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Monday, October 21, 1968 MAROON TIGER Page 3 Show Me The Way, Oh Lord W. Grayson Mitchell Pamaela Vaughn, Miss Maroon and White for 1968-69 Pamela Vaughn Reigns As Miss Maroon And White Who am I, Lord? Who am I, Lord? Tell me from upon high; let me know who I am. I read and seek some insight. I talk and collect some ideas. I think and self-reflect. I am caught up, Lord. I don’t know who I am. The white man calls me “nig ger.” The black man calls me “brother.” Yesterday I was called a “Negro” and I felt fine. To day, I am called a “Negro” and become angered. I want to be called an “Afro-American,” or a “Black.” My labels change all so swiftly, but still I face the mirror and “me” is still “me,” the same “nigger,” the same “bro ther,” the same “Negro,” the same “Afro-American.” Who am I, Lord? Tell me, goddam, tell me! I am black. I can’t deny it. I can’t change it and I wouldn’t Dr. Henderson Speaks Dr. Stephen E. Henderson, chairman of the Department of English, delivered a paper on “The Black Writer and Ameri can in Revolution” during a two- day symposium at the University of Wisconsin in early August. On the same program, Mercer Cook, former U.S. Ambassador, spoke on African writers. Dr. Henderson has received a grant from the Danforth Foundation which enabled him to begin, re search for a book entitled Blues, Soul, and Black Identity. Berry On Self Knowledge By Wm. Berry Men of all a- ges have been perplexed with the problem of knowing them selves. From the famous oracle at Delphi Springs the wisdomful Wm. Berry words, “Know thyself.” But just how does one achieve this pro cess of self-knowledge? Accord ing to the 20th century philoso pher, Benjamin F. Ward, Jr., of Yale University, “The only way we can know ourselves is through others; I’ve learned a great deal about myself from other people.” I agree with Mr. Ward, but only to a certain extent. For there are certain kinds of people who are not in a position to tell one about himself, namely the mentally unstable, the sinners, the hypocrites, and the anti-in tellects. Do not wonder as to why I place the anti-intellects in this category, lest you wish to be placed therein also. We can therefore use other hu man beings as if they were mir rors are crystal clear and free of long as we are sure that our mir rors are cystal clear and free of vice. For within every man we can assume that there is a soul. In order to study a phenomenon as complex as the soul, then, we must have access to another soul. This is where the idea of learn ing ourselves through others comes in. In studying ourselves, then, we should employ the fin est source of reference, another self, thus eliminating all other sources of reference in studying ourselves (e.g., books, glass mir rors, window panes, etc.). William E. Berry change it if I could. They say I’m black and proud! But with all my blackness on the exterior, my mind hums a different tune. I feel the urge to be white in the mind. I’m just faking my “blackness.” My mind must wed my blackness, and, then, I may find myself, huh, Lord! I’m lost, great white Father! Who am I? Tell me, Lord. Tell me. Am I a “nigger”? Am I a “Brother”? Am I really an “Afro- American”? Break silence and give my existence a meaning. Tell me who I am. Goddam. Negro Ensemble Gives Satirical Performances The superb actors of the Negro Ensemble Company (New York) delighted their “standing-room- only” audiences continuously in their presentations of the ma jestic “Song of The Lusitanian Bogey” and the comedy “Daddy Goodness”. In the drama “The Song of The Lusitanian Bogey” by Peter Weiss, the actors vividly showed the cruelties inflicted on the in habitants of Portugese colonies in Africa, as well as the hardships suffered by the inhabitants of Portugese colonies in Africa pri or to the independence of these colonies. In contrast to the heavy dra ma, “The Song of The Lusitanian Bogey,” was “Daddy Goodness” by Richard Wright and Louis Sa- pin. This comedy centered around the superstitious belief that God had come to earth in the body of a drunkard, Daddy Goodness. The hilarious events that follow ed caused the audience to nearly roll in the aisles with laughter. “Stupendous,” “Great,” “Bra vo”—these words merely be gin to describe the caliber of acting demonstrated in “The Song of The Lusitanian Bogey” and “Daddy Goodness.” GHETTO By Allen Moses Why must we live here, each day, each day While further knowing, prices we pay We know not much of finer things But life as we know, does bring us pains We sleep at night, as best we can And wait the time, we are free men We have come a far, far way And live not for today, for today For we have faith, and our leaders say They’ll bring Black Power, somehow, someway But how for power, can we seek and prepare When we are divided, as our strands of hair Yet, here we stay, afraid of darkness and blind to light But feel truth comes, when our power has might No rich future yet, near in sight For education and position are separate for Blacks We live very low, with all hope of gaining For we have lost all, not even color remaining We fight for our country In wars far and near Our cries for freedom, they seem not to hear A brighter day will come A brighter day will come. Pamela Vaughn, the reigning Miss Maroon and White of 1968- 69, is a senior at Spelman Col lege. She is majoring in mathe matics and has a minor in chem istry. Miss Vaughn is a native of Chattanooga, Tennessee. Last spring, Pamela won her crown with a sweeping majority. She told the judges that her being a black woman was honor enough. The remark drew a thunderous applause. A student of the piano, Pam ela is interested in records, dan cing, cooking, water sports, and writing. She is an honor student and has traveled extensively throughout the Southeast. Pamela, of course, likes her Morehouse men and feels that they are “nice to have around Pretty Peacocks & Plucked Roosters By Philip Brown When you’ve spent about an hour deciding which turtleneck to wear and have buffed your shoes until your eyes glare back in that mirror; when you’ve used a half bottle of AFRO SHEEN to make the combing easier— you know “you’s lookin’ good.” The attention is quite natural, they say. The male peacock al ways shows off his blue-eyed tail feathers to the impression able female of the species. But if a “peacock” ego were ever deflated, it must have been the night I took Joy to see the Fabulous Impressions. All hopes of gaining her attention were fu tile. “Look how Sam moves!” she kept screaming in my ear. “Oh- h-h-h, he’s so—so—oh-h-h!” I didn’t know whether I was witnessing a concert or a Swe dish stag flick; at least her gig gles and shrieks left me con fused. Music does strange things to people, I know—from cre ating cries of ecstasy in the 'wo men to the arousal of fighting jealousy in the men. But, then, when you’re dealing with the Impressions, it’s hard to be unemotional. Sophisticated soul moves you just as much as the new pathos of Aretha and James. Some singers seem to be born for the stage; they strut like brilliant peacocks with the inborn talent for colorful display. And for all the would-be cool Casanovas, we might as well have been plucked roosters. You can’t make an impression on your girl when her mind’s not on you— especially if those cooing Im pressions have captured all the cackling hens in the barnyard. Philip Brown when a strong arm is needed.” When we entered the foyer of her dorm, she smiled and thanked me for the walk. She turned and headed upstairs — but suddenly faced me squarely. “You know, I was just thinking how people can misunderstand my crown. Even though I wear it, I’m still Pam. Often people encourage me to be more pompous, more regal. A phoney. I’m Pam. Plain and simple Pam. Me.” Black People Unite By Otho Delano Bradford From the foreigners who came or were brought to America, the African slaves (renamed Ne gro) were the only group that did not win acceptance in the society. The incentives are crys tal clear and must be dealt with by black people in America. Why haven’t black people in America devel oped a degree of sentimentality toward Africa like the Jews have toward their homeland and the white Otho Bradford Americans to ward England and France? The answer is that colonial powers have kept this type of relation ship from existing between Afri cans and black Americans. The first act of colonization is the denial of freedom, country, culture, history, and economics. This is precisely what happened to the black people in America— they became subjects of neoco lonialism. Dr. Kenneth B. Clark said, “The dark ghettos are social, po litical, educational, and above all, economic colonies. Their in habitants are subject peoples, victims of the greed, cruelty, in sensitivity, guilt, and fear of their masters.” I’d rather see a sermon than hear one any day. I’d rather one should walk with me than merely show the way. The eye’s a better pupil and more willing than the ear; Fine counsel is confusing, but example’s always clear; And the best of all the preachers are the men who live their creeds, For to see the good in action is what everybody needs. I can soon learn how to do it GIVE ME LIGHT By John Thomas I wake not noticing where I am and find that something is amiss. I struggle through layer after layer of darkness and still am buried. In great distress I renew my struggles and then be gin to realize the utter hopeless ness of my case. Realizing I am forever doomed to this black abyss, I try to figure the reason for the darkness which hangs over me with the grim clinging of a funeral shroud. I put my fingers to my eyes and a searing pain flashes through me as my nails strike the surface of my lids, and I scream. But still the light does not come. I begin to wonder if I am confined and, stretching forth my hands, en counter only dark emptiness. In desperation I stand erect and run, trying to find the limits of my enclosure. Finally, deep in the dungeon of despair, I fall to my face and encounter cold, black, unyielding earth. Oh! but for two stones to strike together and produce some sparks of light. But there is nothing with which to bring forth even the smallest flicker of light. I turn my face toward heaven, or so I hope, and scream, OH MY GOD GIVE ME LIGHT. The land shudders at the screaming of the word “Light” but still there is darkness. Where the darkness touches, there is nothing. It is steadily creeping and destroying. I stand apart from my being. Who and what am I? The yawn ing mouth of darkness has long swallowed the answers. All of my being of before is gone. I lean against a slab of stone and let my body rest. And again I cry out OH MY GOD GIVE ME LIGHT. And I am no longer as I was. I have no memory. My whole being is lost to me and I know that I have lost and my last plea will go unheeded. And as I fade, my mind reaches out for one flicker of light and cries out, OH MY GOD GIVE ME LIGHT’. 415 Lancaster Pike Standing on the street corner Waiting for the light to change; Watching all the cars go by— Growing three seconds older with age. Seeing people I’ve never seen before— people I’ll never see again. The wind is blowing and it’s mighty cold— —so cold like I never felt before— Wondering what will become of me; Will I make it ’cross the street? Looking at the future—three seconds older— Will I make it past tomorrow or today? if you’ll let me see it done. I can watch your hands in action, but your tongue too fast may run. And the lectures you deliver may be very wise and true; But I’d rather get my lesson by observing what you do. For I may misunderstand you and the high advice you give, But there’s no misunderstanding how you act and how you live. Edgar A. Guest BHW Sermons We See