the wingspread of a B-29, came up to Him and sat down.

'I heard you're goin' on a trip,' Michael the archangel said. 'I'll drive you down, and get you back in a jiffy.'

'No thanks, Michael, I'll get down all right. And besides, I've been wanting to try some of the transportation down there. Primitive isn't it?'

And so on the morning before Christmas, He arrived in New York City, bought some new clothes, took a look around the town, and caught an air liner. He got off at a fashionable winter resort and applied for a room at a nice hotel.

The man behind the desk looked him over carefully and shook his head. All booked, the man said. At the next hotel and desk clerk said the same thing, and at the next and the next. But the doorman of the last place seemed to take a little pity on Him and suggested that He inquire at a place where a lot of young men, bachelors mainly, seemed to stay.

They were nice to Him there, especially the lady in charge. She said that the town's hostesses and hosts had just about emptied her place looking for extra men to fill in at the numerous holiday parties being held, and would He please tidy up in a hurry. He did and was happy when the Iday in charge said He too had been invited to a party. It would give him a chance, He felt, to get to know the descendents of those for whom He had undergone certain hardships.

It was a grand party, and He found it stimulating. Nobody caught His name but He passed that off as one of the idiosyncrasies of this little old planet. The talk was fine: certain political events had bestirred the men; certain fashionable events the women.

He joined in and found it rather easy to hold His own, for the people had talked much like that when He was around the last time. Everybody at the party loved His fairness and easy wit.

Everything would have gone nicely He supposed later, if the talk had not turned to 'Where are you from?'

They were from an interesting variety of places He found; places that had sprung up during the split second of the last two or three centuries. He was charmed by the pride they held in their hometowns, their schools, their clubs, and the like. Then just before the party was to move on to the exclusive Wampum Club for dinner, he realized that somebody was asking Him the question.

'I was born in Bethlehem, it's a small place.'

'Bethlehem?' Been there many times, when I was in steel. Fine town.' 'Then we moved to a town named Nazareth, and finally to Jerusalem.' He didn't notice for a moment, that a heavy silence had fallen on the room. The host was the first to recover, called loudly for another round of drinks for the guests, and then took the stranger by the arm and escorted Him to a quiet corner of the living room.

'Don't mean to be personal, old man, but you say you were born in Bethlehem moved to Nazareth then to Jerusalem?'

'Yes.'
'What's your profession?'

'I was a carpenter for a time, then I sort of went on the road, as you say.'

'Salesman?'

'Yes, in a way.'

'We thought you were a writer from the beard...'

'No, I never got around to that. But I used to talk now and then.' The host thought things over for a long time. 'Well, I hope you won't be offended by this, but we've got to face the facts here. Are you Jewish?' 'Yes.'

'Facts have to be faced, we were counting or. you being an extra man at the dinner at the Wampum, but, I'm sorry, it can't be done. There's a rule, see? Don't blame me, I didn't make it. It's just a rule. If I bring you and they find it out, I'll be asked to resign from the club. It's the oldest and best club around here, and we've got to live here, see? I hope you understand.'

'Understand? Why yes, I guess I do. You've already been quite kind to

me...'

'Not at all, not at all. You're interesting. I like your manner. But this is one of those things I can't buck.'

The host's wife hovered behind them. 'We're late, Horace. You know how they are about holding tables, especially on Christmas eve.'

The guests crowded out on the curb in a happy confusion and piled into their convertibles and the chauffeur driven cars. The sweet sound of racing motors filled the soft night. The host stayed behind momentarily, and put his arm around the visitors shoulders.

'No hard feelings?' the man asked.

'No hard feelings.'

Well... I got to get along. Nice of you to drop in.' The host stepped into his own convertible and roared off.

The stranger stood for a moment on the curb of the now dark street. The air was tender in the palms, and it reminded Him vaguely of the palms He had known as a child, and the palms He had known for one brief Sunday as a man. He thought for a long time, reflectively. Well, a little more time... Then He chuckled a bit... or, was it a sigh? — and clapped on His new hat.

Then He looked up at the star studded night and cupped His hands around His mouth.

'Michael!', he shouted at the top of His lungs, 'Oh, Michael!'

"Looking to Tomorrow" was written by Carlton Corbin, Jr., while he was in college.

As millions of people over the world mourn the death of our president, we here in the heart of America, as Americans everywhere, have a tomorrow to look forward to. A tomorrow filled with new ideas, new leaders, and new conquests. Had this been some other country across the way, tomorrow would be filled with uncertainty and fear.

Since July 4, 1776, our people have been hardworking, honest. God

fearing, ready to help each other and ready to stand up as a group to defend themselves and their beliefs. Because of these people, the United States of America is the richest and most powerful country on the face of the earth.

Our generation was given this country at its best. We have never been bothered with world-wide depression and hardship, but yet, are we really thankful for what we have? Is our country improving now that we have it, or do we ask for more and better without knowing that what we already have is the best?

I have always thought that it is harder to start at the top because when you are already the best there is no where to go except better. It is this direction we need to go, not another.

It was from our well-educated and civilized ranks than an animal arose and killed our president. By these actions we will snuff out our own freedom.

Is it our own fault that we think as we do? I would say yes, if we are past the age of accountability, at which age you are held responsible for your sins against God. For we older than this, is it possible to excuse ourselves from our most grevious actions when we have a mature mind with which to think?

Today we have a tomorrow, but will we still have it tomorrow?

Growing up Bill was active in 4-H Club and showed cattle in all the major shows. He was active in Boy Scouts and went to the National Jamboree in California in 1952. He has a Boy Scout certificate of Merit for saving a life. He played basketball and was on the Ada Hi Track and football teams. At O.S.U. he pledged Beta Theta Pi. He was on the O.S.U. track team, running the sprints and broadjumping. He also decided to get his pilot's license while he was in college. In 1963 he graduated from O.S.U. with a B.S. in Agriculture Economics. He made the Dean's Honor Roll. Bill is 5'11" tall, light brown hair, and blue eyes.

When Bill was a freshman at O.S.U. he started buying a ranch in Kansas. It was located twenty miles northwest of Eureka and was the "Old Man Ranch" formerly the Lampe Ranch. He stayed on the ranch in the summers and started getting his cow herd together. After graduating he and Janice Ray Stewart were married.

Jan and Bill sold the Lampe in 1968. Their present location has a lovely home they built on the side of a hill, overlooking Fall River. They started a Bull Testing Station. It played an important part in gaining the reputation for performance cat