North Carolina Newspapers

    Page Four.
Saturday, March 12, 1932.
Volley Ball
Now that the Sophomores have
hung their purple and white on the
basket ball cup, and their vast su
periority is an established fact, the
other classes have decided to change
the course of events. Thus Volley
Ball was brought back into its own
Tuesday afternoon, March 8th.
With Alice Stough as manager and
spring just around the corner, why
not put a little pep down on the vol
ley ball court? Many of the girls
displayed their interest by attending
a volley ball game at the “Y.”
Life saving classes are being con
ducted at Reynolds High School
Swimming Pool by Raymon Eaton.
“Pat” Holderness, the two Prestons
and Josephine Walker tried out
Classes ended Thursday night.
Night rides are the proper things
around the campus now. Any after
noon or night that you find it pos
sible to go riding please notify the
most active riding manager, Bebe
Miss Atkinson is still giving
private coaching in golf. She reminds
all the girls interested in golf to bring
their clubs back with them from
Easter holidays.
T ennis
There will be tennis tournaments
conducted this spring. Many girls
are already shining up on the game—■
so if you want to be in the
racket get going with the racket.
(Contisued from Page One)
ing. This piece took the country by
storm and gave impetus to the adding
of minor chords to jazz. It is rather
interesting to know that “Some of
These Days,” still sung today, marked
the first appearance of minor harmony
which is so popular today. This piece
really shows harmonic ingeniuty.
An epidemic of war songs came
m 1905. The interest of composers
centered on jazzing Indian war
dances. “Novello” was probably the
most popular of this group.
Then followed what Mr. Vardell
termed “The Turkey Trot Era.”
Such amusing pieces as “The Kitchen
Sink” and “Grisly Bear” were in
cluded in this phase of the develop
ment of jazz.
During the world war, the popular
songs were jazzed, but the “blues”
were more prominent. The majority
of these songs have faded as all such
music does. Irving Berlin was at the
height of his glory at this time.
In 1925, jazz received a new con
sideration, Critics began to claim it
'as an American art and brought jazz
operas, ballets, and concertos into a
new atmosphere. While this profes
sional treatment resulted in good
uses of modern harmony, nothing
ever came of it so far as art was con
cerned. Gershwin and Carpenter
contributed much to jazz.
There seems to be no question
about the latest development of jazz,
the “crooning songs.” In Mr. Var-
dell’s opinion, they illustrate in sound
the weakest point of Americans—
their extreme sentimentality.
The speaker stated his firm be
lief that jazz will not sweep good
music away. Good, artistic music
lives because of its refinement, its
crystalization, and its beauty. Jazz has
none of these qualities which insure
permanence of approval. A certain
amount of jazz is highly permissable
at social functions, but it can be
emphasized too much. On the other
hand, good music can never be empha
sized too much. Mr. Vardell re
minded the students of the part they
may play in raising the general ap
preciation of finer music. Great art
will never be “popular” in the sense
that jazz is, but it will never die.
In conclusion, Mr. Vardell played
Mozart’s “Libretto,” pointing out to
an appreciative audience the sharp
contrast between this essentially
simple, yet perfectly formed composi
tion, and modern jazz. |
Kochanski Wins Praise
In Brilliant Concert
Audience Is Delighted by His
Own Composition
On Tuesday night, March 1, at
8:15 o’clock, in Reynolds Audi
torium, the Civic Music Association
presented Paul Kochanski, the Polish
violin virtuoso, in the last concert of
the season.
Mr. Kochanski is truly an artist.
He played with such absolute ease
that his brilliant and faultless execu
tion seemed to be almost without ef
fort on his part. He must surely live
the emotions he interprets. Rarely does
one hear a violinist who secures such
pure and exquisite tones—sometimes
almost transparent, like a whisper.
The accompaniments of Pierre Lub-
oschutz at the piano added much to
the effect.
To many people, perhaps, Bach
was beautiful and understandable for
the first time when Kochanski opened
his program with “Praeludium, E
Major.” Others gained a new ap
preciation of the playfulness of Bach
in the reiterated harmonies.
The fine harmonic sense of “The
Devil’s Trill,” by Tartini demanded
the brilliant violin virtuosity which
Kochanski was fully able to give it.
He gave as encore after this num
ber two French Dances.
In the Mendelssohn “Concerto in
E Minor” Kochanski had much
chance for contrast and variety. The
impassioned first movement in perfect
classical form was followed by a
soulful Andante. After a short
dramatic interlude, the last move
ment entered, sparkling with wit and
and staccatos. As an encore to this
powerful number, Kochanski played
Kreisler’s arrangement of the beau
tiful Indian love song, “Pale Moon.”
Another favorite was Schubert’s
immortal “Ave Maria.” Against the
long sustained phrases which bring
out the deeply religious note, the
piano accompaniment was particular
ly pleasing. The violin seemed to be
making a deeply emotional supplica
tion as it played in octaves. The
high tones were particularly beau
tiful. Gradually, as the prayer is
answered, the melody descends and
becomes more calm.
Kochanski’s “Flight” was a realis
tic composition which left his audi
ence breathless and almost dizzied by
the high tones, the chromatic pas
sages and the buzzing tremolos.
Prolonged applause made him repeat
the number.
He played the beloved Brahms
“Waltz, A Major” so delicately that
it was almost a whisper. He also
repeated this number.
“Gypsy Airs” by Sarasate was ex
tremely fitting as a finale because it
embodied so much contrast—both
technical brilliance and tonal beauty.
The characteristic folk themes, and
the peculiar rhythm of the musical
gypsies of Spain were particularly
As encores, Kochanski played two
brilliant Spanish Dances—one by
Sarasate and the other by Manuel De
It was a raw blustering night in
mid-winter. Cold sleet beat against
the cobblestones in the streets of old
Salem. Wind howled around the
corners of every house. No one ven
tured out into the night unless it was
absolutely necessary.
In the parlor of Salem Tavern
guests formed a wide circle about
the great fireplace where logs burned
brightly. Leisurely they discussed
the news of the day. The right front
wheel of the stagecoach had given
|way about a mile south of the city
and there had been delay for half
a day before the journey could be
continued. A lame old gentleman
who had been in the coach, told how
the accident happened and how the
passengers experienced queer sensa
tions when the carriage broke down.
Two single ladies had been so upset
by the accident that even now they
were upstairs trying to recover their
The tavern keeper had just thrown
a hickory log on the fire, the flames
became brighter, the dry wood crack
led and hummed. The guests had
just settled back in their chairs con
tentedly and were watching the
bright flames in a moment of silence,
when a low moan was heard just
outside. It came in a lull of wind
and it sounded like the groan of a
human being in distress. The guests
started in surprise. Men rushed out
side. Women ran to the windows
but it was too dark to distinguish
anything in the night.
In a few moments, amid great
commotion and shuflling of feet, the
men hurried again into the Tavern,
supporting and half-carrying a mid
dle-aged man, with an ashen white
face, thin sunken cheeks, an emaciat
ed body, and dark clothes rain soaked
until they clung to his body like an
octopus around its prey. His hands
were numb with cold and his finger
nails were turning blue.
Plainly the stranger was very ill.
He was put to bed as soon as possi
ble. A cold chill racked the wretched
body, and low moans escaped his
lips. Presently he became quiet and
lost consciousness. All the while
there was anxious stirring in the
house. Bricks were heated to warm
his feet. Home remedies were pre
pared. Brandy was brought and
forced with difficulty through purple
lips. Nothing roused the stranger
from unconsciousness. A young boy
was hurriedly dispatched for the doc
tor, who lived a short distance north
of the church. Without delay he
came to offer his services but by the
time he arrived it was too late. The
stranger was dead.
From the time he was rescued
until he passed away, the man had
not uttered one word. Down in the
parlor the guests discussed the trag
edy in the low subdued tones which
people adopt when death is in their
midst. They were deeply concerned
about the poor man. He had ridden
to the door on a scrawny old horse
and there he had dropped, too weak
to go forward, and unable to call for
help, except by low moans. Within
an hour he had died and as yet no
one knew who he was or from where
he came. He was surely not from
this part of the country and a care
ful search of his saddle bags revealed
nothing. Truly the people were at
a great loss.
Unknown though he was, the Mo
ravians gave the man an honorable
burial, and the small flock of vil
lagers stood above his grave and won
dered what secrets were concealed
beneath the sod.
Not many days passed before the
servants in the Tavern came to their
master, Mr. Shober, with wild stories
about a voice out in a dark corner of
the servants’ hall, which kept calling
someone in the night. Practical, lev
el-headed Mr. Shober refused to be
lieve such preposterous nonsense and
told the servants to go about their
business and forget it. Probably the
wind was blowing through a crevice
in the wall. The servants choked
back their fears but they always rush
ed by that dark corner in haste lest
they should feel an invisible presence
and hear a voice in the darkness.
Again the servants, wild-eyed,
came to Mr. Shober and again he
sent them away, telling them their
fear was absurd, that it was impos
sible that a voice could speak out
from nowhere. Finally the servants
refused to go through the back hall
at night and they frantically begged
Mr. Shober to come see for himself
that they were truthful. Skeptically
he descended the few steps separating
the front of the Tavern from the
back and stepped into the narrow
Suddenly there was a low murmur
and a swishing sort of noire, and
there was the strange feeling of an
invisible presence over in the corner.
In spite of himself Mr. Shober
shuddered and trembled slightly.
The noire rose to a moan, then out
of the blackness came a faint voice,
hardly perceptible at first but finally
becoming fairly distinct. Cold beads
of perspiration appeared on the brow
of the innkeeper. His eyes grew
wide with surprise. Motionless, he
waited and wondered what was going
to happen. The voice was trying to
say something and the man leaned
forward, his muscles tense. Softly
a name was spoken—“Thomas
Grant”—then came the phrase—
“death of a stranger”—. The inn
keeper instantly thought of the
strange death several weeks ago and
his temples began to throb violently.
Again he leaned forward, straining to
'catch anything else the voice might
Not for long did he wait. In a
low tone came another name—“John
Grant”—and further—“San An
tonio, Texas.” Instantly there was
perfect silence. The voice had
stopped abruptly as if that was all
to be said, and the feeling of an in
visible presence disappeared.
Powerfully impressed with his vivid
experience, Mr. Shober stumbled
out of the passage and up the steps.
As if driven by a commanding force,
he sat down at bis large desk and
began a letter. Far into the night
he worked with great energy, care
fully weighing each word.
A stage coach going south the next
day picked up a letter at Salem Tav
ern addressed to Mr. John Grant in
San Antonio, Texas, in which Mr.
Shober asked if he had a brother,
Thomas, who might have been trav
eling through Salem in Carolina, and
the innkeeper described the pitiful
remnant of a man who had been too
weak to identify himself.
Months passed and no letter came
from Texas. It was a long distance
to have arrived if there really was
such a person as John Grant. Mr.
Shober again became skeptical and
wondered how his imagination could
ever have been so deceptive. As time
passed the experience grew dim.
A stage coach from the south ar
rived one day and a letter was de
livered into the hands of Mr. Shober.
A strange sensation vibrated through
his body as he opened the letter and
read the contents.
“My dear Mr. Shober,” it began,
“Your description of the stranger ex
actly coincides with that of my broth
er, Thomas, who, many months ago
set out for Boston by horseback, and
intended making his way up through
the Carolinas and Virginia. I am
deeply grieved at the news of his
death but I find consolation in know
ing that in your hands he was kindly
treated and that he received an hon
orable burial.” Further Mr. Grant
expressed his gratitude and offered to
pay any expenses which were in
curred by the illness and death' of
Mr. Shober clutched the letter and
sat down almost overcome.
Tp this day no one has ever again
felt an invisible presence or heard
a faint voice in that dark hall.
—E. I.
I Easter Footwear |
I Deserving of Notice |
ii>; Just received Twenty-three new ici
i; styles for spring. §
;Si Stop in and try them on— §
§ No obligation. i|
I $5.00 $6.00 $7.85 |
I Simmons Shoe Store |
y Shoes of Quality ^
Other Specials Daily
Try the “Flower of them all”
Home Made Candies
215 West Fourth Street
k Good Pictures
Reynolds Grill
For the very best in food
Cafeteria on 1 0th Floor
Reasonable Prices
The Meeting Place for Salemites
"The Best Place to Shop After All”
Chatham Building — West Fourth and Cherry Streets
Let us show you the New Skirts and Sweaters we have just received.
Many pretty styles to choose from.
Mrs.Campbell will
for you if you wish to come to
Call her at 9923 or 9426—421 W. Spruce Street.
et your watch run without the proper attention,
racy of your watch depends on the care you give it.
VO G L E R ’ S Jewelers

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