PAGE 2 — THE DECREE — FEBRUARY 28,1997
OFFICIAL STVDENTNEWSPAFKR OF
NORTH CAROLINA WESLEYAN COLLEGE
Editor — Molly McCliukcy
Copy Editors — Kevin Corbett and James Bell
Staff —Monica Alston, Grant Long,
Clementine, Jamie Teachey
Contributing Writers — Steve Ferebee, Benny St. Romain
Advisor — Chris LaLonde
The Decree is located in the Hardees Building, North
Carolina Wesleyan College, 3400 Wesleyan Blvd., Rocky
Mount, NC 27801. Weekly staff meetings are held Mon
days at noon in BB&T. Re-publication of any matter herein
without the express consent of the Editorial Board isstrictly
forbidden.
The Decree is composed and printed by the Spring
Hope Opinions published do not necessarily
reflect those of North Carolina Wesleyan College.
The real ‘losers’
merely complain
This school sucks. It’s a
loser school. There’s noth
ing to do.
Heard it? It may as well
be our slogan. God knows,
there is no one on this cam
pus that gives a damn, no
one who wants to see it im
prove, no one who wants to
have... a good time, maybe?
Because that would mean
the attitude that has pre
vailed this school would
have to dissipate. And
change is scary.
Let’s take the SGA, for
instance. There was an in
teresting article in the last
Decree which pointed out
that there have only been
two SGA meetings all year.
The fault? No one showed
up. Not the Senators, not the
student body, no one. Okay,
so there’s no one to vote on
school politics. This school
sucks.
How about Campus Ac
tivity Board? In the past,
they’ve brought in comedi
ans, musicians, they bring
you Spring Fling every year.
And yet they have a diffi
cult task in recruiting mem
bers. Why? Because no one
wants to help, no one wants
to have a say. There’s noth
ing to do.
Never mind that the cur
riculum is being scrutinized,
forget you came to school
for an education (apparently
you SHOULD
IM m
ms
we INTO F?6W:ow
INDUSTR/ ^PE
fPmTo CON'JtVA
?sEMisric mt.
it’s not too difficult). You
came to play ball, you came
to hang out, join Greeks,
whatever.
How about the new gym?
The new SAC (the “crack
house”)? The adoption of
Sigma Sigma Sigma and the
reinstatement of Alpha Phi
Omega? Nu Gam had a
Valentine’s Day party com
plete with a fog machine and
big screens.
Where were you?
It’s here. Literary, ath
letic, theater, musical, what
ever. It’s here. No matter
who you are, where you
came from or where you’re
going, there is not a person
on this campus who cannot
find something that interests
them.
And if we don’t have it,
start it. Two years ago, there
was no cheerleading squad;
before that, no lacrosse.
If you came to college to
complain, you’re at the
wrong school. Yes, there is
a lot that needs improving,
things that the “powers that
be” aren’t aware of. It’s your
job, then, as students, to tell.
The power to voice your
vote is here, in the Senate,
at CAB, at the open meet
ings Dr. White has, in let
ters to the editor.
You are heard.
Don’t you wish you had
something to say?
Reflections on a false spring
Saving a very stupid squirrel
By DR. STEVE FEREBEE
During a break from grading
papers, I saved the life of a very
stupid squirrel.
Gardeners Worry about these
false springs that we have in Feb
ruary. Last year I lost most of my
viburnum and hydrangea blos
soms because the buds started
bustling toward summer before
winter was finished with its icy
blasts of doom.
Midway through a stack of pa
pers I wondered about those
viburnums. Sliding from beneath
the papers, I wandered outside.
Not only viburnums, but also
lilacs and dogwoods swell with
the juice of life. Daffodils and
crocuses jauntily dance in the
breezy warmth. Everywhere,
sharp lime-green leaves reach up,
seeking another chance to make
my garden an aesthetic paradise.
I’ll ignore the weeds spreading
like viruses through the still
brown grass and look for the first
sign of my Virginia Bluebells. I
am, in fact, feeling pretty good.
A sleek and healthy tomcat
who lives down the street sud
denly streaks between my legs,
howling Uke a demented gray de
mon. I’m used to his sudden ap
pearances in the garden, but he
seems particularly excited this af
ternoon. He disappears around the
comer of the garage.
Then I notice that squirrels and
birds screech and squawk from
every available branch. One group
follows tomcat around the cor
ner. What the ...?
Dr. Steve
Muses
Over near my neighbor’s
mountain laurel (talk about
blooms! but that’s later, in the
real Spring), I can see a commo
tion. Pine straw flies; dust swirls.
I walk over to investigate, briefly
sidetracked by the scent of my
daphne.
Believe it or not, the squirrel
wrestles with a cat’s collar. It’s
even a flea collar, I believe. No...
it’s not wrestling with a collar;
it’s choking on it.
I have one of those moments
that we hardly ever admit to. 1
could just saunter off, enjoying
the aftemoon’s sights and scents.
I could just let the squirrel gag.
Two questions, however, stop
me. How in the world did it man
age to take possession of tomcat’s
collar, and could I indeed help it
without getting scratched and bit
ten?
I’m hooked. 1 find an old jacket
and some thick gloves. I climb
over the fence separating my yard
from next door’s. 1 chase around
after the quickly weakening squir
rel. Finally, 1 manage to hold it
down with a foot and to jerk the
collar out of its mouth. (Is that
blue spot a grape hyacinth bloom
ing?)
Then 1 have another one of
those moments. How am I going
to let the squirrel go without let
ting it explode up my leg in fury?
Then 1 see tomcat, calmly but in
tently staring at the squirrel. “No
way,” I tell him, though 1 learned
long ago to avoid standing be
tween him and his prey.
Sun dappled light and shadow
play over us as I ponder our fu
tures. I notice that my neighbor
had a good view of my forsythia
blazing bright yellow. The cat
leaps.
Somehow I kick both animals
at once. The squirrel shoots off
toward the laurel; the cat rolls
into the fence; I land rather rudely
upon a pine cone.
I lay there, contemplating the
azure empyrean. Tomcat scam
pers over me, chasing the squir
rel. 1 decide not to move for a
while. Another year in the garden
has begun.
1 hear it growing.
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