March 29, 1934
Cliffside, March 28 — I saw Mr. Maurice Hendrick and his stately white-haired mother walking together on a recent afternoon. This was as pretty a life-sized picture as I have seen in the village for sometime. Mr. Hendrick, successful business man that he is, and a fine looking fellow with it—his mother, so beautifully impressive; you can understand why a son like him. The diligent effort of Mr. Hendrick in the textile field is undisputed; his record, from a working boy to his present post in life is an established fact. There have been numbers of fathers in Cliffside who tell their son what they know of the story of Mr. Hendrick. They have said; “Son, there is a mark for you to shoot at; there is a record for you to study.” I know personally that many a school boy has said, “I would like to make such a record.” The fine thing about this father-to- son advice is the fact that these sons accept the advice; they have the tangible performance before their eyes of a man pointed out to them. Again, I know personally that these boys have accepted this advice: the story of a man who has done a good job of it—Mr. Maurice Hendrick.
Mrs. Q. L. Womick, of the Methodist church here, asks that this function of the church be noticed. The announcement is quoted here: “The Women’s Bible Class of the Methodist church will serve a Chicken Stew and Oyster Fry at the Memorial Building, Saturday evening, beginning at 5:30 in the afternoon. The public is cordially invited.” Plato C. Hawkins, our jolly neighbor for a time, is in the running for Clerk of Superior Court. When a great fellow comes along, as Mr. Hawkins certainly is, I am as non-partisan as the sun of the universe. He has my best wishes for success. Mr. Hawkins has encouraged me numbers of times when the running was difficult. In high school, when the sledding was not so smooth, this man often encouraged me in trying my hand at this business of writing. I am sure that he was the first person ever to say an encouraging word to me back there during those years: he said: “You are doing well.” I cannot forget.
A bit of correspondence” To A. M. W., Rutherfordton: I appreciate your letter and the fact that you can enjoy my column makes encouragement. The young man you ask about is at home in Forest City and he is working for his father in the business you mention. To “Hi-de-hi”, Forest city: Your kind words are very helpful. Thank you. Though our wreck was quite unfortunate, we are deeply thankful. From Miss K., Richmond Va.. “I like Richmond, but it is not as nice as Forest City and Cliffside. I miss your ‘Flashes of This and That,’… Weede-Meyer’s orchestra is playing here during the dinner hour.” This comes from a former Forest City young lady; I hope Richmond doesn’t get you—why not have them saying. “A Forest City girl makes good in Richmond tea room business.” From J. R. B., Oteen, Asheville, N. C., “Hyattsville, Maryland, would indeed be honored to know that she is still remembered by one of her visitors. Her erstwhile resident hereby acknowledges his gratification of the mention.” This was the man I heard sing “Roses of Picardy” in the Maryland town six years ago. I did not know of his whereabouts. A further beautiful selection from his letter:…”for I own everything. I own rolling prairies and setting suns, green vistas of ocean and towering mountains against blue-sky backgrounds. I own all the universe, for I have taken it unto me as a thing to love. And that which we love, we own.”
A diary that is two weeks late due to the crash of my green go-buggy: Charlotte: With my lady to see Clark Gable and Claudette Colbert in the much talked about “It Happened One Night.” I hope many of you saw it in Forest City this week. Continued to dinner at the S&W. Heard Earl Rasor and his quartet. Major H. O. Comp, the German war ace sat near-by. He enjoyed the music. And too were there a lady in a green hat and one in a red hat. A family dined opposite. Father and mother, three sons and the daughter—a fine group. The older son wore a leg and foot brace, whom I supposed to be an infantile paralytic. But what a quality of poise this family had! Talking to friends of the Byrd expedition and driving home in a blinding snow!