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graph our copies of your
novel," said Stoddard.
"Oh yeah? Guilford. Yes,
of course," Warren respond
ed. "Let me get a pen." The
literary great disappeared
into the house before Stuart
or Stoddard could offer him
one of theirs. Mrs. Warren
stepped to the door and
surveyed the unshaven
students who were attired in
ragged t-shirts and jeans.
"You know, we don't
usually come to the door, for
safety reasons," she said.
"But I guess you look like
college students."
Mr. Warren returned with
an ordinary 29-cent Bic ball
point pen and accepted Stod
dard's copy to sign. While
Stuart entertained notions
of the visit interrupting
Warren while he was at work
on the next epic novel, Stod
dard volunteered that they
had driven all the way from
North Carolina for the sole
purpose of getting the emi
nent writer's autographs. To
which Warren replied, "I
think you should have your
head examined."
After dating Stoddard's
copy, Warren extended his
had to receive Stuart's.
In A Toyota
Stoddard piped up again
saying,
"We think this is the
Great American Novel!"
"Well I wouldn't go that
far!" demured Warren. He
then asked, "What's your
name?"
"Robert, sir."
"Well let me do this a lit
tle differently, then," said
W^frnn
dard's copy back. The
Literary Lumninary then
added at the top of the in
scription "To Robert. Best
Wishes. Robert Penn War
ren October 20, 1986. In
Stuart's copy he wrote "To
Andrew. Best Wishes.
Robert Penn Warren Oc
tober 20, 1986.
Both Guilford pilgrims
thanked the author profuse
ly as he wished them well on
their trip and they disbeliev
ingly headed back down the
driveway. Both students
had fantasized about being
invited in for a couple of
Moslons and being able to
kick back and talk about
Souther Literature and the
Great American Novel with
"Red" (as Warren is nick
named), but as they headed
back to the car, each was
spotLigbt
overwhelmed by the realiza
tion that they had just come
face to face with a living
legend!
"Maybe he was in there
working on some Pultizer
Prize-winning poetry or
novel," mused Stuart.
"I think he was watching
a game show," said Stod
dard.
With the road trip's prime
directive having been fulfill
ed less than 36 hours into
the adventure, the pair open
ed the road Atlas and decid
ed where they might head
next. New Haven wasn't far
so the lonely men decided to
go check out the chicks at
Yale. As it turned out, there
weren't any to be seen but
the campus tour was nice
and both students were glad
that they weren't under the
same crushing academic
pressure back at Guilford
that was in the air at Yale.
A late afternoon check-in
at the Red Roof Inn (spend a
night, not a fortune) in New
London, CT gave the trip
pers some time to relax and
hang out in the motel room.
After dinner, at the "All
American Steak House"
nearby, Stuart and Stod-
The Guilfordian, November 13, 1986
dard went to get some liquid
refreshment (12-pack) at the
convenience store, opposite
the restaurant, and enter
tained themselves by cross
ing and recrossing traffic.
The satellite dish at the
motel provided the guys
with a dracula movie but not
racy flicks to close the even
ing.
Providence, RI was the
next destination as Tuesday
morning dawned but as it
turned out, the Guilco guys
got royally lost in the city,
and the next think they
knew they were in Fall
River, Mass. For lack of any
thing better to do, the two
took an exist and found
themselves next to the
U.S.S. Massachusetts, a
WWII battleship. If that
wasn't neat enough, there
was a submarine and a
destroyer there too! The
men scoured the vessels for
the better part of the morn
ing, climbing on guns, peek
ing through sights and look
ing theourh periscopes.
Stoddard wanted to get a
souvenir pennant of their
visit but Stuart said no.
Upon returning to the car,
Stuart said, "Cape Cod?"
"Why not?" Stoddard
said carefreely.
Tourists were scarce in the
little towns which live for
the summer trade. Conse
quently room rates were
down at the motel where the
pair registered Tuesday
after. But the guys soon
found out that rock-bottom
prices meant rock-bottom
service. The Australian
working the desk was
folding bed linens when
Stoddard signed in. The
Guilford men had clearly
gone from room service at
the Sheraton, to self-service
at the "Resort Hotel" in
Hyannis.
Late that afternoon, the
voyagers walked to the
beachfront where they held a
conversation with an
acrobatic seagull. The winds
off the Long Island Sound
were strong and Stoddard,
an avid sailor, had to be
restrained from "borrow
ing" a sailboat nearby.
Stuart tried to call home
when they returned to the
motel room but they
discovered there was no
phone. Thev then realized
9
that there was no satelitte
TV and that the toilet had
not been "Sanitized for Your
Protection." "We got the
low budget shaft," Stuart
recalled later. Temperatures
were unseasonable warm
that day and both men were
doubly shafted when the
guy at the desk told them
that the air conditioning had
been turned off "for the
season."
Following an "Early Bird
Special" dinner, the two
loitered under a "NO Loiter
ing" sign and on the Hyan
nis main drag, but the
empty town offered no
excitement. The prospect of
another lonely night loomed.
After watching several
hours of network TV, the
Toyota was cranked up once
again and the two set off on
a beer run.
"There was not one store
open in the whole friggin'
town," muttered Stuart.
"We drove around like
yahoos for a half an hour and
when we finally found a Fast
Fare kind of store, it was
right behind our motel!
What's worse is they didn't
sell beer"
Stoddard added, "They
must not drink beer in
Massachusetts."
Wednesday of break, saw
the two easy riders turn
back toward home. The
525-mile drive from Hyannis
to Harrisburg PA included
more time lost in downtown
Providence, a gas gauge on
empty during a interstate
traffic jam at Sera ton, and a
lesson on photo-journalism
in the midst of a tractor
trailer convoy. Stuart also
took time out to do some
philosophy on the human
condition.
"Death and Sex," said
Stuart to Stoddard. "One
you don't want and one you
can't get." Stoddard nodd
ed.
Determined not to get
"shafted" two nights runn
ing, the guys checked into
the Harrisburg Quality Inn,
somewhere in the vicinity of
Three-Mile Island. Ap
propriate thoughs of radia
tion poisoning filled the
men's heads as they ate sup
per at Bob's Big Boy
Restaurant. After a day of
nothing but Phil Collins on
the radio, the World Series