Newspapers / University of North Carolina … / May 16, 1950, edition 1 / Page 3
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May 16, 1950 Students Remember Page MASQUERADE By Marlin Setter How Far Is One Thousand? To you one thousand feet may seem a very short distance, may be to the corner drugstore or soda fountain; to someone else it may be a little farther. To somenoe trying to cross a river without a boat it may seem like miles and to others, still farther. One night in November 1948, it seemed as if it were a thousand miles to three men who were all wishing that they could just get over the thousand feet of space. This nig thhad started the same as many others had for the past six months. At twelve o’clock they went to the ramp and pick ed up their plane which had just returned from a flight to Berlin. After loading ten tons of coal and pulling all the necessary ground checks, they lumbered in to the air and sat down to the tiring job of another of three hour flight to Berlin. Upon ar riving there, they unloaded the coal and started back to their home base, Fassberg. In front of them was another ship from the same squadron as they. As they left the ground the ship ahead called back annd told them that they weuld keep the coffee warm at Frassberg. About half way back the ground suddenly spouted a white blanket. One minute everything was clear as a crystal; the next not a thing could be seen. The fog had done this before, so no one worried about it; besides there was a Ground Control Ap proach sytem set up at Frass berg for just such nights as this. Arriving over the field, the men had to sit tight and wait their turn to be brought in on Ground Control Approach. Finally there was only one plane ahead of them, and it was the one with their friends friends in it. Every thing seemed to be going along fine. They could hear the Ground Control Approach man talking the next plane in. The plane was to the right of the runway, and he wa telling them to start a left turn to correct it. At that instant, directly below, the earth seemed to errupt into a solid sheet of flame. le looked as if someone had set off all the fire works in the world at once. No one said anything for what seem ed ages; then someone said “My The Oak Tree Chop, chop, chop! The axe slashes in to the tree; the chips fly. The colored man is clearing the lot next door of trees and brush because some people are going to build a house there. At this moment he is choping down the oak tree in the center of the lot. le seems a shame to des troy this fine speciman of nature. From the deepest root to the highest branch, this tree is a perfect gift to man from God. I like to think of this tree as being a little differen from others. The roots are the same— going deep into the ground and securing the necessary noursh- ment, keeping the tree sturdy and erect. The limbs and branch es are the same—reaching high into the sky like the tower of Babel. The massive trunk is the same—e x c e p t for the crude boards nailed to its side. But this hommade ladder didn’t simp ly lead to some boards nailed on the limbs. It led to adventure. Up there boys were pirates in the crowsnest, Daniel Boon on the lookout for Indians, Tarzan in his tree home. The tree is familiar with overactive boys climbing and playing in its limbs, which reach out like grotesque arms. The scars inflicted don’t mar the beauty in the least; they add character to the old oak. Up high in the forks is a squir rel’s nest. The squirrels scamper and play, chattering as they jump from limb to limb. The squirrels seem carefree; they don’t realize the impending danger to their home. The branches spread out into the sky, looking down contempt uously at the antics of mankind and up reverently towards the heavens. The leaves glisten in the sun for the last time. It is all over now; the tree is beginning to fall. Never again will boys play in this tree. Never again will squirrels scamper from limb to limb. No more birds will sing from its branches. The tree will not be completely forgotten, however. I shall never forgte it, and I know other boys, along with me, will never forget that old COLLEGIATE LIFE At The Bat Around Independence Park these days can be heard the sound of wood being rather gent ly applied to horsehide. The term “gently” is used because in the only two games to date, the members of the Charlotte Col lege baseball team have as yet. collectively and individually, to garner a single extra-base hit. The only hits by the team this season so far have been singles, and these haven’t been over abundant. As the season is still young, however, it is hoped that the previously proven hitters on the squad will soon find their batting eye. At the beginning of the season. Pitching was the chief cause of concern. That problem has in some measure been solved by the capable right arm of Bob Isaacs. Bob played with Burton’s In stitute last season, but he is los ing no time in establishing the truth as to where his true sen timents lie. As further proof of this fact, he pitched CC to a 5-5 tie with his former teammates from Burton’s on Thursday, April 13. It should also be noted that all five (5) runs scored off him were unearned. Thus it has been found that other positions than pitching are weak defensively. The loss of Isaacs to the outfield has con siderably weakened the structure of that unit and caused a general reshifting of players in the out er garden. Four players are cur rently battling for the three posi tions. Of these, Jim Kilgo is the only one who appears certain of a starting assignment. The others are Bud Walker, Harold Parker, and Hugh Parker, Catching, a position which is weak primarily because the boys cannot practice as often as they should, has two candidates, Paul Putnam ani Lee Burke, The infield appears set al ready, with veteran performers back at every position except second base, where Walter Ross is now holding forth after an un successful try on the mound, David Cash at third base, Ray Kisiah at shortstop, and Aaron Brown at first base are the re turning regulars; and they should provide the sadly-needed hitting power of the ball club. Jack Nes- bit is the utility infielder. At a recent meeting of the team, Ray Kisiah was re-elect- ed captain of the squad; and Glenn Baughman was named as the Manager, Improvement is being shown with each game, so turn out and take a look at your team. Then form your own opinion. The next two home games will be played on April 20th and 24th at In dependence Park at 3:00 p.m. The first against Burton’s Institute and the latter against Gardner- Webb Junior College. Weisiger-Oomartie Esso Service Washing and Grea»ing—$1.00 Auto AccetsoriM At A Minimum Corner Trade & McDowell—Tel. 9-595 BOULEVARD CLEANERS 5021 Wilkinson Blvd. Quality Cleaning Lower Prices Cash & Carry Ice Cold Beer & Cold Drinks Plenty of Parking Space The great hotel ballroom re sembled a Mardi Gras. It was the scene of the last dance of the graduating class of State Univer sity. The masked dancers in their bizarre costumes were a riot of color and pageantry. An interna tionally famous orchestra was playing sweet, soft music. On the darkened terrace lead ing from the ballroom, a tall lone figure stood smoking, looking out over the parapet at the conglom eration of lights that was New York’s skyline after dark. Jack Coburn was unhappy. Ap parently he had everything that a man graduating from college should have. Over six feet, his body in its height and breadth and width denoted many seasons of training tables in that elusive pursuit of glory termed football. He’d been a great football player at State. His grades had been ex cellent and he had a swell fu ture in a law office in California. But he was far from happy. Now, he was dressed in a strange costume. He looked a throwback to the days of the Spanish Inquisition. From his plumed hat to his Cordovan boots with the hugh spurs, he was the picture of a Spanish Grandee. His rugged, yet sensitive face for some reason was not marred by the black mustache and goatee he had taken some pains to have just right. From his white silk shirt showing under the velvet jacket to the long sword at his left side, he seemed a true gentle man of old Spain. He threw his fifth or sixth ciga rette down and. after adjusting his mask, turned and looked through the French doors into the dance. His eyes flicked back and forth and finally settled on one girl—a girl whom he had been following with his eyes most of the evening, a girl with whom he had never danced, a girl who was to him, Ihe girl, Mary Williams, who had been crowned that eve ning as “Miss State College.” She was the only girl he would ever want to marry. “Tonight,” Jack thought, “I’ll make up for many things. She won’t know me because even my teachers didn’t recognize me in this outfit, and none of them know that I speak Spanish. I just wish with all my heart that things had been different years ago. I would give my interest in Heaven to have ever been able to talk to her as easily as I talk to all the other girls who’ve wanted me to date them, or go steady with them. I guess I just never had a chance.” With that thought he stepped forward from the ter race door and intercepted a tiny girl who seemed to be walking toward the buffet. She was Miss Mary Williams. Her beauty was not only evident in her ‘Madame Pompadour’ costume, but she car ried it with the grace of a true queen. Her roguish eyes seemed huge in her small, oval-shaped face. He looked at her and for the first time in eight years noticed that there was no hesitancy or ner vousness, as he said in perfect Castilian Spanish. “May I have the pleasure of this dance?” The tiny beauty smiled dazzlingly: “I don’t understand you. Sir.” Without saying more he gathered her in his arms and they glided off to the music of the waltz. After a moment he leaned over and began speaking softly in her ear, still in Spanish: “Mary, my dear, this is the first and last time I will ever have you in my arms, and I have long ed for this so many years.” She looked up at him, questioning, but he continued: “I know you cannot under- | stand, my sweet, but I have loved you so much and so hopelessly since our high school days and never had heart to ask you for a date, my loveliest of the fair, my jewel among women. You don’t know me now, and I can’t tell you all those things I have kept with in me so long. “Your lips are nectar, and when you smile you shed a radi ance beyond compare. My dear, to kiss your lips would be an ecstacy only the gods could under stand. No rose exists to equal the beauty of your fair cheeks and those veils, termed lashes, that cover your eyes, hide two pools of enchantment I could spend a lifetime, gazing into.” Mary cut in with: ‘Whatever you are saying, it sounds nice.” “I have worshipped you, my Mary, since I moved next door to you long ago. When you were blocks away I have stood at my window watching, and I have said, 'There is that dear form hurrying toward you, coward Jack, Why don’t you talk to her?’ —But no, never did I have the courage,” The soft music changed ab- ruptly, then, into “Goodnight, Sweetheart,” and the tall Span iard began talking faster: “Goodnight, sweetheart, I will probably never see you again. I am going to live in Los Angeles after graduation, but remember that this heart is yours, carry it always with you—so, goodnight sweetheart, sweetheart, sweet heart and goodbye.” The music stopped and the lights came on. Mary reached up and removed his mask and her own. She look ed at him tenderly and with the tears spilling down her cheeks and sobbing as tho’ her heart would break, mumured: “Jack, Oh why didn’t you let me know? I have loved you since I first saw you move in next door, from my window. I have prayed for this moment so long. My eyes followed just you when you play ed football. Do you remember when you were injured playing that time, and I went next door and handed you some flowers— when all the time I ached to put my arms around you and kiss away the pain? Oh, my darling, my heart knew you at sight to night and, my sweet, if you had ever asked me out, you would probably have learned that I ma jored in Spanish just because I once heard that you learned it as a child and could speak it fluent ly” Jack Coburn stood there for a moment, looking at her unbe lievingly. Then he leaned down and kissed her, and hand in hand, they walked out of the ballroom. Patronize Our Advertisers hel|oar^^lead I Follow your FAVORITES in THE CHARLOTTE NEWS Daily God, they have crashed,” and it seemed as if the whole world came down on their shoulders all at once. What could they do? Between their friends and them ther was a thousand feet of space. Then everyone got the same idea at once—call the field and get the fire trucks and a doctor out there. After this was done no one said a word; the men just looked at their watches and down at the burning plane, in exactly (Continued on page 4) oak tree. —Jerry B. Holloday Stonewall Florist THOMAS J. HUNTER, Prop. Flowers Wired Anywhere Day 3-4951 537 West Trade Street Night 39-9422 OUTFITTERS FOR THE ENTIRE FAMILY 1500 Central Ave. Phone 30155 Harris Clothing M O N T A L D O ' S 220 N. Tryon St. Visit .... The Rendezvous Room Always a complete selection of apparel for .... "Smart" Young Ladies
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May 16, 1950, edition 1
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