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o~The Barbecue HouseT?TWELCOME TORESPESS-JAMES| ~Eastern Carolina'sINTERSECTION AYDEN-FARMVILLE HIGHWAY. TShopping Center GREENVILLE, N. C.Phone PL 2-4160328 Evans St. Greenville, N.C.ATRADE-MARK REG. VU. S$. PAT. OFP.COCA-COLA BOTTLING COMPANY, GREENVILLE, NORTH CAROLINACONGRATULATIONS ON A FINE MAGAZINEae: eeStudent Supply StoresYour Center for:GOOD READING COLEEGE SUPPLIESSTATIONERY SOFT GOODSGREETING CARDSWright Building and Dining Hall Ground Floor

The REBELPublished 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.Faculty AdvisorOviy W. PIERCESTAFFEditorDAN WILLIAMSAssistant to the EditorJESSIE ELLINGTON MOOREArt EditorNELSON DUDLEYBook Review EditorSANDRA PORTERExchange EditorCAROLISTA FLETCHERMusic EditorBILL TUCKERBusiness ManagerWoopy DAvIsAsst, Business ManagerDAVE PRICEAdvertising ManagerTOLSON WILLISAssistants to the EditorsLINDA ALLENPAT FARMERFRANCES FOSTERDAPHINE GASKINSCirculation andAdvertisementAlpha Phi OmegaFraternityVOLUME 3 SERN 1960 NUMBER 3 3TABLE OF CONTENTSPageEDITORIAL _. a mn tREBEL YELL Ee ste Oa UAT 21FEATURESA State In Search of A Birthday by H. R. Paschal...» 11An Interview With Paul Green"Part II... 8Review of On A Lonesome Porch... "gE ae uate aESSAYSteinback"An Essay by C. W. Warrick : SorFICTIONGlory and Freedom by Bill Lee fee aoeShort Story (Contest Winner) by Elf Alexander. RemerLRtyPOETRYPoem by Dave Lane r PeroSouthern Night by Betty Sharpe Adcock... we RC eeAs Children Laugh by Betty Sharpe Adcock... 8Portrait of a Swallow by Betty Sharpe Adcock..........»»_»_>> 8The Great Dismal Swamp by Dr. Meredith N. Posey_.........._.14The Outer Banks by Nancy Lou Oberseider_....__»_-_»- 18If by Wesley Jackson... SNS Fea PIELoveTs Labor Lost by Allen G. Hoyt. ts pee eee Sie eeARToThe Front Porch? (Experimental) by Bob Harper__.. 2oThe Road Well Taken? (Etching) by Cheryl Stowe oe OeoSwamp Scene? (Etching) by Al Dunkle. 10oRack Em Up? (Etching) by Bob Butler. 2.0 aoThe Watcher? (Sculpture) by Don McAdams... 26oNight Shift? (Etching) by Rose Marie Gornto_....._________. 80REBEL REVIEW . a ei 27-33Reviews by The Rev, Richard N. Ottaway, Dr. Sohh. Howell,Dr. Francis Adams, Sandra Porter, Dr. EdgarW. Hirshberg, Kathryn Johnson, Hugh Agee,Thomas Jackson, Janice Hardison.COVER by Nelson DudleyNOTICE"Contributions to THE REBEL should be directed to P.O. Box 1420, E. C. C. Editorial and business offices are locatedat 30912 Austin Building. Manuscripts and artwork submitted by mail should be accompanied by a self-addressed envelopeand return postage. The publishers assume no responsibility for the return of manuscripts or artwork.

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eS a EE eS IT co ee ES ee eeInterview WithPPart IIInterviewer: Do you feel that certain themesnaturally lend themselves to adaption to themovies?Mr. Green: I think that the movies as a mediumof art, by that, I mean the camera with its filminside of it is a very sensitive ear and eye instru-ment and can do anything that the imaginationof man wants it to do. ItTs a great medium, andbeing such a universal medium, it can take anytheme. And no theme, insofar as I know, thatis subject matter, is better for the movies thananother. I mean movies as a medium, ITm speak-ing of the camera now. The movies are first aneye medium and the voice dialogue part shouldalways be a buttress and an accompaniment forthe eye medium. Now, the stage is an ear mediummainly, and the eye stuff, on the stage, should bean accompaniment for the ear. Now, some peoplesay, oITd rather be blind than deaf.? But it iscertainly true, the stage, as such, is more for theear and the motion picture medium is more forthe eye, and you can have an extreme in eitherone. An extreme, say in the theatre, would bethe work of Paul Claudel, who used to be theFrench Ambassador to America. He wrote a greatmany plays, religious plays. On the other hand,an extreme illustration in the motion picture realmwould be the work of, a fellow you never saw,SPRING, 1960UL GREENHarry Langdon. But, you have seen Charlie Chap-lin who can do a great lot of scenes with no wordsspoken, simple pantomime. I have seen motionpictures where there were no words spoken, nocaption; it was all done in dumb show with music.That is an extreme! That is the par-excellencekind of theme. I have seen many stage productionswhere you stood practically still and declaimed,and that is true of much Greek drama. So, under-standing what the medium of the movies is, notheme is better. Now, it happens that in America,the medium fell into the hands of the cloak andsuit boys. I have consorted and fornicated witha lot of them, in writing pictures for them, butITve always been decent enough to fight them.They find that it is easier to stir up passion,youth and lust and all the rest of it by bedroomscenes, sex, violence, and all that stuff and whenthey run out of soap they can start a fight, andit has gone on down into television. So, that Iread in The News and Observer, somebody downin your region, a little boy the other day heardsomebody saying that his grandma was dead andhe said, oWho shot her?? So the American peo-ple have been debauched and robbed of their birth-right and all. ITve written about thirty-five pic-tures out in Hollywood, and ITve always said mysay to these perverts, these guys who use thisgreat medium for one purpose only and that isto make as much money as they can. They donTtgive a damn how badly they mess up the wholeAmerican scene. A fellow told me sitting in a lit-tle, cold room in Tokyo, the head of the youthbusiness in Japan, he said that after the treaty,that of course, all our cloak and suit boys out ofHollywood were right there with their lobbying3

so that they could get their foot right in the doorand get it written in the peace treaty aboutmovies; so they just flooded Japan, I was overthere and saw the place and I saw all of South-east Asia flooded with B pictures right out ofHollywood, part of the peace treaty business. Thisman told me that the juvenile problems in Japanhad just multiplied right after these HollywoodB crime movies had flooded the country. And theydonTt care, and we are to blame because we sit byand let them debauch. I go up here sometime toa movie to see Charlie Chaplin, Walt Disney, WildStrawberries, but ITve got to sit there and watchthe previews of what is coming on and every time,there is somebody gnawing on somebodyTs lips orgot some gal down in the grass, or is shootingsomebody. By golly, the other day I saw a womanin a preview pull out a pistol and shoot anotherin the back. ThatTs what you see, and she fallswith a great bloody splash and that is what theyshow in the previews, and it says, Coming Sun-day, Coming Sunday. Oh, I could talk about thisfor hours. I remember the last picture I did forSam Goldwyn, I argued with him, he tried to havea scene there where a little fourteen year old girl,by golly, he brought her out there; they had hertry out for actress and here came her motherpalpitating and hastling like an old sour udderedcow, bringing her daughter; they got a 35 yearold Errol Flynn type of boy out on the lot toteach this girl how to kiss, fourteen years old,Joan Evans, maybe youTve seen her. Well, theNew York Times sends a man out to interviewme and he asked me was I writing for Sam Gold-wyn. ITd just had this quarrel with Sam. So hesaid, oWhat do you think of Mr. Goldwyn"youTveworked for him before.? I told him I had triedbut couldnTt do it. He said, oWhat do you thinkof him?? I said that Sam Goldwyn is one of thelow-downest men, one of the worst influences onAmerican life that I know of, and heTs like, andI named them, Jack Warner, Harry Cohen, overat Columbia and Louis B. Mayer. Well I feel sobitter about that whole business because you seewhat a medium can do, gosh, when it is a reallygreat! Now and then, theyTll turn out a good filmout of Hollywood but most of them trade on sex,crime, violence, cheap success, easy death, easylife, and easy ambition. Everybody knows itTshard"that living is a hard business"and towrite it should be hard. Until we got our youngpeople so infected, and yet our young people areso hungry, like all of us, so hungry for beauty,for great things. ITll bet there is not a statue inall of North Carolina of Beethoven, Mozart, Ber-4lioz, nor any of them. So weTve got a long way togo and the motion pictures could help us there,but see what happened on the T.V. So, weTvegotten this machine here to turning and winkingits eye and ITm talking in this thing. Well, theonly good in that machine for this particularmoment is that if I can say anything worthwhilethat it can help it be heard. Now this is didactic-ism that ITm practicing. Gosh, I remember oneof the first pictures I ever wrote, I wrote forGeorge Arliss, the great actor; he is dead now. Ihad an opening scene in a Paris drawing room;it was about Voltaire. I liked old Voltaire; heworked for the poor. So, we fade in on this beau-tiful drawing room"fans going, you know"anda little fellow is going ta ta de dumddum"playinga gavotte at the harpsicord. All these whispersare going on and one fellow, later to become histeacher, asks, oWhat do you think of this littleprodigy here?? Oh, but whatTs his name??oMozart, seven years old, you know.? Oh, theycome and they go, you know, and then his musicswells in again, beautiful, thatTs the opening. OldDarryl Zanuck, the head of Twentieth CenturyFox, he said, oHell, people wonTt be interested inthat. LetTs get to the play, letTs get to the play.?I said, ~Listen! ThatTs beautiful. This is Mozartand this is the place to start our scandal, here inthe drawing room, but letTs first hear this beautifulmusic, trickling through, trickling through.? ~No,no,? said Zanuck. And as old Harry Cohen saidonce right in my face, oThis is a racket.? HeTsdead now and there is no telling where he isgone. This is a racket we are in"the motion pic-ture business"to make money. All of us are. Isaid, oHell, ITm not. I think it is a great medium,and I like to make money too, but letTs do some-thing wonderful with it.? They gave me figuresagain and again to prove the Americans wonTtsupport good things. And I tried a few good oneswith a kind of a left-handed guy named WillRogers. I wrote three pictures for Will, and wetried to keep sex out, I mean, love all right, andsome time even after Will had finished them outthey would get put in a scene. Old Sol Wertzel, hecould hardly speak English, was making $5000.00a week because he was a nephew of Louis B.Mayer, he said, ~o~They want entertainment, youknow.?Interviewer: Do you feel that Southern writingis in danger of becoming sociological?Mr. Green: WeTre outside of North Carolinanow; weTve got into region. I donTt know whatTHE REBEL

you mean by sociological. I suppose you meanhaving to do with some idiom or point of viewwhich might spell practical benefits and better-ment of everyday living. Sociological, well, socio-logical means society, doesnTt it? And societymeans human beings, and human beings maybemean brotherhood or enemies. Of course, thesociologists have really come forth with tremen-dous visions. Here at Chapel Hill we have thework of Howard Odom, Rupert Vance, Guy John-son, and Harriet Herring, Katherine Joche, a lotof wonderful sociologists here. Sociologists allover the place, in fact, theyTve developed a langu-age of their own. I donTt know just what they areafter, except just about what Khrushchev andwhat Luther Hodges is after, more industry, morehealth, more taxes, better roads, longer life, moresmiles, more general happiness. So, if writing isin danger of becoming or working for that sortof thing, what is wrong with it? If you meanwriting is in danger of becoming laden and loadedwith a message? To preach? Is that what youmean?Interviewer: No, I meant more of a didactictone to it.Mr. Green: I think this fear of didacticism, thatis the word you just used, well what does didactic-ism mean anyway? I guess it means coming fromthe Latin word meaning to lead towards somegoal or across some place or to lead out. Educatemeans to lead out, and ITm very much struck bythe fact, in my own feeling that you can not helpbeing didactic. YouTve got to teach something.YouTve got to stand for something. But if thething you are writing has a thesis, and the thesisswallows the characters, swallow the story, createsits own atmosphere because it is a thesis, thendidactism, is overdone. But, if it is like some ofthe great work of Paul Claudel, or some of thethings of Shakespeare, and nearly all of the thingsof Aeschylus that we have and Sophocles, thosethings are loaded with didacticism. They are load-ed with some meaning and they have an attitudeabout life and about wrong and about manTspurpose on this earth. Now you get the moderngroup and Bill Faulkner, and Tennessee Williams,and Ernest Hemingway, and, well, you couldname a whole lot of them. The gal who wrote,well, Katherine Anne Porter, a lot of her stuff,and Robinson Jeffers, people who, there are manyof them, feel that if you simply depict a surgeof life and turmoil and a lot of passion andSPRING, 1960feeling, just simply put forth a whole spew ofhuman statement, then I agree with Schiller.Schiller once said that they were accusing himof copying Voltaire, and Voltaire was a didacticwriter. But he said, oITm here to tell you thatany great work of art has a moral attitude.? Bythat it does not mean that it is pure and prissy.It takes its stand for something. Well, EudoraWelty, some of the work of Ingmar Bergman, thisnew Swedish, wonderful motion picture director.But, of course, if you get out, and, as I say,your thesis and didacticism swallow your charac-ters and warp your story and you say, Yes, thisfellow is out to prove a point, then he is like ascientist who already has a priori concept,that he tries to prove by some experimentalmethod.Interviewer: Do you feel that the South haspassed its so-called renaissance in writing?Mr. Green: It is mainly a question of creatingclimate and climate is a mysterious thing. Youknow you can go sixty days and have a droughtand the crops all burn up and then you look atthe sky and it just wonTt rain, it just wonTt rain.I stopped in Arizona some years ago to get somegas at a filling station and I asked the man, didit ever rain. He said, ~Yea, it rains here.? Well,said, oWhen did it rain last?? oSeven years agoit rained,? he said. Then on a day the air willfeel different and it rains. Things got right. Ican remember when I came to the University,many years ago, the only man in town that hadwritten a book was Archibald Henderson. Peo-ple looked at him as he went by, and now just to-night, there are 150 people in Chapel Hill ham-mering typewriters, writing books. And thatmight increase; it might go on; it might producesome wonderful things, or it might fade away.How could you say it has passed? But ITm sureunless the young people get more and more in-terested in it and support it and quit, and wellthe old folks ought to quit it"quit this fiddlingwith the neurotic navel of the materialistic body.If we could in the South really catch fire andcould get a vision of what really could be donein art, music, literature, true philosophy"thatis an art"true science"that is an art"and sculp-ture, dancing, and painting. Might even discovera new art! I donTt see why we might not. Theygot one or two new ones, so they say. They saythat the camera, now, is a new art, that thecameraman, working a camera, can select, can(Continued on page 34)

oThe Road Well Taken? (Etching) by CHERYL STOWE

COMMENT TO YOUNG WRITERSYoung writers in their search for material areoften prone to reach beyond the area of their un-derstanding and ignore the life around them. PaulGreen, the dean of North Carolina writers, re-marked that to write sincerely one must writeabout what he knows and what he feels. It is onlynatural that students have a better chance ofbringing life to people in the areas in which theylive rather than in those with which they are onlydistantly familiar. Phillips Russell, noted NorthCarolina biographer, in making an appeal to NorthCarolina writers to consider the vast amount ofmaterial around them, reminded his audience ofthe author who achieved greatness in the worldof fiction through a small, obscure river town inMississippi. Today everyone is familiar withHuck Finn and Tom Sawyer. Joseph Conrad, al-though born in Poland, became one of EnglandTsgreatest novelists and prose stylists. At the ageof forty, after spending twenty years in the Brit-ish Merchant Marines, he published his first novel.All the mystery and awe of the sea is containedin his work. For his setting he reached no furtherthan the ships on which he sailed. Time and againwe see that established writers confine themselvesto the people and to that part of the world in whichthey have lived or with which they have had someclose association. However, this is essentially nolimitation, for the setting and the characters areonly the means by which a real artist reveals hissense of life. Students who aspire to write shouldfirst remember that there are no secret formulas,no shortcuts to success, that all the themes arevery old, and that any real newness is in the visionof the writer. The perception and awarenessnecessary for such vision are not achieved with asudden impulse to write; they evolve after yearsof experience and practice. Just as the musicianmust spend years in training so must the writerserve his apprenticeship. Fiction, if it is to betruly artistic, must be written with a sincere andhonest effort. Consequently, the end result of anartistTs work is no more honest, and no less sin-cere, than he has proved himself to be; his visionmust result from his experience and his ability torecognize some significance in the world aroundhim. Students in looking for subject matter shouldbe aware of the stock responses which motion pic-tures, television, and many publications use forquick entertainment. The play on sex, violence,and spectacle is an exploitation of audiences foreconomic motives. Students when first beginningto write will often employ these devices to addexcitement and to provoke a false interest in theirwork. Writing of this sort has never endured forany length of time. Joseph Conrad in the Prefaceto The Nigger of The Narcissus, wrote that oAwork that aspires however humbly to the condi-tion of art should carry its justification in everyline. And art itself may be defined as a single-minded attempt to render the highest kind ofjustice to the visible universe, by bringing to lightthe truth, manifold and one, underlying its everyaspect.? Henry James, an equally famous author,offers in his famous essay, The Art of Fiction,this statement about the choice of subjects, ~ooThemoral consciousness of a child is as much a partof life as the islands of the Spanish Main... .?"DAN W.ORD ORD ORDPoemby DAVE LANEFlail, fleeting winter wind.Suave us not with summer seemings.Blow your bugled best,Enshrine in rime each tangled tree.Time will give say and take it,Spring will force you onAnd make itSummer once again.SPRING, 1960Raa at ae Se eee eee

Poetry byBETTY SHARPE ADCOCKSouthern NightFigment of sun, tired of the old gameleapfrog over broad pine-sigh and higherleaps across aerial cities,gives up, bruising the low westwith purple sleep.A genteel heatmoves mildly on powdered brows and retreats,repulsed by the iced drink,to change its nature in the blackback-woods dwellings.Brooding into summer, heatpulses out of earth like a crop of temperswild as weeds.Black dogs outline darknesswistfulcrying against darkness,and the songs,full of rag-tay smells from kitchen windows,color the air like deep grey circleson torn shirts.Pushing deeper into blackness the deep woodsshroud one trampled spot, keep well the secretshred of cloth caught low on a branch,circled with new leaves.8As Children LaughOnce I took out an old dollkept away long for the purpose of children.Its stiff limbs touched of me,smelt of keepsakes and my fantasybefore the dust.My child played into the room,forgot me and grew rapturouswith little girls.Her fingers unaccustomed topainted eyes and no rubber-feeling skin, -the hair and shoes blacked on,let go the thing, pushed it to the floor,shattered the unreal smile,the fixed arms curled handssmashed.My childlaughed and made a face,mimic of the pursed doll-mouth,chattering of how such old thingsbreak.CSO 3 3="NOPortratt of a SwallowCrucified on the long shadows,the shadows lengthening cool as stoneagainst the knees of a strange prayer,day mourns itself with the voice of birds.Who remembers the forsaking of earthor why?These are warm wings upsettingthe balance of airupsettinga sound out of houses.Comes the low hot summerTs breathingan indoor smother in a dawn-squallwith the birth-rags clinging to it,echoesof a long sleep leapinginto chairs and books, offices and day-bed.Grand leaping! fit of braveryin somersaults of courage against weeping.And somewheresmall birds circle over grass,outcry of feathers, arrows of noon,and the shadows lengtheningunder old trees.THE REBEL

A NEW NOVEL byOVIDow WILLIAMSPIERCEauthor of THE PLANTATIONWILLIAMSPIERCEA>noha,ISRESYS) ©( ~a \)) r\ f)eM,ByONALONESOMEPORCHDOUBLEDAY .Ovid Williams Pierce came to East CarolinaCollege in 1956. Since that time he has workeddiligently to promote an interest in writing andto encourage those who show promise. He wasresponsible for the beginning of The Rebel andhas served as advisor throughout its history. TheEditors of the magazine would like to pay tributeto him for the assistance he has given us in classas well as the magazine. In 1953 his first novel,The Plantation was published and became a bestseller. His second novel, On A Lonesome Porchwill be published May 13; above is a reproductionof the cover.Mr. PierceTs career has been a varied and in-teresting one; other than teaching and writinghe manages his farm of 350 acres and four tenantfamilies. In his home on the Plantation he hascreated a post-Civil War atmosphere, with rifleshanging on the wall, a set of dueling pistols onthe mantle, plus many other relics of bygone days.This close association with the past has had itseffect, and as Mr. Pierce says, oIt would be ex-tremely difficult to write of it as it would be ofSPRING, 1960many sections of the South, without interpretingit as the present margin of past time. I tried tomake The Plantation, in part, what my fatherTsgeneration meant to me as I looked back at it asa child.?Mr. Pierce served in the army during WorldWar II and since then has taught at Tulane andSouthern Methodist Universities; when he movedback to North Carolina to teach at East CarolinaCollege he made this statement, ~ooThough ITvebeen away since the war, I still feel that NorthCarolina is home, at least when I try to write astory, that is where my mind has to go.?T Conse-quently his writings have been about the land hehas known, and Ovid Pierce has conferred a dig-nity upon the South that few southern writershave recognized. His novels are not concernedwith moonlight and magnolias, the fall of anygreat tradition, nor is he making a plea for apersecuted South. Usually he presents the picture~of a changing time and a people adjusting to anew way of life. The kindness and understanding(Continued on page 33)

oSwamp Scene? (Etching) by AL DUNKLE

a SS Se " -s TeA State In Search Of A BirthdayDr. HERBERT R. PASCHALOne of the oldest cliches concerning NorthCarolina is that it is a valley of humility betweentwo mountains of conceit. Through the years oursister states to the North and South have un-questionably tended to lord it over the Tar Heels.One of the reasons for this may be that theirorigins are well known and legitimate while thoseof North Carolina are clouded and obscure. TheOld North State is aware of its age but exactlywhen it was first established is veiled in a dark-ness which has baffled North Carolina historiansearnestly seeking to solve this problem. WhileVirginians have proudly held great celebrationsto mark the year 1607 when a resolute band ofsettlers came ashore at Jamestown to launch thefabulous history of the Old Dominion, North Caro-Jinians have been forced to mumble somethingabout inordinate ancestor worship and challengeVirginia to justify her position in the New South.This lack of a birth date has led North Carolinato search for substitutes. As a result, a giganticcelebration of the abortive settlements on RoanokeIsland has been proposed for 1985, and an officialstate commission is already hard at work to plana celebration of the three hundredth anniversaryof the granting of the Carolina Charter to theeight Lords Proprietors in 1663. Yet deep inevery Tar Heel heart there is the numbing reali-zation that these are but substitutes. Everyoneknows that the Raleigh colonies on Roanoke Islandfailed and that North Carolina was permanentlysettled before the Proprietors got their grantfrom Charles II. The haunting question will notdown. When was North Carolina first permanent-ly settled?For many years North Carolina historians havebeen able to agree on only one thing about thedate of North CarolinaTs permanent settlement.It took place, all agree, in the decade prior to thegranting of the Carolina Charter of 1663. Al-though there were many attempts prior to the1650Ts to establish a colony in the region knowntoday as North Carolina, all of these failed. Asearly as 1633 about forty persons sailed fromEngland on board a vessel appropriately namedthe Mayflower for the shores of North Carolina,SPRING, 1960only to become stranded in Virginia. In 1640 theRoyal Council in Virginia authorized one hundreddebt free, single men to make a settlement in theregion to the south of that colony only to have thewhole scheme collapse. During the 1640Ts Virginiabegan the practice of granting large tracts of landto persons desiring to settle to the southwardabout the great sound which later became knownas Albemarle Sound. Yet settlements failed tofollow these grants, and the mid-century markwas reached and passed with no settlement yetmade.In 1653 the Virginia Assembly granted RogerGreen, an Anglican minister in Virginia, and cer-tain other inhabitants of that colony, ten thousandacres of land on the western bank of the ChowanRiver to be distributed to the first one hundredsettlers coming into that region. For his troubleand expense in helping to found such a settlement,Green was to receive a personal grant of onethousand acres. The late R. D. W. Conner, one ofthe two or three outstanding students of NorthCarolinaTs colonial past, came to the conclusionthat this grant was proof that by 1653 settlementshad been made in North Carolina. But recent re-search has failed to disclose any evidence of sucha settlement, nor is there anything in GreenTssubsequent career to show a continuing interestin the region to the south.Adding to the difficulties of North Carolinahistorians has been the loss of many of the recordsof Virginia relating to this period. These recordswere destroyed during the burning of Richmondin the last days of the Confederacy. Especiallyunfortunate was the destruction in the same fireof the records of a number of the counties southof the James River which had been accumulatedin Richmond during the war as a safeguardagainst their destruction.The best evidence, as to the first settlementwhich remains, is that given by early settlers ofNorth Carolina, who in later years for one reasonor another sought to date this first settlement.~This evidence points to North Carolina havingbeen settled permanently in 1660 or 1661. Noneof this evidence supports an earlier date. The11

sworn testimony given by one of the earliest ofthe settlers, Richard Sanderson of Currituck in1711, was typical; he declared that he had livedin North Carolina oever since the year (i.e., 1661)next after King Charles the second was Restor-ed,? and that he, ~~well remembers... the Govern-ment of North Carolina at the first settlementthereof. ...?T In 1708 Robert Lawrence, whosename appears on the first list of known settlersin North Carolina, gave sworn testimony that in1661 he had seated a plantation on the southwestbank of the Chowan River three or four milesabove the mouth of the Roanoke River; he alsostated he had lived there for about seven years.Much additional testimony by other early settlers,all of it confirming 1660 or 1661 as the date ofthe first settlement, can be cited. The oldestrecorded land grant in North Carolina, is givengreat weight by many historians intent on estab-lishing a birth date for the Old North State.This deed is dated in March 1661, and records agrant to George Durant of a tract of land lyingon a neck between the Perquimans and LittleRivers from Kilcocanen, King of the Yeopim In-dians. Since it is known that Durant settled onthis tract, many historians have sought to usethis date to mark the first permanent settlementin the state.Then in 1939 an article entitled, ooThe EarliestPermanent Settlement in Carolina: NathanielBatts and the Comberford Map,? appeared in TheAmerican Historical Review. This article, writ-ten by Dr. William P. Cumming of Davidson Col-lege, one of the nationTs leading authorities on thehistory of maps, brought forward new informa-tion and a new theory regarding the stateTs firstpermanent settlement. This theory was basedupon Dr. CummingTs discovery in the New YorkPublic Library of a vellum manuscript map of thenorth eastern portion of North Carolina drawnby the English cartographer, Nicholas Comber-ford, in 1657. Entitled ~o~The South Part of Vir-ginia,?T the map contained a small drawing of ahouse located on the neck of land between theRoanoke River and Salmon Creek at the head ofAlbemarle Sound. The sketch of the house borethe legend, ~o~Batts House.?Checking further, Dr. Cumming discovered thatin 1656 the Virginia General Assembly had com-missioned Captain Thomas Francis, ColonelThomas Dew, and theother gentleman plantersof that colony to make discoveries between CapeHatteras and Cape Fear. On June 11, 1657, ap-proximately six months after the grant to Dewand Francis, the Virginia Council granted Nathan-12iel Batte (Batts) certain unknown privileges oforinterest taken in the discovery of an inlet to thesouthward.? These facts led Cumming to the con-clusion that Nathaniel Batts had carried out theexplorations south of Virginia which Dew andFrancis had been commissioned to undertake andthat the Comberford map was based upon thedata obtained by Batts as a result of these explor-ations.More important, Cumming came to the con-clusion that the sketch of BattsT house on theComberford map represented a permanent settle-ment containing a number of houses. Such a set-tlement, he concluded, must certainly have beenin existence by 1657 when the Comberford mapwas drawn, and had perhaps been founded severalyears earlier. Cumming expressed the belief thatthe reason only BattsT house was shown on themap was that he was othe leading man of thatregion,? and hence his house alone had been usedto represent this settlement. Cumming supportshis contention that Batts was the leading figurein his hypothetical community by citing severalreferences made to Batts by George Fox, thefounder of the Society of Friends or Quakers, whovisited the Albemarle Sound area in 1672. On oneoccasion Fox referred to Batts, then living in theAlbemarle area, as one owho had been Governorof Roan-oak? and on another occasion as ~theOld Governor.?Documentary proof of actual settlements in theregion about the site of BattsT house does not existfor the period prior to 1660. Cumming, however,feels that the settlement known to have been inexistence by 1660 or 1661 simply represents acontinuation of the settlement indicated by thesketch of ~BattsT House? on the Comberford mapof 1657. Hence the Comberford map, he feels, of-fers the key to the first permanent settlement ofNorth Carolina and the closest approach yet madetoward a solution of the problem of North Caro-linaTs birthday.Examined closely, however, Dr. CummingTstheory rests upon several bold assumptions un-supported by any evidence. Perhaps the most im-portant of these is that the sketch of BattsT housewas used by Comberford as a symbol to designatea larger settlement. Another assumption is thatthe settlement which was unquestionably locatedin the region about BattsT house in 1660 or 1661was there in 1657 or earlier. Still another assump-tion is that Batts, who held considerable land inNansemond County, was ever interested in estab-lishing a permanent settlement in the region southof Virginia in the 1650Ts. While CummingTs theoryTHE REBEL~

~SANOAHRS SHAW AGCS./~, YW : .' SOI COWT {SRS SDMW WAC eS MQSIAL SSNSo_ SM,LRassySS . ~4SMA. WAN SS =RR OGASF HSVMwy aN |PWRNA WARK RAINArtists conception of BattsT House.contains these and other unsupported assumptions,it has received considerable support and acclaim.Recent evidence uncovered by the writer strikessharply at the most important of these assump-tions, that is, that the designation of BattsT Houseon the Comberford map is used to indicate a set-tlement. There is an entry in the records of Nor-folk County, Virginia (Book C, p. 180) datedNovember 15, 1655, which describes a suit broughtagainst the estate of Colonel Francis Yeardley bya carpenter, Robert Bodnam. Among other things,Bodnam is suing the estate to obtain payment o~forgoing twice to the Southward and staying therefive months upon Coll. YardleyTs occasions? andoffor building of a house to the Southward forBatts to live in and trade with the Indians wchI did doe by Coll. YardleyTs Appointment ...?.In these words lie the secret of BattsT house onthe Comberford map. BattsT house was an Indiantrading post and Comberford drew only one housebecause there was only one. Furthermore, Battsis shown to have been connected with Col. FrancisYeardley of Princess Anne County, whose interestin the fur trade in this region has long beenknown.SPRING, 1960Col. Yeardley by his own account, first becameinterested in the region to the southward of Vir-ginia largely by chance. In September, 1653, ayoung fur trader who had intended to go with afur trading party to Roanoke Island was left be-hind. He then went to Colonel Yeardley, a sub-stantial planter and a son of a former governor ofVirginia, and asked for provisions to help him goin search of his party. Yeardley gave the furtrader the needed supplies, who, then in thecompany of four others, went by water throughCurrituck Inlet to Roanoke Island. Here the smallband of fur traders found othe great commanderof those parts with his Indians hunting.? Afterseveral days the Indian chief and some of hisgreat men agreed to accompany the fur tradersback to Virginia where they were entertained byYeardley. This marked the beginning of a closefriendship between Yeardley and these Indians.Late in 1653 or early in 1654, Yeardley sent sixmen, oone being a carpenterT, in a boat to thesouthward to fulfill his promise to build the In-dian King oan English House.? At the same timeYeardleyTs party purchased othree great riversand also all such others as they should like of13

southerly.? After this the Indians ototally leftthe lands and riversT?T and moved to a new settle-ment where YeardleyTs men oBuilt the greatcommanéer a fair houseT? which Yeardley prom-ised to furnish with English utensils, and furni-ture. While the house was being built, contactwas made with the emperor of the powerful Tus-carora nation. After the house was completed theRoanoke King and Tuscarora EmperorTs son re-turned with YeardleyTs party to Virginia wherethey arrived on May 1, 1654. The Roanoke Kingbrought his young son with him to be baptizedand left him at YeardleyTs house o~to be red up aChristian.?In a letter written shortly after this eventYeardley announced his intentions to undertakeanother expedition to the south in July. Unfortu-nately nothing further is known of this expedi-tion. It is evident, however, that sometime be-tween July, 1654, and YeardleyTs death in 1655that the carpenter, Robert Brodnam, went south-ward to erect the house for Batts to live in andtrade with the Indians.When in 1657 Batts received the commendationand reward of the Virginia Assembly for his dis-coveries it was probably for the information con-tained on the Comberford map. Without question,one of the major features of this map is the infor-mation given regarding an inlet which offers adeep water route to the Neuse and Pamlico Riversand to Albemarle Sound and the rivers whichempty into it. The information which was in-corpcrated into the Comberford map may havecome as the result of one of BattsT fur tradingexpeditions or from YeardleyTs expedition in1654.The undisputed appearance in 1660 or 1661 ofplantations at or near the site of the Yeardley-Batts trading post cannot be offered as evidenceof continuous settlement of that spot. What itmost likely indicates is that the settlers of 1660or 1661 agreed with Yeardley and BattsT thatthis was an important and strategic site. Its loca-tion at the head of Albemarle Sound on the broadpeninsula formed by the Roanoke and Chowanrivers made it as desirable and attractive forplantations as it had been for an Indian tradingpost five or six years before.How Nathaniel Batts, the fur trader, acquiredthe high sounding title of governor of Roanokecannot be explained on the basis of available evi-dence. One conjecture might be that it was a halfderisive reference to the days when he alone in-habited the shores of Albemarle Sound and wasgovernor in the same sense that Robinson Crusoe14was king of all that he surveyed. Certainly GeorgeFoxTs characterization of him as a rude and des-perate man is more apt for a seventeenth centuryfur trader than a governor.All of this of course leads back to the originalproblem. If Nathaniel Batts did not come into theregion south of Virginia at the head of a hardyband of pioneers, then who did? That question re-mains today unanswered, defying all of the histor-ians who have searched diligently through mount-ains of musty records in an effort to resolve themystery. Slowly, however, pieces of the puzzleare falling into place. Someday the last piece ofthe puzzle will be found and the picture will be-come clear.ONOChe Great Dismal SwampWhy do you call me from the dark with your voicelow and insistent,Your liquid voice, preluding what?And why do I listen and yearn"I who have other things to think of,I who must be up and doing?Yet I feel the pull of you, the emotional tug andyank,Drawing me to you there in the dark.You with your club, why do you bludgeon my sensewith your rank smellPenetrating every part of meUntil I too stink and unwillingly love your acridand rotten perfume?With your hands me choking, why do you crushthe bright fresh air from my lungs,Substituting your heavy and vaporous breath?Am I a creature to your will?Do I wriggle on my belly through the wet muckunder the long tangled roots?Do I sit in the branches watching to kill, knowingno world but the savage crawling dark?The Great Dismal they call you,You she-wolf mysterious, howling and haunting,You beckoning damned she-devil wilderness,Why do you call me, urging, with your evil,libidinous arms reaching to hug me in quick-sandTo the last gasp?DR. MEREDITH N. POSEYTHE REBEL

Glory and Freedomby WILLIAM LEE4 .) yjj~ " 4 aWS > XN SSNa oO Ng SYA OSSPSRNN SSS S SNJINR RSa SAASSa ShssnaySN WA WAS NAx -SSN . NAS ~\ WROLY : \ SYAS SN \SS Sh)\\SS SSN ~~~ Ss en ~ ee> Sx AN SS ¥ xy~s SN S\ we . SS CNSe Se QQ \oeae: AY YQ ~ WN \2 (ee \\See REG A \ NSFA ; TS .Ain >) SeeWA »T RN SN ~ .Na NN PN WSSS NWN Bete re SSSSSa Sy 2 wan ss SAS ~~~ * TQ\ ~ SSS .ReeLA é: D Dy * SR SSa= WANoe Uy \ \\ . \ ~ \eS =, }oe a Se 44 1) \eA \\\\ Y\ X\)asXYSTS. o . oSases xe " \WSs i \he . WK sieg :_"\~Aye\aiaEI could not help but see the tears in the GeneralTs eyes.The men lowered me to the frozen ground, theice making a cracking sound under the weight ofmy body. I could feel the dampness of the icethrough the torn blanket they were using for astretcher.Looking down the trail, I could see nothing butbattered soldiers, dressed like tramps, marchingand carrying their heavy muskets. Other wound-ed men were being placed on the ground, out ofthe way of those able to move under their ownpower.I watched as the men passed struggling forevery step, their feet dragging as if each movewas to be the last. They wore rags wrappedaround their feet for shoes and blankets for uni-forms. It was easy to see that they were starving,and I wondered how they could keep moving.Thousands of men passed and not one lookedlike a soldier. With troops like this, what kind ofchance would we have of winning a war? Whybother to fight? Why not give up now?SPRING, 1960My anger caused me to forget my wounds andas I tried to move the burning pain in my stomachcaused me to double into a ball. I could feel theblood flowing over my skin, saturating my muddytrousers.oGod, ITm on fire, let me die, let me die! DonTtlet me suffer so long just to die later. Somebodykill me, shoot me now!?Suddenly my head rang from the impact of asharp blow, and I realized that Joe had slapped me.As I looked up, I saw Sergeant Locke and theDoc kneeling at my side, to hold me still. ~Doc,ITm on fire, my guts are burning up.?T Then I feltnumb and passed out.I opened my eyes slowly to see some of the menscattered about the area. Small groups. werehuddled around the fires wrapped in their blankets.In the distance I could hear axes slappingagainst tree trunks and then a thud as the treeslapped the face of the earth. The men were

singing as they worked. oWhat the hell, are theycrazy? How can they be so cheerful??I rolled over and there sat Joe Hudson, wholived near me back home. Joe was sitting by thefire trying to fight the cold without even a blanketaround him. He looked up and seeing that I wasawake came over to fix the blanket he had givenme earlier.My stomach was still burning and my wooltrousers, which had been soaked in blood, werefrozen stiff.Looking at Joe brought back memories of ourchildhood"the joys and pleasures of boys ridinghorses in the pasture, going to town weekends, andsititng around listening to the oold timers? tellof their adventurous lives while settling the area.I remember how Uncle Thad used to sit closeto the pot-belly stove in the general store and tellstories that captured the attention of every manand boy present. Many times I had wished Icould live such an exciting life.Joe and I used to talk about becoming heroessome day, but we would end our dreams bylaughing, thinking that nothing exciting wouldhappen to us. Then the war came, offering us achance to lead an adventurous life, just like UncleThadTs.As Joe moved back to his log seat, the crushingof ice beneath his feet caused me to forget thewonderful days of our youth. I looked at him andwondered if either of us would ever get homeagain. Funny, but I had never pictured Joe look-ing that way"unshaven, dirty, smelly. His fewclothes were ragged and hardly covered his body,yet he kept smiling as he looked at me.oFeeling better, Ben?? Joe asked.oA little,? I replied. oHow do you feel, Joe??Another tree fell and the men continued tosing as they stripped it down with their axes.oWhat are they so happy about?? I heard my-self asking Joe. oWeTve lost the war and ourlives. We are all going to die here. How in thehell can they sing??Joe never got a chance to answer, but instead amuch heavier voice rang out: oWe havenTt lost yetand we are not going to lose, either.?Doc Harvey leaned over me and raised the dirtyblankets to look at the raw hole in my stomach.He removed the dirty bandages and wiped thewound with a damp cloth that created a sting. Isaw him tearing a dirty shirt to use as a bandage.Joe helped Doc cover me again.oDoc, why are we staying here so long??The tired and beaten man walked over to thefire and knelt before he answered my question.16oSon, we are going to stay here for the winterand wait for more supplies and men to come. Themen are building log huts which will give someprotection against the weather.?Looking about the camp, I could see these struc-tures rising from the ground. The log huts didnTtlook any larger than fourteen by sixteen feet.Some of the men were stacking the logs whileothers were packing the holes with mud.oSome hospital, huh, Doc?? The Doe did notreply, but just stared into the fire.The pain in my stomach began again and Icould not help but scream. Doc Harvey rushed tomy side and tried to hold me still.oDoc, I canTt live like this much longer!?oEasy, boy, youTll make it.?oWhere to, Doc, Heaven or Hell? ??The pain eased and I became more relaxed.Doc and Joe released me and sat back down nearthe fire. I could see Doc Harvey looking at themen that lay stretched on the frozen ground. Helooked at some leaning against trees, most ofwhom wore soiled bandages to cover some wound-ed part of their body. The pity in his eyes almostmade me forget that I, too, was one of those in-jured men.The screaming of one man caused me to shud-der and then I heard the man crying like a star-ving baby. oWhat the hell?? I asked. Staringat the fire, Doc calmly told me that the boyTsright leg had just been amputated. The thoughtof the scene made me sick.I looked back around toward the fire and theDoe was re-wrapping blood-stained rags aroundJoeTs feet. The red still showed through the dirteven though Joe had walked for miles helping an-other soldier.Darkness was falling about us and the windplayed tricks in the shadows of the trees as it blewthe limbs about and snow drifted toward the coldearth.Some of the wounded were being moved intothe small log huts and they néeded DocTs help, sohe went to them. I saw as many as twelve menbeing put into one little hut.oWhy, Joe? Why are we here? Why doesnTtthat so-called leader of ours do something for us?He doesnTt care what happens to us at all. Theonly thing he cares about is himself. I bet he isin his tent, all wrapped up nice and warm withplenty of meat on his table, not giving a damnabout his men. Why do we have to suffer for thatson " " "??oHold it, soldier!?I looked up and the Commanding Officer wasTHE REBEL

approaching. oThe general is doing all he can.?ToJust tell me, Sir, what is he doing while hismen are freezing and starving to death??oSoldier, tell me, just why did you join thearmy ??oT donTt know, but...?oTTll tell you, sir,? Joe answered. oBen and me,we joined this army to become heroes so we couldgo back and tell people about our experiences andbe idols of our hometown.?More soldiers moved about us as Joe continuedto explain our purpose in coming to war. Joekept talking and I watched the expressions of themen as he spoke. I could hear men swearing asthey whispered while Joe talked. Several timesI saw men make motions as if they were about toattack him. oWhy?? I thought. ~~WerenTt theyall here to be heroes? Why, for what other reasoncould they have come??One of the men came forward and he wouldhave jumped Joe if the officer had not stoppedhim. oLet him talk,? said the Commander.The pain began to gnaw in my belly again. Icould feel myself clutching my blankets and grit-ting my teeth to hold back the yell which seemedto start from the pain in my stomach. Slowly, iteased and I began to hear Joe speaking again.This time his voice sounded different and thewords were words that I had never heard Joe usebefore. oWhat the hell was he talking about,glory and freedom or something?? The blastedhole in my gut once again ht so badly that Ipassed out.I was awakened by loud shouts and yells, andI saw Joe on the shoulders of a couple of themen and many others were around him. I triedto raise up but the officer held me tightly so Icould not move.ooEHasy, son, everything is O.K.?oSure it is,? I said, thinking of the hole in mystomach.oYour friend told me your name and all aboutyou. Joe is some speaker. He built up the moraleof the men higher than it has been for a longtime. I know how you must feel, but you will seethings more clearly when all this mess is over.?As he walked away, I wondered what I wouldsee more clearly. Things looked pretty clear tome now. We were a defeated army, starving,freezing, and in hiding for the winter hoping thatthose stiff shirts back home would think enoughof us to send us aid and supplies. Why couldnTtwe get help? WasnTt our great General one ofthem? With these thoughts and with the snowfalling in my face, I tried to sleep.SPRING, 1960This time his voice sounded different.I was awakened early the next morning by thestirring of the men, falling trees, loud singing.There had been some talk about desertion, butonly a few had deserted. I heard one soldier saythat there was not even a horse left to butcher formeat and that we had only twenty-five barrels offlour. A private, who was the GeneralTs messen-ger, said the General had written to the Pennsyl-vania Legislature and told them of our condition.They wrote back complaining because we hadstopped for rest. When the General had read thereply, he let out a cursing that could be heardall around.As I listened to the talk of the soldiers, I won-dered if perhaps our General did care. Many ofthe men spoke about him as if he were a god.The General did this, the General did that, wasall I could hear. Some of the men began to laughand joke, and occasionally I could hear JoeTs voicering out above the others. I wondered what Joehad been talking about last night when he men-tioned glory and freedom.The voice of a nearby soldier sounded out:oGood morning, brother soldiers. How are you??oAll wet, thankie, hope you are too.?I could hear some talking of going home, andlaughing merrily. Then two shadows stoppednear my head"one belonged to Joe; the other,17

to my surprise, belonged to the General. Joe kneltbeside me and told me that I had company. TheGeneralTs eyes were misty as he looked at me andthe others about the fire. While the General waslooking at his men, I looked closely at him andnoticed that he was not all bundled up and warm,but that he was cold, too. His hands and lipswere split from the freezing weather, just likethe rest of us. He looked as tired and weary asmy friend, Joe, who had been nursing me anddoing his full share of camp duties as well.When the general dismissed himself, all theugly thoughts which I had had of him had leftmy mind. Yes, he does care for his men. He isone of us, suffering perhaps more than any ofthe rest of us by seeing the conditions of his menand his camp. As I remembered the conversation,I realized that he was also worried because of theattitude of those back home. He had told methat it was partly for them that we were fighting,and not only for them, but for their children andgrandchildren. He, too, had mentioned the samewords that Joe had used, glory and freedom, buthe had added many more words, such as peace andplenty for ourselves and the community, the ad-miration of the world, the love of our country,and the gratitude of posterity.I was beginning to feel better and I had for-gotten about my wound, the cold, the ice, andother problems. I kept watching the general walkabout from one group of men to another, know-ing all the time that he was making them feelbetter, just as he had done for me. My attitudeabout the war was different. As I saw it now,every man in this war was a hero; every man thatwas to return home would return with honor,which, if not written on paper, would be writtenin his heart and in the hearts of the men thatfought beside him.I looked up into JoeTs face and I saw that he,too, had seen the same picture that I had seen asthis great man strolled about the camp. Joe cov-ered me as I felt the pain once again, but I wasable to close my eyes and go into a sound andpeaceful sleep, knowing that General Washingtonwould lead us to glory and freedom.CROCR OCRChe Outer BanksAtop a dune I stood one dayBy the sparkling, gem-like sea,And the wind that swirled about my feet,Whispered and sang to me.It sang of brilliant sunlit days,Of gulls in a turquoise sky,It sang of a hurricaneTs mighty strengthWhen the waves are racing high.It whispered to me of the wrecks that layOn this treacherous stretch of shore,Of the oats that bend, and the shifting sandsAnd the sailing ships of yore.It sang of pirates and buried goldIt sang and the time flew by,And as I started my homeward wayIt whispered a soft goodbye.NANCY LOU OBERSEIDER18THE REBEL

STEINBECK" An Essayby C. W. WARRICKJohn SteinbeckTs war on religion has become acatch phrase in American literature. Steinbeckuses his characters not to wage a battle againsttraditional American religions but to emphasizethe vitality of American life in its religious terms.The preacher in The Grapes of Wrath appearsto have lost his religion. Preaching at the funeralof the once lecherous and mean Grampa Joad, JimCasy says that the old man olived a life anT jusTdied out of it.? It didnTt matter whether he wasgood or bad; the fact that he was once alive wasall that mattered. His reasoning was, oAll thatlives is holy.?T He asks why they should pray fora fellow that is already dead? He had done hispart on earth and there was only one thing leftfor him to do"and othereTs onTy one way to doit.? Rather than pray for the dead, he reasonsthat if he were to pray it should be for the living,who have a job to do with a thousand ways ofdoing it and not knowing which to take.Elsewhere, SteinbeckTs characters hesitateabout prayer. The scientist in The Snake saysthat he canTt pray to anything, while ex-preacherCasy says, oI donTt know . . . who to pray to.?On the other hand, the ignorant and superstitiouspeople of whom Steinbeck is writing in The LongValley and The Pearl simply pray because it is apart of an accepted pattern inherited from unin-formed and superstitious ancestors.Although he was a deeply religious man, JuanChicoy, the bus driver in The Wayward Bus, hadhis own religious belief, exhibited in the presenceof the metal statue of the Virgin of Guadalupecarried on the dash of his vehicle. JuanTs prayerwas usually a silent hope to obtain the VirginTsapproval for his actions. To him, the Guadalupanaknew everything that had happened and was go-ing to happen. In all of his memory this Lady hadbeen constantly with him. In her he found some-body in whom to confide his secrets, to confess hisguilts. However, since she was omniscient, Juanrealized that he was merely telling her as a matterof form. Steinbeck explains that her relationshipto Juan as his connection with eternity ohad littleto do as connected with the church and dogma,SPRING, 1960and much to do with religion as memory andfeeling.?SteinbeckTs treatment of Catholicism is inter-esting. The Church in The Pearl is depicted as asymbol of despotism and an ounscrupulous milk-ing of the poor.?T When the fisherman, Kino, founda large pearl, everyone began scheming to take itaway from him. The schemers included the vil-lage priest. Before his fortunate accident, Kinohad not cared much for the Church. His povertyhad never let him. The Church had refused hismarriage and the baptism of his child. However,after he found the pearl, a smiling priest wasstanding at the door of his little shack for thefirst time in his life.A different type of detestation of the Churchis shown in In Dubious Battle. Jim NolanTs fatherabhorred religion and wouldnTt allow his wife toattend Church. At times during the week, how-ever, she would slip into the church for a prayer.In spite of her devotion, or because of her hus-bandTs detestations, she turned away from theChurch, refused the priestTs final visit.There is the simpler, more humble Catholicworship by the paisanoTs of Tortilla Flat. Stein-beck renders no abhorrence for the formal re-ligion. His characters display a superstitious awefor the Church. When a candle bought for SaintFrancis sets fire to one of DannyTs houses, as theboys are sleeping off a drunken spree, they figurethat the blaze is punishment for their sins. Laterin the story, the Pirate had promised to purchasefor the church a candlestick for the altar of SaintFrancis, if that saint would help one of his fivemangy dogs overcome its sickness. The promiseseemed to work, for the dog overcame its illness;after the Pirate had given the gold candlestick tothe priest, the dogs saw a vision of the patronSaint. This was the reward for fulfilling thepromise.SteinbeckTs disapproval of Protestantism is ex-pressed with equal feeling. The best example ofthis is Casy, the preacher in The Grapes of Wrath,giving up his work. Once ~o~Reverend Jim Casy wasa Burning Busher? shouting the name of Jesus ,19

to glory who had irrigation ditches o~so squirminTfull of repented sinners half of Tem like to drownd-ed.? But Jim gave up the work. He explainedthat he was oJust Jim Casy now. AinTt got thecall no more. Got a lot of sinful idears"but theyseem kind of sensible.?Other cases of complete disregard for religionare to be found in SteinbeckTs works. Crooks, thecrippled Negro stable hand in Of Mice and Men,expresses this when talking with Lennie aboutpeople in constant search for land. He says thatland is just like heaven. Everyone wants someland but they never get it. ~ooNobody never gets toheaven, and nobody gets no land. ItTs just in theirhead.? Jim Nolan joins the Communist Party inrevolt against the system which had ruined hiswhole family. When excited by his enthusiasm forthe fruit pickersT strike, Jim is told by a friendthat he has something in his eyes, osomething re-ligious.?? To this, Jim retorts, oWell, it isnTt re-ligious. ITve got no use for religion.TT Later, be-fore his death in the strike, Jim admits, oI donTtbelieve in religion.TT Pat Humbert in The Pasturesof Heaven sought to separate himself from theyoke of the past, which had kept him from enjoy-ing life. He picked up the old family Bible, andthrew it into the yard where the elements render-ed it useless.On sin and sinning, Steinbeck is equally expres-sive. Jim CasyTs transition from an evangelicalminister to a small-town philosopher is partly re-sponsible to his acquisition of a olot of sinfulidears.? Jim thinks that many of these ideas may(C70)CROewenot be sinful at all. He says, ooMaybe itTs just theway folks is. Maybe we been whippinT the hellout of ourselves for nothinT.?Another characterTs view of sin is that of thered-haired Eva in Cannery Row. Once, when Wil-liam the former watchman, told her that he wasgoing to kill himself, she told him that that wasa odirty, lousy, stinking sin.?T The reason for thisdenunciation had nothing to do with any religiousor moral codes. If he killed himself, the placewould be pinched just when she o~got enough kickto take a trip... .TT Her condemnation of this ac-tion was to no avail, for moments later Williamslipped an ice pick into his heart.From these examples one might conclude thatSteinbeck is conducting a revolt against the tra-ditional American religions. However, these casesare not all-conclusive, for in everyday life onecomes face-to-face with irreverence, cynicism, anddisbelief.So, if the paisanos of Tortilla Flat and the char-acters in The Pearl, worship superstitiously, is itnot in line with the worship of numberless peopletoday? In spite of all the actions of Jim Casy inThe Grapes of Wrath, Ma JoadTs advice to UncleJohn about his sins was for him to tell them toGod and not to go burdening other people withthem.Even if Jim Casy did revolt against the religiousbeliefs of our society, was not the birth of Chris-tianity"and the other religions of the world"arevolt against the religious beliefs of the societiesthat existed in those times?eredCRO(C"O)THOUGHTS ON THE BYRON SEPARATION CONTROVERSYTut, tut, sweet Annabella,Some say you do protest too much;While others of your gender doA great injustice claim"And both may well be true.Yet had the bard been half the manThat many claim he was,You would have been the first to say,When George had gone his way,oA good manTs hard to find.?20WESLEY JACKSONTHE REBEL

THE Reece VECtThe progress of the publications on the EastCarolina College campus in the past two decadeshas been remarkable. The Teco Echo, (now TheEust Carolinian) was a publication of merit dur-ing the war years and even back into the time ofthe depression. The Rebel, is the third magazineto be printed on campus; at one time it was en-titled The Cavalier, and later developed into amore familiar publication entitled Pieces of Eight.Then for a few years literary magazines were un-known. However, in 1958 The Rebel was initiatedto fill the gap left by the older publications. Thepresent Rebel, The Buccaneer, and The East Caro-linian, have evolved from a long line of publi-cations, and they have a creditable heritage touphold. Of these three publications, The Rebelhas been the only one called on to justify its exist-ence, but this is so with many college literarymagazines. The purpose of a publication such asThe Rebel is to provide a creative outlet for stu-dents, and creativity of this sort is synonymouswith education.There are plans for four issues of The Rebel forthe school year 1960-61; the fourth issue will be acollection of short stories compiled from studentsin other North Carolina colleges in addition tothe contributions from the campus. North Caro-lina writers will be invited to the campus and thisparticular issue will be the subject of their discus-sion. This will give members of the student bodyan opportunity to meet some of our more promi-nent writers as well as to hear them speak on thesubject of writing in North Carolina.This past year The Rebel has presented in eachissue an interview with a North Carolina writer.The Editors plan to continue this policy: with a dif-ferent interview for each issue.Poetry for this issue is especially noteworthy ;the selection of poems will show an emphasis onNorth Carolina themes. The short story, Gloryand Freedom by Bill Lee was his first attempt atwriting; on the basis of his success with this storythe Fditors predict a promising future for Mr.Lee.The art work for this issue is predominatelyetchings, with two photographs, one woodcut, andone charcoal drawing. One photograph is of apiece of sculpture by Don McAdams who recentlywon an award for a painting entered in an artshow in Columbia, S. C. Currently he is workingon a twenty foot tal! outdoor sculpture to be placedbehind Rawl Building on campus. It is an ab-stract derived from organic form and concernedmainly with negative space, form change, andweight distribution.Elfreth Alexander was recently announced asthe winner of the writing contest. In the winningstory, The Spring That Broke Tom, Jake, and Me,Elfreth shows exceptional ability in her character-ization. The story is one to challenge all studentwriters. Denyse Draper and Talmage Williamsonalso received recognition from the judges for theirwork. For the next yearTs contest the Editors areplanning to award three prizes; one for the bestpoem, the best short story and the best essay.The judges this year were Dr. Poindexter, Dr.Hirschberg, and Dr. Rowe.CRD CRO CRO CROLOVETS LABOR LOSTby ALLEN G. HOYToWrite not of love when in that state.?My critic said to me.oBut wait until a later dateWhen heart and mind are free.The pen speaks not the truth so pureWhen guided by the handOf one whose heart is all too sureThat love it can command.?Those words so wise I did not heed"Those words that seemTd so dire"And still wheneTer I felt the need,I wrote of heartTs desireAnd to my critic I did say:oBe damnTd, Hirshberg! ITll have my way!?SPRING, 1960And thus resolvTd I took my pen"To write of love so fair"To put in verse my every yen"My heart I had to bare.And from my pen the verse did pour;The rimes came thick and fast.This verse by which I set great store,I felt would ever last.Then came the day when love was gone"I put my pen aside.And when I read what I had done,My verse I had to hide.And to my critic, add I might:oAlas, Hirshberg! You were so right!?21

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SHORT STORY(Contest Winner)by ELF ALEXANDERI want you to listen real close while I tell youthis because, you see, nobody else knows; that is,nobody but Tom, Jake, and me, because we werethe ones who did it. I just have to get it off mychest; so, please listen, and donTt judge Tom andJake and me too harshly.It all started last spring. We would sit in thatlittle old one-room schoolhouse and stare outat those blades of grass pushing themselves might-ily through the naked earth, and we could almostsee a big bass jiggling at the end of our fishingpoles or feel the cool water of the river close overour hot bodies as we dived deep.Miss Stokes, our teacher, seemed to have caughtthe spring fever, too; for she would run her fingersthrough her graying hair more often and wasgetting so she would let us out five minutes early.People around here always joke about Miss StokesTgraying hair. They say that it started turninggray one month to the day after she began teach-ing at the Colbridge School; that was three yearsago"1921.What struck me funny, though, was the chalkylook she had about her. I think if I saw her inKalamazoo and didnTt know her from a hill ofbeans, ITd know she worked around chalk. I canTtfigure out why"it must be her complexion.I guess Miss Stokes did have a pretty toughtime of it, but then so did we. SheTd scream andhoiler"she had a terrible temper and voice"andwe'd look real meek and sorry so she would shutup and then weTd turn loose a green snake or afrog that weTd caught at recess. We had plentyof tricks up our sleeves.At first, Miss Stokes would whale the tar outof us with an old beech limb she kept special forthat purpose; but, by and by, as Tom, Jake, and ]kept on failing our grades and kept on growing,SPRING, 1960she got more and more hesitant about whaling us"especially after the day Jake started runningfrom her as if he were frightened to death andMiss Stokes gave chase. Jake ran just fastenough; that is, he ran kinda slow so she wouldthink she could catch him. He ran around andaround the room, turning over chairs and knock-ing books in the floor. The whole class was scream-ing at the top of their lungs in pleasure at thechange of scene. When Jake ran by Tom and me,he winked, and we knew he had something uphis sleeve. We never knew what Jake was goingto do; he was absolutely reckless! Well, just be-fore Jake got to the pot-bellied stove, he fell some-how; and, Miss Stokes, not expecting such, trippedover him and well nigh busted her jaw open onthat stove. There was a big board of trusteesmeeting about it, but what it all really amountedto was her being scared of us three. Anyway, shenever tried to whale us with that old beech limbagain.Well, this spring we wanted something new.Spring was busting out all over the place, and wehad been kept in the stall long enough"our bloodwas running hot. So, you see, Caleb really had itcoming to him when he first stuck his foot in thatschoolhouse.I remember he came in one morning, right outof nowhere, and in a voice loud enough to beheard slam out in the schoolyard, announced hisname as Caleb Hasermann. Miss Stokes was im-pressed"we could see that; and we were im-pressed, too"but in a different way. He was toodarned cocky. We watched him all that day. Hischeeks were ruddy, his hair a kinky black, and he~was bandy legged, just like a bulldog. In fact,thatTs what he reminded us of, a cocky little bull-dog. He was a terrible show off, and pretty soon, .23

we had to keep our hands in our pockets to preventthem from grabbing his kinky head and bangingit on his desk.That afternoon, we followed him. He startedout toward Mr. PerkinsT farm, and we figuredhe must be the new tenantTs son. We waited untilhe got in the woods on that little cart path, andthen we chunked a pebble at him. We knew itmust have hurt him, because it hit him rightsquare in the back of the head; but he turned tous with a lopsided grin on his face and just stoodwaiting for us. We took our time getting to him,trying to look as mean as possible; but CalebdidnTt flinch. As we walked up, Tom asked, ~~AinTtyou got no feelings? I just hit that noggin ofyours with a rock.?oT felt it,? Caleb grinned. That grin did it. Wemoved closer and began circling him, the waydogs do when they fight. Caleb didnTt look scaredone bit, and I guess thatTs why we didnTt jumphim right off. It got so quiet I heard a fish splashdown in the river; and from the corner of myeye, I saw a redbird fly out of the pine by the sideof the path. Suddenly, Jake let go with a right,and Caleb went sprawling. Tom and me, webacked off and watched. We three were tough.We could beat any boy our age, or so we thought.It wasnTt long, however, until we saw that Jakehad met his match. Caleb was smaller, but hewas quicker. His little bandy legs moved as ifthey were coil springs; and his black, beady eyesdarted about like a foxTs. They fought and fought.A dark red egg appeared over CalebTs left eye, andJakeTs mouth began to look puffy. Finally, Jakebroke off; and Caleb, panting mightily, told usas cocky as you please that heTd fight Jake tomor-row if he wanted to. Jake nodded, and brushingthe pine straw and dirt from his clothes, he mo-tioned for us to follow him. We sauntered offdown the cart path toward the river. We didnTtsay anything to each other"we didnTt need to;we had known each other long enough to be ableto share our thoughts. Some noisy crows flewoverhead, and Tom made as if he had a gun andwas shooting them. Way off, I heard a roostercrow. I felt so good. As we walked, our shoulderswould bump; and I was so happy I shouted, o~LetTsrace to the river!? We took off, Jake halfheartedlydragging behind. I took the middle of the cartpath, where the grass was high. I could feel itflattening beneath my feet as I sped over theground. I was flying. The trees with their tinyspring buds of leaves waved at me as I went past,and the wind breezed in my shirt. When I reachedthe shore, I pounded my chest in a victory yell.24Tom came thudding down the bank, almost knock-ing me over, and Jake loped behind him.o~AinTt that your old manTs dog over there??Jake asked, nodding toward the bank a little down-stream.oYeah,? I said. I whistled to the flop-eareddog. It tucked its tail between its legs and movedoff a bit.oHow come it donTt come?? Tom asked.oOld Sary, she donTt like me none,? I replied.Tom walked to the water and sloshed his fingeraround in it. oWow! This stuffTs cold!?I stuck my finger in it. oIt ainTt so cold,? I said,splashing about with my hand vigorously.oHey, watch it! YouTre getting me wet!? shout-ed Tom. Jake was watching us, sitting on a lognear the bank.oBetcha wonTt go wading in it!? he dared.oOh yeah?? I hollered, and began unlacing myshoes. Then, I noticed Old Sary siding up. ShedidnTt think I was paying her no mind. Quickly,I grabbed her up and threw her in. I didnTt throwher out very far because she was so heavy, but itwet her good. She yelped and came scramblingout of the water in a frenzy. Tom, Jake, and me,we laughed and laughed and laughed. Old Sary,she ran off down the beach a bit. She had thecraziest run. It seemed as if all her legs belongedto a different dog and refused to get together. Ithink they must have been all different lengths.She was a crazy dog. Good for nothing. I donTtknow why Papa liked her; she couldnTt smell arabbit if it was tied around her neck, and hercoat looked as if she had the mange.The next morning, we rushed to school withmore get-up-and-go than we had had in a long time"we could hardly wait to tangle with Caleb. Thatday, we threw spit balls at him, giggled when heread, and passed a note around saying he was abig sissy.The rest of the spring was like that. WeTd tosslewith Caleb every day. Once, we even broke ourcode, and all three of us jumped him at once, try-ing to make him promise not to read or spell inschool the next day. He wouldnTt promise; andthe next day, he read and spelled better thanusual.The weeks passed, and Caleb got more and moreunder our skins. We couldnTt help but admire hima little, though, but we never mentioned it to oneanother. We learned he had lied to his parentsabout us, and never spoke to our PaTs about us"and he had had plenty of opportunity to. He wasfighting what we called a one-manTs war, and wecouldnTt help but respect him for it; yet, weTHE REBEL

couldnTt stop now. It seemed that no matter whatwe did, he wouldnTt get a bit meeker. His eyesoften filled with tears, but they werenTt humbletears"just mean, angry tears. His cocky wayfired Tom, Jake, and me just like liquor; and wedecided to break him just like old man Judsonbroke those wild horses he caught up-country.Finally, we did a terrible thing. You see, wecouldnTt help it"he had made us. We had noticeda little mongrel around CalebTs place. It was ablack and white fice with a funny crook in itstail. One afternoon, we saw it down by the river.Pretty soon, we had it on the raft and sent itspinning down toward the rapids. When Calebcame down the bank a little later, we told himwhat we had done. He took off for the rapids,as if he were on fire, and we took out behindhim. When we got to the rapids, we saw Calebdancing around on the bank, and the dog andraft spinning and bobbing in the center of theboiling water. The fice was whining and howl-ing, crouching and cowering as the raft spunand tipped. Its crooked, thin tail went up anddown like a pump handle. Suddenly, the raftshot under. The ficeTs head stayed up for a fewseconds, and then it was gone.Caleb came charging at us like a bull. We hadnever seen him so. We grabbed him and held himdown. He kept screaming, ~~Are you satisfied now?Are you satisfied now??Abruptly, he changed; we felt his body go laxbeneath our hands. We saw his lips stretch gro-tesquely over his teeth until they were white. Thecolor left his face, and tears squeezed out of hiseyes. We let him go, and backed off a little. Hetried to rise, but flopped back down, rolled overon his stomach, and began pounding the ground.His shoulders were heaving violently, and slowly,sobs that began in his stomach came tearing outof him. Dimly, I heard the water roaring pastmy feet and a yellowhammer squawking some-where. I started down the bank toward home. In-voluntarily, I began to run. Faster, faster, faster.The sand sank beneath my feet as if it weretrying to trip me or pull me down, and the waterswept into my shoes as the bank leveled off intothe beach. Gradually, I slowed to a walk. Every-time I put my right foot down the water wouldsquash in my shoe. I sat on a log and began un-lacing my shoe. I had it half off when I somehowslipped and my stockinged foot darted into thedamp, clammy sand. I donTt know why I startedcrying. I just did. My shoulders heaved so violent-ly I could hardly stay on the log. I didnTt makeany sound, though. My face twisted and contorteduntil it ached. I heard something crunching inthe sand, and uncovering my face, saw. Old Sary.I whistled to her halfheartedly, but she just stoodthere, her ears flopping her hair full of cockle-burs and mud; then, I was off again. I couldnTtstop the pain that welled up in my stomach andcame seeping up to twist my throat and face withsteel fingers.In a little while, I felt a wet nose on my handand I fastened my fingers in a hunk of SaryTs hair.I moved my fingers slowly over her back, straight-ening her matted hair and pulling out the cockle-burs. I felt her body quiver with pleasure. Sheturned and licked my hand. Slowly, the pain leftmy stomach, and limply I continued to stroke Sary,ever so gently. She whined in ecstasy and begangoing in a circle under my hand, her tail wagginga mile a minute. oYou like me, Sary? Do youreally like me?TT She trembled violently, and lickedat my chin. I stroked her side. ~Say, old girl,youTve put on some weight. Have you finallymanaged to get you a rabbit or two?? All the hurtwas gone now, and my voice was full of baby talk.I tickled her, and she lay down in the sand androlled over, presenting her vulnerable, whitestomach to me. I grabbed one of her thrashingpaws. oSay, have you gone and got in troubleagain this year? DonTt you remember what hap-pened to your pups last year?? Sary rolled backover and tilted an ear at me to be scratched.oDonTt you remember, Sary? Papa gave them allaway, every single one. DonTt you remember,Sary? He gave them all away.?T Sary whimperedcontentedly and licked my wrist. ~Say, old girl,?I whispered, leaning closer, oyouTre not much ofa dog, you know, Sary; and, I was thinking .. .well, you ainTt got much dog sense"you canTtsmell a rabbit under your nose; and you sureainTt much to look at; but, you know, Sary, yougot right much human sense, I think; and, wellI was thinking . . . since you run so sorry andhunt so sorry, and seeing as you already got ablack and white coat, do you Tpose you could man-age to have a cocky black and white pup with acrazy crook in his tail??SPRING, 196025

oThe Watcher? (Sculpture) by DoN McADAMS

THE REBEL REVIEWReligion In AmericaProtestant Catholic Jew, Will Herberg. Garden City:Doubleday Anchor, 1960. $1.25Of the many books dealing with religion whichare available to the casual reader, Protestant,Catholic, Jew by Will Herberg is among the morecontributive. He is looking at the present religiousscene in America and attempting to understandit by applying sociological data. The outstandingtrait of mid-twentieth century religion in Americawhich prompts Herberg to write is the rise inreligious activity accompanied by the rise in secu-lar interests. For instance, according to one sur-vey, 80% of the adults asked, said that they be-lieved the Bible to be the orevealed word of God.?Yet 53% of these same people could not evenname one of the first four books of the New Testa-ment. He states his thesis as othat both the re-ligiousness and the secularism of the Americanpeople derive from very much the same sources,and that both become more intelligible when seenagainst the background of certain deep-goingsociological processes that have transformed theface of American life in the course of the pastgeneration.?The determining facts of our religious situa-tion today, which is admittedly peculiar to us inAmerica, is found in the unique heritage of thepopulation of our country. Of the 160,000,000Americans living today, all are either immigrantsor descendants of recent immigrants. Our coun-try is not intrinsically religious, part of this at-tempt at self-identification has been the affiliationwith a religious institution, either Protestant,Catholic, or Jew.Part of this identification is to say that one be-lieves. For instance, according to one survey 97%said that they believed in God, 75% said they be-longed to a church (while church records showonly about 55% of the population on its rolls)and 73% said they believed in an afterlife withGod and Judge. Yet a majority of Americans whotestified that they regarded religion as somethingSPRING, 1960very important answered that their religious be-liefs have no real effect on their ideas or conductin the areas of politics and business. Since surveylike the above mentioned are not confined to onereligious group, but include the population as awhole, it seems that there is a common religion inAmerica"known as the American Way of Life.The American Way of Life is, at bottom, a spirit-ual structure, a structure of ideas and ideals, ofaspirations and values, of beliefs and standards:it synthesizes all that commends itself to theAmerican as the right, the good, and the true inactual life.The American Way of Life sees America as anew order of things. It is individualistic, dynamic,pragmatic. It is idealistic. Because Americansare idealistic, they tend to confuse espousing anideal with fullfilling it and are always tempted toregard themselves as just as good as the idealsthey entertain. Religion is central to the AmericanWay of Life (and any expression of religion with-in the tri-faith enterprise of religion is accept-able). The reciprocal action of the American Wayof Life is shaping and reshaping the historicfaiths of Christianity and Judaism in America.American religion is basically non-theological andnon-liturgical; it is activistic and occupied withthe things of the world to a degree that has be-come a byword among European Churchmen. Itis not important what we believe or how this be-lief is expressed in worship; it is only importantwhat we do. Any expression of the three majorfaiths of America is acceptable to the American(Eisenhower once said oOur government makesno sense unless it is founded in a deeply felt re-ligious faith"and I donTt care what it a),American religion is, crudely, a faith in faith.How did the religious scene evolve into itspresent situation? The author deals with thisaccording to the three major faiths from whichcomes the title of the work. The Protestants werethe first to arrive and set the stage for all re-~ligious thinking that has taken place up to now.The decisive characteristic of American Protest-antism is its individualism, which is natural for .27

a religion which has been primarily a frontierreligion across the nation as the nation movedfrom the Eastern shores westward.The Catholic ChurchTs situation is entirely dif-ferent in that it has never been a pioneering move-ment looking for religious freedom. It was fromthe first a movement of people looking for a nation.This brought about a fusing of the religious andnationalistic efforts. Since the first people tocome, thought in terms of religion as being themark of the American, the Catholic immigrantskept their religious heritage. Even the Catholicreligion has taken on some of the marks of theAmerican Way of Life. For instance, Catholicshave been criticized by their brethren in Europefor being too intent on the active virtues at theexpense of humility, charity, and obedience. Also,American Catholics think of themselves as one ofthe three religions of America"an unheard ofsituation in Catholicism.Judaism in America has also undergone a trans-formation in the process of its being transplantedfrom Europe. The Jews have been the last re-ligious group to come to America. The GermanJews came mainly in the mid-nineteenth centuryand the Russian Jew about the turn of the century.From the first they too have attempted to adjustto their new national situation, for they werenot religiously motivated to come to America.Judaism in America today does not have the fervorfor the movement to Israel that has been one ofthe main hopes of nationless Judaism since thefirst century AD. The Passover has been rewrit-ten and contains little of the redemptive featuresassigned to it by the multitude of generations ofJews that have lived by it.As each of these last two groups came to Amer-ica they seemed to conform with a law (HansenTsLaw) with respect to their attitude towards theirorigins. The first generation to come would beobviously foreign and keep their foreign traits.Being truly foreign is part of America, too. Butthe second generation has always tended to be in-secure in this role and attempted to cut itself offfrom their fathersT background. Then, strangelyenough, the third generation will reinstitute thatfrom his ethnic background which will make himan American"his religion. ~~What the son wishesto forget, the grandson wishes to rememberT.The three religions have been accepted by allto be the ideal way of being religious. This givesrise to the inter-faith movement in America whichis peculiar to us. With the sociological factors atwork in AmericaTs movement towards religion,it is understandable to the author that the rise28of religion and the rise of secularism are concur-rent in our life. At mid-twentieth century westand in the midst of the majority of the thirdgeneration immigrants who are trying to workout their attitude towards this thing they wish toremember, their attitude towards other peoplesTreligion, and the content of each. That is to say,Americans are seeking identity with Americathrough their religion.Herberg has set forth a very interesting thesisand has provided most informative and well docu-mented support of it. Whether he is right orwrong, the book is valuable in provoking us tounderstand why we are so religious according tothe nose count on the Sabbath. The reader willsurely benefit from realizing that our attitudetowards religion is not entirely based on a religi-ously defined motive.There are two points where I would like toamend Herberg, both of which he does not refutenor deny as much as he overlooks. One is thatthe situation in America today is not unique inspite of the fact that it has evolved in a peculiarlyunique way. Christ said, oI came that they mighthave life, and have it abundantly?. This is theT major purpose and essential being of religion"to give life where death is residing in any form.If the people coming to this country needed to bepart of the Church because they were foreign, thisis another way of saying that their foreignesswas a form of death to them. By the ChurchTsaccepting them in spite of their secular overtones,it has successfully given life where death was.Beginning with Constantine and Edict of Milanin 313, through Gregory the Great in 590, downto and including the movement ignited by Lutherin 1519, the orthodox movement of Christianityhas been to give life. Its major turning pointshave been where death threatened to engulf thepeople. This same thing has happened in thedevelopment of the common religion in America.(From a personal point of view, I cannot help butsay that traditional Christianity can best counter-act the death of the world without being hopeless-ly contaminated.)The second point is that Herberg does not prop-erly account for the fact that clergymen are nowbetter able to communicate this life-bearing faith.Religion in the last thirty years has profoundlymoved to accept all of GodTs revelation to man-kind including that supplied and gleaned by theunordained and untrained in standard terms ofChristianity. I mean that knowledge that thechurch gains from other fields of study, such asHerbergTs work in sociology. The theologian bet-THE REBEL

ter understands the creature that he is attemptingto communicate with and is better able to recog-nize the presence of death and replace it withGodTs redemptive life.The very fact that Herberg (now a professionalreligionist) would write such a readable and en-lighting book and the fact that I (also a profes-sional religionist) would read it with a sympathiceye shows that one can accept his thinking asvaluable and not expect the worst from the fourthgeneration of us immigrants.THE REV. RICHARD N. OTTAWAYEpiscopal College ChaplainAutobiographical FictionTHE AFRICAN, William Conton. Boston: Little,Brown, 1960. $4.00Since 1940, we have been aware of the im-portance of understanding other nations. Withthe more recent emergence of independent nationsin Africa, we have become aware of the need tobecome acquainted with that area. The African,by the headmaster of a high school in Ghana, isuseful documentary evidence on African national-ism and the related and equally explosive problemof racial discrimination.Since William Conton, not Alan Paton, wrotethis book, its value as a literary piece is seriouslylimited. The author was born in West Africa andeducated there and in England before he enteredthe teaching profession. Kisimi Kamara, the cen-tral character of the book, who tells his own story,has the same background, but he goes on to founda political party and become prime minister ofhis newly independent country before slippinginto the Union of South Africa to take part inthe racial struggle there. Considering the authorTsclose kinship to the protagonist, it is remarkablethat the latterTs story is so improbable. This maybe due to the authorTs failure to anchor the eventsin this story by relating them to real events andspecific times. It may be due to his formal useof English. KisimiTs M.A. is in English; the au-thorTs degree is otherwise unrevealed.) It mayas well be due to the fact that there is a lack ofunderstanding between Mr. Conton and this re-viewer which Mr. Conton is striving to remedy.This latter reason, along with my obligation towrite this review, helped me to resist the occasion-al temptation to put this book away before Ifinished it.Dr. JOHN HOWELLSPRING, 1960Twain and His PrecursorsMark Twain and Southwestern Humor, Kenneth S.Lynn. Boston: Little and Company. 1960. $5.00Professor Lynn, Chairman of the AmericanCivilization program at Harvard, has, in MarkTwain and Southwestern Humor, done what stu-dents of American literature have long knownneeded doing: he has traced in detail the influenceof the Southwestern yarnspinners on the art ofMark Twain. Joseph G. Baldwin, William Byrd,Joseph B. Cobb, Davy Crockett, G. W. Harris,Johnson J. Hooper, Richard Malcolm Johnson,Henry Clay Lewis, Augustus Baldwin Longstreet,Thomas Bangs Thorpe are all assayed as contribu-tors, and Mark Twain, as the culmination, is fresh-ly and wisely examined.In addition, Dr. LynnTs work makes two othersignificant points. One is that these earlier andless gifted writers, contrary to what is often as-sumed, were, however crude their finished prod-uct, deliberate and_ self-conscious craftsmen.The otherds that the major orientation of TwainTsprecursors was the Whig Party, which they fol-lowed from its poised confidence to its disillusion-ed and bitter confusion and disintegration.Mark Twain and Southwestern Humor, at oncescholarly and readable, illuminates TwainTs pre-decessors without dimming the brillance of Twainhimself.Dr. FRANCIS ADAMSResponsibility of LoveAn American Romance, Hans Koningsberger. NewYork: Simon and Schuster, 1960. $3.50Hans Koningsberger has written a perceptivenovel regarding the modern American marriage,which in turn mirrors other aspects of modernlife. Phillip and Ann are extremely attractive andextremely intelligent young adults. And they havesuch dreams; they fall in love and marry quickly.Their marriage shall be different from that ofthose around them. Each is what the other wants,and they need no other people. In short, each hasfound the fulfillment of his life-long dream. Thenthe crucial questions, which form the theme ofthe book, arise. How can one survive the fulfill-ment of oneTs dreams? What is the emptiness-which accompanies fulfillment? Why do we notreconcile ourselves to the fact that ripeness is alland that it is enough? This is expressed in Phil-lipTs thoughts while going to pick up Ann at the29

=)=Z02SOo=2=2RK}m==2(Etching)oNight Shift?

railroad station after she has been away for sever-al days:oMaybe this is life at its happiest, to be aloneand free and not lonely because the end ofyour aloneness is in sight.?The AuthorTs opinion seems to be that idea-people and word-people are more susceptible tothis pitfall than others, if for no other reasonthan that their thinking is more analytical. Atany rate, his only answer to the problem seemsto be a reiteration of the immense responsibilityof the lover and the loved. To love casually is notenough. Love is a fragile seedling which cannotstand buffeting. It must be carefully nurtured ifit is to survive. But even this may not be enough.This book is composed of very short, looselyheld together chapters. Its effect is achieved notby detail but by impressionistic imagery.An American Romance is the book for readerswho like to grapple with ideas while reading anovel.SANDRA PORTERoLife Really Is Worth Living?TLiving In The Present, John Wain. New York: G. P.PutnamTs Sons. 1960. $1.45This novel begins with the somewhat discon-certing resolve of its hero to end it as soon aspossible. On a piece of paper headed REASONSFOR THE SUICIDE OF ME, EDGAR BANKS,he convinces the reader that his only way out ofthe miserable hash he has made of his life is todestroy it. As a special favor to mankind, hedecides to take with him to eternity the one personwhom he considers to be the most repulsive andleast useful member of the human race. Withoutmuch trouble, though not without a few momentsof indecision since there are so many candidates,he picks a horror named Rollo Phillipson-Smith,who effectively represents the sum total of all ofthe qualities of the species that are most expend-able. The bulk of the book consists of his abortiveattempts to commit this double murder of himselfand Rollo.The experiences Edgar has in chasing Rolloaround Europe make up a series of extremelyfunny incidents. Wain is a master at presentingthe ironically comic aspects of society in vivid,devastating strokes. His descriptions of traintravel, life in Alpine resort hotels, and the ameni-ties of pseudo-sophisticated drinking parties areperfect little vignettes of life in the twentiethSPRING, 1960century. EdgarTs resolve to olive in the present?cancels out all his obligations to conventionalmorality"or at least he thinks it does"and so heacts exactly as he wants to act. Gradually heloses the sense of urgency that has started him onhis projected journey into hell. The more time hetakes to look at life"~oliving in the present? al-lows him the leisure to relax and stop planningfor the future"the more poignantly the realiza-tion comes home to him that life really is worthliving after all, if you just give it half a chance.Originally one of EnglandTs oangry youngmen,? John Wain has shown in this novel thathis anger has waned considerably. In the endhe begins to sound almost like Charles Dickenscrooning of love and life in his best sentimentalstyle. Like Scrooge in oThe Christmas Carol,?Edgar is transformed into eager benevolenceincarnate. You almost stop hating Rollo Phillip-son-Smith, but not quite. But you do start lovingeverybody else, including EdgarTs new girl. Hesteals her from his best friend"who, you learn,actually has been trying to find a graceful way toget rid of her, so no harm is done. It is she whorescues Edgar from the doldrums and convinceshim to Start Over. Your only regret when youturn over the last page is that he never succeedsin killing Rollo. Despite this defect, Living InThe Present is well worth reading for the laughsalone"and for the insight it will give you intoyour own foolishness and vanity.EDGAR W. HIRSHBERGExecutive EpisodeThe Lincoln Lords, Cameron Hawley. Boston: Little,Brown and Company, 1960. $5In this novel, Cameron Hawley has once againdelved into the lives of big corporation executivesand produced a best seller equal to his two prev-ious novels Executive Suite and Cash McCall.As the story opens, Lincoln Lord has been outof a job for eightT months and he and his wifeMaggie have moved from their Tower suite to asingle room in the Waldorf-Astoria where shestruggles to cook over a can of Sterno on thewindowsill. However, Lord still has dinner dailyat the elite Greenbank Club though his tabs arepiling up.Finally, Lord shamefully lists his name withan employment agency, but even they seem tohave no luck in finding him a job. Mr. Lord can- |not, without endangering his future, take any

job less significant than a corporation presidency.His trouble is that executives are hesitant abouthiring him because he is a job jumper. He hasheaded four corporations within the past tenyears at about $50,000 a year. Is he a phonywho rides the wave of prosperity, but quicklyjumps off and shifts jobs when his company runsinto trouble? Or does he merely see a new futureand advancement in each new job? Even at theend of the novel the reader can formulate no trueanalysis of Lord. Maggie Lord, the true andever faithful wife thinks she is the only one inthe world (including Lord himself) who under-stands her complex husband.Their small savings have almost dwindled awayand Lord has almost lost all hope when finallya rich executive calls to arrange an interview.The Lords rent a Waldorf Towers suite for theday, move a few belongings up to make the placelook lived-in and fool their guest about their pres-ent economic situation. He offers Lord the presi-dency of a small canning company in a smalltown and thinks Mr. Lord is doing him a favorby accepting.After living in hotels for years, the Lords allmove to Goodhaven where Lord heads the CoastalFoods Company. Soon, trouble developes; theowner of the cannery causes a ruckus by wantingthe working staff re-arranged and at the sametime it looks as if the firmTs baby food has startedan epidemic. Will Lord run or will he stay andsee the company through this dual calamity? Tomake the problem more complex, at this timeLord is offered the presidency of his beloved almamater Chesapeake College.This novel offers the reader not only an insightinto the intricate workings of large corporations,but also gives a glimpse of the personal lives ofexecutives. Although the mainline of the noveldeals with Lord at work, there is a faint outlineof after hours romance which helps keep the novelalive for those who tire of the office locale.KATHRYN JOHNSONA Humanizing ProcessLiterary Biography, Leon Edel. Doubleday Anchor:$.95The writing of biographies has undergone someinteresting developments since the days whenJames Boswell labored over the life of SamuelJohnson. In fact, Leon Edel declares that omodernbiography is as modern as the novel,? and after)eo2reading Dr. EdelTs Literary Biography I feel in-clined to agree. In his book, Dr. Edel traces theevolution of modern biography, with the powerfulinroads of criticism and psychoanalysis receivingespecial attention. It is a book that should be ofinterest to anyone who is interested in writing,for the biographer as Dr. Edel sees him must bea person capable of seeing not only the surfaceaccomplishments of his subject but also the intri-cate patterns of behavior that produced them;and are these not the aims of the poet and thenovelist in their search for ultimate truths?There are three types of biographies, Dr. Edelpoints out. One is the usual documentary typewherein the subject dominates the scene (Bos-wellTs Life of Johnson is an example). A secondtype is the portrait biography that does not delveinto the life behind the scene, but confines itselfto the outward characteristics of the subject. Thethird is what we have in our age and what Dr.Edel calls the ~~narrative-pictorial or novelistic?biography. It is this type of biography that findsthe biographer analyzing and commenting ratherthan merely presenting a host of facts that havebeen laboriously shuffled together as one wouldT shuffle a deck of cards.Dr. Edel deals with the problem of subjectivityin modern biography in a manner that demandsattention, for he is well aware of the nature ofthese problems, having encountered them in thewriting of his Henry James: The Untried Years.He is currently at work on a further biographicalstudy of James. Literary Biography in itself couldwell become a casebook for modern biography.HUGH AGEEBridging The GapFalse Coin, Harvey Swados. Boston: Little, Brownand Co., Ltd., 1960. $4.00This novel, told through the eyes and actionsof its main character, Ben Warder, is the storyof an effort to obridge the gap between the artsand masses? and of the conflicts of a motly assort-ment of characters in their efforts to do this.Ben Warder is a recording engineer who hasaccumulated one apartment, one child, and onedivorce in his fifty years of existence. Being abit restless and with no responsibility, he joinsthe efforts of this mass production of culturegroup in what they label ~~Pilot Project.?TMest of the action centers around HarmonyTHE REBEL

Farm, a nine thousand acre estate belonging toHorace Harmon, a self appointed guardian ofthe arts.The roster of characters include Monk Malony,a temperamental Irish writer ; Rex Rector,a Negrohomosexual who was ugly inside and out, in spiteof his composing ability ; Eddie and Joyce Bedlam,who took politics too seriously ; Fredrick Peterson,director of the project and a prophet of its suc-cess, who is somewhat of a sociologist; VictorVollbauch, another sociologist who worships sta-tistics. In addition to these, there are art-sup-porters, tycoons and a sprinkling of characterswho can only be classified as wealthy. The wholecrew seems to use art as a blanket to protect themfrom the outside world and give the impressionof psuedo-appreciators.The book is written in a loose style that tendsto be boring. In addition the reader is never surejust what the characters are searching for. Theaverage reader will wonder how the story ends,but not enough to finish it unless heTs only tryingto kill time.THOMAS JACKSONMorality Play For ModernsIn The Absence of Magic, Ernest Pawel. New York:The Macmillan Co. 1960. $3.75The usual words used to describe adult novels" convincing, shocking, intense, stimulating "are inadequate when they are applied to ErnstPawelTs In The Absence of Magic. It is convincingin that there are Burts and Peters, and it is shock-ing in that someone must be destroyed in theconflict between them. It is intense in presentingand resolving this conflict, and it is stimulatingbecause it is masterfully written. But these obser-vations reveal nothing significant. For In TheAbsence of Magic is more than another fine novel.It is a morality play in modern dress, frightening-ly applicable to our age.The conflict involves brilliant, charming, anddangerously neurotic Burt and his former teacherand friend, Peter Kersten, a one-time disciple ofFreud who has retired from the world to a re-mote island off the middle Atlantic seaboard. Burtmust save himself from suicide, and though hehas betrayed Peter on three separate occasions,he must do so yet again, this time by corruptingthe relationship between Peter and his adoptedrefugee children. From the time of BurtTs ar-rival to the island until his departure, the com-SPRING, 1960plex pattern of their interwoven pasts builds toa crisis in which both men reap a bitter harvestof guilt and remorse. Focal point of their battleof wills is sixteen year old Dolores, who mustchocse between a life of ease with Burt and hiswife and her present existence on the island withPeter and her twelve year old brother Mitya. Lessinnocent and vulnerable than Burt has supposed,she says simply, oI will not go with you to hurtPeter.?And when Burt, now a three time loser, is readyto resort to violence, Peter observes calmly, oItwould be a damn sight easier for me to die thanfor you te go on living.? BurtTs cure had beenshort lived. He had now been ocivilized and ana-lyzed and altogether so fouled that instead ofhowling all he could do was pant.?If one is not interested in novels which involveonly a battle between strong personalities withlittle hope of victory for either party, then thestrong appeal in this novel will be the generousnumber of what might tritely be called ~owell-turned phrases.T?T Mr. Pawel has said well some-thing that is profoundly worth saying. And JnThe Absence of Magic, finding no magic to curesick souls, satisfies the reader by saying majestic-ally that manTs salvation lies within himself.JANICE HARDISONON ALONESOME PORCH(Continued from page 9)with which he treats the Negroes as well as whitescould come only from a man who has known andfelt the true southern traditions.His latest novel is a work of art that will ap-peal to every person who has felt time passingtoo swiftly by. After the close of the Civil War,Miss Ellen, plantation owner, returns home withher widowed daughter-in-law and grandson. Theyfind their traditional way of life completely re-moved. How these three generations react andhow they make their adjustments is written witha dignity and insight that gives it universal signifi-cance. As one reviewer has written, oOn A Lone-some Porch is an enthralling novel. In its imagi-native recreation of a day that is gone, the vivid-ness of description, its insight into character andits powerful yet restrained emotion, the bookstands as the work of a master craftsman.?

Juterview WithPAUL GREEN(Continued from page 5)shade, can change, can emphasize; he can handlematerial with all the freedom of a fellow workingwith a brush. So, it all depends. But if more andmore comes to the point, thatTs a bad word, I donTtmean point, comes to where things of beauty andby beauty I mean beauty, count more and more,they count for something important. Two or threedays ago an old army buddy of mine visited me.The last time ITd seen that fellow, I was digginga ditch in Camp Green. I was a buck private;he was a big sergeant, and I was slinging a pickand I said, Sergeant, I think.? And he said,oDamn your soul, you are not supposed to think!You are a soldier.?? But he was here several daysago, got him a new wife, no gray hair, and sixty-something years old. He said, oI want you to tellme about my boy. He quit the bulldozer, quit thecontracting business, and he is up here at ChapelHill sculpting"carving stuff"and he wants tobe an artist. I told him if he could make $3.50 anhour"that was what I paid him when he drovethe bulldozer"then he might be an artist.? Buthe says, oI reckon itTs all right, because he lovesit. And itTs all right, ainTt it, for a man to dowhat he loves to do??T And there my school teach-ing spirt came in. This didaticism. I said, ~Yes,if itTs worth doing. So, Al Capone, no doubt,loved what he was doing, but it wasnTt worth do-ing.? I remember talking to Sam Goldwyn oncein Hollywood, while I was working there. Andhe said, oAll I know about this story-telling isthat you want to get somebody that wants some-thing, then you want him to have it, and youwatch the picture to see whether he can get it.That is all I know about writing a story. Wouldyou agree to that?? I said, oNo, I wouldnTt. Iwould agree with part of it. LetTs have motionpicture art or stories about men and women whowant something and watch them try to get itwith obstacles in the way. But letTs be sure whatthey want is worth having.? He said, oITm notinterested in that.? He said, oYou want moviesto teach school.? I said, oNo, I want them toquit debauching the American people with theirsex and crime and easy success and a completebetrayal of the American ideals.?34Compliments ofSILO RESTAURANTSTEAKS, SEAFOOD ANDCHICKEN IN THE ROUGHGreenville, N. C.Phone PL 2-4193STATE BANK &TRUST COMPANYAt Five Point in GreenvilleMemberFederal Deposit Insurance CorporationENJOYMILK AND ICE CREAMGrade AKnow This Before You Graduate:HOW TO SAVE MONEY AT A PROFIT!SEE USHOME SAVINGS ANDLOAN ASSOCIATION405 EVANS ST. GREENVILLE, N. C.THE REBEL

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