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?

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