Perspective
So you want to write, do you?
"Since you're not doing any
thing, how about running to town
and pick up a part for me," my
husband hinted heavily. "I'm
busy," I replied. "Do it your
self."
"Well, Excuse me," he said. "I
can see Exactly how busy you
are staring at that blank sheet of
i paper." And he left.
Why is it that if you are not
sweating dust or operating heavy
equipment, everybody thinks a
; writer isn't working? I work an
average of eighty hours per week
in order to meet my magazine
deadlines, to say nothing of the
duties that accompany a yard, a
house, a husband, and this col
umn, and I still have people ask
i me when I plan to stop writing
and go to work.
You've been telling me that
you want to learn to write. I am
not going to glorify this trade for
you today because there is little
in it. However, I am qualified to
write about this profession be
cause I have spent twenty years
floundering around in it. I cannot
say that it has been wonderful;
only that is it wonderful, on occa
sion. It is a wretched graft that
can only be acquired through the
likes of drawing blood. I know
things... ugly things that other
writers probably won't tell you.
Like how my personality ranges
from docile to days when my
meals must be pushed to me
through a crack in the study
door.
There are times when I can't
even write a decent suicide note.
EASTERN
ECHOES
Crt GAIL R06ERS0N
As Craig Vetter once said,
"blank paper is God's way of tell
ing us that it's not so easy to be
God." Every writer and would
be writer should have those
words welded to the front of his
typewriter or stapled to his fore
head.
I have, on numerous occasions,
been asked to "teach" writing.
One of these days I may break
down and actually try it, but it is
my firm conviction that teaching
someone how to write is no more
possible than teaching them to
think. I can show you the nuts
and bolts, but it's Your soul that
must push the pen, not mine.
Absolutely nothing will happen
on your blank sheet of paper that
you do not make happen. If and
when you complete a page, you
can be assured that it has be
come a signed confession to one
or all of your writing faults. Even
on your good stuff, some editor
may pen in the margin: "this is
the worst mess I've ever seen,"
or "don't bother us anymore."
With the possible exception of
wrestling alligators, writing is
the hardest way to earn a living.
No one but you will ever under
stand that you are working while
staring out the window, or that
the two most beautiful words in
the English language are "check
enclosed." Some day, I hope to
earn enough to pay for all the
photocopies I must make to keep
my portfolio of published, work
updated.
So, you want to write, do you?
All you have to do is spend eighty
hours a week doing "nothing."
There is no need to tell every
body about all the whining and
floundering about that it took to
write a salable short story or to
pad and prune this column to fit
into this space. Neither will any
one ever believe the slice from
your check that is required just
to meet your postal obligations.
So, with all of this, why do I
write, you ask? Because I'm as
addicted to the written word as a
drunk to a bottle and a Baptist
preacher to the Book of Reve
lation. I was born to it, and I'll
die for it and never question why.
Do not expect to be "taught" to
write. Just take a deep breath
and go out in the world and Live.
Run a connecting rod from your
heart to your brain and keep the
power switch on "high." Then
write. About life and death.
About love and hate. About all
the emotion and the beauty in the
world. Write it as it is... no more,
no less, and do not question why.
Some day you'll understand. Or
at least maybe someone else
will. ..from Your written words.
And that's what it's all about
anyhow.
We can't forget our veterans
Even in these times of renewed
patriotism, many Americans are
still willing to forget our veter
ans.
OF
A
.J? ^
Recently in Raleigh, city em
ployees recommended in a sur
vey that they would prefer to
drop Veterans Day if one of their
paid holidays had to be ex
changed in favor of one honoring
civil rights leader Martin Luther
King, Jr.
In case you aren't familiar
with the story, let me tell you
more.
In an effort to recognize King,
the Raleigh City Council asked
its employees to complete a sur
vey to determine how they felt
. about establishing such a holi
day. Due to the cost of adding an
additional holiday, the Council is
opposed to such, and had sug
gested employees decide which
holiday they preferred to ex
change. The days involved in
cluded Easter Monday, the Fri
day following Thanksgiving, and
Veterans Day.
It should be noted that of the
employees who responded, 55
percent preferred to see no
changes made. But those who
did, voted overwhelmingly to
substitute Veterans Day.
Perhaps the message sensed is
not accurate. By giving up one of
the other holidays noted, employ
ees would not be able to enjoy a
j long weekend. Possibly, this was
the greatest concern. But one
i veteran did note in his response:
"As a veteran, T hate to see this
choice necessary." It shouldn't
be.
It is disturbing to think our vet
erans are so easily forgotten in
exchange for a long weekend,
though I'm not surprised. We
seem to forget so quickly the sac
rifice thousands of men and
women made throughout our his
tory so that freedom could sur
vive. While there is a renewal of
spirit that made America what it
is, there are still those willing to
forgei.
We should not and we can't.
There are too many simple white
cranes throughout the world
that should remind us of the huge
debt we owe these men and
women. There are too many bro
ken *ud crippled m^en and
women, though fortunate to be
alive, who must go through life
with the pain of war as a constant
We've all had contact with
someone who suffered as a result
of answering the call. While
awaiting discharge at Walter
Reed Hospital, I experienced
firsthand the destruction of the
human body.
Some were worse than others.
Some, though displaying no visi
ble injury, would never be able to
function as a member of every
day society.
I'll never forget one man I had
daily contact with. Perhaps, I
should say kid, for he was no
more than 19 years old.
Injured in Vietnam, he served as
a vivid reminder of the horror so
many faced, and will continue to
face as long as man lives.
He was a black man, and I in
elude this only to more vividly
display the human suffering he
endured. Chances are, he will
never overcome the marks in
flicted, as he had been hit by Na
palm, a chemical that peeled
most of the skin from his face an
upper body. Only a small section
of skin remained on his scalp to
identify him. Those who were
there will remember the horror
of such wounds.
There were others. One man
had been stricken in the face and
lost most of his facial features.
All that remained of his nose was
a huge scar and the nasal open
ings. Plastic surgery may have
made him look normal again, but
the scars of what happened will
always be with him.
THE OWLV TO flTTftC.^
0\PTS> CAtnP CvoTHtb. f
Summertime pests arrive
Summertime has arrived in
the area. I know this for a fact
because three of life's greatest
pests are in full view at my
house. The yellowflies have re
turned, and they have brought
tb\T
with
JAIME
e>y
JANE
.WILLIAMS
with them their friends, the mos
quitoes. I have often thought it
would be nice if the two species
would feed on each other and
leave me alone. But I guess they
just like the way I fan them dur
ing these long hot days.
If you're curious as to what the
third greatest pest in life is, I'll
tell you. It's not really a thing,
it's two things. But they go hand
in hand together, so for classifi
cation purposes we'll call them
questions. They are: "Mama can
I?" and "Why?".
I don't believe that there has
ever been a child that didn't con
tinuously ask "Mama can I?".
And fate being what it is, if the
answer to that question is "no",
it is inevitably followed by
"Why?". Long ago I broke a sol
emn promise Jto myself that I
would not ever say to a child of
mine "Because I said so." I have
given this answer repeatedly for
many years, and will probably
continue to do so.
From a two-year old these
questions are cute. When the
questions continue to be asked by
an adolescent they are nerve
wracking. I've even heard these
questions from 22-year old, and
frankly, by then it's a bore.
Let's face it we don't send our
children through 12-plus years of
school to enable them to whine
out the word "Why?". We'd like
to think that their grasp of the
English language has surpassed
this phase, but unfortunately that
is not the case. There is, how
ever, hope. I am throughly con
vinced that at some point in their
lives these questions will cease.
When the questions stop, I feel
that it will be safe to assume that
our children have reached adul
thood, and that our obligations as
full-time parents will have
ceased. Unfortunately, I can't
tell you how many more years
you'll have to wait.
Well folks, I guess this is it. As
many of you know by now, I am
finishing out my last days as edi
tor of The Perquimans Weekly.
Saying goodbye to you is one of
the most difficult tasks that I
have ever had to face. Although I
am happy about the path I have
chosen to take for my future, it
saddens me to end the associa
tion that I have had with each of
you and with this newspaper. It
has been a pleasure and a priv
ilege to serve each and every one
of you during the past five years.
I thank you for your support, and
ask that you continue your sup
port of the paper and its new edi
tor.
My family and I will remain in '
Perquimans County, a place that
we have grown to love and call
home. We look forward to hear
ing from you all from time to
time, and want you to know that
we cherish your friendships.
To the staff of this publication,
both past and present, I offer you
my thanks for your dedication
and loyalty. I also want to thank
each of our faithful readers and
advertisers for your support. To
gether you have made my tenure
here a gratifying experience, and
I wish only the best of luck and
happiness to you in the future.
Love ya, Jane.
Christopher Nicholson became a Carolinian
Despite cruel and malicious
treatment from the Massachu
setts authorities, Christopher
Nicholson remained in Marble
head for a few years after 1660.
As the eldest son, he assisted in
settling his father's estate, bring
ing suit against John Devereux in
1661 to settle the accounts of a
1660 fishing venture.
Christopher had other disputes
with Devereux, who sued him for
trespass in June 1662, charging
Christopher with pulling down
his fences. Nicholson may have
been in the right, removing a
fence which illegally blocked his
access to the sea, but Devereux
was a powerful man and the
fence was replaced.
The independent Christopher
pulled the fence down again, and
insisted that however often the
fence was built he would remove
it.
On October 22, 1662, Christo
pher married Hannah Redknap
in Lynn, Massachusetts, five
miles down tne Day trom MarDie
head. The newlyweds remained
in Massachusetts until about
1669, when they removed to the
new province of Carolina, which
offered more fertile soil, greater
religious freedom, and a less
rigid society.
The date of Nicholson's arrival
in Carolina is estimated on the
basis of headright claims, a few
of our first settlers actually leav
ing a specific record of their arri
val. Persons coming to Carolina
HISTORICAL
NOTES
BY
RAy
WINSLOW
were entitled to receive fifty
acres of land for themselves (if
they paid their own way) and for
every individual they brought
with them.
In February 1694 Samuel Nich
olson took the preliminary steps
to apply his headlights? evi
dently inherited from his fa
ther?to the acquisition of land;
he proved rights for Christopher
Nicholson and Hannah his wife,
Deliverance Sutton, Samuel
Nicholson, Hannah Nicholson,
and Francis Symons. Since
rights were claimed for Christo
pher's first three children, but
not uie laier ones, 11 wouia seem
the family left Massachusetts af
ter the birth of Hannah the
younger (March 1668) and before
the birth of Joseph (September
1670).
Christopher acquired two hun
dred acres in what is now Perqui
mans County.
The farm lay on the north bank
of Perquimans River less than a
mile west of the mouth of Suttons
Creek, in an area known as Old
Neck. The land was lata- de
scribed as "being on the north
east side of Perquimans River
joining northerly on the land for
merly Joseph Scott's, and south
erly on the land commonly called'
the Log house land."
Christopher most probably be
came a farmer, although his land
was admirably located to tempt
him to practice his old craft of
fishing upon occasion. He was
now a Carolinian.
(Part 3 next week.)
Letters to the Editor
Editor
The Perquimans Weekly,
The death of Lennie Bias is like
the destruction of the Chal
lenger: In jach case, something
beautiful, soaring, seemingly
perfect was suddenly obliter
ated.
I have no knowledge of the
cause of his death, but my guess
is that the same force which
made him a super-athlete even
tually killed him.
Lennie Bias specialized in the
impossible. It is impossible for a
big man to move so swiftly and
gracefully and to shoot from the
outside with such efficiency, yet
he did it. It is impossible for a
man so small to play the inside
game with such power and pro
ductivity, yet be did it. It is im
possible for any man to score
forty five points and single-hand
edly defeat? even dominate? a
great Carolina team, yet be did
it.
If drugs contributed to his
death, it seems natural to as
sume tfa&t. Lennie once again felt
that the could do the impossible.
T"* n.l nun a fa I i rl
i ernaps a mena aaviseu moaer
ation, but Lennie had not scaled
the summit of achievement by
being moderate. He had always
pushed himself to the ttaoit? be
yond the limit.
Why should this night be differ
ent. He had everything. He could
do magic with a basketball, why
not with drugs too? (Ironically,
his death probably suggests that
he was not a habitual user; other
wise, he would have known his
limit.)
His death is a tragedy to his
family and friends and a loss to
those who were awed by his ath
letic abilities. Perhaps we can
bring some good from this evil if
we become more concerned and
honest about the dangers of sub
stance-abuse.
Jim Bridges
504 Terry St.
Elizabeth City, NC 37909
(919) 338-8177
Editor
The Perquimans Weekly,
Do you remember the sense of
pride and appreciation we felt
Just a few short years ago when
our lovely Missing Mill Park was
dedicated? The glowing speeches
had reunions there; picnics for
"just us"; playtime and just a
quiet solitude on the pier.
Have you been there lately? It
is really a shameful statement
made by our town and county in
that it has turned loose and let
go. The rest rooms are a mess**
the shrubbery neglected, the pa
vilion abused; the pier burned;
the play are torn up. Who wants
to picnic on a table that people sit
on? How can you enjoy solitude
with boom boxes blaring or
where cars are being washed and
waxed?
The rules and regulations are not
enforced ; no one seems to care.
On the other hand the Senior
Citizens Department is lovely
well cared for; well planned rec
reation. Do we have to be senior
citizens to rale? Where are our
recreational programs for our
young groups that we used to
have ceramics, tennis, horseshoe
tournaments. Many things have
gone? as has the park.
I think we should try to have
something a little better in our
county and town. The people do
count, the people should be a ma
jor concern; after aQ without the
THE
PERQUIMANS WEEKLY
Established In 1932
Published Each Thursday By The Daily Advance, Elizabeth City, N.C.
Second Class Postage Paid at Hertford, N.C. 27944 USPS 428-080
Jim B. Williams
Editor
Carol k O'Neal DobMo T. Staff**
Advertising Manager Circultion Manager
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In-County Out-Of-Coonty
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