University of North Carolina at Wilmington - Fledgling Yearbook (Wilmington, NC)

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' 950 cJne QJledglin il CLASS PROPHESY (Continued) It was an amazing game, but unfortunately I had to leave early and hurry back to the hotel to dress for a banquet given by Robert Scott, rich young oil magnate, in honor of the United States Secretary of the Treasury, Ralph Henry Johnson. Thus, two hours later, I was on my way to the Stork Club — owned and operated by Happy Corbett, his wife and thirteen children. To my surprise there was a large number of persons from the States present: Admiral Jewell; Ambassador Winters; Academy Award Winners, Lilliam Carras and Daniel Vick; Pulitzer Prize Winner, Mary Frances Ellers; and the Secretary of Interior, Dorothy Dixon. Early the following morning, I was awakened by the shouts and laughter of the populace, already surging through the streets to the arena. The excitement of the crowd swept over me. It was a big day for them, for me, for all of South America. For today the greatest matador in all the world was to kill the toros in the arena at Buenos Aires. Later, when I entered the lobby, the clerk, Paul Marley, informed me that Dr. Jack- son Moore, President of Harvard University, had just called from the police station. He wanted me to get him out on bail. It seemed that he had become innocently involved in a riot started by Bob Hodges and Johnnie Clewis over the Duke-Carolina game, but l roving his innocence to Chief of Police Homer Inman was an impossibility. I hurried out into the street. As I passed a news-stand, I glanced at the Times ' headline. Bold, black letters shouted out the extraordinary news. Gordon Blair had blasted a hole in the iron curtain ! ! Before I could buy a paper and get away, the proprietor, Nick Pantazis, cornered me and insisted that I wanted a copy of John Albino ' s new book, Adventures in Outer- Mongolia. Urgency weakening my defense, I bought the book and hurried on to the station. But all to no avail, for upon arriving, Desk Sergeant McSwain told me that Jack Lewis, young man-about-town, had already paid the professor ' s bail. Three hours later I was in the midst of the festive throng at the arena. Looking about the crowd, I spotted AP photographer Turkey Edwards busily setting up his camera for the greatest event in all of South America. At last the Grand Entry began! Mounted picadors in yellow, matadors and bande- rilleros with jackets richly embroidered in silver and gold i araded around the arena. Then amid a flourish of trumpets and wild applause, the greatest matador of all times, El Senor Matador Huckleberry Moore, bowed before the President ' s box! The next day, accompanied by The Honorable, The Chief Justice Samuel M. Jones and his personal physician, Ed Hughes, I boarded the plane for New York. From my window I could see Pilot Homer Council and Co-pilot Virgil Creech doing some last minute checking with Serviceman Superintendent, Robert Shepard. I leaned back in my seat. It had been a pleasant two days and I hated to leave. But then, I was anxious to return to New York to see the premiere showing of Robbie Benson ' s latest picture, The Paris Lover, co-starring with Hollywood ' s newest find, Martha Burton. James Trawick, Prophet. 30

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' 95o cJne CJledgltng C f .sw Lrroph op i est As our giant bird lifted its glossy wings on its first flight to South America, I settled back in my seat and began reading the New York Times, now edited by a former college mate of mine, Gene Scoop Warren. I was delighted to see that my old friend. Steve Stei hanadis, had just scored another operatic triumph as Figaro in the Barber of Seville; and that Adelaide Wilson was appearing at Carnegie Hall in a most unusual performance— a combination ballet dance and flute solo. However, the greatest news came from our hostess, Erma Hall. She informed me that the Bob Westbrook Trans-Atlantic Bridge had been successfully crossed by Francis Foy and Deck Jordan. There was to be a huge reception in New York for the dare devils, with President Robert C. Hayes publicly acclaiming them as interna- tional heroes. Due to the new jet engine installed in our plane by Fred Sternberger. we arrived at the Buenos Aires airport two days behind schedule. I hailed a Rabunsky Cab and was very surprised to find the driver to be none other than Benjamin Lamb— so, three seconds later, I was at the Clayton Smith Hotel. Josh Hardison, the manager, saw me in the lobby and welcomed me to Buenos Aires. After resting a bit, I went down for dinner. The Saffo Room was exquisite— and crowded. But, eventually I was shown to a chair beside a young man who was intently writing what I finally surmised to be a feature story on how Dr. Lon Chaney Clewis, famous physicist and mathematician, had proved that a triangle is not a triangle at all. but a trisoctahedron. Even then, it wasn ' t until after we had given our orders to David Lockamy. that I recognized the reporter to be Carlton Rhodes. We re-acquainted ourselves and throughout the meal chatted about our old friends of Wilmington College. He was very happy to hear that the college now covers seven blocks and, though somewhat surprised, equally glad to hear that the Dean of Women is none other than Donald Blake. Neither had he heard that the five-story library building is under the supervision of Harriet Smith, nor under the able coaching of Jesse Hobbs, Wilmington College won the na- tional championship cup for hogging ping pong tables. After dinner, Carlton asked me to join him on his new assignment— a chess match at the McAllister ' s C and B ranch. I thought the idea was swell, so I went along. Claude wasn ' t home but Becky led us to the patio where we found the two antagon- ists, John Dickens and Glenn Bass, engaged in a mean battle of chess. John i nsisted upon consulting his slide rule and math tables before making a move, and Glenn, with the help of his crystal ball and ouija board, tried to kee, one jump ahead of him. 29

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' 950 cJhe QJledgling JLast Vill and cfestament We, the members of the second year class, being of comparatively sound minds and imposing memories, do hereby on this twenty-sixth day of May in the year of our Lord 1950, make and declare this to be our last will and testament. Item I. To Dean Bermon. we leave our deepest gratitude for his consideration of and for his faith in the student body. Item II. To the faculty, we leave our sincere appreciation for their helpfulness and unlimited patience. Item III. To the underclassmen, we leave Wilmington College, that, by your talent and time, you may further her flight to greatness. Item IV. As individuals, we do leave to our worthy successors the following much envied possessions : I, Robbie Benson, leave my pretty blue scooter to Betty Yopp. I, Johnnie Clewis, leave my melodious Spanish accent to all the future estudiantes de espanol. I, Mary Frances Ellers, leave my originality and ability to catch on to Helen Patellis. I, Glenn Bass, leave my bottle of yeroxide and flashy clothes to Franklin Thomas. I, Gordon Blair, leave my bag of wind and say it or die opinions to Dewitt Kennedy. We, Becky Near and Homer Council, leave just the memory of our carrot tops as we desire to keep for ourselves their ablazing appeal. I, Bob Ham Hodges, leave my miniature slide rule to any person possessing the necessary intellect to operate it. I, Harriet Smith, take my diamond with me but leave the stars in my eyes to Ruth Maultsby. I. Freddie Sternberger, after fond adieu, will thankfully leave English 202. We, Donald Blake and Bill Saffo, leave our special watches and glib tongues to Macon Rice and Randy Mclver in order that they may sleep an extra hour and still jonvince the teachers that they are only six and three-fourth seconds late. I, Carlton Rhodes, leave my co nstant nonchalance to Theresa Johnson. I, Jesse Hobbs, leave my football fig-R to Pete Lee. I, Dorothy Dixon, leave my perseverance and scholastic rating to Shirley Johnson. We, John Albino, Huek Moore, and John Dickens, leave our spot on the Dean ' s list to Arthur Stanley, Mary Porter, and George Todd. I, Claude McAllister, leave with Becky. I, Clayton Smith, leave my Sunday-go-to-meeting red tie to Mr. Lounsbury. 31