Fage 2
THE DAILY TAR HEEL
FRIDAY, JUNE 3, 1966
5
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The Daily Tar Heel is the official news publication of the University of North Carolina
u jjuuiiiuvu aiuucuis ucuiy cAtepi tvionaays, examinations penoas ana vaca
tions. Today's is a special Silver Anniversary edition in tribute to the Class of 1941. This edi
tion printed by the Cleveland Times Company, Shelby, N. C.
Don Bishop Ml .
Charles Barrett Ml
Leonard Lobred Ml
Grace Rutledge Hamrick Ml Associate Editor
Martha Clampitt McKay MlChapel Hill Editor
Simons Roof Ml Editorial Contributor
Joseph E. Zaytoun Ml Circulation Manager
Adrian Spies Ml Columnist
Second class postage paid at the post office in Chapel Hill, N. C, 27514. Subscription
rates: $4.50 per semester; $8 per year. Send change of address to The Daily Tar Heel,
Box 1080, Chapel Hill, N. C, 27514. Printed by the Chapel Hill Publishing Co., Inc.
The Associated Press is entitled exclusively to the use for republication of all local
news printed in this newspaper as well as all AP news dispatches.
Here we are many but unfortunately
not all 25 years later. Time has flown or
crept, sometimes both. A quarter-century
has recorded itself on waistlines, hairlines
and calendars.
Twenty-five years: that's approximately
one-eighth the time since the American
Republic was born, one-eighteenth the
time since Columbus discovered the New
World, and one-eightieth the time since
Christ walked on earth. Yes, we've lived
a large piece of modern man's history.
Besides chronologically, how far have
we come in 25 years? We've charted the
way to the moon even if we've only be
gun the first faltering communication with
our neighbor whose color is different.
We've filled fabulous supermarkets with
gourmet's delights and joined the Metre-cal-for-lunch
bunch. We've fought great
By
There Was A Wiser Tortoise
Who Said To Another Hare
"Go Chase Yourself
I'm Racing Me"
The temptation is there for each of us
th temptation, 25 years after graduation,
to attempt to determine to what exent
ono's classmates have been successes or
failures ,and how one stands in compari
son with his old friends. And the danger
is there, as it always is in our country, to
rise financial achievement, or lack of it, as
the chief criterion.
Perhaps, for those of us who will be
looking backward over the years to that
evening when we received our diploma
passport into the working world, and a
fighting world, just perhaps, the essence
oi !i..n is to look long and hard and
fairly at oneself. Not how well Joe has
done compared with Charlie, or Sally with
Jane, but "How well have I done against
As much as you enjoy this reunion,
however glad you are to see old friends
and exchange reminiscences, how would
you like it as a full-time activity days,
nights and week-ends?
Nice people, lots of fun but enough's
enough! Right?
One man who doesn't seem to think so
is J. Manon Saunders (25) - "Spike" to his
friends. Since he has no enemies, that in
cludes everyone.
When you see this ever-young, ever
enthusiastic general secretary of the UNC
Alumni Association in action this week
end, you will conclude this reunion to him
is the most important thing that ever hap
pened. And his sincerity will be as deep
as the Old Well in its most fruitful days.
Ask the Class of '40 how they found
by don bishop
The day came to turn over the
office keys to my successor, and
I set out from Chapel Hill.
Under my arm was a volume
of one year's Daily Tar Heels
a gift for an outgoing editor.
It seemed an awfully fragile
weapon for facing a world al
ready using rifles, mortars, can
non and dive bombers.
With uncanny precision, the
draft board dropped "greetings"
into my mail box at home on
the morning after Carl Sandburg
pronounced his benediction in
Kenan Stadium.
But there were a few weeks of
n-spite. A friendly Congressman
stcrred me into a temporary job
at Jacksonville, N.1 C where the
Marines Camp Lejeune was be--S
built.
Old Mr. Crowder, the gruff
crizzled construction super -"indent,
looked askance at
Hsh young college graduates.
"Boy.- h sliced an editor who
. ist finished a year's service
lvir.e th wnrld's problems
i. nc: un
fc editorials, "what did
u in conege:
locd him right in the eye
U 7 ''r. Crowder, the main
vVv leanied was how Httle 1
.Sv'der looked Pleased
wLr-nt Professor at
J yi4TJ had never alerted
T-y. So kind of answer
of protective
words at the
Daily Tar Heel
Editor Louis Harris '42
Managing Editor
Sports Editor
Richard Adler M3
William Joslin Ml
Pete Ivey '35
Jim Kluttz Ml
Bradley Long Ml
Mary Alan (Sis)
Of Time and the Reunion
wars to preserve freedom everywhere
and passed Speaker Ban Laws to kill it
here.
Like all men of all eras, we've often tak
en one step backwards for each two for
ward. And in recent times, as the Ku
Klux Klan spirit has flourised in corn
fields and legislative halls alike, North
Carolina sometimes has seemed to take
one step forward and two backwards.
But Tar Heels by tradition are unafraid
of free inquiry, of being out front, of lead
ing instead of following. Our own bones
may tire a little more quickly now than
they once did, but our progressive springs
run deep. Let's look to the next quarter
century and hope that all things consid
ered we advance as much as we have in
these past 25 years.
What Measure?
my own true potential? What have I
achieved in comparison with what I might
have done?" Not whether this classmate or
that classmate or oneself is making the top
salary, but maybe, just maybe, to ask one
self, "How much have I done for others?
Is earth a little better off, even in its
smallest corner, for my being here?"
Then, can we leave the past alone and
concentrate again on the duties and op
portunities of the present and the future?
The collective accomplishments of our
class, thus far, indicate amply that, as a
group, we are a forward-looking lot. Yes,
we can and will use the present and the
future with at least a fair degree of wis
dom. And when the status fanatics flock
around us and want to compare salaries
and honors, social standing and future
prospects, well, let's remember the values
which truly count, and quietly tell them,
"Go Chase Yourself. I'm Racing Me."
Spike Saunders
Spike last year. They'll tell you he regard
ed THEIR reunion as the most exciting of
his career. The same will be said by '42
next year.
It isn't this way just at reunions. At
alumni meetings from Thomasville to
Times Square, you'll find Spike Saunders
in the thick of things, quietly helping the
program along, bringing people together,
saying a friendly word here, telling a story
there. He's always around as the essential
coalescing agent for a successful alumni
gathering.
Kemp Battle, Cornelia Spencer, Horace
Williams, Frank Graham they are signi
ficant names in the University's history.
By his performance in his field. Spike
Saunders has carved his name alongside
theirs.
Under No Censor
crucial moment.
Mr. Crowder put me to work
as a "coordinator." His formal
education was scant, but like any
good public servant, he knew
that word.
"You just birddog around
headquarters," he said, "and co
ordinate things."
"Headquarters" was an aban
doned farm storehouse which
eventually would make way for
a Marine barracks. One day he
decided it needed "dressing up."
"You're a college graduate,"
he said, finally finding a use for
such. "Write me some slogans to
decorate the walls."
With dismay, I realized that
Skipper Coffin, Phillips Russell
and Walter Spearman those
word wizards in the Department
of Journalism hadn't taught me
a single slogan!
That night, I brought down a
volume of quotations containing
the best of Benjamin Franklin's
"Poor Richard's Almanac"
Next day, Mr. Crowder had
his slogans, ready for posting.
"Early to bed and early to rise,
Makes a man healthy, wealthy,
and wise."
"Never leave that till tomorrow
which you can do today."
"Little strokes feu great oaks."
Ben Franklin would have been
proud. Mr. Crowder certainly
was. And I was too even if he
didn't give me a by-line.
U-N-C
The bound volume of Daily
Tar Heels, so laboriously created
Columnist
. Columnist
Special Contributor
Special Contributor
Special Contributor
Special Contributor
Clinard Flinn Ml Researcher
K.
by many hands, went into stor
age in a basement at home in
New Bern. At one point, the
neighborhood squirrels, sated by
pecans growing all around, dis
covered this new treasure and
made confetti of it.
A dead squirrel was fcund
nearby about the time the dam
age came to light. Who would
have thought a Daily Tar Heel
editorial could be so lethal?
U-N-C
From a public relations desk"
at Fort Bragg I stepped before a
board of Field Artillery colonels,
seeking designation on the small
quota of officer candidates being
sent to Camp Davis, N. C, for
Antiaircraft Artillery training.
"Amazing, Sergeant," clucked
the senior colonel. "I don't un
derstand it. You're a college
graduate. You have a good rec
ord. The Field Artillery needs
officers. We have a large quota.
How could you possibly decide
against going to Fort Sill, Okla
homa?" Something about him suggest
ed that he wouldn't take kindly
to the response that Camp Davis
was only 58 miles from New
Bern, and not too far from
Chapel Hill. So I tried this one:
"Colonel, ever since I was a
little boy, I've had some kind of
crazy idea that I would like to
shoot at airplanes. This will
make it possible to do it legal
ly." rr,i omH T-eaonin," said a
(CONTINUED ON PAGE 4)
To Tell
Thf Truth
BY ADRIAN SPIES
To Tell the Truth I admit to
having almost flunked Freshman
Math, but I can't believe that
the years since I wrote my last
To Tell the Truth column for
the Tar Heel add up to an awe
some twenty-five . . .
Truly, I blush at some of the
things I wrote then I also
blush, however, at some of the
things I've written since . . .
A domestic truth my thirteen
year old daughter, the youngest
of three, just interrupted this ad
venture in nostalgia to send me
out for a pack of black bobby,
pins ...
(I have returned with the
bobby-pins, I note in passing
that Beverly Hills is pretty to
night, but never, never will it
have the sweet glory of Chapel
Hill) . . .
A bitter truth I wonder if a
certain redhead in a fair-sized
Carolina city ever has a tinge of
regret about having stood me up
on a very late date . . . Which
leads me to wonder if she's still
a redhead and still fair-sized
herself . . .
Still telling the truth, I won
der how many of you who knew
me would believe that I only
weigh 160 pounds these days
and what does Miss Perhaps
Redhead think of THAT?
Equally truthfully, less face
tiously, I wonder if graduates of
many schools have had as many
occasions across the years to be
proud of a university and a bor-
rowed home state as I have . . .
To tell some Hollywood truths
I hope movies ARE better
than ever, because I've just fin
ished one for M.G.M. . . .
There is on file at one of the
studios here a Carolina Maga
zine from 1941, with a story by
me. It was submitted by Paul
Green in an attempt to get me
a job then. The attempt failed,
the story was a gaudy mishmash
about a writer who ends up in
Hollywood with a mortgage, a
pool, an uncomfortable secret
knowledge about the private
lives of some public gods and
goddesses. There are moments,
dear Paul, when I feel that I am
living my fantasies, and in
spades . . .
But if Hollywood parties aren't
so hot, the nicest one I recall
was at my own house when Ed
Rankin and Voit Gilmore and
Hugh Morton and some others of
you visited me during the 1960
Democratic Convention. I hope
some others of you will look me
up and that some future con
vention can nominate as good a
man as 1960 did ...
Some reunion truths I won't
be there, and I'm sorry, and
that's the truth, because I'll be
getting ready to take my family
to Paris, which I love as I love
Chapel Hill, which is a double
truth. And, though I confess I
won't give up a Grand Marnier
souffle at my favorite Left Bank
restaurant or one more walk
along my favorite stretch of the
Seine to find out, I'd like very
much to see if Bill Dees still is
quietly on the beam, which I
bet he is, if Lou Harris is still
solid, which extrapolations tell
me he is, if Paul Severin is still
a very nice man, if Charlie Bar
rett still hides his toughness un
der a boyish smile and, dammit,
if that Redhead still is ... ,
Since IH never know for sure,
I'm going to assume it all turned
, out well for each of you, though
we all have lived long enough
now to know that couldn't be . .
In any event, I hope you have
a wife (or husband) as good as
mine, kids as generally satisfy
ing as mine, work that all in all
is as challenging and rewarding
as mine. I hope most tenderly
that the things you have are the
things that matter to you that
what you have lost wasn't en
tirely just thrown away, that you
haven't stopped looking for
things still to be found . . .
Personally, to tell the truth, I
seem to have misplaced Yester
day, our Yesterday, the one we
shared. I really can't believe it's
dead and gone like some of the
people my friends Harry Lasker
and Wieder Sievers, our special
Saturday hero George Stirn
weiss, some of your friends, too.
Since it seems to be a trick of
life that we are 45 or 46 or 47,
though we feel like 21 inside, I
choose to hope that one more
trick remains to be played and
well yet run into our sweet Yes
terday on some very young To
morrow. Answers To
Pvre 1 Omz
ANSWERS: 1941-1966 QUIZ
1. 1966 2. 1941 3. 1966
4. 1941 5. 1966 6. 1941
7. 1941 8. 1966 9. 1966
"Isn't It Wonderful? . . . Nothing Changed In 25 Years"
Alone,..
piiliiiiivB
Creative
Men
BY RICHARD ADLER
Yesterday was a very big day!
But as usual, it began slowly
with an 8 o'clock class. Then at
the 10:30 break at the "Y" I ran
into Sylvan Meyer. We were
both ordering those super 10 cent
malteds to keep us going through
the morning.
Sylvan was busy with the
Daily Tar Heel and talked rap.
idly about an idea for a sports
feature on those three great stars
of last year's team Lalanne,
"Stirny" and Severin where
they were now . . . what they
were doing ... It seemed impor
tant because a year ago is a long
time.
I wandered outside and walk
ed over to the steps at South
Building. The "Big Four" were
huddling again! Lou Harris, Hen
ry Moll, Bert Bennett and Terry
Sanford. Lou is behind-the-scenes
analyst and statistician
for Henry who wants Graham
Memorial after he graduates in
June. Law Student Sanford was
giving Bert a few hints. Bert
has his eye on the Student Body
Presidency next year.
Interesting that these two de
votees of student politics from
different backgrounds (Lou from
New Haven and Terry from
Laurinburg) should be so often
together . . . welded by a mu
tual love of government of any
size or form.
Respectfully, I hung back
from this important cluster of
BMOC, and felt proud that I
was allowed to be in the "neigh
borhood." Henry's open smile
made me welcome. He intro
duced me to Lou and Terry. It
was the first time I had met
them! They were agreeable but
were too deep in discussion to
pay much attention to me. The
bell rang and we broke up to go
to our separate 11 o'clocks.
Bobby "Goat" Gersten said
"hey!" He was walking with his
great sidekick, All - American
George Glamack. Bobby, five
foot seven and George six foot
five, were the Campus Mutt and
Jeff. (I like Bobby's girl Libbie
Izen from Asheville ... So does
Bob "Shuf" Shuford.)
After class I went to Graham
Mc tic rial for lunch. I was al
lowed to sit with some senior
girls ... all very pretty. Kate
Lineback, Martha Clampitt,
Marge Johnston, Mary Caldwell,
and Margaret Rose Knight (she
is my favorite, but she is Terry's
girl). Bill Shuford, Manager of
Graham Memorial, came and sat
down. So did my roommate
Charles Straus, who is also my
best friend.
After lunch, I went upstairs to
see Don Bishop, editor of the
DTH. I had to turn in my re
view of Paul Green's "Native
Son." I had been sent to New
York to review the opening of
the Orson Welles production star
ring Canada Lee. (I gave it a
rave!) Don asked me to do a
column of features called "Crea
tive Men.
Later, I walked all the way to
vav1 .y.y.y.v.vAv.v.-.v.-.i
Lend
An Ear
BY LOUIS HARRIS
A common experience of most
people going back to a place of
their youth is to have the sense
that everything has shrunk.
Stone walls are shorter, walks
are narrower.
Oddly enough, this experience
has never been true whenever
I've returned to Chapel Hill.
To the contrary, the familiar
land-marks of the late 1930's and
early 1940's now seem more per
manent, more solid, larger in
their symbolism than they were
back then.
This obviously is less a tribute
to the maintenance of the old
campus than to the roots of un
derstanding so firmly planted in
the minds of students.
The same Memorial Hall that
heard Fascist Lawrence Dennis
and Communist Earl Browder
seems spacious and secure. The
same Graham Memorial where
meetings were held to seek ad
mission of Negroes to the grad
uate school seems full and splen
did. Chapel Hill and the university
campus of the p re-World War II
era was big enough to house the
most dissident of views, to ab
sorb and to sift the most diverse
expression of opinion.
The land-marks, as all inani
mate objects, are only alive as
the living make them.
I hope that 25 years hence,
they will not be shrunken for
the generation that now resides
there.
Greenwood (which is Paul
Green's farm) to talk to Mr.
Green. He is helping me plan the
Carolina Workshop Festival for
Performing Arts. Janet, his 10-year-old
daughter, brought us in
some hot gingerbread she had
baked all by herself. I marveled
at this little baker. Mr. Green
said she was also a good writer.
Nancy Byrd Green, seven years
older, came in. I marveled at
her, too!
I walked to the library to
study. I checked an assignment
with friend Paul Kolton, who.
was sitting with Morty Cantor
and Jack "In Dubious Battle"
Dube. At 5 o'clock Dube and I
joined Stan Fuchs and walked
over to the Playmaker Theatre
for a rehearsal of "Bury the
Dead." I'm playing the sixth
corpse; Dube, a gravedigger; and
Fuchs, the Captain.
After the rehearsal, I thought
I'd treat myself to an especially
extravagant dinner. I freshened
up at the dorm and walked to
the Carolina Inn cafeteria. While
carrying my tray brimming with
fried chicken, black-eyed peas,
okra and tomatoes, I passed Lou
Harris and Terry Sanford, still
huddling.
Lou said, "Hey, Dick, how
about joining us!"
That made it a very big day,
yesterday ... I mean 25 years
ago . . . back in the Fall of 1941.
Of Mice
And Men
By SIMONS ROOF
During World War II there
was a young fellow who finally
managed to get through Pensa
cola flight training, and to grad
uate with the lowest passing
grades on record.
He was assigned to an aircraft
carrier squadron in the South
Pacific. The squadron leader
sent him aloft to show off his
stuff. The squadron leader took
a long look, gasped, and choked
out to his assistant, "That guy's
so bad he could get all of us
killed. I hate to do it, but well
have to put him in the hot spot."
The first time the squadron
went out with its new pilot, the
sky suddenly became black with
Jap Zero fighters. And before
anyone could fully realize it, the
so-called poor pilot had zigged
and zagged and zoomed his way
to 19 Zeroes shot down. He in
spected his guns. He had two
bullets left. Glancing swiftly
around, he spotted a Zero wob
bling along and another trailing
a wisp of smoke. In he went,
with one bullet for each, and got
both.
Then he raced back to the car
rier, landed, and dashed up to
see the Admiral in the con tow
er. "Admiral," he said in a rush.
"They said I was the stupidest
guy ever to get through Pensa
cola! But you know what, Sir?
I've just shot down twenty-one
of those little so-and-so so-and-sos!"
The Admiral leaned forward
and, with a big show of teeth,
murmured softly, "Ah soooooo!"
May your successes be many,
old classmate. And after each,
may you have a happy and un-Ah-so
landing.
Some Things Do Change;
See 'Operation Match'
Today's Daily Tar Heel, while
bearing out the premise that "the
more things change, the more
they are the same," also has
some strange new language that
was unknown 25 years ago.
Some recent samples:
"Losing basketball and foot
ball teams are camp. Dean Long
is camp. A two-month old urn-
brella is camp. Student Legisla
ture is camp."
Advertisement: "Operation
Match (The Computer Dating
Service) is searching for a North
Carolina District Manager. Send
letter and resume to Operation
Match, P. O. Box 72, Cambridge,
Mass."
"The North Carolina Angel
Flight has switched uniforms for
the new semester. Instead of
wearing the old blue ones every
Thursday, they are now sporting
red uniforms provided by the
Fireside." -
"Application of digital com
puters to literary and social
scientific research will be dis
cussed at two UNC senvnars
Thursday and Friday at 3:30 p.
111."
She Walks
With Men
BY MARTHA CLAMPITT McXAT
Don Bishop, my editor and my
friend, used to tell me he would
print anything I wrote, as long
as I signed my name to it I as
sume the offer is still good.
Eunice "Panther" Patten Jones
was unkind enough, not long ago,
to drag out some of my old col
umns and make me read them.
Heavers! What courage Bishop
had!
I remember the feud Bamaby
Conrad and I carried on in the
Tar Heel by agreement And
the one with Jane McMaster
not by agreement. (About what
I know not.)
I remember . . . Sound and
Fury . . . "One More Spring"
. . . Sanford Stein, who was so
bright and who never got his
due from any of us . . . Virginia
Worth, singing "Tales My Moth
er Told Me" . . . "French" Gib
son, dramatic and daring to be
different . . .
Dolly "The Body" Erickson,
followed around campus by a co
terie of faithful slaves . . . Jo
"Po," who madly loved Ace
Brown . . .
"Droopy" Ewald ("My father
is William G. Ewald, the most
prominent younger man in Bal
timore.") . . . "Droopy" ran one
spring, or so she declared, for
VICE president of the student
BODY . . . Her platform includ
ed a promise of beer flowing
from the Old Well . . . She greet
ed everyone with a sexy "Hey,
Honey . . . (long pause) . . -How's
your mother?"
She, Janet Watson, Tudie Hud
son, Jo, Trudie Darden, Sallie
Anna Evans and I, among others,
no doubt drove poor Mrs. Cobb
at No. One dorm to a premature
grave. . .
I remember Ab, who never re
corded what we charged or or
dered, yet always knew exactly
what we owed, the serial num
ber of the record which was due
in yesterday . . .
From him we bought "A Tis
ket, A Tasket," "Green Eyes,"
"Celery Stalks at Midnight"
"Do I Worry?" and that Alvino
Rey thing that all the sororities,
put on at 11 o'clock, and which
ended with a throaty, whispered.
"Goodnight" . . .
Then there was the "Lily of
the Alley," where on occasion,
was seen one "Bat" Koonce, eat
ing light bulbs and razor blades
. . . and who was it who kept
walking through the fire in the
Bloody Bucket yard one night?
. . . the "Count" maybe . . .
And Tommy Dorsey, who
brought Connie Haines, Frank
Sinatra, Jo Stafford and the
Pied Pipers, Ziggy Elman and
Buddy Rich for two years in a
row to help celebrate the now
extinct May Frolics ... at which
caper Bill Luke was last seen
stretched out on the grass of
Tenny's meadow ... I might
think him still there, except I
have seen him gazing out at me
from the pages of the New York,
er magazine, wearing a Countess
Mara tie . . .
I remember (who present
could forget) Ben Browning
minus his cigar, leaping from his
post at first base and landing
atop the press tables to catch a
fly and claim an out ... a real
hero . . . and Jimmy Howards
and Bo Reynolds, and Popeye
Jones . . . And Coach Bunn
Hearn drawling, "Well, fellas,
we gonna win a few . . . and
lose a few ... and a few will
be rained out" . . .
And George Stirnweiss, great
on the diamond and on the foot
ball field . . . The Carolina
Duke game, when we stood the
entire second half, and won 6-3
. . . and on the side, we square
danced, with Margaret Rose
Knight Sanford leading the
field ...
Then there was politics with
Bill Stauber dreaming up the
Ramses party . . . a great man
euver . . . there were candidates
. . Bill Shuford, Herb Hardy.
Lou Harris, Ike Grainger, Bill
Dees, Stacy Crockett the UP, the
SP, the Student Legislature
America First ... Aid the Al
lies . . . and we had our speech
es and marches (and tomatoes)
too . . . We'd better not say too
much when our kids take a
stand ...
I remember those who made
us think for ourselves, and who
inspired and encouraged ....
Rex Winslow, George Coffin
Taylor. Hugh Lefler . . . Zimmer
man, Bernstein, Harland, Mac
kie . . .
It was great ... I loved it alt
and I wouldn't go back ... I
like my present perch.
P-S. My column title referred
to the Carolina Coed. Unfortun
ately, nobody ever figured this
out so 25 years later, for your
information . . .