Block · one region of the page, as the scanner read it. It may hold a whole story, part of one, several, or an advertisement; stitching blocks into articles is the next step. Text is supplied OCR.
Page 5 · column 1 of 5 · from the scan, no model involved
iviJUi i\ i tvii/iv J Editor's note: In Lou Hatter’s column last week, “Saying-goodbye to James J. Kilpatrick,” ie mentioned a farewell column Mr. Kilpatrick inrote which appeared on March 28 in the Culpeper Star-Exponent. A number of readers called the Rappahannock News office asking how they could get a copy of Mr. Kilpatrick's column. A telephone call to Universal Press Syndicate produced permission to reprint the column, which appears below. The Rappahannock News is grateful to Universal Press Syndicate for allowing us to share Mr. Kilpatrick’s farewell with our teaders — his former neighbors.
SCRABBLE — When Marie and I bought the Corbin place 24 years ago this month, the old gentleman who owned it wept tears of parting. Now I know how he felt. My first Scrabble datefine was in November of 1966. This is my last. ! Many readers were skeptical about that dateline. They figured Scrabble was something I had grade up, like Camelot or Yoknapatawpha (pounty. A lawyer for the popular word game wrote me a hoity-toity letter; he was going to sue yf I didn’t knock it off. I wrote back that Scrabble Had been on the map for a hundred years before finyone thought of landing an “X” on a tripleWord. That shut him up. * So Scrabble is real. The community is located about 13 miles west of Culpeper, nine miles east of Sperryville, 64 miles and a few light-years east of the Washington Beltway. Scrabble had its own post office until Jim Farley economized it out of existence in 1937. The little building still stands, just across the road from the Mount Lebanon Baptist Church (founded 1833). Mosby’s Raiders, gray as ghosts, once cantered along the winding road that goes from Scrabble to Laurel Mills. From almost any point along the road, you get a great view of the Blue Ridge Mountains.
We were talking the other evening about the best of all seasons, it was like Lancelot singing to Guinevere. You remember. He couldn’t bear to leave her in springtime, nor in summer, winter or fall.
Maybe spring is best. This year spring came bounding in like a Labrador puppy. We had a week of temperatures in the 80s. Then an inch of rain fell, and overnight—just in'time for St. Pat
91.5%