• Format
  • Publications (documents)
• Type
  • Text
• Source institution
  • Western Carolina University
• Identifier
  • HL_WesternCarolinian_1965-10-08_Vol31_No05_03

Friday, October 8, 1965 The Western Carolinian Page 3 Facets By Bill Smathers Once upon a time, there was a nice little cafeteria nestled between big oak trees in the mountains of "I Wish Land". It was a warm, friendly looking place from the outside because it resembled a domestic bowler hat and was colored brown. One autumnal evening I happened by this place, and being great of hunger I went in and took my place at the end of one of the three long lines of people. Being of an assumptive nature, I assumed that this was a popular place, having been made such by the excellent quality of the food. Wanting some proof of my assumption, I tapped the shoulder of a rather friendly looking fellow in front of me. "Excuse, but could you tell me if the food here is of a good quality." "Hit's the best we'uns got here in "I Wish Land," came his rather indifferent reply. However, I assumed his indifference to stem from his usual habit of eating here, since he was obviously a native. "That must be a recommendation of the highest quality to be called the best," I thought to myself. As I drew nearer the long glass counter where the food was served, I saw that the glass was steamed, making it impossible to see what was offered. I later learned that this condition was due to the smudges of hands as the people passed by. "Pardon me," I said, "but I can't see what you have to offer, could you tell me what it is? "P'ok Chawps" came the reply, "awnt sum?" Thinking it to be some native dish peculiar to this district, I said yes, and by the arm movements I assumed that my plate was continuing on down the line behind the Feedback smudged wall. I continued on to the salad and dessert section with little incident. I was delighted by these last two sections which left the individual a choice and because of this there was no language barrier. The language barrier was indeed the most difficult stepping stone in the process of getting food. Much to my amazement, when my plate was slid over the top of the counter to me, there was everything on it that I had not requested and nothing of what I had. Somewhat bewildered, I walked past a little old lady who sat before a big box into which she was putting money that she collected from the patrons. " 'scuse me, sonny, but have yew got yer meal ticket?" Fortunately, I had one which was good and was allowed to pass on after a hearty admonition to be sure that I always kept it with me. Unable to eat the dinner because the pork was rare and the vegetables were not what I had asked for, I sat down for a while to recover my senses. After many whys, I got up and carried my tray to the man who sent them down an ominous looking hole. After careful consideration of what was on my tray, I thought this altogether fitting and proper and handed him my tray, which he gruffly Jerked out of my hands causing me to lose my balance and stumble. Hurriedly I picked myself up and ran outside, where I began picking up fallen acorns and stuffing them into my mouth. As I sat there amid the stares of curious squirrels, I vowed to master the local dialect and return to make myself understood all the way down the glass and metal counter. Purchase Of Football Tickets Causes Student Consternation Dear Mr. Editor, It has often been contended that one of the main faults concerning students' criticisms of administrative policies and practices is that the criticism itself is not constructive. Scarcely are the causes and solutions to the problems which exist stated as emphatically as the problems themselves. For this reason, this is my first attempt in pointing out one of these problems, and in order to justify myself, I also intend to provide a solution. The matter with which I am concerned is the football ticket sales. I am aware that the administration put the ticket office in Stillwell for the conveniences of the students. However, it is obvious that the idea of traffic through the lobby between classes was slow to begin with. It is ridiculously slow now. The line that forms at the ticket window is too great an obstruction and must be removed for traffic to resume at anywhere near normal pace. This is only a minor problem, however; the real kicker is how one must go about procuring tickets. Suppose a couple wants to date to the football game and the dance. That is perfectly alright unless they happen to want to sit together. In order to do this they must both go to the ticket office together, show their identification cards, and get their tickets. Of course, one must be willing to forego classes, breakfast, lunch, and dinner for this privilege. This line moves slower than a turtle with rickets. My date and I have stood in that God-forsaken line for approximately three hours so far and have yet to get our tickets. People, give me a break! All I want is a couple of football tickets. I would also like to know why in heaven's name a person can't take his date's I.D. to the window and get both tickets. So what if a few guys do sneak non-college dates in by getting another girl's I.D. Look at all the people who have already paid for these tickets but can't go to the game. Why does this confusion have to be centralized at one point? Why not have the iron behemoth in McKee divide the student body into four, five, or six equal parts alphatbetically and place this number of booths in fairly centralized locations. Anywhere but the lobby of Stillwell! The booth could be worked by any of the various organizations on campus or for that matter, the Student Senate or those people on the work-study program. J. L. Bass Afterthoughts By John Keeler A few days ago as I was crashing through the forest, cold, tired and starving for affection, I spied a large house all ablaze with lights and with what seemed to be a glow of warmth and friendliness. The wind was cold and chilled my bone to the marrow, but the promise of the great house drove me onward with the promise of the good life inside. Finally, after much effort and hardship, I reached the big house and went inside, but the sight that met my eyes was enough to return the cold chill to my bones two fold. The friendly atmosphere I had envisioned, the dream that kept me going for so long was suddenly shattered before my eyes — in one quick glance destroyed, leaving instead a picture so bleak that I can only hope to impart a small portion of the horror in this limited space. I was looking out into what seemed a parlor but there was much lacking in this place so that what had once been a beautiful place filled with happy folk had now become a drab, sunken abyss filled with baleful creatures that looked as if deatth was the only hope of release from their sufferings. Indeed these poor creatures were not unlike the wretched souls depicted in Dante's Inferno in that they were seated in chairs nailed to the floor exactly six inches apart and in an orderly manner around a television set. The chairs were arranged in pairs with a man and a woman in each pair. These souls were not allowed to touch one another or even to show a smile of fondness, for that was a display of affection and it was written on the walls for all to see that in the days of the great high priest who dwelt in a great cave just over the mountain, that no one was permitted to feel affection for members of the opposite sex for this could cause great evils that must never be mentioned. The young women were dressed uniformly in black as if they were novices in a holy order, and while the young men were allowed more freedom in their dress, they too had a sameness about them that was distressing to the eye. The poor young people were guarded by two guards with eyes like burning coals, that never missed the slightest movement and who were ready to pounce upon anyone who dared let even so much as the tips of their fingers touch, even if only by accident. If the guards caught an unfortunate couple they were immediately taken to the chamber of the Grand Inquisitor who dwelt in a fortress on top of a hill marked by three tall pines symbolizing the three cardinal virtues, Chastity, Sobriety, and Prudence. At this point I could no longer stand the gloom of the house and left for a more pleasant atmosphere with the beast belonging to one of the guards gnawing at my heels and howling long after I had closed the gate and disappeared into the woods. Wanderings By John Bruton Every now and then I find myself tottering periously close to controversy — especially when I set myself to solving great problems of the Cullowhee society. But I can't help it. I am forever doomed to be somebody's enemy. With this preface, I proceed — softly. The problem I have chosen to expose and, if possible, to solve this week is, to be brief, peas and potatoes. More specifically, little green peas and mashed potatoes. I understand that In certain islands in the Arctic sea, peas and potatoes are not to be found, except only rarely. Then they are delicacies. But generally speaking, these staples have been historically regarded as sufficently abundant to feed the masses. In other words, they're good every now and then to keep one from starving. Enough about history and geography. I'm not talking a- bout islands in the Artie Ocean or about past history. I'm talking about here in Cullowhee right now where (My courage almost fails me) we have too many peas and too many potatoes almost every night. There, I've said it, and I feel better. To show that there are no hard feelings, I propose to offer a few rather carefully chosen remedies. Certainly I'm not proposing that we abolish little green peas and potatoes. I, like any less controversial person, wouldn't relish starving to death. Rather, my remedies are designed to make these fine vegetables work for us, and not against us. I list them below, hopefully. (1) Why not seek out a particularly fine tasting, vegetable eating animal, or indeed, several, and feed them on the diet in question until they are quite fat. Then we can have more meat and less matter on our plates. (2) Bearing In mind that repetition breeds boredom and disinterest, why don't we consider having an "all peas and potatoes day" each week. In other words, have peas and potatoes at all three meals on that particular day. This way, non-interested gourmets will know to eat elsewhere, and not worry about the rest of the week. (3) Instead of work hours or suspension, the S.F.J.C. might well consider punishing problem students by sentencing them to thirty days on a diet of peas, potatoes, and kool- aid. Maybe a little bread too, to make it sound better. (4) This I save for last, because, If properly executed, it could help solve our over-population problem as well as the problem in hand. On the historical precedent of the Irish potato famine during which potato-starved Irishmen fled their homeland In great numbers, why not send all of our potatoes — and as an added gesture, the peas too — to some other place, and perhaps half of the student body will migrate elsewhere. Or would that be asking too much? Sheepishly, I've almost decided that I don't hate peas and potatoes at all. Especially since I plan to eat supper tonight. CANTERBURY DINNER The Canterbury Association of St. David's Episcopal Church In Cullowhee will hold a dinner at the home of its sponsors, Mr. and Mrs. Anthony E. Brown, this Sunday, October 10th. Prior to the dinner, at 5 o'clock, Father Victor Mc- Guire, the priest in chrage at St. David's, will celebrate a Holy Eucharist. Transportation will be provided to the Celebration and to the Brown's residence. The Green Gate By John Vernelson Finally I found solace quaffing the cool ale across the high mountain, so that soon I found my thoughts wandering, and I forgot. Well people, it's almost here — you don't have long to wait. Man, the leaves have even changed in time so I guess that old drunken slut, Mother Nature, will stagger in and help us celebrate. It's gonna be fine — real fine. Now, tomorrow's the day for displays and crowds and music and the game. Tonight's the time for a little dancing In our hardwood skating rink, Reid Gym. You know, It's a shame — a sad, sad shame. They, whoever they are, have gotten us a good band for tonight and it's really gonna surprise Ole' Maurice when he sees us come in and put on our ice skates. Jupiter, I'm kinda thinkin' about takin a hatchet and a pole so I can do a little ice fishing. Reid Gym is as good a place as any for the first time. I want to warn all of you to take it easy on that floor tonight cause it's slick as ice and twice as hard. One more thing I want to clear up is the dress for tonight. At the last dance, the Shirelle's Dance, it was decided first that the dress would be coats and ties for boys and party dresses for girls. Those in charge of the dance were politely notified that their dress decision wasn't too popular so they changed it to casual dress. Well, things were changed again at the last minute. It seems that a little Freshmen girl went to the Dean and cried for twenty-four hours because she wanted to wear her Virginia Reel evening dress. Her poor mother had spent eighteen years or so making it especially for the Orientation Dance. Little girl, and the rest of you who want to wear Virginia Reel evening dresses, I speak to you with loving kindness. This ain't no proper dane at Mt. Vernon given by the late George Washington. It's a Maurice Williams dance, so By Zeus! All of you wipe away your dainty tears and wear casual clothes — you know — school clothes — skirts- sweaters- loafers- single creased pants- shirts and etc. I don't want to see any top hats or glass slippers. So little Freshmen girl with ..dainty tears, it's alright. I don't think any body will mind if you leave your Virginia Reel evening dress at home. I'll write your Mother and explain to her that people won't think you're a wicked woman with painted lips just because you're going to wear clothes that fit the occasion.

The Western Carolinian is Western Carolina University’s student-run newspaper. The paper was published as the Cullowhee Yodel from 1924 to 1931 before changing its name to The Western Carolinian in 1933.

• Creator
  • Western Carolina College
• Format
  • Publications (documents)
• Type
  • Text
• Date
  • Date original: 1965-10-08;
  • Date digitized: 2017-10-12
• Extent
  • Dimension: 15.75" x 11"
  • Pages: 16 pages
• Subject - Topic
  • College student newspapers and periodicals
  • Cullowhee (N.C.) -- Newspapers
  • Universities and colleges -- North Carolina -- Cullowhee -- Newspapers
• Location
  • Jackson County (N.C.)
  • Cullowhee (N.C.)
• Source institution
  • Western Carolina University
• Source Collection
  • WCU Students Newspapers Collection
• Identifier
  • HL_WesternCarolinian_1965-10-08_Vol31_No05
• Repository
  • Western Carolina University Hunter Library