Page Two
COLUMNS
June 5, 1945
COLU>AM
b
VOLUME IV
NUMBER 7
I'ubUshed 6j/ Loi iHHCiui Coi.i.i-xiK Stuuenth eight
timen duriny the collegiate year
STAFF
Kditorial
Editor in Chief Ciiabi.otte Usicra
A»»ociate editor Lanoiu, Watho.n
Afanriging editor Bakbara Thorhon
Newf editor MARf:uj-E Kinu
Aimistnnt news editorn Barhara Howard,
Haroi.I) Cakhoi.i.
Feature editor Marv Stbowu Warii
Exchange editor Carolyn Drivfji
HportM reportem DrmoriiY Cahev, Miu)RH>
FJoNEV, TaI,MAIK;E LANtAHTfUt
Heligioun reporters Ari.e.ve Cockrell, Mary
Frances OAKLfrv
Literary editor Carol Beshknt
BusineSH
ltusines.1 manager Jo)I.n P>:kry
1‘hotographic manager Stanley Lewis
Typists Mdlme Fearin(i, Bi.anciie Carter,
Emily Tayuir
Make-up manager Mary Lee Hoikjes
Assistant make-up manager Jean Allen
Evelyn A.nne OARiifrrT
Circulation managers Bradley Eckiiokk,
CiiAui.EH Skinner, Allyne S.mitii
Subscription rate for non-residents:
for colJeglate year, $1.00; single copy, 15c
Valedictory
We Pay Tribute
At the close of a college year of worth while
experiences we welcome this opportunity to ex
press heartfelt appreciation to those who will
forever be a part of the niemories that we will
cherish.
From COLUMNS, representing the student
body, go thanks to faculty members who through
tireless efforts for our good and underlying inter
est in our welfare and happiness have been to
us guiding lights. As teachers and as sponsors of
various student activities, we think of those who
have been an inspiration to us, and have helped
to keep before us on the campus, visions of the
ideal. Each of us, as individual students, knows
who most greatly have been to each such inval
uable leaders. Their words of kindness and cheery
smiles have often lifted downcast hearts, and
sometimes because of them, smiles have spread
across saddened faces. As different ones of us
have seen, these who have meant most to us go
ing about from place to place, from activity to
activity, we can’t help wondering at the knowl
edge and wisdom that we recognize in them,
the hearts of kindness, and the light of truth and
goodness.
To those of our faculty who have meant these
qualities and contributions to any individuals
or groups of students, we pay tribute and offer
heartfelt thanks for all of their—
“. . . little nameless, unremembered acts
Of kindness and of love.”
We Praise You
We, the staff of Columns, extend congratu
lations to the competent, hard-working staff of
The Oak for editing a significantly-designed an
nual. The stalwart Oak, as a mighty symbol of
life, is truly an indication of long years of high
standards. The dedication to the tree could not
have been more appropriate. The tribute to Rev
erend Mr. Davis expressed the sincere apprecia
tion that is felt on Louisburg College Campus.
The unfolding memories so vividly portrayed will
always be dear to us.
The Open Trail
Ktj Editor-elect
They face an open trail—they, the seniors of
today, who marched proudly by the stately col
umns in their caps and gowns with bright eyes
searching the horizon and spirits eager to take
their rightful place on the open trail of tomor
row.
Is it asking too much of them to pause and re
call the events of their college years that are
slowly making their way into the past? lift
hearts thankful for the blessings bestowed upon
them? The world holds its rarest for those who
face the open trail.
Trails have been blazed by those who came
before; and now, they, the seniors, have begun
and completed part of their trail blazing—they
know it is only part; for ever they will “strive,
seek, find, but [never] yield.” Leaving familiar
paths and partly blazed trails, “they throw the
torch”; juniors, “be ours to lift it high!”
Some events and experiences never lose their deep
niJ^an'ng. Our last hours together are furnishing such
experiences; so it is with our farewells. Yet farewell in
it::elf is not complete; rather, we say farewell and for
ward. In i>arting we remember the gifts that have made
it possib'e for us to reach our present attainments. We
remember Alma Mater—"a small college nestled In a
quiet town offering something more than credits, caps,
and gowns.”
We weave the thread of the future into our farewell, for
I "We dip) into the future far as human eye can see—
(See] the vision of the world and all the wonders that
I will) be.”
■—Anne Whitehead.
Salutatory
To our friends, our teachers, and our parents,
I extend a heartfelt welcome. We feel a pride
in coming before you today for you have made
this occasion possible. You have shared our
dreams and our hopes; you have encouraged us
“to strive, to seek . . . and not to yield.”
When we came to college, we were given a
trust—we were put on our resources. We not
only had to learn books—we had to learn people,
our world, and life. We feel, that in coming be
fore you today, that we have fulfilled that trust.
We have learned that “high endeavors are an in
ward light.”
But without proper guidance and understand
ing, we would have fallen far short of our goal.
And today we are happy for whatever extent we
have balanced the accounts of life—you have
believed, and we have at least to an extent, ful
filled.
So I welcome you one and all on this day. You
have given us much, and it is our dream and
hope to share with our world what has come to
us. Share it, though we know that sharing will
sometimes be costly:
“Strive and hold cheap the strain;
Learn, nor account the pang; dare, never
grudge the throe!”
—Barbara Thorson.
0)ear
Dear Mom:
Please, can’t you tell me how to plan next
year? You know, I will be eighteen in August,
and—well. Uncle Sam and I will soon be carry
ing on a short correspondence. I want to come
back here, but I will be here for only a month or
two at the most. Mom, I can’t waste any time;
and if I come back, if for only a month—Mom,
1 .)uat can’t see that that time would be wasted.
Please, may I not come back? The speaker the
other night said that we must look to the future
and plan toward it. Coming here for that short
time—Mom, it would be planning for the future.
How girls can stay at home and some not even
finish hiirh school! Mom, Sis just must go to col
lege. She’s got to finish to make up for what I
miss. Make her realize that she owes that much
to those of us who have to stop school and fight
for her.
See you in a few days. . .
Willie.
S. W.)
Lee H. (speaking of a girl with fiowers in her
hair) : “She’s a budding genius.”
Charlotte U.: “Oh, no—she’s a bloomin’
idiot.”
Lit. student: “Punch me and I’ll quote some
lit.”
Student Interlucles
dotumn
M. S. W. (looking up lit. words) :
“Gee, there is such a word as ‘foible’! And all
the time I thought someone was mis-pronouncing
‘fable.’ ”
Ha! Ha!
Mable Douglas wants the two cents back she
paid for post office box rent because she hasn’t
had two cents worth of mail this year.
Creek Pebbles, Campbell College.
He got left!
“Clara Logan sat by a log fire telling stories
of children. ‘A lady,’ she said, ‘was reclining on
a couch in her library one night with the light
low, trying to sleep. Beside her on the table was
a dish of fine fruit. As she lay there she saw
her little daughter tiptoe into the room; in her
long white nightgown. The child, thinking her
mother was asleep, advanced cautiously to the
table, took a bunch of grapes, and stole out
again. The mother was grieved at such miscon
duct on the part of her good little daughter, but
said nothing. Five minutes passed, then back
into the room again crept the child, the grapes
untouched. She replaced them on the dish; and,
as she departed, her mother heard her utter,
“That’s the time you got left, Mr. Devil.’ ”
The Young People’s Friend.
LITTLE WOODIE
Little Woodie is my small, eight-
year-old cousin—a real boy. Actually
he is rather large for his age and quite
strong. Ask any of the kids in his
neighborhood with whom Woodie has
exchanged blows over a marble or a
"turn” at the swing in his back yard.
He is most endearing In appearance—
a read-headed youngster with eyes
that almost match the color of his hair.
His warm, large brown eyes can send
out more sparks of mischief than you
can imagine, or twist your heart and
reason with their wistfulness and
pleading.
In spite of every effort of Uncle
Woodson to make Little Woodie look
like a junior fashion-plate, Woodie’s
clothes are constantly dishevelled in
true little-boy fashion—shirttail out
halfway; knickers below their intend
ed place on his legs; and socks flop
ping over the tops of his shoes which
are pretty well scuffed from kicking
stones and riding his bicycle.
Woodie is exuberantly young and
into mischief all the time. I remem
ber the day when he caused his mother
agonies of embararassment by turning
the water hose on one of her most dis
tinguished friends. Little Woodie re
members the aftermath too. I’m sure.
He is mischievious, but kind-hearted
too. He always has a mongrel dog
upon which he lavishes love and cares
ses—when no one Is looking. Besides
the dog, Blondle now, Woodie keeps
strong animals of every sort until they
die or wander away. In either case,
Woodie weeps bitter tears, much to
his shame.
At this stage of life, Woodie has an
aversion for girls. I think they scare
him; therefore he calls them “sissies”
—the most shaming word in his vo
cabulary. He not only dislikes girl-
slssies, but boy-sissies as well. The
boy who won't climb into a tall tree,
jump from a sand dune, or go at least
waist-deep in the ocean holds the same
place in Woodie’s esteem as a girl.
Woe be to the timid one who associates
with my beloved little dare-devil.
Whatever the worries anyone has
concerning Little Woodie, no one need
worry about his future. He’ll be able
to take care of that himself, thank
you!
—Mollie Fearing.
TONY BONELLI, THE
SHOP OWNER
May I introduce you to Tony, the
Italian soda shop proprietor in my
community. He is as vivacious a
character as anyone would want to
know, if it is possible for a man to be
vivacious. In the cooler months he
stands at the shop window, waving at
the school children as they walk by to
school. In the summer he stands out
in front of the shop, speaking and
offering a cheerful good morning to
his nickel-and-dime patrons. He has a
warm penetrating smile that wriggles
his moustache, and his laugh is a vi
brant gesture of his happy-contented
personality. Seldom is he seen with
out a cigar in his mouth. He is a mid-
dle-aged man, short in stature, with a
protruding waistline that Is always
covered by a white apron. This waist
line shakes as he chuckles and jokes
with the kiddies. His grayed hair is
so curly that it always appears dishev
elled, which accentuates his happy,
carefree disposition. His thick eye
brows move up and down as his vivid
facial expressions bring to real life
his thoughts. All of the children are
"leetle wons” to him, no matter how
tall, thin, or what the scope of their
waistline may be.
There is not a finer, more sincere
naturalized citizen in this community
than Tony. He is proud to be an
American and never fails to remind
those who complain about their sur
roundings how lucky they are to be
living in America.
He is a devout adherent to the
church of his faith. He is charitable
and never sees harm or evil in any
one. It is not surprising to hear Tony
tell one of his small ice cream patrons
on Saturday afternoon that this is the
second ice cream cone he has had
today. “Why don't you put this second
nickel in the poor box on Sunday
morning?” When the young patron
tells him he’ll do it next time, Tony
shrugs his shoulders, hums a tune,
keeps smiling, and scoops up the ice
cream. He leans across the counter,
hands the ice cream, and repeats for
the fiftieth time probably that day,
“There you are, my leetle won.”
—Arline Cockrell.
CLASS POEM OF 1945
Today we stand amid our stalwart
oaks to say a last farewell;
We come with memories in our beings
and the future in our eyes.
We gaze about us at our Alma Mater,
for here our hearts still dwell—
And faintly, as softly as the distant
wind, we hear regretful sighs:
Could it be that we too hear echoes of
our college days?
Byron, Keats, Shelley; DeVigny, La
martine; Napoleon, Washington,
King James—
But now we rouse ourselves from this
delightful maze—
And carry with us pictures of scenes
and faces and echoes of names;
We come to take our various places in
your world—
As engineers, parents, doctors, writers,
musicians, teachers, and secre
taries—
As those to take up your responsi
bilities and your toil—
As those to whom you will give your
wheel of destiny.
And so—we stand amid our stalwart
oaks to say a last farewell;
We come with memories in our beings
and the future in our eyes.
—Barbara Thorson.
CLASS SONG
Louisburg College, Queen of the Cam
pus,
Louisburg College, our own—
We will always love and cherish
Wherever we may roam.
Good-bye college classmates;
Farewell college fair.
It’s a long, long way to Louisburg
■ College
But my heart’s right there.
—Dot Kennedy, Mildred Parks,
Barbara Thorson, Strowd Ward.
NO REAL GOOD-BYE
I say good-bye — good-bye to Alma
Mater.
Good-bye to all the things I hold so
dear—
And yet—’tis not good-bye, for on to
morrow.
Close to my heart I’ll find a smile, a
tear.
A smile for all the joy we shared to
gether—
A tear reminding me of sad good
byes—
A host of memories, a chain to fet
ter. . .
The hopes and dreams we feign would
realize.
—Carol Bessent,
A TOBACCO FIELD AT
HARVEST TIME
It was about three o’clock on a hot
sultry summer day late in July. Dark
clouds overhead hung low with a men
acing scowl. Out in the field of to
bacco, several colored men bent their
tired shirtless backs up and down, up
and down through the endless rows of
hot gummy tobacco. The sun broiled
down hot upon them; perspiration
dropped from their scant clothing;
and the tired mules stamped impa
tiently at Insects that buzzed continu
ously around their shining wet bodies.
Few words were spoken. The la
borers seemed too tired to speak. The
stripping of tobacco was a rhythmical
sound, broken occasionally when a
command was given to the mules. No
other sound seemed necessary.
Now and then one of the Negroes
stopped his perpetual bending to light
a cigarette, glance up at the sun with
a look that seemed to say, “How much
longer before the sun will set and my
day's work Is ended.” Then back to
his work he went, hoping that the
storm-brewing clouds would scatter;
but thinking, too, that a cool shower
of rain would remove the hot steam
that seemed to be rising from the to
bacco plants.
Beneath the high stalks of tobacco
in the grass, lay a tew large worms.
They seemed a part of the motionless
ness of the tobacco, the tiredness of
the Negroes, and the exhaustion of the
mules.
—Rose Worthington.
I want college to help me develop ,
a strong character and a willing
mind.—A Louisburg College fresh
man.