Page TWO
-Southern Pines. North Carolina
THURSDAY. OCTOBER 4. 1956
ILOT
Southern Pines
North Carolina
“In taking over The Pilot no changes are contemplated. We will try to keep this a good
paper. We will try to make a little money for all concerned. Wherever there seems to be
an occasion to use our influence for the public good we will try to do it. And we wi
treat everybody alike.”—James Boyd, May 23, 1941'.
Storm Warnings Prove True
V
In the closing of the Amerotron mill at Aber
deen, this section suffers a severe loss. The town
of Aberdeen, in particular, which expanded so
rapidly with the coming of the plant, will be hit
extremely hard, with Southern Pines to only a
slightly less degree. The sympathy which this
town extends to its partner down the road is
heartfelt. Brother, we know!
The operations which culminated in this
catastrophe are too complicated to be under
stood by the simple layman. We the People do
not, many of us, go in for such fabulous nego
tiations, mergers, absorbing and expanding, di
versifying and all the rest of it. We viewed it
all with awe, with boundless pleasure, as it
seemed to be bringing payrolls, progress, and
fine citizens to our communities. Some among
us viewed it, also, with a certain apprehension;
it was so big; it was so smooth; it moved so
fast; and it seemed to be doing some very dis
quieting things.
A letter to this newspaper written by a for
mer official of the company, mentioned some
of the things. They were not denied. Rumors
trickled down from northern financial circles.
rumors of deals and arrangements. As good
men were fired, as one plant of the four was
closed and work hours were drastically cut in
the local mill, the rumors grew. It was said
that the company was shaky; it was even said
that the whole thing, the mergers, the diversi
fying and the separation of Textron and Amer
otron, were part of a giant deal with losses in
curred for tax purposes.
Be all that as it may, the closing of the Aber
deen mill gives a picture of a group of men
who invested with utmost rashness in an oper
ation they apparently could not even carry for
more than a few years, and with ruthless disre
gard of the communities they might be involv
ing in their own misfortunes.
And now, where do we go? Governor Hodges
has urged that new industry be brought into
the state. But we thought we had new industry,
yet here is Amerotron following the lead of the
Bishop Company which closed several weeks
ago. Surely the drive for industry should be
continued, but far greater emphasis must be
placed on the suitability of the business to its
location and on the quality of the men who are
at the head of it.
Newspaper Week: A Time For Understanding
The Pilot herewith pays its annual respects to
the Sandhills Kiwanis Club which, with other
Kiwanis organizations over the nation, is spon
soring, for the 17th year, observance of National
Newspaper Week.
The Sandhills Club this week brought to
Southern Pines Dean Norval Neil Liixon of thg
University of North Carolina School of Journal
ism, who told club members and guests why he
thinks American newspapers are the best in the
world. Recqgnized, too, was the press of Moore
County, consisting of four widely differing
newspapers, each with its own loyal following
of readers—a situation that is unusual in a coun
ty of less than 40,000 population, and which is in
itself evidence of the esteem in which newspa
pers are held in this area.
National Newspaper Week originated and is
continued each year in order that the public can
better understand the part that newspapers play
in the communities they serve. For several
years, during a period when freedom of expres
sion has frequently been challenged on local,
state and national levels, the emphasis of news
paper week has been on freedom—not only the
constitutional guarantee of freedom of the press
but the part that newspapers can play in foster
ing and preserving other freedoms to which cit
izens of a democratic society are heir.
There is frequently, we have found, a gap in
understanding or break in communication be
tween newspapers and their readers. Editors
‘ on the one hand and readers on the other tend
to take each other for granted, all too often en
tertaining unjustified notions about each other.
It is good for newspapers to fight for freedom
of expression and to exercise that freedom fully
and wisely; and it is good for the public to be
reminded that newspapers are guardians of
their liberties. But it is even more important,
it seems to us, to make ^National Newspaper
Week an occasion to broaden and deepen mutual
understanding on the part of newspapers and
their readers.
For our part, the intensive publicity about
National Newspaper Week inspires not pride but
humility. And we believe most editors and
publishers feel this way. This observance is to
us a time to renew our determination to pro
duce the best newspaper we can. To this end,
we welcome criticism. We would be pleased to
hear from readers what they don’t like, as well
as what they like, about The Pilot.
From time to time, we have tried to explain
to readers, on this page or in personal conversa
tion, why we handle news or editorials like we
do. We are always glad to make such explana
tions or to do anything else that will break
down barriers of misconception or misunder
standing that may exist between editors and
readers.
Chief Newton —25 Years of Service
The 25th anniversary of Police Chief Ed New
ton’s service to the town, an event that will fall
on Sunday, is a remarkable occasion — for a
number of reasons.
Joining the police department 25 years ago,
Ed Newton became chief a few years later, serv
ing continuously in that capacity until the pres
ent time. We are not concerned here with the
facts and figures of his career, which are listed
in a news story in today’s paper, but with recog
nition for the chief’s outstanding record, a rec
ord that is not nearly so widely known as it
should be.
In his quiet, painstaking way. Chief Newton
has over the years built the Southern Pines po
lice department into one of the finest small
town departments in the state. And while he
never sought personal recognition in doing this,
he has become one of the most respected officers
in law enforcement circles—including his fellow
officers of Moore County, who elected him pres
ident of th«*r association, and members of the
SBI and FBI with whom he has worked.
Chief Newton is one of the most thorough and
therefore one of the most formidable officers
ever to bring an offender into Moore County
recorder’s court or a Superior Court session at
Carthage.
When the chief takes the witness chair, he has
the facts at his fingertips and he has his wit
nesses lined up and ready to testify. In his in
vestigations, as in his courtroom appearances,
he does not use halfway measures. He marshalls
his evidence, nails down all loose ends and then
makes his arrest or takes whatever other action
is called for.
Chief Newton is esteemed by the business
people of Southern Pines for efficient protection
of the business section by his department. Any
business person who leaves a door unlocked at
quitting time will know it before the night is
over. All such doors are checked regularly and
it is the rule that the proprietor of the place of
business be called and informed, no matter what
the hour—a system that does more than any
thing else could do to prevent such carelessness.
The Southern Pines police department has' de
veloped with changing times to provide maxi
mum security and efficiency, because Chief
Nqwton is open minded and progressive. Its
records system, set up after consultation with
the FBI, is the most modern that a small police
‘‘That’s Okay I’m Scared Enough For Both Of Us!”
Grains of Sand
SUNDAY MORNING AFTER RAIN
Scuppemongs* Tangy Sweetness
Means Autumn In The Sandhills
department can have. Despite smedl resources,
the department has 24-hour-per-day desk serv
ice which combines with radio-equipped cars to
give the fastest possible police protection in
whatever emergency may arise.
Not the least of Chief Newton’s achievements
during his long service to this community is his
steering of wayward youngsters away from de
linquency and crime into a law-abiding life. He
he has been responsible for getting many a
wayward kid a job, starting the boy in the right
direction. He has helped smooth out difficult
home situations which were apparently playing
a part in developing delinquency. He has work
ed closely and wisely with the schools, not only
in routine safety and law enforcement proce
dure, but in handling delinquency situations.
Chief Newton has kept up with the times by
studying at the Institute of Government in
Chapel Hill and thereby bringing to the train
ing of men in his department the best informa
tion on modern police procedure. Combined
with his own good sense and long experience,
this knowledge has made him outstanding in
training green recruits into capable officers.
The atmosphere of security and safety that is
felt in Southern Pines is no accident. It is the
result of years of alert and constant law en
forcement activity under the direction of Chief
Newton.
■While Chief Newton is widely known and re
spected, he has, because he does not seek the
spotlight, been almost an example of the man
who is “not without honor, save in his own
country.” His completion of a quarter of cen
tury of service to the town is a good time to let
him know how much his line record is appre
ciated here.
If you walked out in the garden
this past Sunday morning and
stood there with your eyes shut,
you’d have thought it was sum
mer.
The sun beat hot on your back;
the late roses smelled softly sweet.
In the big cedar, the mocking bird
sang his long song of trills and
flourishes and caressing, throaty
murmurs. It was as dreamy, as
tenderly ecstatic as when he sang
the long summer days through, or
the short nights with their cascad
ing moonlight.
Thou, light-winged dryad of the
trees.
In some melodious plot
Of beechen green and shadows
nximberless.
Singest of summer in full-
throated ease.
But it wasn’t summer; it was
fall Almost the first of October.
And there was a difference. Even
with your eyes shut you could
tell it. There were fall sounds: the
thin high note of a cricket. With
it came the sudden realization that
sounds are carrying farther now.
Later on you would have said
that was possible; when the leaves
were off, you would have said.
But now the leaves aren’t off, not
to speak of. Perhaps the sound
carries farther already because the
leaves are drier; perhaps they act
less as a muffler and absorber
than in the summer.
The air itself was warm Sun
day, so warm it had a smoky
feel to it, though there was no
spice of woodsmoke in it, that
most exciting of fall smells.
they are the homes of birds and
varmints of one kind or another.
Maybe somebody moves a broken-
down kitchen chair out there to
sit in the cool, but mostly the
creatures own them. But when
harvest-time comes, birds and
beasts better take flight. At least
during the day hours. There’ll be
baskets and buckets out by the
vines and eager fingers stripping
them of the fine yield of grapes.
Hail To The Grape!
Where do they go? Into folks’
mouths and by way of the jelly
jar or the wine glass, mostly. It
reminds you of the fine robust old
French folksong about the grape
harvest in which the course of the
fruit is dramatically spelled out;
from ground, to vine, to grape, to
press, to wine, to mouth, to throat
and so on back to ground again.
In good French fashion, little is
left to the imagination in the step-
by-step procedure. Sung with ap
propriate gestures and a full cho
rus of “Hail to the lovely grape
vine!” coming in at the end of
every verse, it is a rousing tribute
to the grape harvest. And no
foolishness about grape jelly.
Scuppernong grapes are not
grown in France, not unless they
have been imported. And where
as the French might import,
though with some reluctance,
American plumbing and plastics,
we cannot by any stretch of the
imagination see them condescend
ing to the point of admitting an
American grape to their shores.
They wouldn’t be afraid of the
competition, but what would be
the point?
able, unless some old-timer
knows. Mr. Ruggles? Mr. Chand
ler? You two historians, Mr. Mc-
Keithen, E. T., and Mr. Wicker,
R. E.? Or maybe Mr. Leighton
McKeithen would know better
than anyone, being mixed up in
grapes and dewberries and such
like around Cameron.)
The grapes from Moore County
vineyards were the basis for quite
a flourishing business for around
15 to 20 years, a business that,
started around 1936, pretty much
ceased operations in 1950, though
the building did not close down
till last year. In hopes of opening
up again, we suppose. This was
eh winery in Aberdeen, opened
by the Garrett Co., of Brooklyn,
which makes Virginia Dare wine.
Tank Cars Full
Steve Hupko, now li-ving in
Pinebluff, was assistant foreman
of the plant and recollects that the
business was indeed flourishing.
The plant was in what is now the
Aberdeen Packing Co. building
and had a capacity of 350,000 gal
lons, with large tanks that could
hold from 9,000 to 25,000 gallons,
in which the ^apes were mashed
and allowed to ferment. Tank cars
—up to 30 in good years—took the
stuff to Brooklyn for further
working and bottling.
About half of the grapes came
from this area, the rest from East
ern North Carolina and some from
as far away as Georgia. Biggest
source of supply in the Sandhills
was the former Maness vineyard
on the farm now owned by Roland
MacKenzie, between Pinehurst
and Derby.
Alaskan Fall
'From one friend by way of an
other comes news of Uncle Sam’s
newest maybe-state.
Preston Matthews*'of Southern
Pines and now apparently back in
Alaska again, sends GRAINS a
clipping from the Anchorage
Daily News where he works, writ
ten by Alan Innes-Taylor. Cap
tain Innes-Talyor Will be recalled
from the days when he lived here
in the house which is now the
home of the 'Wallace Irwins. Now
he lives in Eagle, says Preston,
“a small Indian settlement right
in the heart of the Gold Rush
country.”
Writes the captain;
A young bull moose swam the
river near the native village— ^
meat—welcome after a poor sal
mon season.
Sunday in Eagle means two ser
vices in the Episcopal Missions,
St; Paul’s and St. James’. At sun
set one hears the tolling bell call
ing the worshippers to evening
service.
Soon the Indians come up the
road, and last of all the old-timers
walking slowly, stopping often.
They come to pray deeply. As the
years go by fewer and fewer are
left. When they are gone an era
will have passed. These are the
men who opened up the country,
worked hard and gave much, and,
most of them, at the end of
their productive years found little
remaining, only loneliness, a mea
ger pension and the forgetful new
comer.
With 70 per cent of Alaska’s
population concentrated in the
larger centers there are few new
comers to take their place, few
people with the strength or the
will to explore and conquer the
wilderness.
Now the people settle along the
highways, they are timid about
venturing into the potentially rich
outlying country. Seeking securi
ty they miss the great chaUenge
the country offers.
So when the darkness comes
each Sunday and service is over
in the little mission church, the
old-timers slowly wend their way
home. Too soon they will be gone,
gathered to their last resting place,
perchance a cemetery or beside a
creek, or in the forest. ’This is a
land of unmarked graves. 'What
matters where they lie? Then;
they are history.
SUMMER'S REMNANT COUNTER
A Sunday walk through fields—woven tapes
tries of chicory blue, primrose gold, and all the
varied cofors of the floral spectrum—^yields hints
that another year is running down. The tapes
tries are on summer’s remnant counter . . . the
rust is on the yarrow ... a sumach leaf is a
crimson blade ... a yellow leaf sifts earthward
. . . and the Giant Sunflower, 10 feet tall, dwarfs
the beholder . . .Yes, the year is running out . .
—Pittsburgh (Pa.) Home-Star.
Is this whqle thing of sounds
carrying far in the fall a delusion?
Continued from the days when
you used to go hunting and ears
were always straining, reaching
for the voice of a hound over the
far ridges. The air was so full of
sounds at those times that you
grew impatient: the whoo-hooa-
hoo of the old Seaboard freights
pulling up the Aberdeen grade,
the sharp crack of an axe against
a pine from nearer-by, the rush
and chatter of squirrels overhead.
And then it would come; the long
tolling note of an old hound on
the line.
Someihing Else
Sunday morning there could
have been something else that
made you more fully aware of
the time of year. As you went
out the door, you picked up a
handful of scuppernong grapes.
The big fat, greenish-rusty
things, round as marbles, were
more like a regular fruit, goose
berries or plums or something,
than grapes. They plopped into
your mouth to dissolve in a tangy
sweetness that could only mean
“fall in the Sandhills.”
These are the days when the
beat-up vines and scrambling ar
bors in the yards of old houses
come into their own. All year
Tar Heel Variety
Scuppernongs are North Caro
lina grapes, being named for Scup-
pernohg Lake and River. They
are related to the muscadine va
riety of grapes, the yellowish
kinds, and rank right up with the
Concords and Niagaras and Dela
wares of the northern and mid-
western states.
Scuppernongs, commercially,
have had long ups and downs. It
appears to be a delicate juice, eas
ily spoiled. But fine wine has
been made from it. Locally, too.
There was the wine old Mr. Addor
of Addor below Pinebluff, used
to make. His little place down
there with its hillside vineyards,
its arbors and tables out under the
trees, was the nearest thing to a
little Swiss heaven we ever saw.
It didn’t have the Smokies of Lit
tle Switzerland, but it had all the
atmosphere, especially those fine
Swiss specialties: friendliness and
hospitality. And good wine.
Local Vineyards
There were other famous vine
yards around in those old days;
the “Vinery” near Pinehurst, the
acres of vines out on the old Ma
ness place toward Derby, the Ni
agara vineyards CWas Niagara
named from the grapes they grew
there, or the grapes planted after
the name? Probably unanswer-
Business Expanded
The operation grew from about
60 tons of grapes used the first
year to some 1,200 tons in 1950.
The season started in September
and lasted about four months.
Nobody seems to be very sure
why it all came to a close. Be
cause of the county being dry,
folks thought that might have had
soniething to do with it, but that
was not the case, apparently, as
the amount of processing done
here was not illegal according to
a county ruling. It seems prob
able that it was dollars and cents:
graphs could be grown cheaper
and bought cheaper elsewhere,
though we can’t help but wonder
why. It was hard on the growers
to have the Aberdeen plant shut
down.
Mr. Hupko learned the wine
making trade from his father, who
doubtless learned it from his fath
er in the Old Country. A good
place to learn such a trade.
Best In Garden
And a good trade, we thought,
as we tasted the scuppernong
juice that Sunday morning. Don’t
know, though, that it doesn’t taste
best plopped right out of the
grapeskin into your mouth. Espe
cially when you’re standing in
the hot sun in the garden, think
ing how good fall is in the Sand
hills. —^K.L.B.
Monkeyshines
Being partial to stories about
monkeys, we cheered when two
nice ones came our way. (And
thanks, John!) Here they are:
Never Again
When the H-bomb (or maybe
the Z bomb, by that time) did its
fell job and blew everything up,
everybody was blown up, too. And
all the animals. All except one old
man monkey. He wandered
around by himself; no friends, no
food; he was getting awfully hun
gry.
Then he heard a little sound up
in a tree and looked, and there
standing on a branch was a nice
little lady monkey.
“Hi!” said the old man monkey.
“Hi!” said the lady monkey.
“Awful lonely down here,” said
the old man monkey, “and I sure
am hungry. You got anything to
eat up there?”
The little lady monkey looked
around, and then reached out a
paw; “Here,” she said, “Come up
and get it.”
“What is it?” asked the old man
monkey.
“Apple,” said the little lady
monkey. “Nice red apple.”
“Uh-uh,” said the old man mon
key. “You’re not going to start
that again.”
Ape Yourself!
A professor of zoology was
making a study of monkeys, or
apes, as professors like to call
them. He brought one home with
him for closer observation, and
shut him in a room by himself. A
little later he went quietly to the
door and peeped in through the
keyhole.
What was the monkey doing?
Peeping out at the professor.
The PILOT
Published Every Thursday by
THE PILOT, Incorporated
Southern Pines, North Carolina
1941—JAMES BOYD—1944
Katharine Boyd Editor
C. Benedict Associate Editor
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