AXUABY
16, 1063
THE LANCE
PAGE THREE
Those Not Without Guilt
by Sheila Welch
v^ith the rapidity of those
;„ts which happen so quickly
i no one is later able to re-
‘ exactly what did take place,
up birthday dream of seven-
L old Jimmy Wilson was
Insformed from a shiny new
,ue tw^wheeled bicycle to a
i^ed, crumpled wreck. Jimmy
mself was being sped to the
ospital, barely alive in the back
f
an ’ajmbulance. The siren
ried ominously into the dusk,
sturbing slightly the feeling
f well-being that encompassed
,e people of Springfield dur-
,g their supper hour.
.■Some kind of sports car . . .
hat’s what it was!” But the
niy witness to tJhe accident was
n old man, Jimmy’s grandfa-
,er, who knew more about little
oys' and bicycles than the
lakes and models of the new
ars. The village police had be-
run their action: appeals were
eing sent out to all nearby
elevision and radio stations,
nd road blocks were set up on
everal of the main roads.
On the outskirts of town at
adio station WIND, afternoon
jsc jockey Ralph Means anx-
ously put another long playing
ecord on the turntable. Glanc-
ng at the studio clock, he noted
hat it was ten before six .
en minutes till the news broad-
ast, and the night announcer,
\ndy Owens, had not yet ap-
Deared. Andy had been late
wice that week; the station
Tianager would not tolerate late
less, and it would mean the
■nd for Andy if he missed the
lews. At five till six the door
-wung open and Andy entered
he room, shrugged off his sport
:oat and hurried to the desk
vhere the stack of news re
eases was waiting for him. As
10 glanced over them in hur
led last minuite preparation,
Ralph thrust another sheaf of
he small yeUow releases at
lim and turned to leave. There
vas no time to finish looking
)ver the material; the record
vas ending and the red light
gnalled six o’clock.
“Good evening . . . this is Andy
)wens with the six o’clock
lews. First on the world scene
. . the Algerian rebel govern-
nent has served notice that it
■vill not go along with the cease-
ire France has ordered in Al
geria. It says ‘serious and solid
juarantees’ must be given the
Wgerian people first. The Rebel
position, issued in a statement
from . .
He read automatically, scaroe-
y thinking about the printed
'vords and awoke from his rev
erie to hear himself saying,
'■ ■ . and after a word from our
sponsor, the local news.” He
picked up the smaller pile of
ocal news bulletins and scan-
led them quickly. They were
J'l commonplace; a small fire,
fio damage done, the score of
5 high school ibaseball game.
Unexpectedly, Ralph came
into the room. “This just
tame in as I was leaving . . .”
lie handed Andy a hastily writ
ten message and left once again,
glaced at the paper . . .
item was not routine —
least not in Siwringfield —
his eyes remained fixed to
I • When he was able to look up
rom the paper his glance trav-
^ ed to his image, reflected pale-
y in the glass surrounding the
“oadcasting booth. With his
'andkerchief he wiped the per-
*>Piration from his forehead and
^sponded to the red light which
wmm-andt^ his attention.
“And now the news on the
local scene . . . Jimmy Wilson
of Hill Street was struck down
by a hit and run driver only a
few minutes ago. He is in criti
cal condition at General Hospi
tal. Police are still searching
for the driver of the late model
sports car which w^ last seen
travelling at a high rate of
speed on South Cedar St. Lo
cal firemen answered a call to
day at Woodvale Drive where
a trash fire had spread to an
adjoining vacant lot, but there
was no serious property dam
age reported. The weather for
Springfield, generally fair with
moderate temperatures tomor
row, high 62 to 70° . . Andy
went into the windup, finishing
exactly on time, and played a
taped advertisement as he pre
pared for his six hour program
of popular music and chatter.
When he was about to go on
the air again, the telephone
halted him.
The caller was brief, with the
curtness of familiarity and the
knowledge that an announcer
must give his attention to the
program. “Chief Haley. Owens,
we’re calling on all the radio
stations around this area. Will
you broadcast a special appeal
to the driver of the car that
hit the Wilson boy tonight? We
figure it was probably a bunch
of teen-agers and they’re scared
to turn themselves in.”
With that, Andy was on the
air. He went through all the
motions, reading letters, dedi
eating songs, playing the popu
lar music of the day — but al
ways running through his mind
was the picture of a little boy
lying very still among the ruins
of a new bicycle. . .
“If anyone has any informa
tion about the late model sports
car which struck down and in
jured Jimmy Wilson late this
afternoon, please get in touch
with Police Chief Haley imme
diately. Jimmy is still in critical
condition at General Hospital.”
The phone rang again. This
caller did not have the respect
for Owens’ responsibility at the
radio station, and the call was
not intended to be brief. It was
Mrs. Owens. "Andy! Haven’t
they found out who hit that lit
tle boy tonight? Honestly . . .
it just isn’t safe to let a child
out of your sight any more.
What if it had been Terry or
Anne?” The announcer inter
rupted his wife and put another
pile of records on the automatic
changer. His listeners undoubt
edly wondered at the lack of
comment on the part of the usu
ally loquacious Andy.
“Honey, they’re doing all
they can. I’m sure they’ll find
the car somewhere . . • prob
ably tonight.”
“It just isn’t right . . . giving
drivers’ licenses to boys that age
and letting them speed around
and kill innocent people . . .
“How do you know it was
a bunch of teenagers?”
“Well, if not, it was some
drunk. Why don’t the police
lock these people up before
they get out to do their dam
age?”
I can’t talk about it now.
I have to tape some material
for tomorrow. And what can I
do about it anyway?” He hung
up, his wife’s words still gmt-
ing against his ears. 'What if
it had been his own child.
A heavy feeling, half fear and
half nausea sank in his stom
ach as he pictured Terry ly
ing stUl on the grouJid, knock
ed down by a car speeding a-|to the top floor, Andy reflect-
wiay from the scene, only its
tail lights visible in the dusk.
He remembered whait his wife
had said • . . teenagers , . .
Or drunks. People were always
so quick to judge to blame.
Wihat was that he had learned
as a kid? Let the one without
guilt oast the first stone . .
something like .that. She had
been drunk before . . . many
times, and had no room to
talk. Somehow things never
seemed so wrong when you
could put yourself in the place
of the guilty one. And who
was to blame? Was it the driv
er wiho left the child? Could you
condemn a man for being a-
£raid? Was it the child, dashing
blindly and heedlessly into the
street? Or perhaps the parent,
too busy to pay attention? The
ending nates of the last record
brought bis mind back to his
job.
He made the announcement
again. “Jimmy Wilson, who was
struck down by a Wt and run
driver late this afternoon is
still in critical condition in Gen
eral Hospital. If anyone has any
information about a late model
sports car ... ”
In the hospital waiting room
an old man stood by the win
dow and looked out at the
passing cars and groups of
people. Hearing a footstep at
the door, he turned around ab
ruptly, thinking that it might
be a member of the hospital
staff with news of his grand
son. It was a police officer
looking for the boy’s mother.
“She’ll be here soon, officer.
She’s in with Jimmy now . . .
look at them . . . down there
on the street . . . Cars race by,
they don’t even look ahead of
them to see what’s on the road
or behind them. All in such a
hurry ito get somewhere. And
where do they end up? I was
watchin’ Jimmy, really
was . . .”
“Mr. Bryan, we think we
have the boys who did it. They
deny it; but of course they
would . . . they’re scared.”
“It was the white car, was
n’t it? It was the car I saw?
“I don’t know, Sir.” Gently,
“These boys drive a blue car'
“Mary . . . ?” Jimmy’s moth
er entered ithe room. “Mary, is
Jimmy all right? Let me go
see him, tell him I’m sor
ry .. .
“You’ve nothing to be sorry
for. Dad. It w'asn’t your fault.
He isn’t awake ... all we can
do now is wait ...”
The next few hours were
filled with waiting for every
one. The chief of- police sat
slumped over his desk, a paper
cup filled with tepid coffee in
his hand. The telephone rang,
alerting him into an upright
position. He listened for a mo
ment, and hung up. Wearily,
he instructed the desk sergeant
to change the charge against
two scared, protesting teenagers
from leaving the scene of an
accident to manslaughter.
Andy picked UP the phone
just before midnight and the
final news report. He heard of
the boy’s death from Chief Ha
ley, and then he was back on
the air. The broadcast finished,
he began closing up the radio
station for the night. When he
had everything in readiness for
the next day’s broadcast and
checked to see that the Va
gram schedules were m order,
he slipped out the door and
hurried toward the elevator,
tiying to avoid the night watch
man who always wanted to en-
conversation. Wait
ed on what he would do. The
thought of going home was
appalling to him. He knew that
his wife would wait up for him,
as she nearly always did, not
because she missed his pres
ence at night, but in order that
she might find fault with him
for a thousand things done
wrong during the day while
he was at work. “Let her get
to sleep,” he thought. “I’ll
spare myself that tonight, at
least. And tomorrow ...”
His musings were interrupted
by the appearance of the watch
man.
“Evening, Mr. Owens. Leav
ing now? I’d better go down
with you so I can lock up when
you leave.” Sam was very re
sponsible; it would never have
occurred to him that Andy
could lock the door behind him
self as he left. The elevator
door opened, and both men en
tered it.
“Mr. Owens, do you expect
they’ll ever get the ©uy Who
killed that little boy tonight?
You know, they let those two
kids go.”
‘Yeah, Sam. They always get
their man,” Andy quipped, only
half joking.
“Do you think it was kids?
Or a drunk?”
“No, probably neither. Prob
ably some poor son of a gun
in a hurry to get somewhere ...
or away from somewihere ...
soared he was going to be
late . . . scared to go back
and see what he had done.”
“Seems to me, Mr. Owens,
that anyone who would do
something like that should be
given life in prison ... do you
think they’ll do that, if they
find him?”
“I expect so, Sam. Don’t wor
ry .. . they’ll get him.”
“Night, Mr. Owens.”
“Good night, Sam.”
Andy left the building and
walked toward the deserted
parking lot where he had left
his car earlier that day when
he had come to work in such
a hurry. It was parked in a
back section of the lot, hardly
visible from either the road or
the studio, and he had to walk
for several minutes to reach it.
He breathed a silent prayer that
he would not find it, that by
some chance it would not be
there, that the whole night
would prove to have been a
nightmare. The car was stiU
where he had left it— the
shiny white Thunderbird with
the slightly crumpled fender—
with traces of blue paint still
remaining. He slid behind the
wheel, but he could not bring
himself to start the car.
All Clubs
Must Apply
For Charter
“Those clubs which have
been operating on the St. An
drews campus under a tempor
ary charter previous to De
cember 1962, must have their
application for charters in the
hands of Dean Blanton on or
before April 1, 1963, for evalu
ation before the May 1 dead
line for approval or renewal of
all chatters. Unless there are
valid reasons for an extens
ion of tentative approval, the
organizations which have not
complied with these require
ments shall be considered as
having no official status.”
The heart pumps the 11 pints
of blood in the average cir
culatory system at the rate of
taTfortS devator to come 166 gallons per hour.
Coeds
by Bill Perryman
Although I aim no connoiss
eur of the female version of
Homo Sapien, I believe a few
facts exist about the coeds
which would allow them to be
classified according to three
distinctions: The Ones iiii Love,
The Ones Trying to Get a
Man, and The Studiers. The
only common fact apparent to
us college freshmen about our
female counterparts on the
other side of the campus is
that they are all females. Here
the similcirities end. I have
tried, however, to locate a
thread of homogeneity among
these flighty females in their
reasons for being in college.
The Ones in Love are easy
to distinguish from the rest of
the girls. These “loves”, as I
shall call them, transport them
selves back and forth across
the school grounds with an aura
of holiness wreathing their in
nermost thoughts. If a love is
caught in a day-dreaming state,
which is not hard to do, she
will invariably say “Huh?”,
then heantily agree with every
thing her interrupter says and
finally wander off either in
search of her true one, or to
lose herself again on her own
Cloud Nine. If a love is ever
drawn out of her shell to talk
about her lover, she will say
that the only reason she is at
college is to “get a good edu-
caition so I can raise our kids
properly.” This is probably as
close to ithe truth as she will
come in her college career.
If a love is looking for an
education so as to be able to
raise her children, then watch
out for the one who is just
looking for a man. These are
the dangerous ones. They are
usually the best dressed; the
ones found where the boys are.
These girls have cornered most
of the womanly wiles in Mother
Nature’s bag of feminine tricks
and they will use them without
mercy on the object of their
intentions. The man-hunters
take the iniative in flirtaceous
glances and throwing oif the
arm around the opponents
waist. Once caught in one of
these creature’s webs the male
has only a short while to enjoy
himself with ^the boys before
he has given up his baohelor-
like seclusion along with his
class ring or fraternity pin.
Then he is hooked and the
girl, now of his desires, has a
reason to finish college: to be
with him.
The “Studier” is a different
type of igirl with a reason to
stay in school which she finds
in herself. She is the proverbial
snook who wears big, thick
glasses and walks around cam
pus with a stack of books in
her arms, one which she is
usually reading. She never puts
herself out to perfect her man
ner of dress or makeup, but
usually is neat and orderly.
She won’t chase the boys and
seldom dates. If, however, she
does fall for a boy, her’s is
the love to be desired. For her
love means complete devotion
to her beau without that re
straining nagging the middle
classification is liable to start
once the searcher has captured
her foe and has him firmly
enmeshed in the net of lifelong
wedlock. The studier who has
found her man turns into a
love and, as the old saying
goes, “they lived happily ever
after.”
Isn’t college life wonderful?