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Little Known Stories About Well-Known People I'hc first time I visited Thad Stem in his office above Hall's Drug Store in Oxford. I remember being mildly sur¬ prised that writing of such magnitude had been produced in such cramped quarters. I had seen bigger closets, and cer¬ tainly the inmates at Central Prison had more decorations on their walls. Hanging by the door was a Duke blue towel with a football schedule on it. commemorating that famous season when the Blue Devils went unbeaten, untied and unscorcd on. In front of his desk were a couple of passport size snapshots and a bumper slicker urging everyone to Vote Democratic. And Thod Stem (Lmdo Walter» pKoto) that was it. There was a window but it hadn't any view to speak of. There wasn't anything in the room that would distract him from his work, and I suppose he had better pictures in his fertile mind than he could have hung on the wall. Into those narrow confines had been wedged a table, four chairs, and a school teacher’s desk. Heaped on the table, as though via pitchfork, were books, letters, maga¬ zines. newspapers, pages of manu¬ script. and assorted literary jetsam, some of which had spilled onto the floor and into every corner of the room. Thad was smoking a Camel and banging out a letter on his old Olivetti when I came in. He gestured toward the armchair, and I sat down after re¬ moving half a dozen books from it. "Be right with you. I'm almost fin¬ ished." he said, the typewriterclicking away. He paused, took a drag off his cigarette, fished among some papers on the desk beside him. and handed me a couple of pages. "Take a look at this." It was a column for the News ши/ Observer. For over twenty years his 20 work made the editorial page worth reading. This one was on the history of beer. It made me thirsty. "It's great." 1 said. He folded the letter, put it in an en¬ velope. licked and scaled it. I had been a little nervous about coming to see him. I felt an immediate kinship with his books, but the man had quite a literary reputation. Thad Stem had be¬ come larger than life to me. And though in my eyes his stature in¬ creased. if anything, over the course of our ensuing friendship. I felt a little more at ease when I noticed that the bard scaled Parnassus in tennis shoes, sans socks. “A lawyer called me this morning." Stem told me. "He asked if I'd come talk to a meeting of the bar association in Southern Pines. I asked how much they'd pay. He said. Well. Mr. Stem, we were hoping you’d do it for the honor of the thing. That's fine. I told him." Thad took a reflective puff on his Camel, as though contemplating honor and the literary life. "But let me ask you this." he con¬ tinued. still talking to the lawyer. "Will you drive up here to Oxford and write my will for the honor of the thing?" "What did he say?" "He said he wouldn't." It was an open and shut case. Between cigarettes and discussing my aspirations as a writer. Stem launched effortlessly into a stream of stories about James Branch Cabell. Confederate expatriates in Brazil. Bull Durham tobacco. Lillian Heilman, the origin of the word "serendipity." and a dozen other topics. Whether a born storyteller or self- made. it was a joy to hear him talk — he talked just like he wrote. Not only that, he had some nice things to say about a poem I’d written. Over the years, he gave a lot of aid and comfort to a great many writers, fledgling and full grown. It became apparent that afternoon that the office above the drug store was roomy enough. It was the depot where one caught the circus train to Thad Stem's magic kingdom. And while a good part of that starlit realm can be found in his books, the best part re¬ sided in the author himself. — Chari es Blackburn. Jr. Secrets Of The Cherokee Medicine Man IVhon the ffricMidly plants hfitrd of the* Indians* ailments llioy offered themselves as a cure. By WALLY KDWICHT The medicine man threw a pinch of sacred tobacco on the fire as he asked the deer spirit to leave the patient's body. He then began to chant, invok¬ ing the Red Dog of the East, the Blue Dog of the North, the Black Dog of the West and the White Dog of the South to come and remove the intruder and the White Terrapin to loose the animal spirit from the bone. Almost as an afterthought.* he gave THE STATE, January 1981