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THE FULL MOON
December 20, 1963
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The Full Moon
Published Monthly By Mrs. Gamewell’s Journalism Class
EDITORIAL STAFF
Editor Betty Herlocker
News Editor Anita Taylor
Art Editor Suzanne Webster
Photography Editor Jim Sharkey
Feature Editors Judy Hesley, Edith Johnson
Sports Editor Eugene Coley
Assistant Sports Editor Jimmy Lowder
Business Manager Kay Cornelius
Assistant Business Manager Gary Nicholds
Typing Editor Karen Hatley
Circulation Manager Brown Bivens
Page Editors Letitia Stockton, Nancy Butler,
Joanne Lisk, Willene Rice
Staff Members: Andy Cook, Paul Ellis, Nancy Fatkin, Betty Morton,
Kathy Gamewell, Charles Morton, Diane Morton,
Cindy Stone, Carlotta Taylor, Frances Vanhoy, Ma
rie Williams, Ginny Rogers, Allison Harris, Dane
Perry, Teresa Yow, Sandy Kelley, Mark Cook, Buck
Snuggs, Charles Lefler, Sam Truette, Carolyn Eury,
Marian Cranford
The Visitor
He was old and tired. Deep furrows of life and traces of gray
stubble stood out upon his life-tanned countenance. A crude scythe
was clutched in his hand. Its blade had deep scars and chips cover
ing its surface, showing definite signs of age and use. The tip was
smeared with the blood of a November tragedy, which seemed to
change the complete ajjpearance of the implement. Tired and beaten
from carrying his burden, he leaned against a tree which rose
majestically above the frozen landscape to extend her barren boughs
to heaven as if to plead for another spring, another life. An icy
breeze blew, causing many leaves to tumble aimlessly over the
ground. It blew against his face and body, occasionally causing him
to blink, shielding his eyes from particles of ice. He almost wished
he was young again so he could have a second try at taking ad
vantage of this wonderland of health and prosperity—perhaps things
would be different; but he realized that this could never be and
so he erased this idea from his mind.
As he gazed across this magnificent land, scarred here and there
by the destructive hand of man, he suddenly noticed a figure smooth
ly gliding across winter’s carpet. It was at first just a minute figure
with obscure features, but as it neared, the characteristics of this
person could be ascertained. He wore a black cape which dangled
and flapped around his body under the influence cf the wind. His
remaining attire was gray which blended perfectly with his flesh.
As the figure approached, the old man recognized him as a familiar
acquaintance.
“Well, I see that you have waited until the last minute, to
relieve me from this burden,” laughed the old man, whose voice
cracked with nervous strain.
“Yes,” replied the stranger in a deep gruff voice, “you have
served well.”
“But the pain ”
“Ah, but the pain was evidently necessary to convince you that
you are not infallible, neither can you stand still. You must take
violence in your stride. Man must do as he will. His problems are
not your concern. Your duty is to exist, nothing more.”
“Thank you, my friend,” said the old man with a vocal trend
toward relief.
Then, with a final glance at the aged land which he loved so
dearly, he and his strange friend slowly walked off together into a
world different from that which we know.—Sam Truette
Christmas Transiormation
Have you ever noticed the difference in the Christmas you spent
ten years ago and the Christmas you presently enjoy? When you
were young, Christmas was represented by bright, bubbling lights,
eggnog your elders would never consent to let you drink, and having
to go to church on Christmas Eve when you wanted to stay home
and watch the chimney. Remember how you set out a glass cf
milk and a sizeable chunk of homemade fruit cake on a stool beside
the fireplace and got up every five minutes to see if anyone had
eaten it yet? Christmas morning was welcomed as the first doubtful
snowflake of the earliest winter snow—you knew it was there, but
felt you had to creep up to it or it would disappear. At the crack
of dawn you peered cautiously around your bedroom door to make
sure “not a creature was stirring” other than yourself, and then
tiptoed to the tree. By the time morning set in, the room looked
as if Santa couldn’t find his way down the chimney so he just
dropped everything through a convenient hole in the roof. When
your parents awoke, they groped blindly for the living room. Here
they found you dressed formidably in your yellow bunnyrabbit pa
jamas, the pants precariously held up by a genuine Roy Rogers
holster and gun set with two guns. There you stood, straddling a
new bike and exploring the underside of the locomotive to your new
electric train set. The track had been assembled somewhat hastily
and, since you couldn’t fit the curves together correctly, it crossed
itself several times. Dad watched helplessly as the front bike wheel
rolled over the exposed Howdy Doody game set and Mom retreated
wearily to the kitchen to fix breakfast.
Now, we seldom leave any cake and milk and we cease to watch
the chimney. Instead of rushing to the tree at the first hint of sun
light, we plead for that last wink of sleep, probably because we
were up later than Santa himself the night before.
But these aren’t the only changes. Today when Christmas ar
rives, we come face to face with the real meaning of brotherhood
and fellowship. We find ourselves able to look past the tinsel and
bright ribbons and examine the real foundations of Christmas—those
of love, hope, and charity. Being older, we become more convinced
of the merits of a life whose goals are set by courage and a
desire to contribute more than necessary towards the betterment of
humanity. This season seems to re-kindle the flame of determination
to do better. It reminds us that we are here for a purpose and it
Is our duty to find and fulflli titat purpose.
PEDAGOGS'
ADDRESSES
Mr. Henry T. Webb
1106 Melchor Road
Albemarle, N. C.
Mrs. Josephine Allen
Box 781
Albemarle, N. C.
Mrs. Jacob Carter
Route 2
Albemarle, N. C.
Miss Chicora Caughman
Lexington, S. C.
Mrs. Mildred Deese
531 N. Fifth St.
Albemarle, N. C.
Mr. Kenneth Frazier
713 E. Main Street
Albemarle, N. C.
Mr. Paul B. Fry
1934 E. Main Street
Albemarle, N. C.
Mrs. E. P. Gamewell, Jr.
33 Hickory St.
Badin, N. C.
Mrs. Keith F. Harrison
15 Tallassee
Badin, N. C.
Mr. Raymon C. Hatley
Box 68
Oakboro, N. C.
Mrs. Barbara S. Helms
808 Smith St.
Albemarle, N. C.
Miss Betty M. Richardson
Ramseur, N. C.
Mrs. Carolyn McLain
106 Falls Rd.
Badin, N. C.
Miss Lillian Misenheimer
Box 364
Albemarle, N. C.
Mr. Moyer Smith
1190 Carolyn Drive
Albemarle, N. C.
Miss Rebecca Stasavich
205 Lewis St.
Greenville, N. C.
Mrs. Frank Westerlund
504 McGill Drive
Albemarle, N. C.
Mr. Henry Jackson White
1191 Carolyn Drive
Albemarle, N. C.
Mrs. Trailer Young
Box 141
Norwood, N. C.
Mr. Walter Smith
Route 1
Albemarle, N. C.
Miss Dianne Thompson
271 N. Third St.
Albemarle, N. C.
Mrs. Paul B. Fry
1034 E. Main St.
Albemarle, N. C.
Miss Elizabeth Ann Brooks
207 N. Fifth St.
Albemarle, N. C.
Mrs. James Brown
716 Montgomery Ave.
Albemarle, N. C.
New Year's
Resolutions
I, Poogie Austin, resolve to tell
the truth, the whole truth and
nothing but the truth, so help me—
please!
I, Brown Bivens, resolve to
leave my big brother’s girls alone.
We, Leon Burleson and Diane
Baker, resolve to wear our chorus
blazers in Hollywood.
I, Brenda Peeler, resolve not to
eat onion dip for a year.
I, Robert Scarboro, resolve to
wear a different colored pencil
behind my ear every day.
I. Missy Burnette, resolve that
only my hairdresser knows.
I, Nancy Morton, resolve to
go out for basketball next fall.
I, Moyer Smith, resolve to buy
more monogrammed shirts.
I, Eddie Mauldin, resolve to
write and sing more original
compositions during homeroom
period.
I, James Keever, resolve to en
joy life more.
I, Frances Ann Miller, resolve
never to ride Poogie Austin’s
horse again. It uses too much
gas.
I, Tommy Taylor, resolve to
walk on the right hand side of
the road when I wear my red
shirt.
I, Shelia Hall, resolve to teach
my daddy how to drive my car.
I, Coach Tyson, resolve not to
leave the cheerleaders again.
I, Annette Thomas, resolve not
to get mad at Johnny for three
whole days.
Inquisitive Inquisitor
Question: "What would you like to find
in your Christmas stocking?
GIRLS
A personally autographed pic
ture of Alfred E. Newman, in col
or.—Mary Napier.
$5,000 for the play. — Mrs.
Brown.
Byron!! (If he’d fit.) — Frances
Miller.
Madras Easter egg. — Libby
Mauldin.
A teddy bear that looks just
like Coach White. — Terry Stiller.
A picture of Mrs. Deese holding
a Latin book.—Judy Frye.
A movie contract wifli Richard
Chamberlain. — Karen Hatley.
A life size p>ortrait of Coach
Smith. — Sue Snuggs.
English under Mr. Novak.—Kay
Cornelius.
A foam rubber cushion to use on
hay rides. — Sue Cooper.
I never had one. — Gayle Byrd.
A Mr. Tyson doll; you wind it
up and watch it shoot basketball.
—Lynn Calder.
BOYS
Anything but a foot. — Ronnie
Blalock.
Something for athlete’s foot. —
Mark Cook.
A 10 X 12 picture of Mr. Hatley.
—David Miller.
A madras turtle with camel-hair
eyes.—Jimmy Hathcock.
A “Superfine” boy. — Johnny
Burleson.
A pumpkin. — Herman Maul
din.
Only my hairdresser knows for
sure.—Ronnie Swanner.
An “A” in French, because
Santa Claus is my only hope. —
Jerry Beaver.
A snow storm. — Eugene Coley.
An autographed pricture of Miss
Brooks.—^Mike Davis.
A beautiful blonde. — Curtis
Pierce.
What usually comes in stock
ings.—Danny Blalock.
A milion dollars. — David Bow
en.
"'Promise Her Anything But../'
This is the time of the year when a fellow begins to think about
gifts fpr those people who are important to him. Usually first and
foremost in his thinking is the giri in his life. Probably more
thought, more worry, and more guesswork go into selecting her pres
ent than go into the choosing of anyone else’s.
Most of all, no boy wants to give a gift which he thinks will
understate his feelings. Unfortunately, few can afford Bucking
ham Palace or the Eiffel Tower, so it is necessary to look for
things a bit more practical which will still say what is meant for
them to say. The essence of gift buying is choosing things which
will be meaningful to the recipient of the gift, “meaningful” mean
ing something that will make the receiver think of the giver and
the giver’s feelings. At this point each boy must make a personality
analysis, for where one girl might be overjoyed at receiving a stun
ning necklace, another might be equally charmed with a stuffed ani
mal. Following this line of thought, it might be correct to say that
when one comes down to specifics, there are some things which are
not the best gifts because they have a way of being meaningless
more easily than others. Items which are sort of half-luxury and
which one wouldn’t ordinarily buy for oneself have a tendency to
carry the most meaning.
Price is a ticklish question which depends greatly up(m a guy’s
financial resources; however, with such devices as cr^it and in
stallment buying, there are fewer limits to what one can afford.
Certainly no one can condemn the joy of giving to those we love,
but anyone can condemn excess in anything.
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