PAGE 3 - N.C. ESSAY
Features . . .
I "Innocents Abroad" I
By KATHLEEN FITZGERALD
Monday, August 3 ' Under
cover of darkness and smog, a
group of dancers from the North
Carolina School of the Arts
boarded an Alitalia 747 “Jumbo”
Jet at Kennedy airport. We were
bound for Milano and a three
week tour of Italy. Ac
companying us were Mr. and
Mrs. Robert Lindgren and their
children, guest artists Jaques
D’Amboise and Karol Shlmoff
and their families. We spent most
of the flight wandering around
the monstrous, futuristic interior
of the Jet wearing the rhinestone
edged slippers given to us by &e
airline. These little goodies later
became toe-fihoe covers during
rehearsals. After a magnificent
meal or two and a short sleep, we
crowded around the cabin win
dows to watch the sunrise over
the Alpine peaks and valleys
below.
Tuesday, Au^st 4 - We landed
at the Milano Airport and after a
nod from the Customs Inspectors
we staggered through the arrival
gate without luggage to be
greeted by Duncan Noble and a
pile of costume bags which we
stumbled around under for three
weeks. We boarded one of these
strange little Italian vehicles,
loosely termed “The Bus”, and
rode to the city of Milano. The
dancers lunched in Qie beautiful
Galleria while the technical crew
and “Signor Duncan” rounded up
our lighting equipment. We
strolled in the Piazza del Duomo
but the girls were scattered like a
flock of the pigeons which abound
there by a young priest who
flapped his habit and shoed us
away because our skirts were too
short for us to decently enter the
cathedral.
By 3:00 we were back on the
bus. Since rigor mortis from the
flight had set in, we slept the
seven hours to Livorno away. We
checked into the Hotel Astoria,
ate a gigantic dinner (pasta of
course!), and finally got to b^ at
2:00.
Rehearsals Begin
Wednesday, August 5 - The first
day of rehearsals began with the
sun burning directly in front of us
like a spotlight. During breaks we
practiced tiie language with the
children who were playing in a
nearby park and us^ a few lire
buying “cocas” and “aran-
ciatas.”
Thursday, August 6 - We
traveled to nearby Lucca to
rehearse for our first per
formance. It was a strange
setting to dance bi. The stage was
underground and situated at the
point where tunnels met, so that
we were ahnost performing in the
round. While we coped with the
stage, the technical crew. Gene
Lowery and Dan’l Liebman, tried
to determine just what exacQy
one of the local workmen meant
when he laughed and gestured
2ind shouted “Kaboom!” every
time they tried to plug in the light
board. Nothing exploded and the
performance was well received.
Friday, August 7 - Back in
Livorno, we got into the city for a
while between rehearsals to do
some shopping. That evening we
performed “Raymonda” for the
first time, with D’Ambois and
Shimoff dancing the leads. There
were only two minor mishaps:
James (“Jimmuccio”) Boyd did
an entrechat-six under a light
tree and jumped so hi^ that he
cut his head open and the music
mysteriously disappeared in the
middle of a performance of
“Fugitive Visions.” Jimmuccio’s
head was mended and by
counting furiously under our
breath we kept “Visions” going
untU the soimd returned. We
returned to the Hotel exhausted
but pleased with the per
formance. Sharon Filone and I
finally determined the cause of
the bUnding flashes of light which
had been' waking us i^> every
thirty seconds or so: our room’s
window was facing a lighthouse.
Tourists and Vendors
Saturday, August 8 - With bags
full of wet tights, we left Livorno
for Florence. On the way we
stopped to si^t-see in Pisa.
There we met the first of the
hordes of Americans that we
were to see throughout the rest of
the tour, as well as tiie souvenir
vendors that are everywhere the
tourists are. We arrived in
beautiful Florence in time to shop
at the open markets there before
dinner. After dining in the piazza
of Santa Lucia, we walked
arouna me city; actually we
staggered, since we were bar-
hopping, to see the Ponte Vecchio
and other landmarks. In the wee
hours, we rode back to the hotel
in horse-drawn carriages.
Sunday, August 9 - While most
of us were immobilized from the
night before, Rodney VTmfiel(
and Sharon Filone managed to
get up and get to two masses.
When the rest of us finally rose
we toured the famous Offizi
Gelleria and the Palazzo Veechio.
Monday, August 10 - We left
Firenze for La Spezia. We dined
in the near-by sea-side resort of
Porto Venere, strolled along the
beaches and danced in the cafes
outdoors before returning to
spend the night in LaSpezia. This
time Sharon and I discovered
that our room’s window faced the
city’s largest clock and bell tower
and we spent the night listening
to the bells clanging at im
possible intervals.
To Be Continued
Concerts
After a few days of rapping to
all lands of people at Ehike
Universi^, we finaUy received
some verification of their up
coming concert series. October
31, Halloween night. The Guess
Who (and not The Who) will
appear. Poco, as was reported in
the last Essay, will be there Nov.
21. On that gig also is the Byrds,
who, if you catch them on a good
night, are one of rack’s best
bands.’ the concert wiU be held in
Page Auditorium. No prices set
as of yet, since it has not been
decided whether the show will be
a dance or “regular concert.”
According to rumor, John B.
Seb^tian, once a member of the
Lovin’ Spoonful and now a star in
his own right, is to appear at UNC
(Giapel Hill) with Donovan. And
dthough it’s purely speculation,
we hear that Santana replace
the late Janis Joplin at UNC later
this year. If you’re a Neil Young
freak and happen to be in New
York City on Dec. 4, he’ll be at
Camagie Hall. Oh yeah, Hiree
Dog Night (at Wake Forest),
were reportedy “a gas.” Right
on.
“The Que’
Part 2 by A. Marsh
The road, pimpled
with rocks, twisted to
and fro, and I, exceedingly
dexterious with my roadster’s
difficulty to avoid mishap.
Another pair of sprouting
gateposts appeared ahead and as
I sp^ betwixt them, a vaulting
gable of immense proportion was
visible, perking up from a ridge
of scrubby ^ter. I slowly
conducted the car around the
aboreal clump, suddenly finding
myself staring fully into the
palatial countenance of Auntie
Climaxe’s manor!
It was a rotting fortress, rich
with architectural perversions.
Gray stone spires, like the
needles of an arid cactus,
bedecked the upper regions.
Chimneys, large and small and
distorted, were on the roof like
Medieval battlements. Windows,
filled with licorice obscurity, lay
sunken into almost every niche of
brick. There were wooden
cornices and Gothic iron lace and
small black balconies. Ttie
veranda jutted out from the main
of the mansion; decorated with
classical plaster shapes. Etched
granite steps ran up from the
grimy roadway. I prepared my
auto for evacuation, making sure
each door was locked. After all,
who knows what could be lurking
in the mysterious vicinity!
I cautiously mounted the
veranda and moved towards the
thick wooden panel. Upon it was
an ornate brass knocker which I
promptly excerized. Hie sum
mons rang out and vanished in
the curtains of the thick country
air. Minutes traveled past before
a series of petite steps advanced
from within and the front door
swung statUy open. A creviced
faced dowager was framed
against the omnibus interior. . .
“Hello! Auntie Climaxehere!”
said Auntie Climaxe there. I
contributed a dripping peck to
her heavily rouged cheek and
was led by her hand, a withered
fork of cartilage, into an inky
arena, barely affected by the
twin light bulbs encased in
crinkled yellow glass.
“Colin,you’vefinaUycome!” I
have set up refreshment in the
sun room.” I followed as the old
woman weaved through the
shadowed galleries of the
mansion. We passed bottles with
scab-red feathers in them, jars
with soggy autumn leaves,
pictures of leering ancestors,
design encrusted walls, and some
grotesque Pre-Cambrian
replicas.
The sun, once veiled by a grain-
gray scum of cumulus, suddenly
rolled out like a boiling stomach
and spread its lambent sheen
everywhere. My spirits rose as
we entered the simple, airy
porch-type affair known as the
Sun Rwm. A large amount of
French windows admitted the
welcome light and a delightful
chill-spiked breeze that rumpled
my aunt’s linty cardigan.
We partook of cold avocado
halves, cucumber sandwiches,
and dietetic cola and spoke of The
Theatre, the new Salvador Dali
exhibit, and (most animatedly)
about the friend killer and his
most recent activities.
“I am so glad, Colin, that you
got away now,” said my aunt.
“The Tribune said that the
monster is at his apex of power.
One woman actually died of a
heart stroke just reading about
him.”
“The Power of Suggestion,” I
stated, in my typically sage
manner.
Suddenly I heard the enormous
Photo By Beck
A School of the Arts string quartet adds a little music to
a fall day.
Welcome, Miss Thing
by The Mashed Marauder
The most distinguished person that the North Carolina School of the
Arts has had the opportunity to instruct and, indeed, learn from has
now arrived. It took her six years to get here and it appears, as of this
fall, that she has establish herself in the hearts (and soi^) of the
entire faculty and student body. Unfortunately, most people have no
had an opportunity to meet her yet. So for the benefit of those unluckly
uninformed, let us look into the background and character of Miss
Wanda Thing, as revealed in the notes and material on display,
publicy.
“Mi^ Hiing was bom in a small southern town in the early 1950’s.
Recognizing herself as one of the world’s greatest talents, she set
herself on an all round the world cruise! Having developed her talents
to the fullest, she is now leaving her mark everywhere.”
“by appointment, anytime,
any place or reason.” Also, there
is a vague rumor about an up
coming “Miss Thing Look-alike
Contest.”
So that is Miss Tiling: her life
and abilities. She is gi^g her all
for the people here and I’m sure
we appreciate it. Why not drop
her a line and say “Thanks.” Her
box number is 400. I’m sure she’d
love to hear from you.
An Explaination
Being so infinitely talented,
unfortunately, is not easy. There
are many long hours of
rehearsals to attend. According
to bulletins near the musician's
board. Miss Thing is taking
lessons on four ins^uments and
instructing no less that six! Her
first presentation of the year will
be a “Plautern” recital (date to
be announced). Comments about
her ability on this complex in
strument include “a lusty
plauternist” and “she plays
divinely.”
Fortunately, Miss Thing can
find gaps in her busy scheldule.
For extra-curricular activities,
she has signed up for sewing and
sculpture lessons on the sheet in
the Commons Building, and is
open for consultation (and
business) from NCSA students
and deep sound of a bell tolling.
“Whatever is that, my dear
auntie?” I cried, squeezing the
boughly bowels of a scone onto
the plate.
“The convent bell, Colin. The
Vinecrest Nunnery is directly in
back of my garden. I have ac
tually befriended a good many of
its occupants . . . some I know
almost too well!” That last
sentence she said with a strange
twist. I could not but be in
trigued.
I Ijelieve it was the solemn
tolling of the convent bell, Iw-
nacled with bird droppings, that
began the whole affair I write
about. At least, I have so
recorded this within the sacred
premises of my daily journal.
“Why look!” Auntie Climaxe
exclaimed, “here comes Sister
Millicent! She’s a mysterious
woman, Colin. Be careful!”
I was anxious about the in
terviews and took refuge in a
raspberry-jam cake as the black-
draped nun floated up from the
garden path to the door of the
porch.
To Be Continued
This particular edition of the N.
C. ESSAY is an experiment.
It is an attempt to improve
the appearance of the news
paper, to make it more
readable, interesting, and ap
pealing. We feel that it is time we
take a more serious attitude
about what we are producing and
to continue with what was ad
mittedly an amateur operation
now seems unjustifiable. This is
not to belittle what was done in
the past; we are simply saying
the the Essay, as many other
areas of this school have, must
improve.
Again, this is an experiment, a
gamble perhaps, to see what we
can do. Its success depends
largely upon your response, your
reaction. We are not so naive as
to believe that changing our
format will solve all our
problems or even that everyone
will find this to his liking. We do
feel, however, that this issue is a
step toward a first-rate
publication, a real newspaper. It
is our hope and intent to keep the
quality and content of the
newspaper as high and diver
sified as possible. And, in
keeping with that intention, it
now seems only reasonable that
we begin to change our method of
putting this paper out, Let us
know what you think.