Nov. 3, 1944.
THE SALEMITE
SALEM COLLEGE LIBRARY
Winaitack-Salcin, North CaioLuu
Page Five.
Dear Sandy
By Lucile Newman
(This story, written for English
Composition, last year won merit,
but not top, mention in the Atlantic
Monthly Short Story Contest last
spring. Ed.)
Old Doctor Stone’s hands seemed
to tremble more than usual this
afternoon. His voice was thick and
unsteady. He never once dared to
glance at the small cross with the
four wreaths encircling it which
stood before the altar—^nor at the
four boys in uniforms who had
placed them there and who now
stood at attention, two on each side
of him. He looked straight over
the small gathering out the opened,
double doors into a hazy summer’s
afternoon.
“We are gathered here this after
noon,” he said, “in memory of
Thomas Atwood Harding who was
killed in action somewhere in the
Pacific on June 26, 1943.
Killed in action . . . his own %vords
seemed to echo in hollow, resound
ing laughter . . . killed in action
• . . “Thomas Atwood Harding was
born April 3, 1919 ...” his voice
went on in its slow deliberate way,
but his thoughts raced back seven
teen years ago when he had just
come to this community.
When he came to Arlington, there
was at first only the polite friendli
ness of hia congregation and much
loneliness for him. He had made only
a few close friends—he had never
married. His one pride had always
been flowers. Almost any summer’s
evening found him puttering about
his gardens. It was just such an
evening that he made his first ac-
nuaintance with Thomas Atwood
ITarding
As he looked back now, he saw
himself crouched on his knees beside
fhe old red rose bush, trawling about
its roots. Sudenly a shower des
cended upon him. Looking up, he
beheld only the clear evening sky.
He remembered looking back -with
a scowl to catch sight of four small
figures scampering across the lawn.
Quickly jumping up, he turned off
the hose. Then he beheld the fifth
culprit who had become twisted up
in a slight wire fence about one of
his jonquil beds.
Ho walked over and looked down
at him with a twinkle in his faded
blue eyes. As gruffly as he could
manage he said, “And, my good
man, what is the meaning of this?”
The tousled little seven-year-old
ceased his struggling, but with down
cast face said nothing. He remember
ed kneeling down and untangling
the bare ankles and feet from the
wire. The little fellow, freed, scram
bled to his feet but stood there
hefore him in silence.
“My, how that shower cooled me
off. Haven’t, gotten drenched by a
hose hince I was your size,” the
“Reminds me, too,
give tlie flowers a
Doctor said,
that I must
drink.” Just as he hoped, the head
bobbed up; he found himself peer
ing into two of the merriest blue
eyes he had ever had the pleasure of
meeting.
But instantly the head dropped
again and a meek voice said,
‘ ‘ S’pose you’ll tell my Dad, and
s’pose I’ll get it then.”
The Doctor almost laughed out
right at that, but instead he said
quite seriously, “How can I tell
your Dad when I don’t even know
your name?”
A pause . . . “M’ name’s Thomas-
Atwood-Hardin’
‘' Well, Thomas - Atwood - Hardin’,
s’pose we don’t tell your Dad . . .
s’pose, we let this be between just
you and me.” Thomas glanced at
him sheepishly and then smiled his
slow, crooked smile.
Thomas helped him put away his
gardening tools that evening. Just
as he was getting ready to leave, he
turned to the Doctor, “You can
call me Sandy if you want to . . .
all the fellows do.”
He remembered feeling a tight
ness in his throat as he called,
“Well, goodnight . . . Sandy . . . ”
That was a long time ago, seven
teen years, and the red rose bush
nodded its friendly blooms out in
the garden, “Yes, a long time,” it
murmured . . . and the stained glass
windows also seemed to agree as
they slowly changed the floor from
dull brown to rich purples, and
yellows, and reds. An impudent
summer breeze flipped over a page
in the Bible before him. He turned
it back—back to Matthew 6:9-13—
back to Sandy.
He remembered tliat it was by
Sandy’s constant nagging that he
consented to take over a scout troop.
At first it was a tremendous job
along with all of his other duties,
but the delight that it gave Sandy
was many times worth ‘it. Their
friendship was one of mutual re
spect and admiration. He never talk
ed much about religion to Sandy.
In fact he never really spoke of it
except in subtle ways to impress
right and wrong upon him.
On a monthly outing of scout
troop number one, he and Sandy had
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been left on the lonely wharf to
gether. It was one of those powder
blue twilights that make one feel
especially close to those one loves.
He remembered Sandy’s sitting there
swinging his legs back and forth,
contentedly watching the cool green
water ripple past him down stream.
“Sandy”, he said, “what do you
believe in?”
‘■‘Why, I don’t know .. . God
. . . I suppose. I reckon I never
really thought about it.” His legs
stopped swinging, and he looked
way oif where the lake rose up to
meet the sky.
“I pray, all right, but I just al
ways say the Lord’s Prayer., You
know. Doctor, I like that.” He
was fifteen then.
As he looked back now he saw
great gaps in lime and space.
High school . . . the less frequent
visits . . . Sandy in his first tuxedo
. . . his many loves . . . Sandy go
ing away to college . . . and his com
ing back with ideas that sometimes
shocked the older generation. He re
membered Sandy’s bringing up the
question of religion for the first
time on one of his week-ends at
home. . . .
“You know, Doctor, I have been
thinking about God and all. Couldn’t
you be wrong? Couldn’t God be a
myth and nature the only real proof
of power . . . Isn’t there some
logical explanation to the Bible?”
He thought a good deal before
answering, “Well, Sandy,” he had
said, “how do you still feel about
the Lord’s Prayer ... it meant a
Graduate Returns
As Assistant Dean
OUR HEARTS WERE
YOUNG AND GAY
Corntiio Of/s Sfcinner and
Bmilv Kim^ouah
Two Apierican girls in their early twen
ties rnade the grand tour of Europe
back in the early days of the roaring
1920’s . . . and what a time they did
have! Their gay, hilarious, ludicrous
adventures will make you chuckle and
some will even make you laugh out
loud! Many cartoon illustrations.
SALEM BOOK STORE
IIIIIPIIIHII!I1I|
CHRISTMAS GIFTS
FOE THE BOYS
OVERSEAS
AT THE
lAcPHAIL GIFT SHOP
308 W. 5th St.
MISS SARAH K, BURRELL
lot to you once.”
“Yes, I remember. It was down
by the wharf, w'asn’t it? ... I re
member.” And he smiled his slow,
crooked smile. . . .
Sandy had graduated the follow
ing summer and had at once joined
the air corps, '^flie Doctor, remember
ed his farewell visit. Sandy had
never been much on good-bys. When
he had started to leave, he simply
said, “Well, Doctor, I’m off to the
air corps. Going over right away . . .
Got to get this thing over with.”
And he laughed. Out on the walk
he turned back and called, “About
the Lord’s Prayer, Doctor, you can
always say that for me.”
The Doctor’s mind wandered back
to the congregation. He was aware
again of the four boyish figures that
stood there straight and strong. He
was aware of the stiff wreathed
cross befoje him and of his own
voice saying, “Let us pray . . .
Our Father, which art in heaven,”
. . . he raised his head and through
his tears saw the blurred figure of
Sandy standing in the door way
smiling his slow, crooked smile.
“I don’t think the important
things have changed at all,” says
the new Assistant Dean in telling of
her impressions on returning to our
campus. “The things that I re
member most are Salem’s friendli
ness, the interest that the people
take in you here, and the very
nice people who attend Salem. And
I don’t think these things have
changed at all. Any changes that I
do notice are improvements.”
Miss Burrell (her family pro
nounces it Bur-RELL, but she will
answer to BUR-rell!) lives in Win-
ston-Salem. She atended Eeynolds
High School and Salem College,
graduating from Salem with an A.
B. degree cum laude in June 1940
(majored in Latin and French).
She was a member of the Order
of the Scorpion, of the Student
Council, I. R. S. Council, and Y.
W. C. A. cabinet. She was President
of the Day Students, received sen
ior class honors and college honors.
Since graduation Miss Burrell has
been Supervisor in Signal Corps
work at Arlington, Virginia and
has done secretarial work in the
library of William and Mary College
in -1941-42. She says that college
graf^ates can take part in any
number of jobs in the Signal Corps
and that a degree much enhances
one’s opportunities there. She adds
that Salem College girls would pro
bably be favorably considered be
cause of excellent work done by
Salem College girls at the present.
Miss Burrell’s hobbies are piano-
playing (“for my own personal
private use” she hastens to add!),
collecting records and, when cash
permit.s, collecting music boxes. Her
favorite sports are tennis and swiln-
niing.
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