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Culture and Society
All The Smiling Faces
It’s not just that this is a small town where everybody knows you. Even on my first day in Chapel Hill I was greeted by many smiling faces and hellos as I walked down Franklin Street. Believe me, after Buffalo, NY, and Washington, D.C., it was an overwhelming feeling that made me say, “Yes, I think I’ll stay here,” as I know many other travelers have done.
September 1974
Welcome To The Fish Tank
Three A.M. on East Franklin Street and there were just these three things moving. A battered green one-ton pickup truck with a hanging muffler and two kids from New Jersey; an old guy who told them how to get to Manns Chapel Road; and the cop car that made a quick u-turn and followed them out of town.
September 1974
Overheard . . .
“. . . as my taste became more refined, I abandoned de Musset for Verlaine, and, as a rule, I’d say that one who was brought up on Hugo would dedicate himself entirely . . .”
September 1974
On Arriving (But Where?)
Coming down here: tunnel of freeways, of semis, left lane, embankment, passing at 80, 85, 90, an occasional unconscious suicidal 95, 100, thinking of the Missouri regiment marching up Canyon de Chelley (deep narrow canyon in northern Arizona) with the Navajos covering them from the crevices of the canyon all the way up but they didn’t know it: the Navajos had to admire folks with that kind of nerve, or at least wanted to figure out their number.
September 1974
A Hillbilly’s Work Ethic
Let me always turn my back on security. For it is the fearful uncertainty of my life that gives me strength.
February 1974
Sy’s Space
More jobs in the last year than I can remember, and so little sense, through it all, of any purposeful endeavor, of meaningful labor, of real work.
February 1974
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