P hoQ iiIX M q q q z iiiq Features A Country Classic: Con H u n ley.................. 2 Mechanicsville............................................... 7 Whitney Leland..........................................1 4 20th Anniversary............ .......................... 16 Henry Rinne: J a z z ...................................... 19
Fiction Future Lit by James Brooks..........................6 New Year's Daydream by Jack Rentfro.12
f i r t ...............................20 Poetry
Pen & Ink Cover by Carol Haynes PAGE 16
Copyright 1979, by The University of Tennessee. Rights retained by the individual contributors. Send contributors to Phoenix, 5 Communications Bldg., 1340 Circle Park Drive, Knoxville, TN 37916.
Staff: Janice S. Hoole................ Editor Patricia Coe . Managing Editor Leigh R. Hendry. Design Editor Carol Haynes............ Art Editor David Duncan . . . Prose Editor Peter Hutson. . . . Photo Editor
John Rush. . . Associate Editor Editorial Assistants: Dane Swindell Mardi Street Tom Burke Production:.............. Betty Allen Lynne Nennstiel
A Country Classic
CON HUNLE Y by Leigh Hendry Local country music artist Con Hunley is the type of person who'll try anything once. While other country artists have been "going Hollywood," Con has been working on giving the country standards "some class." On April 28th at the Civic Coliseum, Knoxville's favorite country son will perform with the Knoxville Symphony. The combination of the two sounds might well become a new brand of American music, or if not, at least one audience will have been exposed to a unique experiment. Con Hunley is a rising singer who is not afraid to try something different, even if it borders on the eccentric. His is a genuine rags-toriches story and he's been lucky. So he's agreed to do the performance, despite the fact that he does not read music "at all." He is also working with a Hungarian conductor whom he "does not understand very well." The idea is the brainchild of James A. Dick senior, the owner of Knoxville's premier country radio station, WIVKâ€”better known as "Wonderful Wivick." The show is
part of the Knoxville Symphony's annual Knoxville Pops series. Con is used to performing' in more informal places like the Corner Lounge on Central Avenue, but he says he's looking forward to the event as a "REAL challenge â€”a whole new world to me." He said they will do country standards like "Help Me Make It Through the Night" and "I Can't Stop Loving you." He is quick to point out that the songs will be performed without the nasal tones that are characteristic of most country music. He might also do some blues, such as "Georgia" and a little jazz. The "Tennessee Waltz" will definitely be on the program, as will many of his latest hits. It seems that Con Hunley was chosen not only because of his following in the Knoxville area, but also for his talent and versatility. He can come on as a country boy, a cowboy or a classical singer. He can do gospel, blues, country or rock. He can play a piano or pick a guitar. He is adaptable. But like many country music artists his success story is not all success.
It took lots of Thursday nights at the Corner Lounge and many shindigs to finally land a contract with Warner Brothers records in September of 1977. He says he never made a "decent living" from his music until 1974. Until then he existed by working on farms, in service stations and at Standard Knitting Mills. Nevertheless, he kept singing. The blue-eyed blond-haired singer was born in a "singing family" and he says he is not sure when he "stopped crying and started singing." He is serious. He says he cannot pinpoint a particular time when he began his career, but he does know that the early part of his career started at the Church of God on University Avenue. That church has since been displaced by Interstate 40. From there Con began trying to imitate his childhood idol, Chet Atkins. He took up the guitar when he was 9-years-old and played country honky-tonk music until he was 16. "That's when I reached my level of incompetence and realized I'd never be another Chet." Con is
been too." And he has not forgotten that the Corner Lounge is the place where he really got started in 1969, either. Neither have his fans. It is packed with all sortsâ€™of people every Thursday night and it seems to be the place where Con feels most at home. He says he knows he will have to give up those nights eventually, but he won't say when. Besides, he draws a large female audience there. They like his music, also seem attracted by his boyish good looks. But Con is beginning to be acknowledged as an upcoming star in other parts of the country. He has just returned to Knoxville from Los Angeles where he says he "received even more financial committment" from Warner Brothers. The major record labels first became interested in Con in September of 1976 when his song "Breaking Up Is Hard to Do," not to be confused with Neil Sedaka's song of the same name, hit the top of the country music charts everywhere. At this time. Con was approached by ABC, Dot, Mercury, RCA and Playboy records. Con says he was tempted to sign with RCA because that is Chet Atkins' label and he's always said if he ever got the chance he'd go with RCA. But he signed with Warner Brothers because they only had 8 country artists at the time and he felt that "the chances of getting lost in the shuffle at RCA were too great."
now 33-years-old and the switch to playing the piano and performing country standards, with his own personal touch seems to have been the right decision. He is as charismatic on stage as he is off. Of course, he speaks with an East Tennessee accent but when he talks to his audiences it's as if he were speaking to one of his best friends. But then that's only natural
since he was born and raised in north Knox County. His country roots are evident, and Con uses them to his advantage. He may dress in tailored 3-piece suits complimented by plenty of gold jewelry and diamonds, but he says, "I'm still the same person I've always been and I still do the same things I've always done." He adds that he's still "as friendly and as naturally funny as I've always
Con says he is happy with his decision and his first album should be released in March. It will feature most of his latest hits, such as "Weekend Friends," "Honky Tonk Heart," "Still Got a Place in My Heart," "I'll Let You Try Again," "I'll Be Blue," "Only the Strong Survive," to name a few. His contract with Warner Brother's will expire in 1982 and Con says he hopes "they have good reason to ask me to renew it." Right now Con is in the process of having his baby grand piano redone.
He took up piano after being influenced by his "favorite hero," Ray Charles, but it was a long time before Con could afford one of his own. He says he finally found one in 1974 that was already 49-years-old. It had been a self-player, but Con made do. Besides he says it was only $600. "So I scrimped, saved, did without and bought it." It is one of Con's most prized possessions and when it's finished he says it will be worth about $6,500. It will be carefully packed and transported, along with Con, on his 10 city tour this month. He will perform in New York, Chicago, Philadelphia, Dallas, Los Angeles and in the other top music markets in the U.S. He is also pursuing some of the more lucrative aspects of being an upcoming country star. He and his band will be featured on Hee-Haw soon and Con is looking for a guest spot on one of the major talk shows. There are problems in hitting the big time though. Con says, "I don't have time to write my own songs and r m not the type that can just manufacture a tune. I am also a golf fanatic and before I got so busy I played 3 times a week. Now I'm lucky if I can play once in 3 months." But golf is not totally out of his life. On this day he was wearing a Deane Hill Country Club "Tee Party" golf hat. However one advantage to "having a little money" is that Con no longer drives a 1966 Plymouth satellite or a 1946 Ford. He now has a brand-new Lincoln Continental that has navy blue panels and a white rag top, which rather looks like a convertible Continental, but isn't. One of his friends has even named it "The Star Car." Yet, Conard Logan Hunley seems quite unaffected by it all. In fact, he says he owes much of his success to Bobby Denton, WIVK's disc jockey extraordinaire. But the comment that says most about Con Hunley is: "I don't want to be a star, I just want to be successful."
RJTJfiEUT "Cut it out, dammit!" The second-hand Mark IV verbal typewriter continued to sit on its stand, just buzzing. "I said cut that out and start typing. Now!" "Not unti! you replace that last sorry excuse for a sentence with the real thing." "Awright, Awright. How about, 'With a mighty roar the plane sailed away from the space station.' Is that better?" "Worse." it said. "An airplane won't work in a vacuum, much less 'roar'." "Everybody's an expert." the writer returned sarcastically. "Did you ever make a mistake?" "The only mistake that I ever
by James Brooks made was to allow you to use me to mutilate the English language and give written fiction a bad name." The writer sprang up from his chair on the other side of the room, picked up a paperweight and let fly with a hefty acceleration in the direction of the complaining machine. It missed. "Look, Bub, even a moron with your intellect knows that a piece of equipment costs a fair bit of change, so watch it with the pitches." The writer muttered a few choice curses and grumbled. "Look, just lay off the smart-ass routine. I get enough of that from our dear, dear editor who, by the way, will never pay us if this story doesn't get finished." He sat back down. "Don't huff at me, I was perfectly
within the limits of my rights.' Silence from the writer. "Okay, go ahead, I won't interrupt." That appeared to unruffle his companion's feathers. "Speeding away on a column of flame...." "Better." the typewriter interjected. "...the gleaming needle that was the rocketship headed toward Omicron Ceti II. Princess Allura shuddered to think that very shortly her handsome lover Darin would be out in the great black void battling the vile wing-men of that planet." "Oh, what will happen next I fear." the typewriter panted melodramatically. The writer kept on, seemingly oblivious, "It had been only recently that he had won her hand in marriage..." "What luck." the machine gurgled. "...by rescuing her from the lecherous clutches of the unspeakably evil Baron Morg." "How unspeakably noble and chivalrous," it cooed. "You are impossible to work with!" the writer screamed. "All you do is criticize, criticize, criticize!" "Well, with material like this, what do you expect me to do. I'm no martyr, you know." The writer was building up heat now. "What the hell do you know, anyway? Sitting there on your stand, with nothing to worry about but your power feed. You know absolutely nothing about suffering, the agonies of being creative, being sensitive. How can you appreciate what goes through the mind? You can't and that's why you never feel the pain of creation I feel when I begin a story. You're not flesh and blood and you can't take not feeling the things I can feel." At that moment the writer's eyes rolled up into his head and he fell to the floor, his body in spasms. The typewriter sat for a moment sighing... "Damn stupid robot."
Introduction In the Fall and Winter Quarters during 1977-1978, students in the Historic Preservation Laboratory at UT's School of Architecture designated a twenty-four block area of Mechanicsville as the subject of a case study in historic preservation. Historic preservation is a relatively new concept in Knoxville, and the large, area-wide scale of preservation of a district such as Mechanicsville had never been attempted. Mechanicsville thus became the test case. The area was chosen because its boundaries contained many of the major issues that face preservation activity today. It is an historic area with highly significant architecture, yet its continued existence as a residential neighborhood is threatened by the increasing rate of deterioration of its structures. The problem of deterioration is aggravated by the problems that come with an economically disadvantaged area, absentee
landlords, and a constantly changing disposition on the future of the area by city planning authorities. Without timely intervention, the end result would be displacement of its residents, for the process of deterioration would have reached a point of irreversibility, paving the way for demolition and the speculation of new commercial development. Left alone, this neighborhood rich in memories of the past would be eradicated and its residents would most likely be relocated to public housing projects. The solution to these problems is still being studied and will be the subject of a future publication. The applications of the study extend beyond the boundaries of Mechanicsville. One of the biggest problems that must be overcome in the preservation of Mechanicsville and other older sections of Knoxville, is a general lack of awareness among the public of historic preservation as
an alternative to new development. Typically, there is a total inability to perceive the potential of rehabilitating structures for continued use. Part of this stems from the lack of knowledge and exposure to the technology of preservation and rehabilitation. Through case studies of selected structures this project has attempted to demonstrate the potential of properly rehabilitated structures. The following material is a selected sampling of student projects. The entire project was undertaken in two phases, each constituting half the geographical area considered. In each phase, intensive research and surveys were conducted on planning statistics, existing conditions and architectural significance of the structures. After the surveys, students were encouraged to select problems of special interest which would contribute to the preservation of Mechanicsville.
McGhee's Addition, later to become known as Mechanicsville, was a thriving suburb of Knoxville in 1868 when the University of Tennessee consisted only of half a dozen buildings with little residential development around it. This suburb was named for Charles McClung McGhee, a wealthy landowner from Monroe County who had moved to Knoxville in 1860 to take advantage of the business opportunities provided by the city's busy industrial activity. McGhee's Addition, located on the northwestern fringe of the city, was a residential and industrial community inhabited by the new working and middle classes. Most of Knoxville's heavy industry was located near this area.
The Knoxville Iron Works was founded in the vicinity of Mechanicsville by Hiram S. Chamberlain, a Union Army Captain from Ohio and Chief Quartermaster of Knoxville at the close of the Civil War. Chamberlain furnished the business expertise, Welsh ironmasters furnished the technical knowledge and skill, and blacks were employed as the mechanics and laborers. Bar iron, nails, railroad spikes as well as ornamental fences were manufactured. Many of these fences still line the streets of Mechanicsville. From 1850-1890 people in this area were largely employed by the railroads, the Iron Company and various mills throughout the area.
Mechanicsville's 2,000 citizens were annexed to the city in 1883. A local newspaper reported: "Mechanicsville keeps time to the musical hum of the machinery within her borders. Every residence and cottage bore evidence of thrift and contentment." Welsh technicians and wealthy merchants built large grandiose structures in the area, adjoined by small cottages built by skilled workers. Even smaller "shotgun" houses were built in McAnnally Flats, now also known as Mechanicsville, by black mechanics and workers. In 1875, Col. John L Moses deeded a tract of land in Mechanicsville for the use and benefit of the black people. Fairview
School was built on this land by black citizens for this purpose. Knoxville College was also founded in 1875 by the United Presbyterian Church as a grade and a normal school for blacks. The site chosen for the college was Longstreet's Hill, that ridge from which the main batteries of Lt. Gen. James Longstreet's forces shelled the Federal Fort Sanders. Gen. Ambrose E. Burnside had moved his Federal Forces from Cincinnati to Knoxville in 1862. Blacks, both slave and free, fled to Knoxville at that time to be under the protection of Burnside and the Union troops, and settled among the blacks already established in Mechanicsville. Many streets in Mechanicsville are
named after leading black citizens. Cansler Street is named for Professor Charles W. Cansler, a respected lawyer, author, and educator. Cansler was responsible, through Sen. E.E. Patton, a member of the Tennessee State Senate, for a bill which provided for playgrounds and parks for blacks in Knoxville. He was also responsible for passage of an act by the Tennessee legislature enabling descendants of ex-slaves to inherit real estate in the same manner as whites. Finally, it was Cansler who was responsible for the erection of a public library for blacks in Knoxville,
with funds provided by the Carnegie Corporation. Other streets such as "Dora" were named for the children of Col. John L. Moses, a great black benefactor. In 1883 Mechanicsville, the Ninth Ward of Knoxville, contained six grocery and general stores, (the largest being James J. Concon's on McGhee Street). There was also a greenhouse, a Methodist, Christian, and a Welsh Congretational Church, and a new high school. By the turn of the century, the population of this portion of the city had increased greatly, resulting in an
increased demand for service facilities. Fire Station No. 5 was built to service the area in 1909. It was built in the Neo-Classical style, which was typical of the period. Its design fulfilled all functional requirements of an efficient fire station. The tower rising from the center of the front facade was designed for quick trying fire hoses. Three brass fire poles allowed for quick descent from the upstairs to the ground floor. Fire Station No. 5 is now the oldest remaining fire station in the City. It was designed for horse-drawn fire
equipment. A fire company at the time comprised of two pieces of equipment, manned by five to seven men and drawn by four horses. Motorized fire equipment appeared in 1917 and Fire Station No. 5 became a center for repair for motorized fire engines for many years. Located at the intersection of Deaderick, Arthur, and McGhee Streets, it is now included in the National Register of Historic Sites. Mechanicsville began to decline shortly after the turn of the century. The more affluent families moved to newer suburbs that had begun to
spring up throughout the city. Blacks were not permitted to join the labor unions which controlled to some extent skilled occupations in most of the industries in Knoxville. In a social study done on the Mechanicsville area in 1925, J.H. Danes observed that the physical surroundings of the Negro family were for the most part poor, and lacked ordinary conveniences such as bathrooms and electricity. Heating was usually with wood or coal stoves. The living conditions were typical of "the Negroes whose economic standing is low and who cannot afford more
than minimum living expenses." From the turn of the century to the present, the process of deterioration, both socially and physically, has continued at an increasing pace. In the 1950's, construction of Interstate 40 demolished a large portion of the finest homes in Mechanicsville. Present highway expansion and commercial encroachment further threaten the existence of this area as a residential neighborhood. However, despite the forces of rapid deterioration, the historic and architectural integrity of the area still comes through.
I was in Oklahoma! dealing in Zen Real Estate and dreaming of the fertile crescent, as usual. America was in a funny mood but she wasn't laughing. We were both waiting for the "Second Wind", due at midnight. "The Second Wind", the fabled intercontinental passenger train, would take us wherever we were going. We stood together on the platform. I was glad to be leaving the desolation of Oklahoma! and America needed to be everywhere at once. We talked intimately as strangers often do, glossolalically of our innermost truths and fears. It was our last night together. Moving as always, we were reaching the end of the nexus. An ozone filled breeze dusted through the intersection of Quandary and Conundrum streets. Cherokees who had left Tennessee involuntarily 140 years ago guarded the intersection. They paid no attention to us, though we stared at them like idiots. America and I nodded as we heard the first high lonesome sound of the train. We carried our bags up to the gate and leaned on each other at the railing. I tried to get America to laugh 'cause it was destined to be one of those nights, one of those nights free of the everyday dilemma: I wanted to sleep with America in her berth. I wanted her to give birth to me. "America, I knew I had to leave town. I was into a period of psychic extrapolation, being constantly interrupted by absurd legends, mythic detours, unintentional slapstick and honest music. It all ended with a rather ambiguous moral like say...uh, the devil can be defeated if he's recognized, or something like that," I blurted out in her face as our lips almost met. "Or, what is the meaning of meaninglessness?", she said as she put her sunglasses into the Gucci bag hanging from her shoulder. "Yeah, yeah, something like that. Anyway I was sittin' in the
laundromat wishin' I had a TV like that when all of a sudden I realized it was a rerun and I had to put in another quarter. I walked out of that laundromat in a state of enlightenment. The finale is hinted at by an extended confessional scene which could be interpreted as a manifesto on ambitions as seen in a new light. During the entire fable or dream, I forget which, there was this curious detachment even during the most majestic purple mountains of rapturous self-patriotization. It was as if the ambitions were no longer important so much in themselves as in the methods by which they were attempted," I screamed again as our hands touched. Whereupon her left hand immediately reached my chin in the form of an uppercut. I was impressed as I lay there flat on my back against the hardwood and greasy sawdust of
the platform. "Your southpaw is getting better all the time," I groaned, the taste of blood in my mouth. The Cherokees all turned, to. see the sudden commotion. "Its o.k.," I yelled to them. "One of your chiefs, called Walker, is buried in my homeland under U.S. 11. Every year I light a fire for him and sing his last chants." The Indians laughed. "Shit, man, ( I loved the way America could talk trash with class. I decided to marry her in order to legitimize my much anticipated birth.)...You could spend the rest of your life trying to describe what its like to be your age, but it would be like trying to tell someone EXACTLY what time it is and it would always be later than that by the time you said it. Quit presupposing a simplistic cosmology," she scolded. "Now get
up before you get arrested for littering!" "Ms, is he bothering you?" came the army surplus voice from the El Dorado. "No, its quite all right. His face just seems to have run into my fist." America informed the dark outline in the driver's seat, jokingly adding, "Fist things fist." I saw the open necked shirt and naugahyde color coordinated outfit as he drove away. Disco Police. No regular cop, a flatfoot, a gumshoe on the beat would have been fooled by my dancing. "The Second Wind' arrived and we boarded, awkwardly feeling our way to the compartment. We said what we wanted to hear and did what we wanted the other to do and when it was over we lay there sweating in the rumpled moonlight. "Buy you some beans and beer?" I
said, putting out a cigarette. "Sure, kid, and you and me tell stories as we roll across entire states?" she said, her sheet covered knees against her chest. We strolled up the rocking passageway to the club car, each aware that our parting would be soon. When we got to a booth,! began talking: "Listen, America, why must I be stranded in these flatlands where the horizon is broken only by the silhouettes of TV sets? How did I end up dealing in Zen Real Estate, anyway? Why can't I hear that sound of wind brushing across the treetops? It's the sound of my mountain homeland. You know...THAT sound! Hell, that's what I thought I was paying for when I got this job." America only combed herself in the reflection from the tear that was
rolling down my face. The only noise was the humming click-click of the train's wheels below us. I was still with America just before dawn. Out time had been long, but was now short. America still had to be everywhere at once. I just hoped that she would eventually find something to laugh about. Even if I had to be her straight man and she got all the good lines. "I do laugh in my dreams, you know," she said. But I held her tight the whole night through and had noticed no telltale rapid eye movement. Maybe the moon's strobe crazed glow had camouflaged any movement in her eyes. Or simulated it if it wasn't there. We became immersed in darkness as we entered the Illinois Tunnel. The same Illinois, mountainous now, because of the strip mining. Coal was found to be more important than corn because corn didn't make very good fuel and not only was coal the only thing keeping Arabs from the door but an interesting type of baloney could be synthesized from coal by-products. It was a quiet darkness as America and I dressed to say goodbye. She handed me my bag which I accepted unconsciously. I followed her outside the car. We stood in the breezeway between cars waiting for the burst of light at the other side of Illinois. "Shhh...," America whispered in my ear, "Here it comes!" The white light hit me like a twoby-four between the shoulder blades. The last thing I saw as my feet left the iron grilled walkway was the stars on her dress. "This is where you get off! I heard her shouting into the wind. I bounced three or four times before settling in a slag heap, my belongings scattered around me. I gathered my things and put them into what was left of my bag. I dusted off, congratulated myself and walked toward the woods to the South dreaming as usual of the fertile crescent. b y J a c k R e n tf ro
W hitney Leland Whitney Leland is a painter. He is also a University of Tennessee Art Professor. Coming here from the Memphis Academy of Art, Whitney addressed himself to one basic principle: "I really want the paintings to be about paint. I want them to have some sort of truth to themselves, honesty to the medium." If you have ever been lucky enough to view a Whitney Leland painting, you would understand what Whitney is talking about. Leland's 1978 collection features an orchestration of denselypacked color notes that vaguely resemble magnified blood cells. Of various shapes, textures, and intensities, the color strokes appear to continually shift positions, sometimes emerging as soft disks of * space, sometimes as solid accents of gittgleaming matter. Leland regularly utilizes Sanders and car-buffers on his paintings. Whitney generally uses "acrylicand-Rholoplex" on canvas or paints with "gouache-and-gum arabic" on paper. Either way, you can't help but get lost in the brilliant complexity of colors and the rhythms they as forms impress on you. But UT isn't the only place you can view Whitney's huge canvases. Nine of Leland's recent paintings are on tour with the Southeastern Center for Contemporary Art's annual "Southeast Seven" traveling Art in Chattanooga. Then Whitney exhibition in Winston-Salem, North found that two of his entries had Carolina. The exhibition has been selected to hang in the scheduled stops at the Anniston Smithsonian Institution's prestigious Museum (Anniston, Alabama), the National Collection of Fine Arts in Loch Haven Art Center (Orlando, Washington, D.C. You would think Florida), The Greenville Country that having attained such noted Museum (Greenville Country Museum (Greenville, South attention, Whitney would be hard to Carolina), and the Hunter Museum of find now a days. But he still can be
found eating at Ramsey's Cafeteria helping advise students with their schedules, and if you catch him in his studio, he's always available to talk to. There's only one way to describe Whitney Leland: he is a true professional. Our universities could use more teachers, and people, like Whitney. Caro/ Haynes
Janice S. Hoole
T w en ty years ago, in 1959, the Phoenix was created. It was conceived as a literary magazine to stimulate as well as to publicize creative works on this campus. The Phoenix emerged when two faculty members and several Tennessee students initiated plans for a campus literary magazine. In May of 1959, Dr. Robert Daniels of the English department and Professor Frank Thornburg of the School of Journalism submitted student proposals to the Publications Council, which subsequently approved and passed the requests. The magazine was to be published each quarter as a supplement to the student newspaper. The Orange and White (now the LIT Daily Beacon.) It was distributed four times a year and sold for ten cents a copy or with The Orange and White for a nickel.
Today the Phoenix is free and is published three times a year at the end of Fall, Winter and Spring quarters, and may be picked up at the Central Ticket Office. The now familiar name, the Phoenix, was suggested by Dr. Daniels after the legendary Arabian bird, a long standing literary symbol. The Phoenix is a self-regenerating phenomenon, as each succeeding bird rises from the ashes of its predecessor. Six months after the initial planning the first issue of the Phoenix appeared in October of 1959 with the following dedication: "We dedicate this first issue o f "The Phoenix" to you, the students and faculty o f the University of Tennessee. Rising from the flame o f challenge, "The Phoenix" offers you
magazine's format occured in the fall of 1973. The page count was increased from 12 to 32. The quality of paper improved from newsprint to coated stock; the Phoenix had come
Although the Phoenix has changed in format, the quality of high standards remains the same as it did twenty years ago. New techniques and styles have
Of line an opportunity to participate directly in the literary experience as contributors and as readers. Thus we hope to encourage the creation and appreciation o f literature and the arts at this university. We are neither Beatniks nor Traditionalists. We will consider all material which is submitted to us and we will publish only that which is of high quality and good taste."
been experimented with over the years. In the fall of 1959, the Phoenix was composed entirely of prose and poetry. By March of 1964, the magazine began to look more like a professional publication and contained many advertisements. Not until the 1970s, did artwork and photography play an integral role in the Phoenix's overall design concept. The major change in the
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of age. The transition to a slick format improved the quality of the art and photography reproductions, as well as the overall appearance of the magazine. The Phoenix has always relied solely on the creative efforts of students and faculty members. In the May 1960 issue, an emotional editorial appeared expressing a lack of interest and participation in the Phoenix, which sadly enough is still common today. "In attempting to organize and publish the fourth issue of The Phoenix, this editor has begun to regard the magazine, its few
contributors, and readers as the component parts of a literary oasis centered in an intellectual desert. Popular interest in non existent. The gathering of material is a process of petitioning and exhorting. Publication of the results will be the termination of a frustrating and disillusioning experience. The lack of intellectual curiosity and concern on this campus is appalling. When a student's attention is restricted to one field only, his education will prove to be a sadly deficient one. Archibald MacLeish has written of the
diastrous consequences that will result "the moment the production of specialists becomes the end and aim of American education." It would seem that the University of Tennessee is approaching just such acrisis." In the October 1960 issue, the following analysis appeared: "Creativity is a vague and elusive quality to confine within the walls of definitions. It is a process initiated by man's basic hunger and desire to communicate. Its formation is dependent upon sensitivity, insight, and intellect; its sustaining force is imagination. Causing to exist that which is beautiful and valuable is a divine and awesome process. Creating is a lonely labor. It demands sincerity and humility. It is exacting, teasing, and frequently frustrating. The rewards are to be found in inner feelings o f accomplishment and occasional senses o f satisfaction that are pleasant, but that never serve to satiate the urge to create." On a campus such as this, there are many channels into which one can direct his energies. Our belief is that energies channeled into creating literary and/or artistic works provides a more lasting and rewarding experience for the individual, than some other more transient campus activities. Hence, we would encourage all those Vyith an interest to contribute their work to the staff. Please enjoy and profit by the Phoenix. Its contents should be approached with appreciation and respect. Our Phoenix is a rare bird, indeed, and one deserving your concern and admiration. Suitable material for contributions consists of short stories not exceeding 10,000 words, poems, perferably not over 130 lines; articles on literature, art, philosophy, current affairs and personal experiences, and art work and photography. The Phoenix would welcome criticisms, support, and submissions from you, the student body. The quality and success of our efforts depend on you.
by Mardi Street Henry Rinne plays woodwind instruments, which includes all saxophones, clarinets, and flutes. Fortunately for Henry, his high school in Fairfax County outside of Washington, D.C. had an excellent music program. He began playing there in the jazz band when he was twelve years old. Jazz education has been growing steadily since the '50's in high schools and universities, and was popular in the '60's. There he learned to read music, and he learned the basics of jazz improvization. He smiled as he spoke, "Music has always been my main vocational interest, but I also enjoy photography, hiking, canoeing, and general sports." He went to the University of Miami for three years and then
moved to Los Angeles because his wife wanted to study classical piano. Henry greatly admires Jerry Coker, a jazz instructor who was teaching at the University of Miami at the time, and later came to UT to teach. The Rinnes decided to move to Knoxville in the fall of '75 so Henry could complete his degree under Jerry. He started on his Master's Degree in January of '77 and he hopes to finish before spring of 1979. He has been a T.A. for the past two years. Henry reveals, "M y graduate assistantship was in the electronic music studio. I worked with music generated by synthesizers and recorded and manipulated on tape. The recording machine becomes an instrument in itself. One of its most profound effects has been in music for the media such as sound tracks for T.V. and films.
"Jazz brought me into music and keeps me thereâ€”it's my number one interest. I play all types of music but jazz is my love. I have confidence in the future of jazz. It's one of the most living of the art forms today. Jazz improvisation is the spontaneous creation of one's own music. Every person plays differently. It's a personal thing to all musicians in all kinds of music. Music has taken me places I never would have been otherwise." When asked about his musical education, Henry replied, "I had a great start with a talented teacher. I was surprised to learn that not all high schools had this same attitude towards music. Most school's primary emphasis is on performance at athletic events and they seem to overlook teaching the students something about music. I teach in New Haven, Connecticut at a summer camp for a jazz program lasting four weeks. My students learn a lot about music and more importantly they acquire the correct attitude towards the study of music. We get them pointed in the right direction." Henry is a professional musician and says," I play anywhere, basically shows. I conduct and arrange for Ronnie Speaksâ€”an Elvis tribute act. I started doing shows in Miami playing for acts such as Steve Lawrence, Edie Gorme, Marvin Gaye, The Temptations, The Spinners, and Tom Jones. I've also played with dance bands fromthe 1940's like Les and Larry Elgart and Bob Eberley." Finally, Henry sums up his feelings about music education, "I believe in teaching every student to be a musician, to give one an experience of the arts and literature. The arts should be given as much emphasis as the three R's. Each student must be given the chance to experience music. Creation and development of the arts is man's greatest achievement. Only man can create music and art."
Untitled In th e fu tu re I'll be m o re careful w h e n entering relationships It'll be like w h e n you go into a c ro w d e d and s m o k e filled bar k eep yo u r hand on yo u r w a lle t and yo u r eyes on th e exit signs
J. Michael Downton
Notes for a Braille Accordion T h e blind care n ot w h a t direction th e y face: In K alam azoo th e y d an ce in th e streets. In W e s tla n d C ity th e y sleep in th e alleys. In au tu m n th e leaves are s tre w n upon th eir breath W h ile plants w ith e r fo r a lack o f sunlight. I m e t a blind accordionist on N e w a rk Boulevard: M y a ctions w e re s te e p e d in protocol.
Growing Old Is Also For Children R e m e m b ra n c e s o f years fad in g so ftly Echoes o f m ean in g in sh ap es o f th e fu tu re S o m e as h o n ey a m o n g fields o f flo w e rs S o m e g re y skies and tro u b le d hours W h e n w ith no tim e fo r play W e a rin e s s c a m e to w a lk by sad n ess Y o u r s h a d o w th e fe a r o f losing all W ith o u t k n o w in g w h y O f w a n tin g to cry but n o t k n o w in g h o w In looking back, th e re s tan d s th e child W h o s e s te p w a s o n c e yours Eyes o f jo y and reflectio n s o f inn o cence T im e bearing m o re g ifts th a n s o rro w s N o w to see th e th in g s th e n fre e J u s t illusions u n d er o th e r labels Calling us to th is ve ry ta b le A t w h ic h w e sit re m em b e rin g
Theology D re a m -s le e p fitful, W a k e n d ren ch ed , . W ith s w e a t on spine A n d bo th fists clenched. M id -n ig h t-m a re w o n d e r, P ro m e n a d e In fear, fro m A rg u in g w ith G od.
T ig e r grip. H e w o n 't release A n d let m e disbelieve In peace. O m n i th a t and O m ni this, K n o w er, G iver, G enesis. H e h au n ts m y daytim e. S talks m y night I can 't ac c e p t His Rule By Fright. H e w illed m e stubborn; D a re H e dam n O n e q uestioning H is cryptogram ? H is p o w e r play (M o s t cruel o f alll) D e a th , H is trium ph. S e ts up a w all B e tw e e n us. H elp m e see Y o u r d o ctrin e o f Souls' affinity. I to u c h you o n ce A n d you a w a k e T o drive th e d em o ns. Still th e quake. R acked w ith sobs, I cry it through. C o n fessin g I believe in you.