September, 1977 Page 7
The Way of the Mountain
by Mark Grubb
Have you ever noticed how no one
ever talks to the mountains? People
talk to plants, dogs and even to pet
rocks but few ever talk to the
mountains. The average person
stands atop the peaks and admires
the view, never once taking time to
thank the mountain for their lofty
perch. One must remember that
mountains do not speak English, nor
do they speak loudly or the crowds.
Only to the lone listener do they
whisper their infinite knowledge.
Considering this, I decided to trek
up to Lookout and see what this very
special mountain had to say.
His ((Lookout is a He) dissertation
went something like this; “Hello my
friend, I am Lookout, grandson of
Mitchell, brother to Graybeafd and
Rainbow. I am not the tallest of
peaks but I am nonetheless grand. I
stand guard over Montreat,
protector of all who dwell there.
Fall may turn to Winter and Winter
to Spring, men may live and die, but
I endure. I see all that is in the
valley below. The warm friendship
that privades Montreat-Anderson
(Allege fills my stone heart with
gladness. At times beautiful music
reaches my ears andlj softly repeat
each note so that all may hear and
enjoy.
The young men and women who
dwell in the valley are scaling a
mountain, a mountain much higher
than any on the face of the earth.
This mountain is the road to
themselves. When they are content
to be themselves, the summit will be
theirs to savor and enjoy. I know
this for 1 hear them speak of God and
Love and of Life. Sometimes the
people of the valley share their lives
with me. As laughing, joyful groups
or as the solitary hiker, they bring
triumph and trjagedy to me. They do
this for I am their friend, I never lie
or deceive them I am nothing. I
believe one who calls himself Ron
Downey said said it best ;
“The mountains ahead
whisper in lonely voices,
“Come Climb.’
For it is
the spirit of those
who will reach for the peak
which gives
a mountain life.’
And so my stay on Lookout ended.
The voice turned slowly into the
whisper of the wind through the
treeS“Or was the voice ever there?
Meadows * Meditations Present. . .
Earl Zelswick— Freshman at Large
The following is the first of many
to follow action packed accounts of
your friend and mine, Earl
Zelswick. Earl is merely a
prototype of MAC Freshmen and
their activities. This is fantasy , not
reality, and in no way should bo
taken as an innuendo against the
MAC Administration. However, any
slers against Freshmen are in
tended. Our first episode is of Earl
tackling the ominous task of
registering for classes that I’ve
titled. . .
ALPHABETIZED ABERRATION
... or as Earl puts it, “Is this really
necessary for my Associative of
Bachelors Degree?’
Earl entered the basketball abode
with pen, schedule, school hand
book, several sheets of paper, and an
old Mad magazine (just in case
things got boring). Although still
mustified over the fact that he was
going to be first at something in life
(registration being in reverse ABC
order), Earl mange not to spill his
cow juice at breakfast for the first
time in his life. Earl looked upon
registration as the beginning of his
future, that first step into the ‘real’
world. Yes, his college career was
about to get underway. (Touching
isn’t it.)
Being first in line, although ad
vantageous, did present a few
problems for our Freshman at
large. He got to ask all the inane
questions such as “I don’t ha vie a
car, but do I need one of them
stickers for my bicycle?’or as the
day wore on “Am I covered by my
Dad’s golf club insurance?’ In short,
he was an innocent white mouse
catight up in the rat race.
The hi^light of registration came
for Earl when he fell upon an idea
(luckily he wasn’t hurt) for quen
ching his foremost desire in life, that
of becoming reknown by the
professors. His plan was to take a
course from every prof, thus i
pressing them, so he thoughht. It
wasn’t until he reached Station XIV
that he was confronted, and his
vision faded.
“Hey you!’ came a voice from
behind Earl. He turned and looked
as his expression turned to a nervous
smile.
“Who, me?’he murmured.
“What’s your name?’inquired a
teacher.
“Oh, huh, my name is Earl
Farling Zelswick, son of Mr. and
Mrs. Anthony Zelswick on 818-’
“OK, OK ^Iswick, I am to inform
you that you connot take 35 hours in
one semester.’
“Well, you see, I was considered
very bright by my teachers at Mill
Dew Grammar School, and. . .’
’Earl stopped' his sentence as
the teacher stared in disbelief.
“Just listen Zelswick. You are
required by school law to carry at
least 12 semester hours of work
exclusive of physical education
activities, general studies, and
reading. ^Iswick, areyouon A.E.?’
“Gee, I don’t think so.’
“(Jood. As a student not on
Academic Enrichment you have the
right to carry up to I8V2 semester
hours, including physical education
activities, general sutdies, and
reading. You also have the right to
add one additional course based on
your academic record the prev—’
“Yeah, like I was saying, my
grammar school teachers ^w,ays^-’’
“Zelswick.’
“What, sir?’
“How about exercising your right
to remain silent.’
“Why, am I under arrest or
something?’
“No, but you ought to be! Now, as
I was saying. You have the right to
add one additional course based on
your academic record and written
permission from the Dean of the
College. And if and only if you had a
3.00 average the preceeding
semester will you even be con
sidered. Now do you understand
these rights as I have given them to
you?’
“Yeah. I’m sorry I did it. I think I
better see my advisor.’
“Don’t worry, son, I’m sure the
Dean will probady go easy on you.’
EDITOR’S NOTE: Don’t you wish
Dragnet still came on every
'Tuesday night, just like the good ole
days?
NEXT
ISSUE:
Earl Zelswick
journeys to
Ma Hall
in search
of the
big M\
iGlSTRAT/ON DA)
OF 0SRL zaSWiGK at UKOGe,
Earl didn’t even spill his cow
juice.
His first problem was finding
the gym to go to registration.
He only broke the camera 12
times.
Caught in the act!