“As Time Marches On” by William Strudwick in The Carolina Times, Durham, May 11, 1940. This issue is online at http://library.digitalnc.org/cdm/compoundobject/collection/newspapers/id/17112/rec/1,
copyright The Carolina Times.
The Golden Chain
As time marches on apace
We kept far apart as of place,
And yet there was that in the ken,
That we knew of even then.
Before we trod the haunts of man,
Of dizzy deals and noisy spats
We learned little by little these facts,
That it took more than vim to buck the rats.
And now that those trite songs are sung—
The golden chain is restrung—
Pray God we can move along
Again as one!
. . . . . . .
DOWNBEAT
And into my sanctum the haunting echo of a thrilling sweet
voice stolt and my equilibrium fled. Fled away on the ghost of melody of
“Aloho” and it all come back, each sign, each touch, hazy and more vivid in
hue. The warmth not present as of a moment passed came back and filled the room
with a presence I knew. Unreal unrest stole into my tired troubled soul and I
knew no surcease until I fell into a deep sleep and dreamed of you.
. . . . . . .
Cherry by Erskine
Hawkins and Cherokee by Charlie
Harnett has the jitter-jive in these parts.
. . . . . . .
It, “Oomph” and anything else cannot describe these hats our
fair ladies don from year to year out. It is something when you think about
what “poor pa” has to pay for a change of design in a feather and straw.
. . . . . . .
THESE THY PEOPLE
This is a story of a man who had one son. He loved his son,
a fine, ambitious lad who greatly wanted to make good and live up to his
father’s expectations.
The father sent his son to the best preparatory school
possible, and gave him every advantage. It was expensive, yes, but Fred was
going to make good, get a job and make up for everything.
Preparatory school ended. Fred graduated with honors, the
valedictorian of his class.
Then came college; sending Fred to college cost his Dad
three times as much expense as sending him to prep school.
Fred finished college with the highest honors. The college
he attended received huge philanthropies from industrial magnates and the
government.
Then, Fred and his diploma came home.
The factories slammed doors in his face. He hadn’t
anticipated teaching so those avenues of employment were closed to him; and
Fred again began working on the farm. Not for his dad as before for the farm
was no longer his dad’s—sold for education, not for wages, because dad had gone
hundreds of dollars in debt for his education and was keeping the farm simply
to pay off. So Fred worked for education.
And so a great commonwealth prepared a brilliant young man
for work and then told him there was no work!
. . . . . . .
Our eternal cry through the polls, press and various
organizations should eternally be Vocational School with our high school.
The future of a generation—the future of a race—shall
definitely depend upon the progress made in this direction by our group.
The super-machine age we are living in demands emphatically
but two things—and two things only does it pay for; necessities, which means(?)
industries and enterment.(?)
A laugh, a meal and a song seems to be our modern way of
living.
And there arose a great cry that could be heard far and
soar(?) of a people in need. Their surging cries could be heard everywhere, in
every place as time marched on.
They were rooted stem, root and branch in the land en masse
their querulous cries were headed only in a few places.
They needed most of all these people the sterling faith of
their ancestors. As time marched on.
. . . . . . .
We see fewer occupations and more avocations in cause(?) of
survival. The creative impulses of men and women have preserved and made the
civilization which we enjoy today. The creative desires of real men carved a
great nation out of this continent we live upon. These warlike and resourceful
men fought and builded at the same time, literally, octopus like, with a hand
on the plow, the axe and the rifle, inspired by the creative desire for
freedom.
The unselfish creative impulses of the truly great men of
all time have left their indelible imprint upon the sands of time and have
indeed added to the understanding of mankind.
The Master puts a spark of divine creative urge into every
human being. Therefore it is the duty of every person whose life touched a
growing life to see that this spark is cherished in the right way.
We pray for the day when the creative urge of our compact(?)
for example, all-powerful few will create for us—with us, a haven for the
wholesome relaxation of our boys and girls—a real YMCA, etc.
The creative urge of the buncing(?) youth today maybe to
write a book, to sing a song, to build a bridge or to right wrongs—but whatever
the creative urges of our youth may be, it is our duty to find them, to start
them right off on their own peculiar mission for the benefit of mankind.
We may not stumble upon a George Washington Carver, a
Frederick Douglas, a Dunbar or a Bethune or create a bushel of men of
genius—but ever and eternally the world will be that much better when one
unknown John Jones suddenly finds his star, his way of life, his creation.
Once found, this creative urge remains in the breast of
every living human being. This spark, regardless of the resultant fate of the
individual whether he become murderer, thief, pickpocket, scientist, lawyer,
doctor, etc. Whatever his lot in life may be this spark though dormant. There,
as Wong remarked in “The Good Earth,” “My son, the good seed will ever grow in
the good earth.” These budding men and women are the good earth of tomorrow so
ray to heaven that their finest urges are developed to a greater and greater
extent as understanding grows. Life is a fragment, a moment between two
eternities, influenced by all that has preceeded, and to influence all that
follows. The only way to illumine it is by extent of view.—William Eldery Channing*
BULLING ABOUT THE BULL CITY
The traveling bus belched this bit into the Bull City
Saturday evening and time began peeping on.
Bull City time clock found Dr. J.W.V. Cordice holding forth
in the “Friendly City” barber shop as Confusiuous Cum Laude. Yours truly
received his usual flawless tonsorial attention at the hands of one Charles
Steele whom we vote one of the best barbers in any of the states.
We find White quiet—and Malone’s harbouring a truly talented
street urchin who entertained a group for 5 cents a clog-hop. The roving scribe
finds the James’ Boys still at the Bull City drugstore, the ABC still the most
popular place in town. Definitely it seems a new car is not only a luxury but a
necessity in the Bull City.
College Inn finds potentates campaigning Saturday night for
one Dr. J.N. Mills for County Commissioner, manager Lawyer “Ed” Avant. Around
and inside(?) out Profs. B. Paige(?), Lanky Cole, and playboy(?) Frank Craft as
per usual followed by a galaxy of fems and yours truly—ahem, not alone. Also
there assez-toi, Miss Ruth Clarke of Wake Forest accompanied by her sister Miss
Hazel Clarke visiting her aunt for the week and Mrs. Rosa Dunn of 1201 Hazel
Avenue most interesting.
En route to Fayetteville also Mrs. L.L. Booker, instructor at
Anne Chestnut High School from a weekend in Durham visiting her other half B.B.
Booker.
We pause here to give credit where credit is due. W.G.
Rhodes, chief usher at St. Joseph AME Church, of modest, unassuming young man
who really lives his life as he professes, has been eminently responsibly by
his shining example and straight-forward personality, in drawing larger number
of the younger set into the AME service rolls.
Mrs. Ernestine Scarborough Johnson now residing at 1409 Gray
Avenue, Winston-Salem, N.C., is at home visiting her father J.C. Scarborough.
Mrs. Hattie Thomas, Sanford, N.C., visited her grandmother
at 804 Picket St., Durham, over the weekend.
. . . . . . .
DOWNSTREAM
I felt the shadow moving fast and free. Then, there came
into the ken a hazy sort of expectation of things seen and unseen. I drew the
mists from my eyes and the shadow shape of you formed and I knew the hunger of
years past for which there is no surcease.
The Senior Class of E.E. Smith High School presented a farce
in three acts “”Annabelle Lee” Friday night. It would be impossible to say any
one or two players were outstanding because all performed exceptionally well
and indeed thoroughly lived up to the expectations of their able directress
Mrs. L.C. Fowler.
Ralph Tilles of 547 Wilkins Avenue, Detroit, Michigan, was
in Fayetteville enroute to Charleston, S.C.
. . . . . . .
WE ENDORSE DR. J.N. MILLS
Dr. J.N. Mills, Durham physician running for County
Commissioner, is in the first place eminently qualified by training and
experience and all-round ability for the position. In the second place being
the only Negro candidate he represents the largest minority group and the
election to office will enable that group to have fuller appreciation in
participation in government function.
Of Dr. Mills, his closest associates say, “He is truly a
prince of a fellow.”
Time Marches On—W.W. Strudwick
-=-
*William Ellery
Channing was a well-known abolitionist and Unitarian minister, but he died long
before Pearl Buck’s The Good Earth
was published. His nephew, a poet, was his namesake, but I’m not sure if
Strudwick is quoting him.
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