1 20 1 https://d1y502jg6fpugt.cloudfront.net/46957/archive/files/0212160fc99f519eebafe2325e4a4f71.pdf?Expires=1774483200&Signature=pBT1juwMOAmdTJBS0Lcdrz3ajmOlp1QPTN9nESRuWqmT1yO%7ExIzVv7l97Woo4VPZuBD7Ju-lp9TVIA1j3peIhn7qeMb6KjgPXvUi006l8KUftlcXSDYlLvWGRkX0ueEIO5F148iEHjF1h-1NZDHm11zHfSBtcxrwFuSrmf7JHIYpZelTKqvN9kJnU9LdAgDQlr5VJYZW4sSXtngcdGmGl6nC10lLea1I0za%7Ec%7E5PSJbDXGuMAUv-uzbstUj1eH0iKua1eRCsqqladKDmqxCE4Gt4ShMVjbsSCWV%7EVvXMboOiabnQl6GT-Ls--MtEIWDQg4oADZmy-KvZ8sknO6MHLg__&Key-Pair-Id=K6UGZS9ZTDSZM 83cc597b0534ad8aa15800d26a16081f PDF Text Text 1 1 11~1r1m1 1~r1 ~1l~1 1 i111i~1i~m~~ ~~ i im1 ijf 3 2056 00978 2958 ,, FOR SALE PIANOS-Save $$!! Sale started 1953still going on. CARSKI PI~NO CO. ABBITS study of genetical deform through most demanding p selection. Every rabbit is tes rity for fitness . Only the health perfectly developed of speci selected for slaughter. Those re bred, producing the new bbits we offer. 1984 S & ORGANS SPINETS-GRANDS-UPRIGHTS NE'W- USED---REBUILT NEW SPINET PIANO~Mahog., $363 FACTORY REBUILT PIANO, $299 NEW KIMBALL-Grand, $1,395 HAMMOND ORGANS. $585 NO MONEY DOWN TAKE 36 MOS. TO PAY THE HECHT CO. 685-4444 HELP WANTED PRESSMAN-OFFSET Exp. pressman on Harris 22 single color. 2nd shift. 4 P .M. to 12:30. Good work• ing cond. Well rounded co. benefit program. Steady employment. Apply Adcrafters Inc., 1701 Washington Blvd. or call Mr. Leslie, VE. 7-8284. ORTER-Age 25 to 50. Local work refs. req. Apply Mercy Hospital. Personnel Office, 9 to 12 noon. An equal opportu · Must be in perfect physic condition. To train as s me a part of a generations-o Benefits include the lat warfare, $10,000 death ben ivors. Application is not n 11 qualified persons will ;rvice System PRESSE e need an exp. presser for wools. Piece work rate. Apply in person. Brilliant Cleaners. 1110 N. Fremont Ave. �.> welter Volume I No. 1 Douglas C. Murphy Editor December, 1965 Lee Baylin Managing Editor CONTENTS H. Thomas Mannion Photography Editor The Night At Rising Sun - Franklin V. Anderson 2 The Crime - Douglas C. Murphy 4 Stuart Byczynski Assistant Editor The Sin Of Omission - Dr. Robert W. Harper 6 Carlandette - David J. Jeffery 7 Diane Mccurdy Scrivner Refrain On An Old Celtic Belief - Judson Scruton 12 Portfolio - Patrick Hudson It is here then that we must lay bare our facts and figures the lucid distance of poetic meter, the grounded image of a tree or a twist of the arm, the fragility of a word, the fragility of an in-sight, the smooth yet broken steadiness of every black letter and every half - crystal gaze It is here then that we lay bare our facts and figures. 13 Judson Scruton Faculty Advisor Crucifixion For Dancing Eyes - Ronald Monti 16 The Winter Dream Of Nothingness - Ronald Monti 16 Penny Hutchins Mary Ann Ferrar Hemingway - Stephen Wiest Portrait Of An Old Man Thinking - Stephen Wiest 17 Something Amuses Us - Douglas C. Murphy 18 Rooks And Pawns - John T. Hall 19 Selma Ala. - John T. Hall 20 Book Review - Judson Scruton back cover by Edward Brown 17 Benediction - John T. Hall cover photograph by H . Thomas Mannion 17 21 Typists Welter is published twice yearly by the students of the University of Baltimore. The material is selected from submissions of both faculty and students. All material for the magazine should be submitted to the editor or faculty advisor of Welter. �/ photograph by Lee Bay/in by Franklin V. Anderson " On a hill far away stood an old rugged cross, the emblem of suffering and shame." How strange, I thought, that these men should label so clearly their sad emblem. At this time about thirty hooded men were marching grotesquely around a fifty-foot cross, torches alight, an apparition from a nightmare fantasy of hell. "Wave to the cross" , the leader's voice cried . I had arrived at Rising Sun two hours before with my wife and a friend to witness the Free State's first invasion by the Klan in forty years. At one entrance to the parking area a small American flag hung limply from a fence post and two emergency flares burned on the ground. Whether the flares where there to mark the entrance or as a sign of danger was difficult to determine. As we left our car and walked across the field toward the speaker's platform, the first complete sentence I heard was ''We believe in live and let live, but first get even. " Oddly enough this seemed to set the tone for the evening's performance. A memorial service was conducted for the late Matt Murphy, former Klan defense counsel and Dan Burrows, New York Grand Dragon. It was said that " Murphy and Burrows died like Vikings on the field of honor." The memorial consisted of burning a ten foot cross and firing a volley of blanks into the air above the crowd. The sentiments of the Klan speakers ranged from "L. B. J. is a rat in the Whitehouse" and "Martin Luther King is a bastard", to " Zionist Jews are communists", "Liberals are putting a sword to the throat of Western civilization" and "Catholics, because of their loyalty to the Pope, are traitors to America." "The Negro should be made to realize that he lives in a white man's country and the privileges are granted by white men, but the white man is supreme ... The Negro is an inferior race . . . Look at Africa, do they have televisions, new cars, and the other things of the white society? ... No! the Negro is incapable of creating them ... Look at the race riot in Los Angeles ... There is an example of the Negro in action ... There's going to be a race war in this country and the color of your skin will be your uniform . . . We want to prevent that war from happening ... If the liberal Jews don't stop helping the Negro, there will be another Dachau, right here .. . We want to prevent that .. . The line is drawn, the Hun is at the gates of Rome ... Long live the white race. " So it went. Two hours of hate, threats, and intimidation, with a liberal sprinkling of race and political jokes, most of which were in poor taste. If the doctrine being advocated is persecution, it makes little difference if the advocate is wearing a black shirt and saying " Sieg Heil" or a white robe and saying "Hang the niggers", the result is ultimately the same. As I left the field, the cross burning out in the background, I felt nothing, numbness, shock, the deep disgust. Then came the pain, the anger; it was not even a clean anger, tinged as it was with guilt and questioning. It would have been easier, more simple, to have been a Negro, a Catholic, my Jewish friend. But I was more than one of the hated, for the hatred had sprung from the racial, religious and regional groups of which I was a part. It was difficult just to get past this realization. After recovering from these feelings, my first afterthought was " why bother?" This caloused, dirty joke does not concern me or the greater part of my society. I was wrong. It concerns me deeply. It concerns every man of ethics, intelligence, commitment and hope. In the day of space crafts, DNA, and attempts at social justice, this joke smacks too closely of primitive tribalism. It hints of dark things - caves, primordial hate waiting to seep up under the veneer of modern patriotism and to burst into the unholy flame that burnt the books of Berlin and lit the bodies at Auschwitz. Especially as a professed Christian am I ashamed. Whether Jesus of Nazareth be conceived of as a Jewish philosopher or as a living embodiment of the Spirit of God makes little difference in the point under consid(P/ease turn to page 19) A• Rising Sun �pho tograph b y Donald DeAngeles THE CRIME " There's no one here but our two selves? No one, Father." Yeats' Purgatory for St. Mary Redcliffe I. The Immaculate Crime swift, and wandering, as it causes II. The Hoary Crime are gathered where they have searching has been the pleasure fallen of the wise - but let your in no order or pattern between dreams now fall upon not one an un-imaginable beginning and age, as half of ten , but someall, although they have where (a little after or before not been lived half of dream ten, where time keep them in mind for when was unrecorded by clocks in this we are dead - Chatterton , Chatterton - the wise man's mind, but traced in a swell wise man found the goal with a nucleus even then halfbefore he began, but detective forgotten evidence that was scattered inor never meant to be rememnocently bered) in some black room proved Stoppedr---to be from his own little hand, the first death of time although Rowley, Rowley the second death of motion he was heard to cry on a the rattle-bone feeling of accident tight, cold night from Bosley's accompanies backside womb the first absence, which is clean the rest of us pray two prayers: (which, if you read correctly Prayer one - that someone has a can not snap at the instance of rag handy, a dirty sock, lifts what my words) jaw is left and stuffs it in our so clean that there is no rotting mouthsreminderif someone comes prepared an empty place that is filled they may have it, if they please, quickly enough with you scented or what is left with a clean shaven face or by some strangeness in trousers Prayer two - a prayer directed a crime then would have been at the goal, our goal, requesting a rainy day forcing the inside in that you do not get old a time when one is not judge at least remain recognizable but is in some way criminal or keep our mothers' bites unclothed and do not die we can not visit prison graveyards the crime is ancient there is no need to comment upon it Ill. The Crime, Convoluted Now Characteristic an analogy for these friends the lines that should be written have been - - - we know moth - we know flame - we also know conclusion we know little of moth whose orange flame , which should have been the torch , is nothing more than light refracted from a disk of stainless steel hung somewhere in the a i r - - - - - ------* this crime = the list of crimes - (mis-identification) even falling short of the object that misrepresents, but tries at least (when not in snickering position) to be a clever fake , if nothing else this crime (our last crime) which is all crime is the best crime that is no crime a damn shame in sham without shame at least let it remain a crime my legs' labor - my fantasies' doleful structures - my tenderness toward the first crime and the second must refuse all your good-fellow toleration Douglas C. Murphy 4 welter �The Sin of 0 .....- ss - on ■n■ ■ The Teaching o• Non-Ha•e by Robert W . Harper " It is a fac t that o ne ca nn o t use hatred to elimin ate hatred ; only love can destroy hatred ; th is is a permanent truth . . ." - The Buddh a If one might ag ree with Jo hn Locke, the great Engli sh phil osopher of the 17th century, th at the hum an infa nt emerges into thi s w o rld from the wo mb with a cl ea n slate, with a pure, unbl emi shed and unbi ased mind, it is then a very elementary statement o f truth th at tell s us that children are not born w ith an inn ate se nse of hatred and suspicion of people of di ffering ra ces, cl asses and religions. Hatred, and it exists w idely in the United States today, is tau ght by or learned from parents, sisters, brothers and pl aym ates. It is acquired as w ell in th e schools and on the streets of o ur cities and town s. On ce ingrained, hatred cannot eas ily be untaught beca use its roots have grown deep into the psychic soil. Hatred becomes the ally of fear, prejudi ce and comformity. It is the tool by which they have been perpetuated in the United States for one hundred years. Hatred exploded into chaos on the streets of Los An geles during those shameful summer days of 1965. Hatred is not dead and may explode in a more violent, inhumane manner. Man's almost compulsive need to belong to a group, any group, frequently allows him to accept and embrace hatred as a kind of spiritu al, divine truth . It is this same driving need to belong that compels too many teachers in the United States to abstain from " the teaching of non-hate. " The ugly and very real specter of economics forces many teachers to suppress basic humanistic tendencies. These teachers by inaction become unconscious agents provocateurs of hate. In many rural and urban communities around the United States today, children of different ethnic, economic and religious groups may be observed playing and enjoying life together. This natural order of human social intercourse continues until older members of the family or group begin the subtle and too frequently outright brainwashing of the loving child . The child too often evolves into the brutal bigot, the violent segregationist and the sadistic thrower of bombs into houses of worship of minority groups. It does little good for national political and religious leaders to announce the creation of special commissions to investigate the causes of racial and religious unrest. There is no real mystery to the hatred that is perpetuated from generation to generation. One hundred years after the termination of the American Civil War, "The Teaching of Non-Hate" is still an isolated educational phenomenon. The teaching of the hatecentered status-quo prevails on a very wide scale despite the enlightened teachings of some teachers and men of the cloth . The ghetto is still a living hell for many millions of minority Americans . The cries of the humanitarians are lost in the wind and go unheard by those who need to hear them . Compassion goes begging! HATRED AND THE SCHOOL What happens to the pre-school child is beyond the 6 natural prov in ce of teachers. W hat the schoo l-age child hears at ho me and in the streets ca nnot be contro ll ed by the class-room teac her. A nti-Negro and ant i-Se metic talk, fo r exa mple, by one's parents and pee rs is eas ily enou gh emul ated. On th e o th er hand, wh en rac ial and reli gio us hatred is ex pressed o r ex hib ited in sc hoo l, th e teac her can co ntrol the si tu atio n by teac hin g non-hate, by teach ing love. If th e teacher in such a situ atio n does not teach love, he has fa il ed to fulfill the teac her's o bligati on to hum anity. Th e Buddh a taught th at " only love can destroy hatred." The hum ani sti ca ll y o riented te acher mu st te ach to di spel hate and instill love o f all men in hi s students' hearts. It is not a simple matter to lay hand on th e teacher wh o deliberately d ares to o penly teach students to hate other humans. His approach may be mo re subtle in our tim es because the State does no t o fficiall y sancti o n the teachin g of hate. The teacher's crim e may really be one of o mission because he does not teach hi s students not to hate. He says and does no thin g beca use he is afraid. He conform s to the propaga nda and attitudes of the dominant group in his scho ol and community. He wants to belong and closes his eyes and ears. He may join in the chorus of abu se again st minority groups even though he, himself, may be a member of a minority group. College seniors were observed pl aying cards in their fraternity house. Much of the talk had a definite, degrading anti -Negro flavor. When the star basketball player, a Negro, arrived, such talk ended and the students posed as great friends of the Negro student. Racism was tucked aw ay for the moment. Who had failed to teach these college senio rs non-hate ? HATE AND THE COMMUNITY C. E. Wilson writing in the Liberator (March 1965) states that " the steadfast belief in the 'fact' th at the Negro possesses a limited capacity, small brains and inferior intelligence has been unquestioned by the majority of individuals" in the dominantly Caucasian American society. A few dedicated teachers, with social consciousness, attempt to alter what Mr. Wilson refers to as a two track educational system " the white express and the black local." Teachers who would violate such a hate engendering system are too frequently termed boat-rockers, communists and egg-heads. Their contracts may not be renewed and their records may be marred by suggestions of liberalism and humanitarianism. Jonathan Kozel, a fourth grade teacher in a predominantly Negro school in the Boston area, lost his position (May 1965) because he read . poetry by the Negro poet, Langston Hughes. He was told by his superiors that " no Negro poetry which describes Negro suffering can ever be read in the Boston public schools. Only positive themes such as nature or hope may be used." 1 Kozel was not rehired for 1966 because of the shallow excuse that he had strayed from the curriculum . (Please turn to page 20) welter GARLANDETTE Hedgehog �The S'l'en'l'or Or Hedgehog On Firs• Looking ln•o Updike's Homerlcs Ha rvey, hig h-hearted, bronze-voiced, lou d-mout hed Ha rvey, w ho from his Junoesq ue mothe r had inh erited tha t pierc in g ti mbre of speech w hich had flow n befo re the w in d thro ugh the co rrido rs, smell ing of late A utum n's stea m sca ldi ng radia to r pai nt of A rcadia H igh Schoo l, was silent. Oh , St entor, before the wa lls of top less towered Troy, a shou t. How to defeat the h ectoring Tro;ans; by S*UL BE*LOW order us. If I am out of my mind, American hellebore's no cure thought Maurice Hedgehog. Some animals figured he was a goof ball. Maybe so, thought Hedgehog, anyway an odd ball for sure. It was the indigenous problem, a European hedgehog in North Carolina's Dismal Swamp. Confuse the hell right out of the porcupines don 't you Hedgehog, Old Sport? That question with its literary reference rattled from wall to wall of his overeducated mind. Black hellebore, the ancient cure for insanity, American white hellebore, used to kill lice and caterpillars; that's a kultur problem. He plucked out a stubby, graying quill with a muted ouch and made a note on bark. Mythic structural degeneracy : drug which had necromantic relevancy if not therapeutic efficacy becomes insecticide in utilitarian society. Check Dewey. And thinking: I' ll never fini sh the book; the book, Origin of the Specious, A Descent from the Sublime. Hedgehog was addicted to puns and to reading Finnegans Wake backwards ; it made him sick. If it's reviewed in Time, I' ll be " Maurice (rhymes with Doris) Hedgehog." He jerked another quill. I' ll be bald. Dear Pogo your swamp is my swamp too. It is Yoknapatawpha County and Gibbsville and Princeton in the '20's and oboy Olinger and wow Michigan , Spain , phony transliterated Spanish, "It was good and clean and Senor you were brave like the great bull." But Pogo he never rose above petzel. Watch your myth structure. It can get damn silly - whee. If you don't throw Yiddish around, how can you be a twentieth century intellectual, much less a second Bloom? He put the quill down; it wasn ' t right. Again : Mr. Mark Trail, the split is too great. ingless as the Hamsters who strode the night in Hamburg. A jet fighter cracked the sound barrier tumbling Maurice into a Loblolly Pine. I'll start again, a new quill. But how? Dear Mr. Secretary, or Dear Stew; no, Dear Mr. Udall? Anyway : The only way to save a land decent enough for next genera- tions is to follow the example of this swamp, the Dismal Swamp . Call the Grand Canyon the Big Erosion, Carlsbad Caverns the Claustrophobic Hole, Yosemite Falls the Great Pee, Fire Island-Prophylactic Park. Drive them away verbally. This from an urban hedgehog driven by the threat of zoos to the country. He was in a spiral, maybe up, maybe down. Pogo, your benign innocence is not enough - I know, Is it conscious, calculated? Another danger; you live without women . Sure the matron Groundhog I know the type ; how well : Mamselle, the alluring skunk, a wonderful irony, but notice the dangers! Churchy, Albert, the Deacon, the porcupine - name? identity? - the bear; you are in a false paradise, perhaps homosexual if only latent. Original sin is meaningless without sex. Your Platonic world - Socratic? - undercuts the political ramifications ; Goldwater bobcat, McCarthy badger, the rest. I see Albert as an avant-garde Churchill in a world which is essentially Beckett's . .. I know. Maurice Hedgehog thought and sighed, almost crying. His sympathies wanted to fold the world in a bright furled girdle. Dear Yogi Bear, You stink. That's all there was to that letter. Should he sign it? Dear Walt Disney. You, my friend, are the betrayer. On the one hand you sentimentalize animals ; Bambi, Thumper et alia, after having shown them as senseless brutes, Fantasia. And on the other hand you personify them out of animality (i.e . the Mickey Mouse, Donald Duck ilk - elk?) and then further exploit them as they are naked in the world, natural, peeped at by prurient Sundays, in color, those little dots like static television, you discuss the animal habitat, zoology for the masses. But Mr. Trail what about us, wrenched out of a natural world, the native who aren' t native? Then during the week you behave fatuously - that ambivalent relationship with the girl, Cherry, OK - maybe. Your trouble is your pipe; you're not yet past the oral gratification stage. Jesus, Hedgehog thought, and grinned at the irony. Then he wanted the slippery glossy mink, Mandy, who had run off with his old intellectual buddy, Valentino Otter. But Maurice Hedgehog's rocketing joys were cerebral. His quills snagged on Valentino's slide and then there was no joy in him. He could easily have Wendy Weasel or the bumptious Greta Groundhog; both in separate ways, different ways, as free and mean8 photographers, their private lives narrated by condescending announcers. Beaver Valley, Seal Island, The Vanishing Prairie, smug as hell. And another, but Hedgehog was tiring, crushed: Dear Stuart Little . .. He broke off. Coming across the clearing was Smokey. He always wanted to talk in serious tones about Teddy Roosevelt and the natural gas lobby. Hedgehog, nevertheless, felt a kind of asinine joy and having no one to write now shambled off into thicket to see Brer Fox, his lawyer. welter But Ha rvey, esop hagus choked wi th a go lden fl eece of ph leg m un de r which ep ithe li al tissue like so mu ch su mm er baked clay cracke d, was suspended in an infi ni te instant of sil ent cla rity. O nce had bee n late aftern oo n o f his tenth yea r, 1948. Harvey and Jo hnn y Bellm an squ atted in front of the Stro mberg-Carl son co nso le li stenin g to Sky Kin g. Oh , Ph oebus Apollo, victory. Th e amber di al spec trum of di ety (mon ochromati c), fin ely mark ed w ith rai sed ve rti ca l parallel ridges and crypto gen ic numerals, was hed the darkening room in a beaten go lden glow. The green iri s of the tunin g eye suffered tiny spa sms as if on Athena's A~ gis Medu sa were blinking into the wine dark spa ce to seek Perseus and revenge. Johnny Bellm an climbed his dapple-down rocking chair and rocked in arcs which swooped into ever higher quadrants, the amplitude modulation whipping his horse upward with the dulcet insidiousness of the Sirens. Harvey had been immobile then too, transfixed by the equine fury. Through the Johns Manville walls Johnny's Venusian mother, whose breasts like the twin propeller spinners of a P 38 Lightning had stirred a Satyric urge in Harvey, was calling. The radio seemed to be opening as a bud, its Wheaties colored veneer buckling like rusting, dying petals away from the pale birch stock it covered . Johnny's frenetic riding warmed and moistened the room whose boundaries evaporated as invisible cumulus clouds of body heat wreathed the defoliating radio. "Johnny, Johnny Bellman, come here." And a rending of wood and flesh and wings. Bellerophon, mounted unheeding on Pegasus, was rent on hubris; Stentor, beware. Now, again, the moment. Harvey, captain of the Arcadia High Basketball Team, had won glory at the price of personal humiliation. Adored for his quick, blunt hands; the ability to take his obviously grotesque physiognomy past a shade slow guard to drive in for a lay up - Harvey, clumsy noisy clown whose coordination swept over him in spurts like a gift. And in the moment of lay up, ball with slight overspin touching the new half moon metal backboard then spurting at an acute angle through the orange-red hoop halo, jerked for a moment like a bloated fish, then with a whip distending the net - falling serenely without spin, landing with a soft resilient p/ap, and Harvey is already ambling down court to meet the offensive. They laughed kindly at Harvey, their heads oscillating in admiring forgiveness; his gangling body where every bone seemed to protrude accented by tiny crystalline beads of sweat from his thinning hair down through hunched and angular features to his reptilian feet. Those feet encased in Ball Sneakers, once white, now december 1965 stain ed wi th swea t, a red circle of rubb er encas in g his ju tti ng ast raga lu s, a thin red line circlin g th e sole and hee l. A thle te ca ught fo r perpetuit y o n a Black Figure urn . (Circa 601-583 B. C.) Th e ga me goes o n into the fo urth quarter close for th e Delphi an Co unty, Pa ., champ io nship. Harvey is th e ho ll er guy, vo ice sk immin g thro ugh the jumbl e o f steel te trahedrons w hi ch ho ld the simpl e pyramid al roo f, down to be ampli fied by th e undul atin g stands, now w hipped in waves of fre nzy d iss ipatin g into the Penn sy lvani a night w hose traces might reach Glibsville, State Ch amps last three years or Pensive Prep whose five rin ge rs will sw ee p with subterranea n scholarships into th e Laurel Lea gu e. Late it is ; Arca dia one point ahead . Twenty second s. Stentor, sho ut us th e courage to win . Forget not Iphigenia. Smooth muscled Hermes, foe of high school Hym en, is on guard. Then I was clutched from within by the throat. Cotton mouth . Eighteen seconds to go. Augie Schwartzwilder had the ball. We had only to freeze the ball to win. Augie looked at me. I wanted to shout, " Freeze it." Something in my throat congealed like cooling pizza, and I couldn't speak. Augie looked frantically at me with a nervous twitch which I hadn ' t seen since Miss Horfeldinger's panties, elastic gone after many years of Latin I, had slid with precise pomp to her ankles. I opened my mouth again, feeling as if sated with Twinkies. Nothing. Augie threw the ball. Stop. Stentor is dumb . Stentor cannot speak. Harvey saw the ball approaching knowing that Herman Fleetboot, Ilium High guard, was quick and in position to intercept. The rubber basketball, hermetically perfect, approached highlighted with a glistening drop of sweat. Perhaps in that drop were Paramecia locked in a death struggle with Amoebas, or for some real or fancied Protozoan offense were flagellating each other in hopes of redemption. The rubber basketball is an artificial world; its seams are not real, merely indentations in a mechanically reproduced grain. Only the black rubber valve opening speaks of a continuing tradition, the navel. "DO NOT INFLATE ABOVE 13 LBS." Harvey had learned the game with a pigskin and bladder basketball with thong laces. Circe, do not Jet your swine, who were men, be slaughtered for sport. That ball of apprenticeship was like a bloated football - too thick through its equator. It bounced eccentrically off the laces demanding a never relenting awareness - a sure sense of the unsure. When the Earth was formed from Chaos the young gods moulded like artless craftsmen , and to cover the ;agged, yawning fissures, they patched with mountains. Then the gods, rationalizing, called the mountains their finest work and lived among them . The old basketball with spreading, twisted seams and lumpy laces had a feel, a ridge of control, Harvey never felt in the Wilson Official now suspended before him. (Please turn to page 19) 9 �o• Fallure CII As Repor•ed By V arious Journals The New Yorker The New York Times llllagazine Silver Screen r Thermonuclear War and Russian Agronomy, A Closer Look By Hamilton Shrewsberry The causes of thermonuclear war are not to be easily g l oss ed fro m the fact of attack it self, which is, at best merely the over t manifestation of the causal relationships whi ch obtrude themselves onto the international geopolitical sphere. Na tu rally enough, we must consider_ the implications of the contention of . a great land power versus a gre_ 1 at !1dustrial and sea power ( speaking in historical perspective) - that is, the Russo-Japanese War. That the tr~aty was signed in Portsmouth ce r t ainly indicates that Theodore Roosevelt using a variation of cryptoMo~roe Doctrine in settling the dispute, had paved the way f<;>r t~e di~content of the Uzbek minonty in Manchuria who were later re s et tled in Byeloru'ssia. That much is clear. Of course it must not be overlooked that when Malenkov was deposed he was sent to a small power '[emphasis supplied] station near but not actually in, Siberia, whic'h, some Kremlinologists believe might have played some part, how;ver small, in the development of Lithuanium. That left the Soviet Union in no beter positi on as regards warm water ports, unless the climate could be changed by some external action. Whether the intellectuals were, or perhaps were not, in total agreement o~ the question of Socialist Realism versus Abstract Regressionism is unknown but cannot be disregarded. As, however, is well known an advertisement in Pravda for nyions at GUM can bear as importantly as the underground (subway) schedule or the failure to replace crystal chandeliers in the under ground stations themselves. Whether or not the fact that St. Basil's was· painted green had any bearing must, for the moment, remain a conjecture. On the whole, it probably did not. It must remembered that when, at the 23rd Party Congress, Reactionary Revisionist Revanchism was denounced (as it applied to industrial quotas in the Ukraine) a question was raised which has never been fully evaluated. It might be said that 10 certainly the effect on the Balkans was inestimable; the Seudet en problem was not r esolved, ( O d er-N esse question et al) much less SchleswigHolstein's (long a thorn in the side of the Prus sian trai ned East German Communis ts [Ge r man Peoples Democratic Republic]) traditional role v is-a-vis Aus tria. (For a discussion of other impl i cations see George Kennan's Insi de Averrill Harriman.) More r ecent ly the balance of power (neve r really the same s ince The Congress of Vienna) changed with De Ga ulle 's suppression of the SAO and the resulting preeminence of the FLN w ith an eye to the Saharasite of testing for the force de frappe. This replaced Southeast Asia in France' s inc r easingly German orient ed weltanschauung, causing a dichotomous policy with ramifications in A lbania's identification with Red China. The Russian winter can never be ove res t imated as Char les of Sweden, Napoleon and Adolf Hitler (son of Alois Schicklgruber) found out. As Dostoyevsky, the writer, said in one of his lighter moments, "It' s colder than hell." Theoretically then, if a vast number of hydrogen devices could be detonated in Siberia, the polar ice cap would melt leaving the area a possible source of virgin farm lands much larger in area that Kazahstan. Denmark would immediately protest to the UN, as Greenland would undoubtedly be flooded. From the previous discussion the pattern begins to emerge. What importance tangential considerations such as the production of newsprint (paper pulp) , the increase in vodka consumption in the Asiatic provinces, Nepal's refusal to provide the Soviet Union with a submarine base, China's disastrous Great Leap Sideways, or the fishing rights dispute off the mouth of the Raritan River had will only be known in time. The main causes stand out in stunning profile. Hamilton Shrewsberry is the former Foreign Aflairs correspondent for the Times. He is presently retired and teaches Esperanto at the Berlitz School in Nyack, New York, where he lives with his wife and Mynah bird. The Talk Of T he Town Peripatetic A rt We 've a lways been slightly skeptical of grand iose theories, and yesterday's u npleasantness gave us a chance to test one that has been nagging away at our gray matter for some time . \ Ve had been informed at the time Mr. Frank Lloyd Wright's Guggenheim Museum opened its ramp to the pub lic tha t in case of atomic a t tack it would coi l like a spring and bounce back undamaged. We were fran kl y dubious, and, as we started up Fifth Aven ue to in vestigate, we £cit certa in our doubts wo uld be confirmed. We were regrettab ly detai ned as the Steuben Bui ld in g was littered a ll over the midf ifties - we had to tippy-toe along to avoid being lacera ted. Upon fina ll y reaching Eigh t y-ninth Street, we were somew hat perplexed to find the museum gone. Orie n ting o u r map we decided that, yes, t h is was t he correct address, and to our knowledge the museum was not on tour. U nderstandably distressed, we looked about for a n explanation. What we fo u nd in stead was a noticeably distraught, wi zened, ferret-eyed litt le man. Addressing him , we lea rned th at he was Mr. L. Hart ley Zoa rk . M r. Zoark, it tu rned out, was a d ep u ty assistant curator of the G uggenheim . P ressed for deta ils o f th e museu m 's w hereabouts, Mr. Zoark repl ied, " M y heavens, I si m ply don't know. I've never misplaced an objet d'art before, much less an entire museum." Sympathizing wi t h Mr. Zoark, we suggested that we, that is, we and he, make a joint search. He thanked us with a gasp of gratitude. "Just where would you suggest we look?" he asked. That baffied us, as we had no idea w here a fugi t ive museum might secrete itself. However, a clue presented itself to the keen-eyed Mr. Zoark. "'Look!" he said. We looked and saw a rather large and garish Kand in sky impa led. o n a fire hydran t across the street. Mr. Zoark was horribly upset - a fee ling we couldn't honest ly share as we had never much cared for Kandinsky. As he was extricating the pa in ti ng we poin ted out a Van Gogh nest led in a decidious tree to the south and just inside the margi n of Centra l Park. With frenzied alacrit y Mr. Zoark bounded u p the tree, leaving us agape - wondering if he kept in such marvelous shape by walkin g u p the Guggenheim daily in lieu o f using the e levator. Our reverie was broken, however, by anguished exclamation s. "Giant holes; K lees, Po ll acks, 1 <.iines, e ven a Rauchen berg . . . Disaster!" We were sure th at M r. Zoark had lost his reasoning fa culties, b ut we fo llowed as he descended - an o ften reproduced scene o f Aries in hand - and scu rried further into the park. We needn 't h ave (P lease turn to page 17) Poe'l'ry W. w. ' ' -? ? '' ? !! ;> Reader's Diges'I' H2H2H2H2H2 imp BANG! e e rrrrrrr ( condensed from a photograph in Life) welter december 1965 DID LIZ GO DOWN WHEN THE BALLOON WENT UP? Where was Eddie ? Why d id J an et Leigh? W h at was Ava doing with Ernest ? Wh o stepped on The Bea tles ? What did Dickie m ean b y, "something's rotten?" What does F a bian m ean to Natalie ? •• • see P. 19 .•• Yesterday's colorful Supersp ectacula r, the bigges t to hit the movie ca pital of the world since the chariot r a ce in B en -Hur, gave m e the chance to le t the millions of fan s still left in on a p ersona l close-up of the home life of Liz an d Dicki e. I fitted m yself out in a sh eer, lead-lined shirtwa ist, a nd hoping a ga inst hope that the a rmed Pinkertons Liz k eep s to tidy up the yard would be busy elsewhere, hurried out to what sophisticates now call Beverley Ca n yons. It was a b eautiful paste l day as I drove through the smog and fallout to the Burto n s' charming thirty room hide away, " Elsinore," I p a rked the fu ch sia S ilver S creen Starmobile a mile a way and crawled through the verben a p ast a cordon of electronic sentries. W ith m y nail file I made my way, link by link, through a d a rling steel f en ce, daintily g rounding the 25,000 volts a s I went. Further on, thrilled by the qua int m oa t, I threw a bag of horsem eat to the crocodiles and swam across, popping up on the other side with only a f ew piranha nips. I squiggled m y way across the lawn with m y wrought iron mine detector, playfully interrupted by three wild mastiffs (Liz lovingly calls them Cerberus, I, II and Ill). They accepted my little dose of tranquilizers, and I had at last arrived. I squeezed past the door jamb, but, after looking in all the closets and under all the beds, found nobody home, I sat down and started to write my exclusive p ~rsonal interview, when I heard something from downstairs. Investigating, I found a heart-shaped steel trap door on the floor of the basement; I could hear voices below. The door was bolted and sealed, but luckily I had along a small lump of plastique I often carry in my purse. The charge blew the door n eatly off, and I skipped on down. "What the hell • • • ", Dickie, a great kidder who r eally has a delightful sen se of humor, said to me. Liz was langourously lounging on a n a ntique army cot, h er beautiful blue-purple-green-gray-grape-magenta• violet-flamingo eyes wide open. " Wha t the h e ll •• •" , Liz, a real person who really has a d elightful sen se of humor, said to m e . " Wha t," I asked, " do you think of the talk about Natalie and F abian?" " Wha t ••• ?" , Liz ask ed wildly. " There isn ' t any," I replied, "but I thought you might have an opinion," "What the h ell ••• ?", Dickie, always a joker , put in. "Some p eople ought to be squashed like bugs," Liz said. Knowing that millions of fans would want to h ear Liz's opinion of The Beatles, I jotted it down in my little a lbino alligator covered notebook. Rig ht h ere and now, and for all their many fan s, I would like to say that Dick ie a nd Liz are down to earth people . Their gruff manners and habit of throwing objects at interviewers just co ver up a basic shyness, refreshing to see in great celebrities. " •. • goddam wa r going on," Dickie was saying, a quote I believe, from tha t great play of Bill Shakespeare's, Measure for Errors. Liz had been fixing a small luncheon of sliced Spam, proving once aga in tha t all people are really and truly human beings. Dickie was starting to load a gorgeously chased shotgun. He was smiling that entrancing Welsh smile, and I thought it would be a good time to a sk about Eddie and Janet. But Liz was smiling and wiping her bone-handled carving knife on a pape r towel, just like any other house• wife , and I decided to ask about Ava. Everyone knows she has been seen reading Hemingway. "This is from King Macbeth," Dickie was saying, his eyes glinting with heart throbbing Celtic fury, '' ' • .. sornething's rotten ••.' "• I didn't want to overstay my welcome (privacy is such an important part of the lives of the famous). I left my tear gas pen as a souvenir, and, putting on my off-white gas mask , scrambled up out of the shelter with the answer I'm sure every fan wants to know. Yes, Liz did go downstairs when the balloon went up, 11 �01111 An Old Cel'l'lc PORTFOLIO What if it were true That spirits are imprisoned In trunks of trees and are Waiting for a word To cut them free? If it were true Then hemlock and dogwood Redwood and yew May have come from their Lumbering wombs in a song. But if it is true That ignorance distains A folly as fluent As a canvas covered sky Or a chariot driven sun Could spirits reveal themselves And poplars come to live in a poem When trees are planted on truck farms And words are as dull as geoponics? So what if it were true? Judson Scruton 12 PATRICK HUDSON �l �The Win•er Dream ot= No•hingness it is not yet the season of kisses I, idol of a creating One, stand the silliness of shadows, And weave a wicker-chair of death to dream of One before me: A gypsy dancer, if not crying was so near at the 3 o'clock hour of death day Friday. I, with him, walk up and watch the hills that are breathing low- this was another man's time. and watch Piquant hands that tease a troubled man's torso; grab and tear and grow cold when they touch a skin become liquid bile, and feel But the wind that bends and lisps and we see it not, and are troubled most by hands that are invisible and hear Into the centre of what, a dark burnous blue-song and its voice asleep saying: "I need a death to waken me," and leave A hill as green as glossened weed and deathly as a drone, that reached and grabbed without a soul and scurried with a moan just now I kissed a bareheaded young man, an almost pure Negro, And saw in my friend asleep my course and almost pure mirror. Ronald Monti A Crucit=ix:ion For Dancing Eyes Eyes that dance in burning water and, a body that writhes in a cry of rage Are the garment of a drama that plays for mummied millions. Those very eyes, propped by a neck of twisted cork, Encounter on the single journey the shattered masks of the fugitive mutes. No dance in the doorway; no one dancing. I into the portals crash and catch my blood drops, flooding cubits, In flesh, shaped like the beggar's tool then hear a mute call down: Game of The Kiltercocks . .. 0 Now I count myself and there are two: I, the life of my brother's waiting I, the winter dream come true. No dance in the doorway; no one dancing. and (Continued from page 11) doubted; from the blighted elm Mr. Zoark had accurately encompassed the situation. Large depressions some hundred or so feet across, eighty or so feet in width, and about fifteen feet deep - pocked the area in an irreg?lar path toward the south. The depressions were spaced roughly one hundred yards apart, each surrounded by a clutter of valued debris. Mr. Zoark, quite overcome, ~ic~ed up various shards of masonry, a pamtmg or two, and now and then a gold-color metal letter: U, I, E, G and so on, as we made our peregrination toward The Plaza. In spite of the impedimenta Mr. Zoark had collected, he continued on emitting cries of mixed joy and d_ ismay. We, however, were near exhaustion even though we were burdened only by a small Picasso sketch we had always fancied. As we approached the . ~entral }'.ark Zoo, we noticed a large m1htary contingent blockading the are~. The pat~ of depressions led past two immense enhsted men of the Military Police - their hats set squarely on all bu~ shaved_ heads, t~e polished bills obscunng their eyes m menacing shadow. T~ey ba~ed Mr. Zoark's way with glow~r!ng ~ffic1ency. We decided to use our position m the fou~th estate to be of aid to the harrassed maior domo of modem art. This interjection brought forth a short, paunchy and c>:· citable colonel. The colonel, who, 1t turned out, knew our periodical - although only because he looked at the cartoons - explained the situation . "Look, fellas," he began with unwarranted familiarity, "we've got a top secret in there. I dunno if I can let you in although we want to cooperate and don't want to manage the news or anything. Are you sure you're not Peter Amo?" We assured him. "O.K., but I'll have to swear you to secrecy and investigate you, so fill out these forms, please." Mr. Zoark was anxious, so we complied, and - after asserting our loyalty in five copies - were permitted to follow the Bhmpian officer mto the zoo. "This is crazy," he mumbled, almost to himself, "but we think that maybe it wasn't the Russkies or the Frenchies after all. G2 thinks maybe it's a ... " - he was almost blushing - " ... some kind of flying saucer that was the aggressor. Not a word of this to anyone." We nodded solemnly and traipsed along behind. "At last!" cned a much-relieved Mr. Zoark. Indeed, there it was, lying at a slight cant in the sea-lion pool. Around it were ranged several olive drab tanks, cannon trained and waiting. A crew of soldiers in asbestos suits were inching toward it, supported by a group of men in battle dress, bazookas ominously ready. A helicopter droned with flitting nervousness overhead. To the side a disgruntled sea-lion was balancing a small Brancusi on its nose. We disengaged ourself cautiously, leaving Mr. Wright completely vindicated we left the explanations to Mr. Zoark and plodded back downtown. We were somehow depressed and had a sudden longing for nostalgic gatherings at the Algonquin, feeling that the world was changing altogether too rapidly to suit us. Heming'Wlray Shorthaired women in raintime khakied skies and other things to see through unwound bodies wined up minds Follow mudruts of armies to oblivion over things to them oblivious Nothing is sacred especially those that would You come in and look around teach us to spread the blood cape staying close shored Open the door yourself and walk to the rain forgetting the horses Stephen Wiest Por•rai• ot= an Old Man Thinking He sits as a bird in storm. Looks inconsequentially at winter trees. Only faces of old men insure their being. Chiseled by a most tensile thought, never still, grasped by shiny fingers, trembling, commanding white patterns of astonished hair. Only the faces ... And what is held within, wrinkled the sacs about those still bright eyes? Stephen Wiest Benedic•ion Ongoing ignorance of World-walking congregations: Un-knowing, Un-hearing Un-mindful of the final Incantation: IN MANUS TUAS COMMENDO SPIRITUM Lord God, What a bawdy, Heavenly, God, Tasty morsel May we never In bed Sense sounds of Mounds ITE, MALEDICT!, INIGNEM Huh? AETERNUM. John T. Hall Ronald Monti 16 welter december 1965 17 �Ming Toi had a brain tumor eggshell, nature's perfect container, which was cracked when a spoon-yellow lattern swung on an aluminum ladder edge of razor, which, having been seen in a steamed mirror all broken by bottles filled with bullets and membranous tissues of steel, blew winds that smothered the flame from a laser gun , for, while the garden hens wept at this artifica/ dawn of red as the scalp moved back peeling shells o f finest gray smoke near the window iust over the eyebrow that winked wrinkled chicks with no feet, they climbed the loft by the ladder and light that the la ntern swung with its flesh removed by one thought following b reakfast bluep/ate and special china paper in Japanese folds, bled gen tly while gauze filled, held by tongs and mings of yellow yolks popped by prongs of the fork in the branches of a nearby tree; the wind whispered once more, then died. Douglas C. Murphy heads, john, the baptist pass the plate, necks, time, water cooledhidden jugular, balls pass, over passes, heads back, side slide in, waterchin up, gym /av, all with axe, see dent in side, flows gently, sweet cat licksurgeon's pride, in wetting, bells singing, impossible, wet cha nts, prayerscast to ears, the men's room, enough for sin, ways enough pride, in product, headsin cruicifixion up to ears, delightful smell up to nose, water over a head. Doug las C. Murphy photograph by Donald DeAngeles (Continued from page 3) eration. The idea he conveyed to the following generations is what is important. For his was a radical idea, new to Jewish legal ists and Roman polytheists. A simple and revolutionary thought was his : that love is stronger than Hate ; Good is a more powerful force than Evil ; Li fe shall overcome Death. And I heard the words of the Klan ring out, and I heard the answers mixed with the sad and twisted words. " This is a white man 's country, he grants the privileges here" .. . " he hath sent me to heal the broken hearted, to preach deliverance to the captives" . . . Hang the niggers" . .. " Blessed are the meek" .. . "These savcountry, and we' re gonna stop them" . .. " Blessed are the peacemakers" .. . " let's send the niggers back to Africa" . .. "Blessed are the m erciful" ... " Donate for take over" ... " These things I command you, that you Jove one another." At the end of my thoughts about the Klan, and about the frightened people that they represent, I came to the conclusion that the conflict was the same philosophical , psychological and religious dialectic that has troubled mankind throughout recorded history. The struggle is that of positivism o ver negativism , reaching out or w ithdrawing, loving or fearing. And, because it cannot be avoided, one must say that it is the same elementary conflict between Good and Evil - as paths, as absolutes, or as images. To see men supposedly sworn to uphold the tenents of their stated faith , so wrapped in the roles of their hypocracy that all reason and vision is lost to them, is a bitter condemnation of the progression of man . Thus I returned to the question that each man must ultimately answer for himself, either by thought or action : " What part has evil with good, or light with darkness." As I again envisioned these hooded figures circl ing the fiery cross, the Cross of Christ and of the lnquistion, I knew that avoiding the question was not the answer. (Continued from page 9) When eleven a backboard of scrap lumber, not smooth, with quirks of rebound, was nailed with spikes to the gray-blanched garage of Harvey's home. He had leveled and tamped the d irt underneath the basket, which was a basket marked, " Oregon Apples, America's Biggest." Like a gardner Harvey had nurtured his barren court plot into an elastic responsiveness which demanded his reflexes ripen ; the crop, agility. The backboard fixed to the pediment above the garage door required that a lay up be executed precisely or else elbows, knees, even ears would be barked against the door which gave but slightly and resounded. Kaathunk ; Tattlerattle. Inside the garage, as if a chariot to carry him to glory, sat an old Chrysler Airflow, once so advanced as to elicit ridicule. He saw in it the same athletic lines that he had seen in the rotogravure section of the Arcadia Sunda y Me rcury of the Burlington Zeyphr which channeled easily across the Great Plains to snake through the western mountains. Harvey felt the grace of the Chrysler's lines flow beneath his preposterous epidermis to his developing muscles. He polished the d ark green curving planes, facets catching an obliqued Sun, and to reward himself and feel its power his, had sneaked his father's keys. Not knowing the gears he backed it into the Craftsman lawnmower and punishment. Be/lerophon, Phaeton. Remember. On the broad hardwood plain laid out with Euclidean symmetry he had hustled, elbowed and yelled his way past the Praxitelean athletes and to the Arcadian Mercury's sports editor had said, " I think I can lead us to the county, even state, championships." Wise kid. Hermes , as if sent by Zeus, grasped the sphere and after three feather-light strides sent it vaulting in a rainbow arc through the fier y ring. " Fleetboot Scores In last Seconds For County Championship." From cloud encumbered heights pity descended. Divinity metamorphosed Stentor, and a Bullfinch flew warbling across the gym parking Jot. Sure. Rooks and Pa"WWns Silently stealthily slipping into infant Intelligibility And pounded into pap. Allow no impulsive rash of charity to Thrust Its awkward shape athwart the ordered pattern of Our lives. Impulsive actions can arouse a/arums among nations. And all hungry children wait. Meaningless monster moves - bridled between Bureaucrats And waddles across the wound. Grant all generals to struggle with the Stench Of brasso, comrades in drink and correspondence to Lord death. Subordinate civilians can't cause scandal among legislators. And all hungry children wait. And all the hungry children do wait. And . . the . ... .. children .. wait. . . . . all . . . hungry . .. . . .. do . .. . John T. Hall december 1965 19 �RevleW' o• (Continued from page 6) Mr. Kozel 's students could scarcely believe that a Negro could be a poet. These fourth-graders were not less informed about the contributions of American Negroes to American literature than many Negro and White students at the secondary college and university levels in integrated, liberal and ghettoized institutions. There are many college and university professors who are not aware that drama, literature and poetry of quality have been and are being created by Negroes. Mention Richard Wright, Paul Lawrence Dunbar, James Weldon Johnson, James Baldwin or Leroi Jones to many Caucasian teachers of American Literature. One finds out how ill -informed many are. Look through the bulk of so-called American Literature texts and anthologies. One finds an extreme paucity of Negro writers, or none at all . "The Teaching of Non-Hate" oriented teachers cannot overlook the deep spiritual, national and hu manitarian contributions of the Negro American . Ignorance perpetuates misunderstanding, lack of respect and hate. During the exhibition of some of the paintings of the Negro American artist and poet, Ted Joans, an elderly patron of the arts was heard to express her approval of the artist's work. She wondered if the artist were present. When told that Mr. Joans, overthere, was the artist, the woman was completely amazed because she didn ' t "know" that Negroes could paint. " The Teaching of Non-Hate" needs to function in the community on the adult level. Roy Wilkins writing in The New York Post (June 20, 1965) talks about public school teachers, " both Negro and White, in the North and in the South," who " are only enduring children , not teaching them." Mr. Kozel of Boston was not one of those enduring teachers. He was not one of a host of teachers who believe that Negro children cannot be taught at all . C. E. Wilson declares in the previously cited Liberator article that the "American society never had any intention of educating Negro children" and that "there has never been any intention of preparing Negro youngsters for sharing in" the American dream of success through the virtues of the Protestant Ethic of hard work, frugality, the moral life and education. WHITHER HATE? Americans in the 1960's live in an age of trite slogans and of cheaply applied labels. Teachers fear being labeled anything that does not conform to the party-line of White Anglo-Saxon Protestant America. The nonWASPS, almost always 100% Caucasian, conform lest they be lumped in with the egg-heads, Pinkos, Commies, liberals and other kinds of so-called radicals. The nonWASPS conform lest they be lumped in with the eggheads, Pinkos, Commies, liberals and other kinds of so-called radicals. The non-WASPS want and need to belong in terms of their own survival in the WASPS' dog-eat-dog jungle. It is thus that many teachers with a minority background of their own adopt and practice the biases and prejudices of the WASPS. If being antiNegro insures the survival of a Jew, so be it. Jewish teachers in large cities often try "to trick" their black students into making errors so that they will appear to belong in the eyes of the dominant white students. All goes well racially in the United States today. If it doesn't go well, we tell ourselves that it does, Harlem, Los Angeles and Rochester riots to the contrary. Mr. Kozel was told that " no Negro poetry which describes Negro suffering can ever be read in the Boston Public Schools." This decree does not eliminate the effects of ghetto living and suffering. Because Mr. Kozel did not present " positive themes," he was labeled a trouble maker. His objective was to teach " non-hate" through the reality that the Negro is capable of creating things artistic and beautiful. Kozel attempted to portray the Negro in non -stereotyped fashion, as a poet, as a creator. He also attempted to show the Negro as he really is, not as the dominant Caucasian group imagines and wants the Negro to be . Dr. Jonah E. Salk recently commented that it ought to be possible to immunize young people against prejudice by proper education. He indicated that children are most vulnerable at age six or so for the introduction of prejudice. If some method could be found to prevent the injection of intolerance in the child's life, intolerance could be controlled and ultimately eliminated as a social disease. The method would be " The Teaching of Non-Hate. " It is thus tragic if teachers such as Mr. Kozel lose their positions and others are threatened with professional ruin for attempting to teach non-hate. Ultimately the need for the teaching of non-hate transcends the United States. The need is global. Survival of man is at issue. Survival of the minority Caucasian group is at stake in a world where people of color count for two-thirds of the three billion plus humans now alive on this planet. The need for humanistically and internationally oriented teachers is so staggering and vital that "The Teaching of Non-Hate" transcends mere economic and political systems that divide and separate people and nations of people. If the status-quo remains, the implications ought to be fairly obvious for man. Will he hear what he must hear for his survival? Or will he go on hearing only those things that delight and delude him from the realities of his own survival? If so, man surely deserves the self-suicide he appears to be attempting. 1 Seely, Nancy. "The Poem That Cost A Teacher His Job." The New York Post, June 17, 1965. Selma,Ala. Thawing floes Thundering. Thundering songs Flow through the narrow Gorge Striking familiar Chords-chords Of ancient miseries long Frozen In the wingless hearts of Half-men. Dawn's New spectrum: Black On white Ice? we shall overcome A'I' Play In The Fields At Play In The Fields Of The Lord by Peter Matthiessen Random House, New York, 1965 reviewed by Judson Scruton Although Peter Matthiessen has written seven volumes - four novels, two works about his anthropological expeditions to New Guin_ a and ?ou_th e America, and a book entitled Wildlife In America - his reputation as a writer has not been widespread. At Play In The Fields Of The Lord, his latest novel, should firmly establish this immensely talented writer, for it is a novel of considerable power. At Play In The Fields Of The Lord is not put together with any tricks or gimmicks. The twenty-seven chapters move from one group of characters to the next and are narrated in contrasting chapters or groups of chapters which cover similar events or periods of time from the two participating groups' points of view. The two major groups of characters are four Protestant, fundamentalist missionaries and two soldiers of fortune. Both types are involved with the savage Amazonian Indian tribe, the Niaruna - the missionaries trying to save their hell-bound souls - the soldiers of fortune trying to bomb them out of existence for Comandante Guzman, in order that this little dictator will not restrict their visas and will allow them to fly out of the country they way they came - in their hijacked plane. From these conflicting groups has emerged two masterful characterizations. Martin Quarrier, a South-Dakotaborn, Moody- Bible- Institute-trained missionary, became aware of life and the diversity and intensity of the human experience too late to rescue the life that his stultifying faith had left in a shambles. Before his final anthropological interest in the Niaruna led him to a realization that "for every soul that has been truly saved we have made thousands of o• beggars and hypocrites, with no peace and no voice in a strange world which holds them in contempt with neither hope nor grace!", his young son died of blackwater fever, his rather ugly, big-boned wife went insane, and all positive contact with the Indians was lost because Kisu -Mu, the term which the missionaries used for Christ, was actually the Indians term for an evil spirit which had been particularly active. As a final ignominy, Martin Quarrier was macheted to death by Yoyo, the only supposedly real Christian convert among the Niaruna. Meriweather Lewis Moon, a halfbred Cheyenne adventurer, learned the lesson denied to his namesake, Meriweather Lewis of the Lewis and Clark exploring team: "The way to innocence, to the uncreated and to God leads on , not back, not back to the wolf or the child, but ever further into sin, ever deeper into human life." (as the novel's epigraph from Hermann Hesse reads.) Moon's namesake was born into aristocracy, joined the army, explored the raw edge of North America, and died, probably a suicide, having returned to civilization disillusioned. Lewis Moon was born into poverty; received a college education at a mission school; became a renegade mercenary; deserted; became a near divinity to the Niaruna; escaped from the possible extinction of the Niaruna ; and after floating in a death canoe down the Amazon toward the ocean, where in a feverish trance he clearly realized his "own transience under this sky", he disembarked once again on the shore and built "an enormous fire, in celebration of the only man beneath the eye of Heaven." The characterizations of Quarrier and Moon are high art. While repsenting factions in a particular and a universal struggle, they still emerge as believeable, meaningful people. What eventually sets this novel above most American fiction since World War 11, however, is the variety and The Lorcl quality of the language. The language soars, as it does in Moon's ayahuasca inspired trance. His body diffused and drifted through cathedral vaults of color, whirling and shimmering and bursting forth, drifting high among the arches, down th e clerestories, shadowed by the explosions of stained glass. The language sets the jungle scene in taut, analytically precise details. Beneath his feet the ground was not ground at all, but a dark compost . of slow seepings and rotted leaves which , starved of sun, reared nothing but low fungi ; it gave off a thick, bitter smell of acid. The language rings with the veracity of in-group phraseology, as it does in one of the missionary's letters back to Mission Fields. " Pray much for his servants Martin and Hazel Quarrier, pray much for the Undersigned and his wife , Andy, who must try to take His Word to the savage Niaruna , for this work will surely be difficult and dangerous . All your prayers are needed , for Satan is marshaling his forces and the Opposition (a reference to the Catholic missionary work in the area) is ever ready to take over at our first misstep ." The language combines accurate phraseology and taut details into the whole symbolic action of the novel, as it does in the following account of the Niaruna's disposal of their chief's body. Moon helped them lay out a reed mat in which Boronai was rolled up with his bows and arrows, his shell strings and his paddle ; his canoe was brought and the wrapped body laid in it. Then Aeore chanted a eulogy and a promise of revenge . He invoked the Ancestors and the Great Spirit Witu'mai; he spoke of the gentle soul of Boronai . . . Then the canoe was carried to the river. It would drift for many moons toward the East, toward the Ocean River Amazonas, toward the Great Sea of life . There, in the bright morning where the Sun was born, the canoe would sink, and Boronai's spirit would return into that sky from which, as a star, it had first descended. At Play In The Fields Of The Lord shows such a command of language, characterization and a penetratingly human moral code that it is highly unlikely that people will soon forget the name Peter Matthiessen. John T. Hall 21 december 1965 20 welter � Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Student Journals Subject The topic of the resource University of Baltimore Description An account of the resource Student Journals are a collection of the University of Baltimore’s premier publications which are run by University of Baltimore's students. Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource University of Baltimore Source A related resource from which the described resource is derived Student Publications collection Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available University of Baltimore Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1965-2019 Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource This item may be protected under Title 17 of the U.S. Copyright Law. It is made available by the University of Baltimore for non-commercial research and educational purposes. For permission to publish or reproduce, please contact Special Collections & Archives at specialcollections@ubalt.edu Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource application/pdf Language A language of the resource English Type The nature or genre of the resource Text Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context UR0034 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Welter, 1965 Subject The topic of the resource University of Baltimore Student publication Description An account of the resource University of Baltimore Student publication Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource University of Baltimore Source A related resource from which the described resource is derived Student Publications Collection Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available University of Baltimore Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1965 Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource This item may be protected under Title 17 of the U.S. Copyright Law. It is made available by the University of Baltimore for non-commercial research and educational purposes. For permission to publish or reproduce, please contact Special Collections & Archives Department at specialcollections@ubalt.edu Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource application/pdf Language A language of the resource English Type The nature or genre of the resource Text Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context UR0034_S09_B23_F001 Student publication