The coastland times. [volume] (Mnateo [i.e. Manteo], N.C.) 1947-1959, 1951-08-31

to do with newspaper was en-
barrassing. In fact, until we saw
our childish little essay printed in
the home town paper, we hadn't
the faintest idea that such thing
was possible.
Our fifth grade teacher had tax
en- us alto the city library. When
we got back, she directed US all to
write an account, to be entitled
something silly like "What the Lii
brary Means to Me-" We were
sulking, for whatever reason we
happened to find for sulking that
day; so we wrote an exaggerated
account of the "inspiring" books
we professed to have read from the
library. All the authors and titles
of the books were purely imagin-
airy. We'd show OF Miss So-and-
So! ;. Alas, the following Thurs
day the local paper printed our
letter as the best one contributed
by fifth grade scholar.
Our father, we remember, thought
it was funny, though no one else
in our family did. We spent the
remainder of the year in fear and
trembling, lest our teacher discover
the crime. But she never did
guess she Thought it was true
because she read it in the paper"
We were wary for a few years.
Then, after we graduated from
high school, while we were trying
to amass enough money to go to
college, by working in a bank
foolish notion! none of that money
sticks), the local editor decoyed
US into writing an account of a
sectional basketball tournament
held in the towns new gymnasium.
This was in the middle of our
"smart-aleck" period.
One of the best teams in the
tournament was upset in the semi
finals by a team that seemed to
US not in the same class. We de-
voted some over-long, over-adjec-
lived paragraphs to the moral dis
grace it was for the hot team to
become so overconfident that the
poorer team eliminated it.
There was another team in the
tourney which had all the finesse
and court ability of collection of
muscle-bound hogs on fresh ce-
ment. We thought it behooved the
sterling reporter to make fun of
the team.
Results? Well, we innocently
went to dance in the town from
which the first team came. At in
PERMISSION we were surrounded by
ring of husky athletes thirsting
for our blood. The one thing that
kept US from becoming a human
sacrifice to the cause of sports
writing was that the irate boys
couldn't decide who should get the
honor of smuggling us first. We be-
gan a rather desperate filibuster,
too, until we saw on the fringes of
the crowd one substitute player
about whom we had said some kind
words. We greeted him like a long
lost brother, threw our arms
around him and marched off down
the street to buy him a sandwich,
talking loudly about what a fine
team he had played on during the
past season.
The boys of the wretched team
caught US in our own home town a
week or so after the tournament,
when they'd come over to take an
other drubbing on the local court.
Fortunately, their presence of mind
was no better than ours had been
at the first such encounter. We
saw them coming, blood in their
eyes, their fists clenched. 1t seems
an impossible out, but it worked.
We whipped open a notebook,
singled out the captain and best
Tor least awfuD player and said,
cred, I'd sure like to get your
autograph" Red was so confused
that he took the pencil and signed
his name on the paper. When he
was finished, nobody knew what to
do-except ourself, and we babe
the grim young Tarzans an over
friendly adieu and made our way
to the safety of the garage at
which our own cohorts hung out.
We waited until we got out of
town before we began the business
again. But this accounts for why
our writing is so dull generally
we don't know that we could wig
gle out with all our arms and legs
from a similar situation any more.