A lively introduction to the breadth of Waters's work, Deep Waters touches on themes of ecology, philosophy, pre-Columbiana, Eastern philosophy, Egyptology, American Indians, and a host of other subjects reflecting the great cultural shifts occurring at the time.
A few years prior to Tennessee's induction into statehood, two pioneering Presbyterian ministers, Hezekiah Balch and Samuel Doak, both educated at the College of New Jersey (now Princeton), formed schools in the fledgling United States' southwestern frontier, now known as East Tennessee. Besides enriching the early Scotch-Irish settlers' spiritual life, Balch and Doak were also devoted to addressing their educational needs. Hezekiah Balch established Greeneville College, which became a reality in September 1794 after an act by the General Assembly of the Territory of the United States South of the Ohio River. Tusculum College, founded as an academy in 1818 by Samuel Doak and his son, Samuel Witherspoon Doak, merged with Greeneville College in 1868 to become the Greeneville and Tusculum College. In the early part of the twentieth century, the college dropped the "Greeneville" portion of its name, and thus developed modern-day Tusculum College. This unique visual history traces the college's roots from its earliest beginnings as two separate educational institutions through the late twentieth century. Containing over 190 black-and-white photographs, this volume captures the Tusculum experience, from highlighting its famous presidents and faculty members, to showcasing the dramatic changes of the campus over the years, to exploring the variety of activities in which Tusculum students participated over the decades. Readers will thoroughly enjoy remembering their own college experiences at this historic institution as they read the different stories and thumb through the images of early classrooms, social groups, sporting events, and local hangouts.
More sketches and color paintings of violent and erotic fantasy worlds inhabited by monsters, barbarian warriors, and exotic women, all in the characteristic Frazetta style
Two switch lights twinkled; one at the east, and one at the west end of the siding. For the rest all was blackness. Half way between the switch lights, snuggled close against the single-tracked main line, the station, little more than a shanty and too insignificant to boast a night operator, loomed up shadowy and indistinct. Away to the westward, like jagged points sticking up into the night and standing out in relief against the skyline, the Rockies reared their peaks. And the spell of the brooding mountains seemed to lie over all the desolate, butte-broken surrounding country—for all was utter silence. And then there came a sound, low at first, like a strange muttering from somewhere to the westward. It died away, grew louder, was hushed again—and broke into a sustained roar. Came then the quick, short gasps of the exhaust—it was a freight, and a heavy one. And suddenly, from up the track, circling an intervening butte, an electric headlight cut streaming through the black. It touched the little station in a queerly inquisitive way in the sweep of its arc, lingered an instant over the platform, then swung to the right of way, and held there, the metals glistening like polished silver ribbons under the flood of light...
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