
here tonight. Those that get here get free beer.
Those that chicken out get a firm paddling. You’re
a good boy, you didn’t chicken out.’’ One brother
came forward and helped him up. The others
continued laughing.

“You all right?” he asked.

“Yeah, sure,” Dave quavered. “But how...

“Oh, we all left our cars about a mile from here
and walked, so there would be no tracks. We
watched you come all the way. We were going to
go up and get you if you started to leave. We told
all you pledges to come out here. . . each separ-
ately. But it’s all over now.”

“But...” Dave began.

“Perfect night for it, isn’t it?’ the brother
asked.

“Right,” Dave agreed. The others laughed
again. “But who’s upstairs?” Dave asked, rub-
bing his hip. “God, what a scare.” Everyone
laughed harder.

The brother by Dave laughed with them.

“No one’s upstairs,” he giggled. Everybody’s
down here, you nut. Can’t you see that?” By
this time, everyone was weary of laughing. Some
of the brothers held their sides.

“No one is upstairs?” Dave asked.

“No one,” the brother repeated. ‘‘We decided
just to let you guys scare yourselves. C’mon, and
have a beer.” The brother smiled and walked
away. Everyone smiled. But Dave didn’t smile
back. He looked at the stairs and the open door
at the top with only darkness beyond it, and he
didn’t smile at all.

99

17

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“Woods”

(Pen and Ink Drawing)

by AL DUNKLE

THE REBEL

““Alone”’ (Wood Engraving) by KAREN MCLAWHORN

WINTER, 1960

The Arrival

by COLEMAN NORRIS

lst. Lt. Bob Andrews had been stationed over-
seas for two years prior to his transfer to the
states. He had fifteen days before he was to re-
port to his base in California so he decided to
spend a few days at home. This was only his
second day home, but already he had become
restless. Ever since his high school days he had
been like this; just hated to sit home.

“Mom, I think I will ride out to Gteaanws
farm and look it over. It’s been so long since I
walked over it, and I promised Grandmother I'd
come out today anyway.”

“Alright, Bob, but don’t stay over a couple of
hours. We'll have supper around six o’clock.”

After driving out into the country for about
ten miles, he turned off to the right on the dirt
road that led to his Grandfather’s farm. He
stopped the car under the oak tree in the large,
shady front yard and walked up the dirt walk
to the screened back porch.

He walked on into the house without bothering
to knock. He saw his Grandmother bending over
the cook stove in the kitchen so he tipped on in
and said, ““Hey guess who’s here?”

His grandmother jumped, dropping the spoon
she had in her hand and whirled around. She
stood still for a moment—an expression of sur-
prise and happiness covered her face. She rushed
toward him with her arms out stretched.

“Well Lord have mercy, Bobby!” she exclaimed,
and then could say no more as the words were
choked with tears.

His Grandfather had heard the commotion, and
came rushing into the room and the hugging was
repeated.

After about thirty minutes of answering his
grandparents questions, Bob said, “I think I'll

20

walk over the place. Want to come, Grandpa?”’

‘‘Naw, son, I ain’t up to it. My back’s been
giving me trouble lately. But you go ahead.”

Bob walked down by the barns and down the
hill through the pasture. After about fifteen
minutes he came to the pines that separated the
large pasture from the tobacco fields.

He got on the path and continued to walk
through the woods until he came to a creek. He
stopped and looked down into the clear, fast mov-
ing stream of water. He looked for a long moment
before he realized that he was looking at himself.

He saw the reflection of a boy in the water. Not
a different person in his mind, one completely un-
attached to him. The only relationship between
them would be that the grown man would remem-
ber the boy and the boy’s childhood, but they
wouldn’t be the same person.

He then looked over to the right and saw the
gully he used to play in when he was small. We
walked over to it and stood for a moment and
then ran down the side to the bottom. There were
still some of the old rusted tin cans lying around
that he had brought there when he was small.
It was funny, but he couldn’t remember for what
purpose he had used them.

The wall of rocks that he built was still there.
He had built it to keep wild Indians out when he

THE REBEL

as a cowboy, to fight the enemy with when he was
a soldier, and for a hundred other purposes.

He sat down on the wall and let his thoughts
once again drift back into the past. It was so odd,
he thought, how he was still very much like the
kid that used to play here during the summers
of years past.

He had always wanted to be a lawyer and live
in a big city. He would be a different person.
That was the only way he could conceive or
picture the future.

He wouldn’t even look the same. Except for
his mother and father and grandparents, he
wouldn’t ever come back here.

He would have good looking girls all the time
and a big pretty apartment. And talk! He would
be able to say anything he wanted to in such a
big and right way. He would know all of the big
important people and have plenty of money,
enough so he could spend it any way he wanted.
He would be grown then and would retain no
part of the boy. He would emerge just like a
butterfly from a cocoon.

But as he sat there he realized just how little
he had changed. He had grown up a little, but
not over a couple of feet. He didn’t even feel as
big as a grown man had looked when he was
small.

He just couldn’t leave the kid behind. His
thoughts were not those of a different person. It
had not been fourteen years ago, but just a little

REET ETT

while. There hadn’t been the revolutionary change
or the expected transformation in himself.

Even Christmas and his birthday came every
twelve months now instead of just once a year,
as they had when he was small. His thoughts
were broken by the gear rattling on some mules
coming down the path from the field. Bob stood
up to look out of the gully and saw two mules led
by Uncle Thes. Uncle Thes was the old colored
man that tended the place for Grandpa and had
been tending it as long as Bob could remember.
As they were crossing the creek, Bob walked out
of the gully.

Uncle Thes looked old and tired now. His
hitchup overalls were patched and dirty, his faded
blue shirt was wet with sweat. His worn bro-
gans and the bottoms of his overall pants were
damp and muddy from crossing the creek. A
dirty felt hat sat down on his head, but still little
blotches of his white wool-like hair were visible.
Slowly his cracked, tired voice rose and fell to the
rhythm of an old spiritual. “I’m patiently waiting
for dat great day when the trumpets will blow. I
know it’s a coming, just a little while longer
down here.”

Uncle Thes limped along; the mules tramping
behind. The animals seemed to be walking in
slow unison to the beat of the deep-pitched song
he was singing.

To Bob this brought back many old memories.

(Continued on page 32)

WINTER, 1960

21

22

SONNENT 21

How dissolutioned of fate so unkind

To search for and never find

Till star studded patterns twisted our way
Destined our meeting one blue skyed day

Surely Venus mothered our design
And created this ecstasy so sublime
A wonderous joy from us hidden

Patiently waiting a thing forbidden

Then bursting forth as Phoebus light
Thus it came when all was right
Filling our hearts from that day
With love lasting for eternity

Infatuations, fate, from ours must reign
To fleeting loves passed, all in vain

PUCK

BLACK SPOT

Down the unhushed jubilant street
The blind man hobbles and falls
Through doors of dampness
Rattling with cups not tin.

Loose cobbles bump his toe
Shoulders jostle his

As he makes his stumbling way
Down the thoughtless avenue

Coal burns in the coal-black day
The horse trot rumbles

He reaches for the distaste—
Full human touch

Clambering by ridged-surfaced walls
With only one black spot.

This strange, familiar

Cane-tapped earth.

ERIC SMITH

THE REBEL

SS

uv

(Etching) by NELSON DUDLEY

“Of Sun and Sweat”

23

WINTER, 1960

MUSIC AS A FORCE IN
CAMPUS LIFE

(Continued from page 12)

music. Tastes may differ with the person and the
occasion, but in the end for enjoyment, entertain-
ment, or relaxation people instinctively turn to
music. For intense listening a person may enjoy
a Beethoven Symphony, or a Mozart sonata, but
for light listening or dinner music he’ll probably
turn to Percy Faith, or some other popular orches-
tra or band.

What would we do if we never came in contact
with music? If we didn’t have a radio to turn
on when we went back to the dorm or the room
for the evening? Music seems like a basic part
of life; in fact music gives added meaning to life.
In an age of science which emphasizes the material
aspects of living, there is all the more need for
the leavening qualities of music. So many people
are moving so fast, and perhaps with no purpose,
that they don’t take time out to relax and take
stock of themselves. Music soothes us when we
are depressed, and adds to the enjoyment when
we are happy.

Music is necessary to help man find his moral
and ethical balance, his spiritual destiny, his
search for truth. One might say that music speaks
directly to the heart. Through the study of the
music of a people, one begins to understand much
of their culture. What could be a better history
lesson than to listen to and analyze the music
from the different ages, and countries? Mozart’s
chamber music, conatas, concertos, church music,
and serenades were in the eighteenth century tra-
dition. To know a Mozart minuet or trio is to
sense the feeling of a courtly and aristocratic
people. Likewise, the music of Spain, their
glorified dance forms and colorful, descriptive
music, helps one to develop an understanding of
the people of Spain. The contemporary music of
today helps one feel the ever-changing and un-
certain condition the world is in.

The music that has come into being through the
centuries is a priceless heritage and can be a
source of enduring beneficence in human life.
Music is also a way of reviewing things that have
been important in the lives of people, even though
they may be far apart both in time and space.
All phases of life are found in the songs of man-
kind. Music has accompanied almost every race
of mankind in its joys and sorrows. It has been

24

a part of ceremonies and merry-making. Even
before music was recognized as an art, it lightened
the burden of tedious tasks.

Music gives a basis for forming value judg-
ments. In calling upon one’s faculties, power, and
attention music teaches concentration. To enjoy
and analyze music, one must be able to sit down
and listen to the music, observing its style, form,
and the composer’s individual way of composing.
Music also helps one to be a well rounded individ-
ual.

One can feel closer to the cultural aspect of life
if he has experienced hearing an opera, a good
symphony orchestra, or perhaps a good dance
band. That is why our Entertainment Series com-
mittee is striving so hard to bring to the campus
appealing programs, with music to suit every
listening taste. So far, they have brought to the
campus Giuseppe Campora, famed Metropolitan
opera tenor star; Richard Cass, pianist from
Greenville, S. C.; the internationally famous Vit-
torio Giannini, as guest conductor for the college
orchestra; and the Festival Company from Nor-
way. Many more such groups are yet to come
this year, including the U. S. Navy Band, Fred
Waring and the Four Freshmen.

Among the many musical performance groups
on campus are the college bands, orchestra,
choir, Woman’s Chorus, College Singers and the
dance bands. Other valuable phases of music
on campus are the Opera Theatre productions, and
the annual musical show. In past years this group
has presented “Carousel,” “Oklahoma,” and “Kiss
Me Kate,” all well known Broadway musicals.
This year they plan to present “Annie Get Your
Gun.”

Listening to music is in itself one of the most
important phases of a program of music educa-
tion. Through listening, children and adults alike
can have contact with music beyond that which
they are likely to perform for themselves.

The music appreciation course strives to in-
terest the students in forms of music other than
those they usually hear on radios and juke boxes.
More students are inclined to listen to and buy a
good classic record after they have really come in
contact with and have learned to appreciate all the
kinds of music. Before one can like something,
he first has to give it a try.

The students should be justly proud of all the
musical advantages which our college has to offer.
The force is certainly here, and with just a little
effort on the student’s part, they can develop
culturally in music, as well as socially and in-
tellectually.

THE REBEL

THE REBEL REVIEW

Reason Is the Remedy

The Seeds of Time. Henry Savage. New York: Henry
Holt & Company. 1959. $4.50

The South Strikes Back. Hodding Carter III. New York:
Doubleday & Company. 1959. $3.95

Finally, out of the great deluge of books con-
cerning the South and her problems has come a
really worthwhile book, a work in the tradition of
The Mind Of The South. The Seeds Of Time by
Henry Savage in this book. Savage, a native
South Carolinian, carries out well his stated ob-
jective, exploring the background of Southern
thinking. Every facet of the South’s past, from
prehistoric times to very recent history is ex-
plored. Savage is a perceptive exponent of ration-
alism as a means of both understanding and solv-
ing our dilemmas. All of the factors which he
unearths as being important in the background
of Southern thinking are too numerous to men-
tion. However, the two most basic factors are:
the extreme ruralism of the South and the pres-
ence of the Negro in large numbers. A result of
the geography of the region, ruralism manifests
itself in Southern hospitality and the great em-
phasis on church and political gatherings. But its
most important manifestation is in the extreme
conservative thinking of most of our area. The
impact of mind on mind through urban living
makes for a greater degree of liberalism, of
thinking in accord with the times. As for the
Negro, Savage sees two main factors. The old
“Othello” prejudice (standard emotional equip-
ment of persons of Anglo-Saxon, Celtic and Ger-
manic origins) is the first. Its counterparts are
the prejudice of the Boer and Briton in South
Africa, the Englishman in India and Hong Kong.
This is not essentially a Southern characteristic
as such. It appears so because the South possesses
a greater degree of Anglo-Saxon, Celtic and Ger-
manic ancestry than other parts of the country.
The second factor concerning the Negro is an
economic one. An educated, integrated Negro
poses more competition in an area which is already

WINTER, 1960

economically second to the rest of the country.

This writer considers Henry Savage a truly
admirable writer with a valid message for us all.
In this book he preserves his integrity as a writer,
as a rationalist, as a Southerner, and as an Amer-
ican. The book is as objective as any human
work can be. Injustices to the South are duly
recognized as injustices but with the realization
that we cannot live in the past, but in the present.
At the same time, misdeeds and mistakes of the
South’s own making are pointed out. These offer
opportunity as well as responsibility.

As Southerners today, we know well the in-
tense love, loyalty and pride which we feel about
anything concerning the South, a separate entity,
the South. The feelings which arise at the sight
of the Stars and Bars, and most of all, that feel-
ing unlike any other, which results when we hear
the sound of “Dixie’”’ are close to all of us.

But we must recognize the truth of Savage’s
message for us. He should be allowed to speak
for himself since he does it so well. ‘‘Those who
speak of an impending choice of ways speak with-
out the perspective of history. There is no such
choice. That choice was made years ago when
the South embraced change, chose the American
way and sealed its choice by truly remarkable ac-
complishments and deep commitment. Now the
only choice remaining to the South is one of the
means of resolving difficulties now flowing from
its irrevocable commitments to the American way.
It is fatuous to think that there can be any revo-
cation of those commitments to progress. Society,
like all other living organisms, must grow or die.
If Southerners can accept. . . the fact that just as
man cannot be an island unto himself, so, also in
the closely knit world society of today, no society
can be an island unto itself and if they can accept
the fact that the dogmas of a stagnant past are
inadequate to the dynamic present then, in one
way or another, acceptable solutions to the South’s
formidable problems will be forthcoming.”

Another valuable view, not only of the South’s
problems, but also of the unfortunate steps that
have been taken to rectify them, is presented in
The South Strikes Back by a native Mississippian,

25

Hodding Carter III. Carter traces the growth and
development of the White Citizens Councils. This
organization “has far greater influence than its
ancestor of the 1920’s, the Ku Klux Klan.” The
Council is dedicated to maintaining segregation
and the reactivation of states rights. Although
the early Councils alleged that they were pledged
to achieve their goals without violence and by
legal means, they became increasingly radical as
time went by. By 1955, they had their own news-
paper, secret police and underground. In the
meantime, the Council had spread from its home
state of Mississippi throughout the South, with
especial strength in the lower South. The weapons
of this group are: appeal to emotionally rooted
prejudice and the feeding of warped egos concern-
ing such subjects as “white supremacy” and
“racial amalgamation”. This is to say nothing of
economic boycotts against anyone suspected of
integrationist sympathies.

Carter places the responsibility for the power
which the Council wields squarely on the should-
ers of moderate white Southerners who literally
went underground in the face of the furor about
the Supreme Court decision in 1954. This is the
element which perhaps could have saved the day
had they not been afraid to seize the initiative.

Both Henry Savage and Hodding Carter are
optimistic to the extent that they believe that the
forces of emotion and prejudice which now ride
the crest will inevitably be destroyed because
they comprise an essentially negative movement
founded on the defense of the status quo and
dedicated to its preservation. ‘Defense of the
status quo, as history has shown often enough,
is an arduous task at best. When in a democracy
such as ours, it involves the repression of a minor-
ity, it becomes an impossibility.”

These two Southern writers make a real plea
that we, as intelligent, civilized people, return to
the art of thinking, of employing our rational
faculties. This is a plea that we cannot afford
to ignore.

SANDRA PORTER

Queen of An Era

Elizabeth the Great. By Elizabeth Jenkins. New York:
Coward-McCann, Inc. 1959.

This story of England’s first great Queen Eliza-
beth is a rarely found and beautiful combination

of sound scholarship and narrative skill. Miss

26

Jenkins makes Elizabeth come alive both as a
sovereign and as a woman. Her significant addi-
tion to the mass of biography that already has
been accumulated probably will be in her contri-
butions to our knowledge of Elizabeth as a person-
ality, rather than in her conclusions about her
historical importance.

Most striking of Miss Jenkins’ hypotheses is
her theory concerning Elizabeth’s spinsterhood.
The question of why the most eligible woman in
the western world remained single throughout
her life has vexed biographers for centuries. Miss
Jenkins thinks that the reason was her funda-
mental fear of marriage as an institution, as
exemplified by the fatal unions between her
father, Henry VIII, and his various but fated
wives.

In particular the beheadings of Ann Boleyn,
Elizabeth’s mother, and Catherine Howard,
Henry’s fifth wife, made irrevocable Elizabeth’s
terror of marriage among royalty. She was eight
years old when Catherine’s execution took place,
and from that time onward, according to Lord
Leicester-—one of her later suitors—she had al-
ways said, “I shall never marry.”

But Miss Jenkins’ book is a full-length biogra-
phy, not merely an account of the abortive at-
tempts that were made to find an acceptable hus-
band for Elizabeth. The intrigue of her court,
the story of the victories of her navy over the
Spaniards, the long, heart-breaking preamble to
Mary, Queen of Scots’ execution, her final years
as a near-deity—all are told with the verve of a
first-rate novelist combined with the scrutiny of
the scholar. Touches of her personal life—such as
how she dressed and ate and spent her leisure
time—finish off a picture which to most of us
has been incomplete. Miss Jenkins converts her
from the cold, queer virgin of the historian to the
vibrant, high-strung, intensely intelligent woman
she really was.

My only reproach to Miss Jenkins is that the
mention of William Shakespeare is never made in
her book. That the greatest English Queen and
the greatest English dramatist could live out their
years simultaneously and yet never have an im-
portant association is to me inconceivable. Shakes-
peare scholars know that there were many such
associations, and Miss Jenkins, I’m sure, knows
too. If this biography has a defect, it is in the
omission of any attempt to correlate the lives and
influence of these two giants of the English Ren-
aissance.

Dr. EDGAR HIRSHBERG

THE REBEL

From Homer To Wolf

Your Literary Heritage. Frederic E. Faverty. Philadel-
phia: J. B. Lippincott Company. 1959. $3.95

Here collected are eighty little essays by Pro-
fessor Faverty of the English Department of
Northwestern University, dealing with selected
literary works in chronological order from the
Odyssey to Look Homeward, Angel. The purpose
of the essays, all of which originally appeared in
The Chicago Tribune Magazine of Books, is “to
stimulate interest in some of the masterpieces of
world literature.” (The unfortunate title—Isn’t
it his literary heritage, too?—probably has the
same intent.)

Each essay begins with some facts about the
author’s life, moves to a sketchy account of his
work in general, and finally concentrates on a
particular work. Although the essays contribute
nothing new, either by way of information or
insight, occasional rewardingly happy phrases ap-
pear; for example: “Housman .. . has not been
dead long enough for us to determine whether he
will live.”

Because these essays are aimed at the generality
of newspaper readers (of whom Professor Fav-
erty’s opinion, however low, is higher than that
of the average newspaper reporter) and because
they are so short, they are vulnerable to obvious
attacks that in the circumstances would be un-
fair. Be it said, then, that these essays, however
short and superficial, do stimulate interest and
that the thirty-seven-page bibliography of edi-
tions in print of the works discussed, a biography
and a critical work on each author, is only further
evidence of Professor Faverty’s desire to assist
the inexperienced reader.

Dr. FRANCIS ADAMS

Pretty and Perfiduous

La Belle. Elizabeth B. Coker. New York: Doubleday and
Company. 1959. $4.95

Marie Boozer was known throughout the South
as the provocative, beautiful daughter of Amelia
Boozer. Although her mother was unacceptable
to Southern aristocracy because of her Northern
sympathies, Marie was loved by all who met her.

When Sherman marched on Columbia, South
Carolina, Amelia openly declared her loyalty to
the Union army and proved to be a valuable spy
for General Sherman. Amelia’s actions were
prompted by her obsession with wealth and power.

WINTER, 1960

_ which so well embellish the text.

Marie was forced to leave Columbia with her
mother as Sherman evacuated. The people of the
South thought that Marie was also a Northern
sympathizer and so did the Confederate soldier
with whom she was in love.

As the shock and pain of her lover’s desertion
wore off, Marie looked forward to a new life in
New York City. At first Marie was bitter and
unhappy in her new role, but gradually she be-
came accustomed to life in the North, especially
after she met the handsome Union officer, Lloyd
Phoenix.

Because of her mother’s plotting, Marie found
herself hopelessly entangled in a scheme to be
married off to a rich, elderly gentleman. Despite
her marriage, Marie found herself still drawn
to the dashing Union officer with such intensity
that she could not resist his charms, even in the
face of an international scandal.

Seldom has a novel been written that so closely
followed the actual facts concerning a person’s
life. In her book, Elizabeth Coker has printed
the historical facts pertaining to the life of Marie
Boozer above each chapter head and with her
own vivid imagination has filled in the details.
The ruthless burning and calculated killing by
Sherman in the cities of the South are graphically
portrayed in these pages, especially centering
around the city of Columbia, South Carolina.

KATHERINE PRYTHERCH

They March Again

They Who Fought Here, Text by Bill Irvin Wiley, Illus-
trations by Hirst D. Milhollen, N. Y.; The Macmillan Co.,
1959—$10.00.

Bill Irvin Wiley wrote books entitled, The
Life of Johnny Reb and The Life of Billy Yank
which are still in print in one volume under the
title of The Common Soldier In the Civil War.
Through a great knowledge of contemporary
diaries and letters the author tells in text with the
aid of 207 graphic photographs by Hirst D. Mil-
hollen all about those who fought here both North
and South. Mr. Milhollen turned to public and
private collections, libraries, museums, and his-
torical societies for his selection of photographs
Divided We
Fought, Presidents on Parade, and The Declara-
tion of Independence are other outstanding books
of which Mr. Milhollen edited the pictorial content.

“Joining Up”, “Rations”, “Clothing and Shel-

27

EMILY NEALE

by

(Woodcut)

4 of Head”

«

“Study

THE REBEL

28

ter”, “Weapons”, “Diversions”, “Crime and Pun-
ishment”, “Morals and Religion’, “The Sick and
Wounded”, and ‘Pass the Infantry to the Front”
are some of the pictorial and written accounts that
for the most part are given an adequate presenta-
tion. In many of the pages there is a real insight
into the feelings of the soldiers; there are answers
as to why some fought: ‘Quiet fell and presently
the man who had lost a leg inquired, ‘Why did you
come down here anyway, fighting us?’ Equally
without emotion but with much pride, the man in
blue whose arm was gone replied, ‘For the old
flag.’ ”’

The text and illustrations also tell who they
were: “From paper hangers to pianists, from lads
of eleven and twelve to determined graybeards
approaching eighty, from scholars whose haver-
sacks held Greek and Latin textbooks to farm-
hands who could not read at all.

Sometimes the account is saddening, often
poignant, and in some instances amusing. For
example there is some amusement in the statement
about what they wore: ‘One hole in the seat of the
breeches indicates a captain—two holes a lieuten-
ant and the seat of the pants all out indicates that
the individual is a private.”’

In over-sized format we have a rendition of
what it was like to enlist and leave the homes, to
march the long roads north or south, perhaps to
die. They Who Fought Here, tells us about those
who were “Out in the sunlight, in the dying day-
light, and under the stars, they stood, and although
they could not advance, they would not retire.”

—DAN W.

Manners, Morals and Metaphysics

The Book of the Courtier. Baldesar Castiglione. New
York: Doubleday Anchor Books. 1959. $1.25

One evening in March, 1507, the group of bril-
liant courtier-humanists who make up the circle
of Duchess Elizabetta Gonzaga of Urbine gather
with the ladies to entertain and edify themselves
with conversation. (This, of course, is because
there is no TV available.) The subject for conver-
sation, formally chosen and ratified, an analysis
of the qualities of the perfect courtier, proves to
be of such interest to those present that the dia-
logue is prolonged for three more evenings.

To us busy, restless moderns, the whole thing
is likely to seem absurd, a mere fiction. Thus we
will not be surprised to learn that in fact we are
dealing with a great fabrication, and that Castig-

WINTER, 1960

lione, a man of many parts, is on a mission to
England at the time and therefore is in no posi-
tion to record the talk which his book contains.

Yet this is but another case where fiction is
truer than mere reporting, for if these conversa-
tions were never actually spoken as Castiglione
gives them, they could have been, since the Renais-
sance was one of the great ages of courtly conver-
sation; and his work does in fact represent the
spirit of the age better than do any literally fact-
ual documents which have come down to us. Here
we see brilliantly reflected the urbanity and hu-
mane tolerance, the breadth of philosophic and
artistic taste and curiosity, the thrust toward true
knowledge and total perfection, which are so
characteristic of one side, at least, of that violently
contradictory period.

The dialogues themselves, after the fashion of
good talk anywhere, are but loosely organized, al-
lowing the author to work over a wide field. There
is also a good deal of realistic clash of opinion
among the participants, based upon what Castig-
lione actually knew about their varied tempera-
ments in real life, as well as other devices em-
ployed to give variety to the composition.

Still, it must be admitted that many readers
are likely to find occasional dull spots, especially in
300k III, which somewhat tediously concerns it-
self with a perennially tedious subject—the na-
ture of humor. Book IV, on the other hand, should
be required reading for all students of the Renais-
sance. First, it deals with good governance and
the responsibility of the courtier to his prince with
respect to it (See Kent in King Lear), and it
closes upon a tremendous climactic passage in
which Pietro Bembo, developing the philosophy
of love and beauty from Plato’s Symposium, raises
his eyes above sensuality to the mystic harmony
of union with God:

If, then, the beauties which every day with
these clouded eyes of ours we see in corrupt-
ible bodies .. . seem to us so fair and full of
grace that they often kindle in us a most
ardent fire what happy marvel, what
blessed awe, must we think is that which fills
the souls that attain to the vision of divine
beauty! What sweet flame, what delightful
burning, must we think that to be which
springs from the fountain of supreme and
true beauty—which is the source of every
other beauty, which never increases or dimin-
ishes: always beautiful, and in itself most
simple and equal in every part; like only to
itself, and partaking of none other; but so

29

beautiful that all other beautiful things are
beautiful because they partake in its beauty.

Here not only occurs a fusion of the idealism of
the pagan spirit with Christianity, but also a
transfiguration of the medieval doctrine of Courtly
Love which will color literature for centuries. At
the same time Castiglione helps transform the
clanking knight into the trim gentleman (remem-
ber Ophelia’s lament over Hamlet), not an en-
tirely anachronistic figure even now, one hopes,
though how he will fare in outer space is prob-
lematical.

Though there are three earlier translations of
this important book in the Joyner Library, this is
the most readable. And it is worth reading—just
to see what Philip Sidney, Spenser, and Shakes-
peare liked in a bestseller, if for no other reason.
But there are other reasons in the realms of
manners, morals and metaphysics.

Dr. JAMES POINDEXTER

Victory for Free Enterprise

The Communist Challenge 'To American Business. Clar-
ence B. Randall. Boston: Little Brown and Company.
1959. $3.50

Psychologists and religionists tell us that con-
fession of one’s wrongs is good for the soul. In
that case, Mr. Randall’s conscience must be great-
ly relieved. The first portion of this book relates
Randall’s evaluation of conservatives and liberals.
(After the reading of this book, I am convinced
that anyone would call himself liberal.)

Mr. Randall addresses himself to the problems
of interest and participation by the businessman
in the policy making of our government. Randall
portrays his fellow associates as ‘negative, when
not openly hostile” to government. But when the
businessman faces up to the great question (Com-
munist challenge to “free enterprise’) which con-
fronts this nation, he will want a part in determin-
ing policy and “have it carried out by those no
less competent than himself.” But the business-
man as of yet has not sought to meet the chal-
lenge, and for this chides his associates. But he
believes that when his associates accept the chal-
lenge, they will solve the problem “winning a
glorious victory” for free enterprise.

A strong argument is put forward in support
of free trade. He supports the concept emphatical-
ly, but he fails to come to grip with the issues
that make world trade such a perplexing problem.

The discussion of the relationship of the men

30

of the Randall Commission was very entertain-
ing, especially that of Randall calling time limit
on Senator Millikin. When in Europe, Randall
was astounded by a country “where it was simply
taken for granted that natural resources were the
property of all the people.” I think this astonish-
ment throws light on his use of the word “liberal.”
In reality it should be “conservative.” Several
references are made to centralization to meet the
Communist challenge, but they are never ade-
quately considered. In fact, there is doubt as to
the meaning of centralization as used by Randall.
The use of the phrase “the wisdom of the many”
is another of Randall’s ways to slide easily over
challenging problems.

The government should build up countries in
basic facilities (power and communication) so that
American business may enter these “underde-
veloped” countries. But no mention is made of
the responsibility of the profit making companies.
Will it be similar responsibility as shown by the
steel industry (Randall is former Chairman of
the Board of Inland Steel Company)? For public
aid to business, Randall is willing to repent for
his stand on the social security issue.

FRED RAGAN

Nothing But Pleasure...

The Great Byron Adventure. Doris Langley Moore. Phil-
adelphia and New York: Lippincott. 1959.

Doris Langley Moore has been a Byron devotee
since the age of fourteen, and she contends that
she is “perhaps the only woman to whom nothing
but pleasure has come from having loved that
poet.”” Her devotion to the man prompted her
to collect over a span of many years material
about Byron to be incorporated into a book.
Rather than write a biography, Mrs. Moore de-
cided in 1953 to write a study of the furor that
arose following the poet’s death. However, the
one obstacle that remained in her path was the
inaccessibility of the coveted collection of Byronic
material known as the Lovelace Papers. The
Great Bryon Adventure is Mrs. Moore’s account
(previously printed as four articles in the London
Sunday Times) of her meeting Lady Wentworth,
Bryon’s great-granddaughter, who had the family
archives in her possession.

This interesting little booklet is the precursor
of Mrs. Moore’s book, The Late Lord Byron,
which will be published this year. In The Great
Byron Adventure, she manages to whet the lit-
erary appetite of her readers with brief glimpses

THE REBEL

of the light she hopes to shed in her study on the
controversial Byron marriage and the separation
a year later that provoked considerable scandal.
3yron lovers may look forward with anticipation
to Mrs. Moore’s book.

HuGH AGEE

Realization of Mortality

The Rack. A. E. Ellis. Boston: Little, Brown & Company,
1958. $4.50

Some books are fun to read; others may be
exciting, titillating, or disgusting. The experience
of reading The Rack I can describe only as har-
rowing. There are compensations, of course, as
there are compensations in every life’s story. But
if you want a merry tale of love and life and
adventure and good cheer, this is not the book
for you.

The central figure is Paul Davenant, a Cam-
bridge undergraduate who goes to a sanatorium
in the French Alps because he has tuberculosis
and wants to regain his health. He is with a
group of other students who all are in various
stages of the disease. None of them, he soon dis-
covers, is as seriously ill as he is, and his life in
the little Alpine village of Brisset, where the sana-
torium is located, is a gradual unfolding of his
realization that he has nothing left to face but
death.

The harrowing part of Paul’s story is in the
development of his physical condition, and in the
details of the various treatments to which he is
subjected in a losing battle against the ravages of
the bacteria which have lodged in his lungs. The
nature of this treatment and his minutest reac-
tions to it are described in gruesome yet fascinat-
ing detail. As pure narrative—a narrative of
disaster—the book has the touch of the master.

If A. E. Ellis himself did not have T. B., he
must have been intimately acquainted with some-
body who did. And if he did not go through Paul’s
experiences, he must have been pretty close to
experiences like them. He makes no compromise
with reality. You, as the reader, feel with Paul
the very deepest depression and, in the rare times
of hope, the highest exhilaration. You suffer with
him, you go to the bathroom with him, you faint,
vomit, almost die with him. And with him you are
led up and down the tortuous paths of recurrent
hope and fear, faith and disillusionment, cautious
happiness and blank despair. You are spared

WINTER, 1960

nothing. At the book’s end, you feel as though
you too have been stretched upon “the rack of
this tough world,” and would, with Paul and
Shakespeare’s King Lear, hate him who would
“stretch you out longer.”

The compensations in Paul’s life are sprinkled
throughout his constant chronicle of sorrow like
errant stars in a dark and sombre sky. His love
affair with Michele is his only real help. From
the first it has the quality of impossibility. Michele,
another patient in the sanatorium, gets well and
leaves, but only after she and Paul have fallen in
love. The progress of their romance is tactfully
and delicately told, but the degeneration of Paul’s
physical condition breaks it off and destroys it.
His debility, humiliating, demoralizing, life-con-
suming, sweeps all before it in a bloody flood of
purulent sputum. Other compensations include
humorous episodes connected with everyday life
at the sanatorium and deep but fleeting friend-
ships with other patients. But all of his relation-
ships with the world about him attenuate and
ultimately disappear in his concentration on the
single objective of staying alive.

The nature and effects of his disease are par-
ticularly destructive and tragic in bodies, like his,
of young people. This is what he sees on a mid-

day walk through the town: “Brave youth of
Brisset, bravely attired. . . . Young girls in ski-

clothes, eyes a little too bright, cheeks a little too
flushed, figures a little too slim. Young men, firm,
vigorous, golden-skinned, the pears or peaches ot
a dishonest fruit vendor, resplendent without and
rotten within.”

Why should anybody want to read a book like
this one? It is depressing, about a repulsive sub-
ject, and offers no hope or inspiration of any
kind. On the other hand, it is beautifully writ-
ten, it contains some lovely descriptive passages,
and has much to say about the inner workings of
the human mind and spirit. I would not term it
a great book, but—if you have what the English
call the stomach—it is well worth reading. It
certainly makes you glad to be alive and healthy,
assuming of course, that you are healthy. It re-
veals a segment of life which very few of us ever
think about unless we have to be a part of it. It
treats of sickness and death, two very unpopular
subjects. Unpopular as they are, perhaps it is
good for us to think about them occasionally. At
least one of them, and probably both, are facts
in our mortality which each of us, sooner or later,
will have to face.

Dr. EDGAR HIRSHBERG

ol

Deviate

The Empire City. Paul Goodman. New York: The Bobbs-
Merrill Company, Inc. 1959. $6.95

Another good, though unusual book has ap-
peared on the literary scene. This book is different
because of the extraordinary variety Paul Good-
man has employed in telling his story. One finds
in it myths, fairy stories, allegory, puns, satires,
off-color jokes and some verse. Yet, in spite of
the digressions from story-telling, the author
seems to have accomplished his expressed objec-
tive, “to make it possible to grow up as a human
being into culture without losing nature.” He has
done more; he has written a lengthy novel, but
one which the occasional reader can pick up, turn
to any page and the few lines there will provoke
his interest in the story.

The basic story is that of a male inhabitant of
the city which, as the title suggests, is New York.
For some reason, unknown to the reader, Good-
man calls him Horatio Alger. The reader meets
him as an eleven year old orphan brought up,
however inadequately, by his brother and sister.

The first few pages set the pattern for the book.
Horatio, by placing himself at the right place at
the right moment, manages to detach himself
from society by stealing his records from the
school on his first day of attendance, thus pre-
venting the school and the rest of organized
society from having records of his existence. He
then educates himself through experiences and
learns to read and write from the headlines in
newspapers.

From those first few moments with the hero,
one begins to understand him. Yet one can never
fully understand him because his life deviates
so from the norm. One may get a glimpse of un-
derstanding, and then some absurd occurrence
is depicted by the author. For example, one may
learn that Horatio’s nephews have become were-
wolves; that the entire cast are practitioners of
cannibalism; or that one of the characters is a
space traveler.

These absurdities prevent the book from stay-
ing entirely on the level of even the fantastic
reality of Horatio’s world. One is quite often
reminded of Cervantes’ Don Quixote in the mod-
ern rendition of several Quixotes.

There is something else in this book. It is a
history of our time. Beginning with the depres-
sion the author recounts the adventures of Horatio
and his comrades through four phases of history:

32

before the war, during the war, after the war,
and modern times. Actually it is four books in
one. Goodman explains that he has merely “added
to it... as the historical situation varied... .”

C. W. WARICK

THE ARRIVAL

(Continued from page 21)

He then realized how he had missed the old Negro
man. His memory of how he used to sit on Uncle
Thes’ knee as a boy and listen to tales of faraway
places flashed through his mind. And how Uncle
Thes used to always make him and Little Jonah
toys and take them with him to feed the mules
and cows.

Uncle Thes’ eyes had gone bad, and he didn’t
see Bob until he was almost to him.

Bob ran to Uncle Thes and threw his arms
around him.

“Uncle Thes,” was all he could say.

“Mr. Bob,” Uncle Thes said, “Well, dee Lord
have mercy on my soul.”

Bob now released him and backed off a step.

“Boy, where is you been so long? Why I thought
you'd done gone away and ole Uncle Thes wouldn’t
never see you again.”

“You knew I would come to see you if I ever
got the chance,” said Bob.

“T shore is glad to see you, child. I reckon dee
good Lord done took care of you. He done called
Little Jonah home when he wuz in Ko-rea, but me
’n Mary Eller ain’t fussing, ’cause He de one who
know de best. But I shore is glad to see one of my
chillens home.”

Bob couldn’t think of anything appropriate to
say, so he remained silent and started walking
with Uncle Thes toward the barn.

‘“Yessuh, boy, you shore is growed up and fancy
looking. "Member how you used to set on Uncle
Thes’ knee and how I told you how you’s gwine to
be a big man one day when you was all growd up.
You ain’t the same little boy now, but I won’t
never furget you and Little Jonah as younguns,
not til de good Lord calls me.”

The sun was setting behind the trees as they
walked up the hill to the barn as they had done
a lifetime before.

THE REBEL

THE EXAM

And the multitude
moved numbly, dazedly away
bewildered countenances, deficient attitudes;

These dreamy moving statues float room to room
as cold, forbidding, bespectaled orators,
pronounce to each lost soul—his doom.

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WINTER, 1960

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“Forms In Suspension” (Etching) by ROSE MARIE GORNTO

34 THE REBEL

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THE REBEL