Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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TBS NEWBERRY SUN FRIDAY, DECEMBER 28, 1961 gsa W v N't iJ L-. v. , J «^r sfcs. ;>?*aS 1 fcit 'UKAn^ ;■> Christmas Hutchinson Grocery 1000 Main Street Newberry !! ■i jii!j!j !i!i The stor sHII shin ing from obore lights the Christ- mos sky with the blessings of His lore. L y Kci.. uru L. Van Liyiie IS THE STORY of three ^ elderly sisters and how, on New Year’s Eve, they found peace and understanding. Aunt Sylvia—though she really wasn’t my aunt at all—was the only one of the sisters who never had married. For years she lived alone in the big family home and I al ways liked to go there to hear her play on her big upright piano. Al ways she would find me a cookie or a piece of cake—the sign for me to go home. Only Susan had had a child—and he was killed in the first world war. Both Susan and Kate lost their husbands later on and, since they were equal heirs in the Hollister home and to-what money was left, they came to majce their home with Aunt Sylvia. The Hollister house wasn't the •ame after that. Aunt Sylvia was unhappy—she naver played the piano any more—and several times I caught her crying. I was only ten—but I knew what was wrong—her sisters Susan and Kate were morose and meddlesome, always complaining about some thing. The three would go for weeks without speaking to each other. One day I found Aunt Sylvia cry ing quietly in her rocking chair. ;I didn’t know what to do, but put ■my hand on her shoulder. an old- fashioned MEW YEAR State Cafe 1106 Main Street Newberry We Wish Each of You i H V£RY ITlfRRY Newberry Dry Goods Co. £ Mrs. C. J. McWhirter & Son 1004 Main Street Newberry One day I found Aunt Sylvia crying quietly In her rocking chair. “David,” she said, “I’m so un happy!” Aunt Sylvia poured out the whole story then. “If we could only be sisters again,” she said. I don’t know what led me to do it, but I walked over to the old cherry table in the corner where there was an album of old pic* tiu-es—photographs and daguerreo types—and started to thumb through the pages. Aunt Sylvia came over very quick ly, her clothing rustling as it al ways did, and took the book from my hands. ■' “David Balch,” she said, “you’ve given me an idea. What day is it, David?” I was puzzled, “Why, it’s Sat urday and tomorrow is New Year’s,” I said. Aunt Sylvia clasped me in her arms again. “David,” she said, “can you come back at about eight o’clock tonight?” T HE THREE OF THEM were in the sitting room when I arrived. Aunt Sylvia had me sit at her side, close to the fireplace. “David,” said Aunt Sylvia, “will you get that album on the table? I want to tell you about some of the old pictures we’ve kept so many years.” Susan and Kate continued to work on the shawls they were knit ting, but I could see they were drop ping stitches right and left. “Look,” Aunt Sylvia went on, “that picture shows Susan when she was seventeen. She—” “Sixteen,” corrected Susan. “And here is Kate riding her fa vorite horse. It had a funny name —Nebubuchadrezzar—” “Necho,” corrected Kate. “Here,” said Aunt Sylvia,” ere the three of us, on our way to school—” Both Kate and Susan were right behind Aunt Sylvia now, looking over her shoulder. “Sylvia,” said Susan, “if you are going to describe those pictures, get things right. We were cm our way to church.” Aunt Sylvia never batted an eye. “We were pretty good looking girls, I think,” she said, as if ad dressing herself. “We were always together. Folks caUed us the Hollis ter Triplets, because we were so inseparable.” I looked at Kate and Susan then and was startled to see them remov ing their glasses and rubbing their eyes. “Once,” said Aunt Sylvia, “wa were on a sleighride together and—” “It was New Year’s Eve,” com mented Susan. “And so is this,” said Aunt Sylvia. “Not so cold a night, maybe, but—” It was Susan who broke down first. “Stop it!” she cried, so sharp ly I dropped the album on the floor. The first thing I knew, Kate and Susan had their arms around Aunt Sylvia all were crying their hearts out. I knew it was time for me to go. “Happy New Year, everybody,” I remarked inanely. It was the only thing I could think of to say. By Shirley Sargent ••TTOW WOULD YOU like to have ! ** an old-fashioned New Year’s Eve celebration?” Tom paused hopefully as he set the projector up. “Heck, no,” the eight children complained, almost in unison. “We always have movies on New Year’s Eve.” “All right,” Tom sighed, "lights off, please.” The lights blinked off, plunging the room into darkness, but the projector failed to work. “The plug’s okay,” his wife, Martha, said softly. Everybody yelled advice to Tom, but he ignored it. “Lights,” he called finally. “Sony, folks, but whatever’s bro ken can’t be fixed tonight.” “What’ll we do?” a disgusted nephew asked. Tom grinned at their downcast faces. “You're spoiled by these modern conveniences. Why, up to six or seven years ago, we managed to stagger along without movies. Let’s have an old-fashioned cele bration like we used to.” “Tell us what to do,” the children shouted. “Well, now, you start out by get ting some good fire logs out of the storm cellar so we can get that fireplace going.” Three shock haired nephews clattered out of the room, but Tom wasn’t finished. He turned to the adults, “We’ll need marshmallows and apples . . .” The older folks joined in, with Tom's baritone booming loud and strong. “And popcorn,” his wife interrupt ed as she bustled out to the kitchen. “That’s right, Martha,” Tom felt enthusiastic as he packed his movie equipment away and took the blank, white screen down. He was so tired of showing pictures, he didn’t even make a pretense of finding out what was wrong with the projector. “Hey, Tom,” his brother-in-law. Herb, called, “come here and give i me a hand with this piano of yours. We’ll just roll it into the archway and maybe we can get Martha to play after a while.” “Come on,” an excited voice hailed them into the transformed living room. A roaring fire lit up the walls, both children and adults were sprawled on the floor, eating apples and fixing sticks to roast marshmallows on. “Well,” Tom chuckled, “this looks mighty-familiar to me. Let’s turn out all the lights except those on the tree. There, that looks better. ’ Now, I’ll tell you a New Year story my father always told us.” B Y THE TIME Tom had finished telling his story, the fire had, burned so low marshmallows wart) roasting over the coals. Kernels could be heard popping into crunchy 1 white pieces, as Herb showed the' boys how to shake the popper just' right over the flickering flames. 1 Martha and the other women brought bowls for the hot popcorn and the salt cellars passed from hand to hand as the family ate. “Sure is good,” sighed one at Herb’s little girls, rubbing her tummy. “I wonder if I’ll have room for turkey tomorrow.” Everybody laughed. Tom leaned against Martha’s leg, staring up at the fire-lit ceiling, seeing the happy faces about him and the bright- colored strings of light shining on the tree. He was just about to ask Martha to tackle the piano when Herb’s son slipped over and the strains of “Let Me Call You Sweet heart” filled the room. First the piano carried the dominant tune alone, then the youngster’s shrill voices swelled up in accompani ment, and finally the older folks joined in, with Tom’s baritone booming loud and strong. After that, Herb’s son didn’t hesi tate but shifted them from song to song. Tom had never heard the old upright sound so well, even if it did need tuning. And the familiar songs, which were more a part of New Year’s to Tom than anything else, had never sounded so beauti ful. The harmony was so expressive, the faces of his family so peaceful he hated to interrupt. “Way past bedtime, folks,” Tom smiled, “How do you like an old- fashioned New Year’s Eve?” “Lots better than movies,” the children said, “just one more song.” ‘Tom,” Martha whispered, “don’t worry about your projector. I .ought this would be more fun, - > I dia what you said and nevar . t the plug in.” hen Tom, filled with the spirit he hour, led his family in sing- “Auld Lang Syne.” COMMENTS ON MEN AND THINGS by Soectator . Shall we vote like free men? Mr. J. A. Stubbs of Sumter, a i dlitant citizen in his zeal for iine, old-time American virtues, upon which this republic was founded, writes a letter, enclos ing a resolution adopted by* the State Chamber of Commerce. I quote the resolution: “WHEREAS, it appears that we promise in this oath ‘to, support the nominees of this primary election in the general election next ensu ing’ has in the past confused some voters ' who place upon these words a construction mean ing in effect that the voters in the primary are bound to vote for all- nominees of the party holding the primary as well as nominees of the primary election then held, and WHEREAS, in a secret election it would be impossible to ascer tain whether or not a voter violated his oath in the general election, and therefore this pro support the nominees of this primary election in the general election next ensuing’ should be deleted from the oath, etc.” A word of explanation may be desirable since thousands of our voters may not know why the law requires that the voter who casts a ballot in the Democratic Primary shall vote for the person who is chosen in that Primary. Of course I don’t know why there should be a law about this. The idea is to preserve a united Democratic front in the General Election, thus polling the united Democratic strength against a Republican candidate. Frankly, there was something worth pre serving in years gone by, but the name, the label, “Democrat” doesn’t mean so much today. We South Carolinians are beginning to think of Boss Pendergast and Mink Coats and free Freezers— and a lot of easy pickings as being part and parcel of those gentlemen who pose today as Democratic leaders of America. Down here in South Carolina we have not had such scandals as make the label “Democrat” a foul vision only binds such voters as consider this an obligation bind' ing upon them, and WHEREAS the words ‘I will order; and in view of certain trends it may be debatable whether the State will advocate the change here suggested. If there were a Republican State and County ticket there might be greater reason for the suggested amendment. At present many Democrats don’t vote in the Sec ond Primary and fewer, still, vote in the General Election. South Carolina Democrat* are not bound to vote for Mr. Truman or Mr. Vinson, or any other Fair' Dealer. Any candidate for President, as is known, is not in the South Carolina ' Democratic Primary; so we can be as truly a South Carolina Democrat as we please and vote for Robert A. Taft, or General Elsenhower, or General MacArthur, or any other candidate, whether Democrat or Republican. We might rub Alad din’s lamp so as to ascertain whether General Eisenhower is a Democrat or a Republican. And Aladdin might be called In to help a lot of us, for we South Carolinians can’t recognize De mocracy in the National leader ship. The Mink Coat, Deep- Freeze type of Democracy may have mystified General ,‘Tke;” still he might come down here and attune himself to the Simon- pure variety and then make up his mind. I think we need an energetic and thorough house-cleaning in Washington. The Nation needs a man, a leader, who knows and loves. America, not smalltime Party partisan, playing the game with his cronies and a me-too ag gregation of self-seekers. I think the Republicans have two men who enjoy general respect: Gen eral MacArthur and Robert A. Taft: so far Mr. Truman seems to smother the Democrats, though we have men like Senator Byrd, Senator George, Senator Russell —and others. We are not dis posed to accept any crony of Mr. Truman, whether he be Chief Justice Vinson or any other Democrat, real or socalled, who is tinted or tainted with the so- called Fair Deal, or any other kind of “deal”: American life, liberty, happiness and true de velopment are not to be depen dent on any deal,” or anything else smacking of a game and gambling. This Nation still has more respect for the dignity and moral grandeur of Robert E. Lee in the nobUity of his poverty after the War, than for bleary-eyed, bloated jowls of easy spenders whose luxury has come from mere self-seeking and personal aggrandizement. As John Milton says: “Some love bondage in ease rather than strenuous liber ty.” This great Nation, under the hand of Providence, has grown great and strong under strenuous liberty. . | mmm » It was Christ, the Infant King, Who came on that first Christmas Day. He came as a Babe in swaddling clothes, born in a manger, but His birth was heralded by all the Heavenly Host. As the Wise Men of centuries ago directed by a shining star, came to the place where the Infant lay and offered kingly presents of frankincense and myrrh, may ws, too, lay at His feet our most precious gifts —our hearts and souls. Then it can never be said of any of us that there was no room for Him in our hearts. . !■ Vh Jr • - City Newberry J. E. Wiseman C. E. Kinard Forrest Dickert T. C. McDowell E H. Layton C. A. Dufford J. L. Boozer, Sr.