North Carolina Newspapers

    I'age 2—Smoke Signals, Wednesday, Nov. 6, 1968
Literary
Musings
Hy I’KOF. KOI5KRT MULDER
THE BALLAD OF TWO BROTHERS. Try as we
may, we cannot refrain from commenting on the lo
cal hit parade favorites. If one stays tuned to our
local station as we do, he cannot miss them.
Now that "Harper Valley P. T. A.” has lost some
of its punch, a new ballad eagerly awaits its place
—this time the honors go to the much-too-senti-
mental story of a young soldier killed in Viet Nam.
This, by no means, is the first eastern war song
to hit the top. Some months back a tellow wrote
to his girl from a foxhole and in between the
touching, paragraphs, this one would “rise up and
shoot me another enemy.”
As our present story unfolds, Bud, the parents’
favorite son, marches twenty miles a day over
there in the interest of freedom while his younger
l)rother. Tommy, demonstrates (marching twenty
blocks—check the parallel) back home against the
war.
Poor Tommy has been misinformed about Com
munism by his economics professor at the State
Ihiiversity. (So now you know who’s behind these
demonstrations.) He, complete with beard, sign, and
conviction, works himself down with extra-curricu
lar activities while his soldier brother gets killed
in action.
We listeners are brought to shed a tear as Tommy
hears the tragic news of his brother, throws in the
signs of protest, writes Mom and Dad of his change-
of-heart, and joins the Army. (Obviously he didn’t
burn his draft card. I
All this is done in their letters home while the
orchestra plays the stately “Battlehymn of the Re
public ’ under the tear-difected sympathetic voices. ,
•‘The Battle of Two Brothers” has not been with
us very long, but its popularity is gaining. As this
article goes to press, the recording is rapidly work
ing its way to the top. We predict (with no help
from a crystal ball) that the ballad will soon cut
its golden record mark. It really has to.
What with such music in the background as the
touching “Battlehymn.” Why this selection could be
played at a rattlesnake killing to invoke sympathy
for the victims.
This, along with the slaughtered soldier and the
repentant student, always goes to make a best
seller. Now all we have to do is to wait for the
answer-record. Surely there'll be one, seeing as how
these record makers are about as non-profit as
Ceneral Electric.
MORE ON MYRA. We should expect a feed-back
from our local paperback racks. Since our mention
of it in a recent column, every copy of MYRA
BRECKINRIDGE at the three local dealers has
been sold.
Were additionally told that the library copies
are among the most popluar works of fiction in
circulation.
Furthermore, we can’t review the book since some
well-meaning enthusiast “lifted” our copy, and we
need it to see how Vidal spelled some of his words.
That one chapter having only four words stands
out in our minds right now. It’s the time when she
discovers that a part of her anatomy has been
lifted (literally).
May we paraphrase by saying: Where is our
MYRA'.’—the copy of the novel, we mean.
BOOKSTORES IN OUR CITY. Perhaps some of
our readers are not aware of the paperback loca
tions in Murfreesboro. We can see nothing wrong
with a little free advertising by way of this column.
The Murfreesboro Pharmacy has a circular rack
which usually promises a treat for every reader.
One may find a new shipment of paperbacks
reaching the Varsity Shop around Tuesday or Wed
nesday every week. Here also is found a good as
sortment of magazines.
Additionally there is a rather large selection of
paperbacks in the beautiful new Belk-Tyler’s store
on Main Street.
We feel that our students will not go lacking for
paperback reading while in Murfreesboro. Too, there
is Whitaker Library on campus where much of the
latest fiction may be borrowed.
Every student may not know where the Library
is. however. Just last week we were asked direc
tions by a sophomore. Let’s hope he was joking.
WHY DRESS UP’’ In a recent editorial (Smoke
Signals, October 18) discussion concerned dressing
Scorpion
is found
yWo/ce it talk, George!
George Ethridge, a sophomore from Portsmouth, Va.,
and a student in the Department of Graphic Arts, was
caught by the photographer while setting some copy for
one of the many “printing jobs” done by the school of
Chowan. For those who don’t know, George is operating
a Linotype machine.
Community split
by state line
Associated Press Writer
WENDOVER, Utah (AP) —
Wendover, age 61, is a strange
little community—population
750—with a strange history. And
it sits on the edge of some of the
strangest countryside in the
world, a sheet of snowy-white
salt.
Split down the middle by the
Utah-Nevada line, half the town
observes the conservative laws
inspired by Utah’s Mormon
Church. The other half is an
around-the-clock miniature Las
Vegas, replete with flashing
neon, gambling, liquor and go-
go girls.
One of the two casinos on the
Nevada side is just inches over
the line. A sign outside pro
claims “This is the Place, ’ a
not-too-subtle play on Brigham
Young's declaration to his pio
neer Mormons when they ar
rived to settle Salt Lake City,
120 miles east of Wendover.
Despite the casinos, there is
no bank. And no cemetery;
those who die are buried in To
oele, 75 miles east, the county
seat on the Utah sides, or Elko,
110 miles west, the county seat
in Nevada.
Deputy Sheriff Marion Carter
enforces the Utah law, while
Deputy Earl Lacey handles the
Nevada trade. And each has his
own jail.
Wendover is a watering hole
for the American tourist, who
doesn’t find much to tour within
a hundred miles. Another sign
says “Where the West Begins”
—a roadside refrain found at
dozens of towns from the Missis
sippi to the Pacific.
Most of Wendover’s residents
are salt miners, railroaders, or
employes of one of the casinos,
two hotels, seven motels, four
restaurants, 13 service stations
and two garages.
More than 17,000 men once
were stat oned at the base.
Within an airhorn blast of the
trucks that roar down U.S. 40
through Wendover are the
Bonneville Salt Flats, a 200-
square-mile section where the
salt is at its purest and lies per
fectly level.
It’s the world’s best racing
surface. Late each summer,
men with sleek, high-powered
machines and a platoon of me
chanics put up at Wendover for
a few days of speed on wheels.
The story of the salt is the sto
ry of Wendover. It begins mil
lions of years ago, when the en
tire West, from California to the
Rockies, was undersea.
Limestone beds of the sea
floor wer3 faulted and cracked,
producing mountains and val
leys.
In western Utah, the moun
tains formed a closed circle and
glaciers flowed down the peaks
to create prehistoric Lake
Bonneville, once as big as Lake
Michigan.
The effect, as one geologist
explains, was “a giant bathtub
—a tub without a drain.”
Most of Lake Bonneville evap
orated over time. What’s left is
the Great Salt Lake—^itself 25
per cent salt^and the one-half
billion tons of salt on the flats.
To the pioneers, the salt was a
barrier worse than any moun
tain.
In 1846, George Donner led a
party across the salt to Pilot
Peak, just north of Wendover.
Scores of oxen and other ani
mals died in the horrible jour
ney. Tracks of the surviving
wagons are still etched in the
salt.
Adm. Thomas H. Moorer,
chief of naval operations, an
nounced that “objects identified
as portions of the hull of the
sumbarine USS Scorpion have
been located about 400 miles
southwest of the Azores in more
than 10,000 feet of water. ’
The discovery, reported by a
Navy oceanographic research
ship Wednesday night, culmin
ates a search of more than five
months since the atomic pow
ered submarine disappeared
with a crew of 99 officers and
men en route from the Mediter
ranean Sea to Norfolk, Va.
The Scorpion last was heard
from by radio on May 21 when it
was about 250 miles south of the
Azores.
Although there have been per
iodic reports that the general lo
cation of the remains of the
Scorpion was known, Moorer's
announcement was the first
word that the resting place had
been found.
The 10,000-plus foot depth
where the hull pieces were lo
cated is far below the “crush
depth” of the submarine, which
was reported able to operate
only as far down as about 1,200
feet.
The research ship Mizar re
ported that the Scorpion’s loca
tion “has been confirmed by
means of remotely controlled
underwater photography,
Moorer’s announcement said.
The Mizar and another re
search vessel, the Bowditch, us
ing underwater sensors and
cameras, have for months been
scanning the ocean bottom in
the general area where the find
was made Wednesday.
Last July, this was called a
“highly suspect area.
The Navy said the Mizar is re
maining on the scene “in an at
tempt to locate and photograph
additional portions of the Scor
pion's huU.”
After that, the Navy said, the
research vessel will return to
port and photographs will be
flown to Washington and Nor
folk for a detailed analysis.
“Present information is con
sidered fragmentary and con
sists of on scene interpretation
of initial photography, ” the
Navy said.
In light of the discovery, a
seven-man Navy court of in
quiry will be reconvened at At
lantic Fleet headquarters in
Norfolk.
The inquiry court was con
vened first on June 4. It has pre
pared a report, not yet released,
which was understood to have
made no specific judgment on
what had happened to the sub
marine.
The search, which began
shortly after the Scorpion failed
to show up at Norfolk, involved
more than 40 ships and 6,000
men, as well as many patrol
planes.
At first, the searchers ranged
over the entire track, about
1,200 miles, from the Scorpion’s
last known position to Norfolk.
Gradually, the search' area
was compressed.
It had been hoped initially
that the sub might be located
somewhere on the relatively
shallow Continental Shelf where
the Navy’s rescue equipment
could have reached it.
Navy officers felt all along
there was no hope for the crew
if the Scorpion had gone down
farther out to sea, where the
floor of the Atlantic drops away
as deep as 18,000 feet.
up on Wednesday eVenings for supper. The writer
was serious and nearly begged for a response.
Come on, Chowanians! Express yourselves on these
issues. Write a letter to the editor.
Remember: You can tread on someone’s sacred
cow without cutting his head off.
    

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