The sun. [volume] (Newberry, S.C.) 1937-1972, December 17, 1943, Image 16
“USE IT UP”
THE NEWBERRY SUN
FRIDAY, DECEMBER 17, 1943
"The CAT’S Meow"
My partner in literary crime who
poses so beligerently at the top of
this pillar of thought is not as fierce
as he looks. He has seen so much ol
his sordid world in seven of his lives
already lived that he thinks it nec
essary to assume a forbidding mein
lest some other cat usurp his rights
to the choicest back fences. Really
children he’s a good cat with the com
mon name of Tom. He confides in
me and I learn much about Newberry
n'ight life from him, gathered in his
nocturnal prowling. I should tell you
an almost unbelievable story which
Tom picked up last night.
He was giving the garbage can at
the Dixie restaurant a work-out when
a girl ran by the alley heading for
the creek. Being a good copy cat Tom
sensed a story and followed her. The
girl stopped on the bridge and gazed
into the water. She then took a
small bottle from her purse, read the
label, hesitated and put it back. Now
she began to remove her clothes.
First her coat, then her dress and
finally her stockin<rs. She ran her
hand into one of the stockings and
looked at it for a second then bundled
all her clothes together and tossed
them into the water and followed
them in head first. Tom, the copy
cat, moved to the bridge and peered
over. There she was, face downward
in a foot of water. She was DEAD.
Young Coroner Wilson scratched
his beard as he scanned the verdict
of the jury: “We find that the de
ceased came to her death by drown
ing, said act beinT induced BY A
HOLE IN HER NYLONS.”
v U.S.WAR BONOS
A GENIUS SINGS!
I gave up writing ballads long ago
on account of a wart on my thumb
but some of my pupils heard that I
one attained a measure of renown as
a sweet singer and have asked me
for a sample. I cannot give too
much of them free for nothing bux
these will suffice for a sample:
The first was written when a girl
stood me up in favor of a sergeant
attached to Lee’s fifth calvary. It
went like this:
THE ROSE THAT OPE’S AT MORN
The rose that ope’s at morn 1
Will fade ere set of sun!
The insect newly born
(How did that bug get in there?)
How soon its race is run!
The sunshine turns to storm
The night succeeds the day!
(Obviously.)
And lover’s vows so warm
Alas! How false are they!
CHOURS
Then I’ll not love! Not I! Not I!
Then I’ll not love, not I!
But stport and play the live-long day
And mock at vow and sigh!
No fragrance in the vale
No music in the bower!
And love as false and frail
Lives but one single hour
I could have written a lot more
of that but exclamation points were
scarce in those days & besides that
chorus was all that was needed to
fetch the gal to her senses. When 1
sang that chorus to her—“Then I’ll
not love! Not I! Not I!” and lingered
feelingly on its final words, my
voice vibrant with emotion and my
eyeballs knocking against my knees,
she let her hair down & rushed to
me—giving me her hand. I have
never experienced a hand-shake with
more warmth.
Needless to say Bloody Rufus, that
was his name, went back to his
horses and I to my music.
I am taking these little extracts
from memory and another comes to 1
me as I look down thru the years to
a little vice-clad cottage with its
bushes of lavender. There I watched
the little bees rifling the flowers
as Gertie’s father sat with his feet
on the banister rail, and came up
with this:
t ve is like a little bee
That rifles every nretty flower
Love is like a blighted rose
That withers in an hour.
Love is like a butter-fly.
And like a flowing stream
And like a weather vane it is
Ah yes, and like a dream!
I cannot now account for the sev
eral qualities ascribed to love in this .
little ballad. It must have been the
old man’s feet.
I know some of you older people
will remember my songs such as the
“Boy With Tight Britches”, “Tell
Me You’re Not Dying”, several good
waltzes, overtures, prefaces and epo-
logues and of course the well loved
Glow-worm song. The worm song
was an exquisite piece. Written as
a gallope it ran rough shod over the
hearts of millions. I can give you
but a verse now:—
I have a little Glow-worm green
As tender as a flower
He glows, and glows, and glows—
How he does it no one knows!
Isn’t that sweet? And so wormy.
My repertoire of Spring and Heart
songs is large but I must await an
other day to bring them to you. One
of them “Oh! Say Not This Heart Be
False” was said by a music critic of
Farmer’s Almanac to be the most
tender bit he ever mouthed and the
reason it came to be written is a
story in itself. I will tell you the
story.
I had a young friend who had a
misunderstanding with his girl over
a most trivial circumstance. He go;
drunk and drowned a family of five
and the girl didn’t like it. They had
a lover’s quarrel and the girl accused
him of being untrue to her. He ask
ed me to write him a song which
would restore her to his bosom. Not
only did my song do the trick but I
was so overcome by my own genius
that I wopt for a solid week, stopping
only long enough to gulp a bite to
eat and hang out the clothes for ma.
Of my other songs I will tell you
later, but now my dear, dear friendr
I must go. I am so sad.
WON’T SEEM THE SAME
(From a letter from Col. Thomas
Pope, somew T| herei n Sicily):
“Newberry has.lost some fine lead
ers and I some good friends since we
entered the army. Their places will
be hard to fill and Newberry will
seem strangely empty without Mr.
Kess, Dr. Weeks, Mr. Floyd Bradley
and the others. Mr. Kess (Derrick)
was an especial favorite of mine and
I shall remember him for his big
heart, his great public spirit and his
good solid judgment.
“Where is Billy to be stationed ? I
can hardly realize that he is eld
enough for the army but I admire
him for volunteering. We need boys
like him for our future and I prav
we can finish this iob before he and
the other youngsters have to come
over.”
Commissioned Lieutenant
Y. T. Dickert. Jr., son of Mr. an 1
Mrs. Y. T. Dickert of Newiberrv. was
commissioned Second Lieutenant last
Monday at an ai'* field in Ill’nois
He is now unending a Id dav l»o„ e
here with his parents, after wh-'cV. v„
will renert to the Conga>-ea air ba^e
near Columbia to which he has b en
transferred.