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Page 2-B -The Chapel Hill Weekly Founded in IMS by Louis Graves "If the matter is important and you are sure of your ground, never fear to be in the minority." ORVILLE CAMPBELL. Publisher JAMES SHUMAKER, Editor ' Published every Sunday and Wednesday by the Chapel HUI Publishing Crvnpany, Inc. SOI West Franklin Street, Chapel BUI. N. C. P. O. Bov HI Telephone 867-704* Subscription rates (payable in advance and including N. C. sales tax)—ln North Carolina: One year, 96.15; six months, $3 00; three months, $2.06. Elsewhere in the United States: Om year, 96.00; six months, $4.00; three months, $3.00. Outside United States: One year, SIO.M. Opportunity For A Lasting Memorial Site work has begun for a University residence hallJn the Craige-Ehringhaus complex, Thg new residence hall will house about 800 men and, depending on con struction bids, might go to nine or ten stories. Construction is expected to begin within three or four months and the residence hall is expected to be ready for occupancy in the fall of 1965. The new residence hall has not yet been named. An especially fitting name, we think, and one which would do the University proud would be the John F. Kennedy Residence Hall. " There is no precedent for naming Uni versity of North Carolina buildings for United States Presidents, but neither is there any rule or statute prohibiting it. This seems to be an appropriate time for setting the precedent. The Old, Lost Days Os The ,218 Bee It is odd how a disused habit occa sionally forces its way to the surface after lying ten years dormant, i Like the other morning—waking at four, groping for hunting boots that had done all their duty in a swampy bottom hundreds of miles and worlds of change from here. The wind was snapping softly at the pines through the heavy air, and though you couldn’t see them you knew the first light would show you racks of low, bul- - bous clouds that appeared to be grasp ing at the tree-tops to keep from being blown to the east, out over the sounds. In an hour you would have completed your inadequate explanations to the set ter, who never had understood that you don’t point a wild turkey, let alone flush him. The trick is to get in range, then .pray that there’s one clean shot against the light before that hurtling bulk of feathers and sass can hit the 75 miles an hour of which he’ji capable. 1 Even then, a full-choke Remington was rarely enough to bring it down. No, the dog would have to stay. That done, you would have stopped for the companion who, even then, was as rare as the turkey he would probably bring crashing. Long after the decline of markmanship, he stubbornly insisted on an old single shot rifle—a .218 Bee for which he had to order cartridges all the way from New York—as the only sensible piece for turkey. “\ou and that stove pipe have maybe one chance at 40 yards,” he’d say. “And the three or four shot that hit him will be just that much more ballast.” So, for maybe a dozen years, you and he had moved into that swamp, now and I Like Chapel Hill By BILLY ARTHUR" I already know what I’m going to get for Christmas—a loan. * • • They’re telling about a local bridge game, attended by some former residents during the holi days, when one woman asked another, “What happened to that dizzy looking blonde your hus band used to be seen wtih?” And her partner replied, “Oh, my wig wore out.” • • • Overheard at Spencer Hall: “He’s got one of the nicest apartments you ever screamed in.” • • • Overheard at Mack’s and Jes se’s: “He’s got what you'd call an occupational disease work makes him sick.” • * • Our Annis Lillian was telling about the pictures o l Governor Try on's palace that she had seen. “And they had a fireplace in every room in the palace, be cause there was no central heat President Kennedy had ties with Chapel Hill, having been awarded an honorary degree by the University and having delivered the University Day address here in 1961. Beyond that, President Kennedy was deeply interested in higher education and often acknowledged its vital impor tance to the future of the Nation. If there were no other reasons, the University would be fully justified in naming the new residence hall for Presi dent Kennedy simply because he and the University stood for the same things and their ultimate goals were identical; to make this a better and more enlightened world. The University paid high tribute to President Kennedy when he was alive and mourned deeply at his death. Now it has an opportunity to offer him a more permanent memorial. We hope the University will see fit to do so. then flushing a woodcock for which you weren’t armed, and trying to stay off the hardwood leaves not yet soaked enough for silent treading. On a morn ing like this the gobblers would be rest less with the soughing of the wind, cagier, more cautious. On quieter morn ings, your friend would have pulled from his overalls a thin, hollowed cedar cylin der and a piece of slate to rasp across the small end. The noise made you catch your breath. Turkey talk. Directly there would-be a dialogue between the call aqd a Tom a mile away while you stood stock still, trying to pass as the natural out growth of a water oak. The old rifle would spit a terse, flat crack, like as not followed by the snap ping of branches marking the turkey's fall. “Shrewd,” he would say. “Flew like a ship sailing under cannon. Low and didn’t show himself against the light.” How he’d come to grief was a secret be tween the old rifle and its user, and the shotgun under your arm seemed more alien than ever. That had been years ago.. A casual sentence in a letter gave to understand that the swamp had been razed and drained and put to good use as pasture. The old companion had become arthritic, and possibly the manufacturer had tired of filling only one order every two or three years for .218 Bee cartridges and quit making them. At any rate the tur keys, without their swamp to hide them, had retreated to the uplands where foxes exacted a greater tribute than one outmoded rifle and one canny marksman had ever thought to. It is strange how the only remnant of those mornings • could be a fitful waking near dawn in the town. mg system in those days,” she said. And the Missus related that the first house she ever lived in back on the farm was the same. “You mean,” asked Annis, “you were living the same time as Governor Tryon.” I laughed aloud. “If I see that in the paper,” said the Missus, “it’ll be bad for you.” • • • Times have changed greatly. Take, for instance, toys. When I was a child, all of us were happy with such things to play with as a button hook, an old tire, bottle caps and rusty nails. • * • I guess Macy’s parade is the only one that has ballet dancers in it. They’re people who dance on their toes. It seems to me if the producers want taller girls, why don't they hire them? * • * Fellow was telling a story about an advertising agency with a cigarette account learning of a mao in Tennessee hills who'd Sunday, December 1, 1963 been smoking for 90 years and would soon bo celebrating his 100th birthday. Sc the agency sent a man down there to get an endorsement. “Ever been to New York?” the agency man asked, and the old man said “Nope, but I always intended to ge.” “Ever been in a jet plane?” “Nope, but I alius wanted to.” “Well,” said the ad man. “you and I are going to New York on a jet plane, and you’re going to have one of the best hotel suites, and on your birthday I'll call you at 9 a.m. and drive you to the TV studio and at 10 a.m. ahSrp you’ll be on television. What do you think of that ” Cain’t do it,” said the old man. “I don’t stop coughing till to noon.” • • * If the automobiles keep getting smaller and power mowers larg er, It won’t be long before they merge, and we’U have something that can mow down both pedes trians and grass at the same time. Jim Bishop Remembers JFK The Hardest Working Chief Os All By JIM BISHOP The door was ajar. I was talk ing to Evelyn Lincoln, the Presi dent’s personal secretary. From the other side of the door, <a man’s voice said: Jim? Jim? Come on in.” My appointment with Presi dent Kennedy was not due until the next morning. Mrs. Lincoln pushed the connecting door open t and John F. Kennedy, too young i looking, too vigorous, too hand some, got up from behind his desk and came around the door to shake hands with Mrs. Bishop and with me. This was three weeks ago. I tried to beg off. Come on," he said and he motioned to two beige couches flanking the fire place in his office. We sat. He pulled up a rocker with the legend “USS Kittyhawk” on the backrest, and sat. He knew why I was in the White House. I was there to do a personal closeup of him and his family for the magazine Good Housekeeping. He leaned forward, elbows on knees, the brown suit freshly pressed and he put on the big Kennedy grin. “A magazine article?” he ask ed in mock shock “Couldn’t you make a book out of it?” 1 thought about it. “Maybe,” I said. “It would depend upon how much you and Mrs. Kennedy will sacrifice your privacy.” He reached a hand out and patted a knee. “I read some of your other books," he said. TALKED ABOUT LINCOLN We talked about “Hie Day Lin coln Was Shot." It was a minute by-minute account of the 16th President’s final day. Mr. Ken nedy's voiced softened, “ I remember,” he said, “there were about 50-odd things that happen ed that day that, if they had not • happened in the correct se quence . . “Lincoln would not have been shot,” I said. He lowered his head a moment, as though think ing. When he brought it back up, the big smile was on again. “Are they taking care of you here?” he said. They were. I had interviewed his secretaries, the presidential assistants, and ser vants and was enroute to talk to Mrs. Kennedy and Caroline and John-John. I »w|mH the President why he called, his little boy John-John. He NUd he didn’t want him to be called “Jack.” He didn’t like “Johnny” either. So he called him “John-John" and the President had a favorite trick he used with his son, and he used it to make the little one laugh. Whenever he saw John- John, he called him over and said: "Tell me a secret.” John- John would whisper in his fa- ( ther’s ear, “Bzzzzzz-bzzzzz,” The President would lean backward, shock on his face, and say: You don’t tell me?” and the little boy would fall down laughing. iMr. Kennedy may not go down in history as the greatest Presi- ( dent, nor the poorest. No one qm dispute the fact that he was the hardest working chief of state we ever had. 1 have written stories about Dwight D. Eisenhower, Herbert A Tribute To John Fitzgerald Kennedy Now a numbed world in slow-paced lan guish moves, Mindful of nought but pain and stunning lOS3. Os Earth’s pure mold, there now re mains but dross! Alas! My lot is hopeless! To express Our loss is more than that wherein suc cess Can crown the works of novice, or of sage; The sun is dimmed that lit this entire age! Bq still my soul! Take thou thy task in hand, And pray thy God all men may under stand! Be not so brash as one who might con ceive Os self as one who knows how deep we I grieve. .. . The die is cast! The worst that could come, did! i The reason why from all but God is hid! They were weeping in the valleys, Weeding, weeping all around ; Weeping high upon the mountains, And no solace could be found. Old men, young men, women, children— i Each one nursed a broken heart. All were weeping for a young man Who had come so soon to part. - On the plains; along the sea shores; • Qn each oontinent they paused In their labors; in their pleasures To deplore what hate has caused. Hoover and Harry S. Truman, and 1 have studied the lives and the events of others. But Presi dent Kennedy worked at bis job from 7:20 a.m. until 11:30 pm., every day, seven days a week. I asked him why. "A man,” he said, “must have goals. There is not sufficient time, even in two terms, to achieve these goals. Almost all presidents leave of fice feeling that their work is unfinished. I have a lot to do, and so little time in which to do it" Like three weeks? 4 PAPERS EVERY DAY His Negro valet, George H. Thomas, a dark cherub of a man, awakened the President every morning shortly after sev-. en.' Thomas always knocked on the Kennedy bedroom door light ly, so that he would awaken the president, but not disturb Mrs. Kennedy. He would listen for a cough, the whispered: “All right George.” The President would slip his feet into slippers, put a robe on over his short nightshirt ami come out in the second bed room. George Thomas always gave him four newspapers. The Presi dent devoured these in 15 min utes, while the fresh clothes were being laid out by Thomas, and the bath drawn. Devoured is the word. Mr. Kennedy read vertically. He could spot a two-paragraph story on Page 23 regarding the storage of corn, or a remark of the So viet foreign ministar, and he would call the West Wing of the - White House and ask to see the secretary of agriculture, or the secretary of state at 8:30 am. Many of his appointments of the day were based upon the news he digested before breakfast. He liked IVi minutes eggs, and orange juice and toast. The children were in upon him before he could finish coffee. Caroline who, at six, is beginning to de velop a little reserve; and John who skids around the turns of the second floor of the White House and thinks nothing of run ning down the great hall in the nude, holding a flag aloft, ar rived like racing desperadoes. The President enjoyed being President, but he loved being a father. No matter how stiff the state occasion, he always found time for his children because he reatiaed that, psychologically, they would spend their forma- j. live years in the White House. He was pleased beyond meas ure when he found that neither of his children understood the term President of the United States. They knew that this was his title, but they didn’t know what it meant. They had no no tion that he was more important than other men. On the third floor, there was a little private school. Caroline v and 10 other boys and girls at tended first grade there. There, Miss Grimes, a Long Island girl, taught kindergarten. There, Caroline had e paper on which she had printed her name 23 times in huge block letters. LUNCH BOX IN HAND The other students were not “He was good, this man of freedom!” , Cried a workman deep in Spain. “He was fair!” exclaimed a German Who could not conceal his pain. Higher, higher rose the weeping, In the streets and on the sea. Millions, millions, distressed millions, Prayed, “Dear God! How could it be?” People—Simple ones and great ones— Actors, farmers, Statesmen—all Breathed a pray’r for our dead leader; Dirges rose from church and hall. In the heat of our confusion, . When we knew not where to turn For the wisdom, for the courage * To continue; to discern; Then the spirit of our leader Seemed to light our hearts anew: “Ask what you can do for country— Not what it can be do for you.” He had given life for country, But, alas! The question came As we searched our hearts inside us: Who of us would do the same? So each took his own true measure; Vowed this man died not in vain; Pledged our lives to God and country; Bowed our heads, and wept again. We’re still weeping in the valleys; Weeping, weeping on the hill; Knowing, knowing his exafnple Will live on when all are still. * ~LEW BARTON the children of cabinet members, but rather children of old Ken nedy friends from Georgetown. Each of these youngsters brought lunch. Mrs. Kennedy insisted that Caroline carry a lunch box like the others and eat with than in class. !Mrs. Kennedy bad an adam ant, and- misunderstood, notion that she and the President were i entitled to a private life. She used to drive the children out to Glen Ora Farms, to watch the animals. She used to walk than in Lafayette Park, across the street from the White House. She did not relish cameramen taking zoom lense photos of her with her children, or water skiing on a yacht. In fact, it was a vic tory for the President that she agreed to make the trip with him to Texas. The glamour of the presidency escaped Mrs. Kennedy. "I have learned to live with it," she told me. “I used to feel badly be cause I enjoy a family life; and 1 appreciate old friends. I do not like politicians.” She smiled almost apologetical ly, “I have met a lot of them, but I can’t say I like them.” JWhy? “Well, as far as I am con cerned, they are all self-seeking people; egotists.” On the day I spoke to the President, it was obvious that he planned to run for a second term. It was equally obvious that he did not think it would be a soft campaign. His views on civil rights had made him a thorn in the side of the tender South. He • felt that he had to go South— he Was impelled to go South—to ex plain and re-explain his position/ - He needed Southern votes, and he was going to need th'm sore ly next year. So he planned trips to Florida, and made whistle stops in small places so that he might win sup port. The trip to Texas was im portant to him because he had to have those November, 1964, votes. He asked his wife to go, because he knew that she had a popularity of her own—a good Vote-getting popularity—and he liked to announce, as he did Fri day, that he was sometimes known as Jacqueline Kennedy’s husband. 2 DAILY SWIMS IN POOL In the days I spent in the White House—Mr. Kennedy’s fi nal days, as it now develops he was always cheerful, energetic and he led his Secret Service men as a comet leads its starry trail. He swam in the White House pool twice a day and, when Mrs. Kennedy was away, he swam with Caroline and John- John. When they played on the south lawn, with their trampoline and see-saws, he would hear the shrieks from his oval office, and would leave his desk to stand in the doorway and clap his hands three times. The children knew the signal, and would come running. In the evening, when there were no state dinners, the children were fed at 6 p.m. John-John sat in a highchair and wore a plastic bib. Under the highchair was a plastic mat. They ate in the pri , yate dining room on the second floor of the White House, with in the 8-roam span in which our t first families Jive. 7 I There are 132 room in the ; White House, but the Kennedys, i the Eisenhowers and the others used only eight. At night. Presi dent Kennedy had dinner with i his wife. He never brought prob s lems of state to the mansion. “Once," Mrs. Kennedy said, > “just once—the other day—l ask '■ ied my husband at lunchtime i how matters were going.” She ! laughed and held her hand be fore her face. “He held his hand i up and ticked o.f 10 separate • things which he said had gone ; wrong, and he said, “The day is Only half over." ! In the afternoon, his eyes felt blurry while be was reading, and President Kennedy told Mrs. - Lincoln that he wanted to eee an ophthalmologist named Roche. Mrs. Lincoln phoned the Secret- Service. Jerry Behn, chief of the White i House details, sent a car with two men to Dr. Roche’s office. They examined the premises, the doctor, the waiting room, and then, by radio, called Behn to pronounce the premises “safi tized.” Behn phoned Mrs. Lincoln. “Please tell the President that we are ready any time he is," he said. The President was given the news, stepped out the back | —Looking Back— | 1 From the Weekly’s files: IN 1933 CAPTURED STILL AMAZES MAYOR “Hugh Robertson, Mayor of Bronxville, just outside of New York City, came here for the Virginia football game last week, accompanied by Mrs. Robertson who used to be Miss Mary Har ris of Chapel Hill. He stayed until Sunday and did a little quail hunting. One of the sights to which he was treated during his visit was a homemade com whiskey still captured on the* outskirts of the village. He saw it when it was on display in the..-,, window of Foister’s Art Store. “Mack Williams of the Chapel Hill police force made the cap ture, and to do it he had to miss the greater part of the Carolina- Virginia football game. Word came to him that Bob Reeves, a Negro, had been making whis key down on the old Fred Spar row place on the Hillsboro Road. While 15,000 people watched the gridiron warriers on Emerson Field, Policeman Williams broke into a milk-house on the old place and found the still and about a pint of whiskey. IN 1933 * A Negro Center “A Thanksgiving dinner from 3 to 5 o’clock this Friday after noon will mark the launching of a movement to establish a com munity center for the Negroes of Chapel Hill. It will be served in the building on West Franklin Street which is being used as a center until permanent quarters are obtained. . . .” . / IN 1943 - / ’ GOODBYE FRIENDS! We’re Going Away For The Duration “The Atlantic Company has, for over a year, overcome ex treme difficulties of transporta tion and rationing in order to continue serving you with Atlan tic Ale and Beer. Now, circumstances beyond our con trol—the shortage of Tires, Gaso line, Trucks and Containers—we are forced to stop. Our invest . ment in time, effort, distribution, merchandising and advertising is lost to us for the present at least. You can well understand that, with a great sales lead in this territory, it is a sad day for us when we have to give it up. We realize that it is a sad day for you too, in losing the pleasure of your favorite bev erages Atlantic Ale and Beer. Wartime conditions and circum stances beyond your control and ours are responsible. We leave you with regret—we hope to re turn—and soon. Please remem ber us." ATLANTIC Ate and Beer • “Full e| Good Cheer*' IN 1953 - From an editorial: When Frederick Lewis Allen re tired as editor of Harper’s Maga tiop, he sooke briefly at a dinner . given in his honor. Harper’s re printed his brief speech, and in their introductory note reprinted Oliver Wendell Holmes’s poem, “Cacoetheg Scribendi,” which door, tucking his tie inside his jacket—a characteristic gesture —and got into the second of three cars that took him every where. Secret Service men were in all three. When they arrived at the doc tor's office, the Secret Service men got out first, scanning the sidewalk, the halls, the rooftops, the upper floor windows on both sides of the street. Then they opened the bade door of the presidential limousine, and John F. Kennedy got out to go to the doctor’s office and find out that there was nothing wrong with his eyes, they were fatigued from too much reading. The Secret Service accom panied him everywhere—even to ’St. Matthew’s Cathedral for Mass. If the President saw a big crowd in the street, he changed the church and attended Holy 1 Trinity in Georgetown, his parish church when he was a congress man. I asked President Kennedy if he prayed outside of church. “Oh, yes,” he said. “I get on my knees every night before I go to bed. Funny, I don’t say a prayer in the morning. Just at night.” It was like reserving the fi nal minutes of consciousness for God. Friday. all the lights went out before John F. Kennedy had a chance to give a final thought to Him. means “the itch for writing”: If all the trees in all the woods were men; And each and every blade of grass a pen; If every leaf on every shrub and tree Turned to a sheet of foolscap; every sea Were changed to ink, and all the earth's living tribes Had nothing else to do but act as scribes, And for ten thousand ages, day and night, The human race should write, and write, and write, and write, TtH all the pens and paper were ’ r used Up, And the huge inkstand was an empty cup, Still would the scribblers cluster ed round its brink Call for more pens, more paper, and more ink. BivatisnaHi A Letter To the Editor: The several scandals that have occurred in the past several days are enough to wear the patience of even the most patient of men, and with fear of Hell, I would say even the patience of God Himself. One of the last of these scan dals included the nationally tele vised program composed of lead ers of city government, business, and the ministry of “Big D.” In this program they banded to gether to “appeal” to the citiz enry of these United States to put the blame of the most scan - dalous of all scandals on some one or somewhere other than on “Big D,” and its citizens. The behaviour of the Dallas City Police, the Press Corps, and the various news media surround ing the tragic inciden thtat took our beloved John Fitzgerald Ken nedy is unforgivable in the eyes of decent men everywhere. At the same time, this does not ex cuse the responsible and influ ential citizens of “Big D.” Fortunately there was one minister of that infamous city that had the perception and cour age to see through this plot of absolution. Fortunately he too was given time to speak his feelings through a nationally tele vised program. The insults heaped upon our Ambassador to the United Na tions, and later upon our Vice President, would indeed indicate that a “sickness” possibly did prevail over “Big D.” It is only when this courageous and lone minister recounts the incident that occurred in a 4th grade class of a school in “Big D” that the possibility changes to a reality, or it was here that 4th grade children applauded and shouted their hurrahs when notified of their commander-inchief’s death. Just as it is thaj. iU men with hate in their hearts and assassin ation in their thoughts are guil ty, and just as it is that radical groups and apathetic persons are guilty, then, too, “Big D” must be guilty. "Big D” itself could not have been more guilty than if it had pulled the trigger. Respectfully yours, Harry Coutlakis
The Chapel Hill Weekly (Chapel Hill, N.C.)
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Dec. 1, 1963, edition 1
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