As an alumnus of the state university, Carr never lost his affection for his alma mater. However, as a Methodist and passionate believer in the value of education, he also developed pride for Trinity College, his church's institution of higher education.

Although Carr played a crucial role in the relocation of Trinity College to his beloved city of Durham, it is ironic that his greatest contributions to Trinity occurred when it was in rural Randolph County. Once the college became the primary focus of the philanthropy of the Duke family, Carr's contributions slipped into obscurity. In truth, there would be no Duke University if Carr had not lent his name, prestige, administrative talent, and money to Trinity College as it struggled to survive in the post Civil War South.

Born in 1845, Carr was the son of a Chapel Hill merchant. His student days at the state university were interrupted by service as a private in the Confederate Army. Late in life he was always known as General Carr, a rank won through long service in Confederate veterans' affairs.

After the war, Carr's father helped him become a partner in the tobacco manufacturing firm W. T. Blackwell and Co. in nearby Durham. His business acumen led to the firm becoming known worldwide through its recognizable Bull Durham trademark. The town's citizens certainly knew the origin of their fame as the factory's "whistle" sounded the bellow of a bull daily. Carr became one of the state's wealthiest individuals later engaging in successful textile, banking, railroad, public utility, and newspaper endeavors.

As Trinity College struggled to overcome post-war dependency on uncertain student tuition and church donations, interested Methodist laymen were crucial to its survival. Carr's name first appears in college records signing a note to forestall foreclosure on a mortgage due in 1880.

He was elected a trustee in 1883 at the critical time following the death of long-time president Braxton Craven. Heavily in debt and perhaps too dependent upon the prestige of the late president, Trinity faced a very uncertain future. At a time when unity appeared vital, Methodist support split in a public debate over whether to pay off debt or create an endowment as the best means to assure the future of the college. Carr agreed to be one of 20 people to contribute $5,000 each to establish a permanent endowment fund. However, the effort failed miserably.

Carr next proposed a radical remedy to save the college. At the annual conference of the Methodist church in 1884, he proposed that the administration of the college be transferred to a Committee of management consisting of J. W. Alspaugh, chairman of the Trustees; himself, as treasurer of the board; and James A. Gray, an alumnus from Winston.

The three would leave the title of the property with the church, administer in the name of the current board of trustees. be-in an endowment campaign, and guarantee $5,000 over the next two years for the operation of the school. Although the endowment campaign failed once again, the plan of day-to-day management succeeded, and the college survived. At Christmas in 1886, Carr personally donated a $1,000 bonus for faculty salaries.

Aside from the plan of management, Carr made three outstanding contributions toward the success of the school. In June 1887, he

William King - Duke University Archivist

Carmen Patterson Bobo, Duke University's first solo aviator and childrens book author died at her home in Burlington, North Carolina. Daughter of the late Sallie Duke Holloway and John David Patterson. In 1929 at the age of 16 she became the first Duke University student to make a solo airplane flight. Surviving are her husband Harold J. Bobo and a son Tom Bobo of Burlington; a daughter, Anne Bobo Schechter of Cardiff, California; and another son, Jack Bobo of New York, New York. Carmen attended the '89 Reunion.

Zalene Allen Angier Corey died at her home in New City, New York. Daughter of Zalene Allen and Samuel Jones Angier, she graduated from the University of North Carolina at Greensboro and had been as instructor at Radcliff College in Cambridge, Mass. She was an elder and deacon at the Presbyterian Church, and in the U.S. Tennis Association she was ranked nationally in singles and doubles for nearly a decade. Zalene is survived by her husband, Dr. Howard S. Corey and two sons, Wayne and Glenn of New City: two daughters, Zalene Caroline Cooper of Copake, New York and Sara A. Corey of Allentown, PA. A foster son, Douglas Thomas lives in Auburn, Maine.

Mary Duke Sanders daughter of Frances Stagg Nicholson and William Marsh Sanders, III was married to Frederich H. Grubbe at Christ Church in Raleigh, N.C. They are making their home in Alexandria where she is assigned to the White House as Deputy Associate for Presidential Personnel to Boards and Commissions. Fred is Deputy Director, United States Office of Consumer Affairs.

Jonathan C. Angier, III of St. Augustine, Florida is serving as National Deputy Commander of the National Order of Battlefield Commissions.

Anne Le Ban Lederer was married to Benjamin Buchanan Duke D'86 in Darien, Ct. Ben is the son of Jeanne Farmer Duke D'60 of Annandale, VA. and A. St. George B. Duke D'59 of Absorokee, MT. Anne is a graduate of Columbia University and is expecting to receive her doctorate of Psychology from the University of Pennsylvania. They are making their home in Columbus, Montana.

The Honorable and Mrs. Angier Biddle Duke of New York and Dr. and Mrs. James Semans of Durham were honorary chairmen. Ambassador Duke and Mrs. Semans are greatgrandchildren i ldren of Washington Duke. Newton Duke Angier, President of the Duke Family Association and Chairman of the Board of Advisors at the Inn, was host with his daughter, Liddy Angier.

Robin Chandler Duke (Mrs. Angier Biddle Duke), received the 1991 Albert Lasker Medical Research Award along with former Speaker of the House The Honorable Thomas P. O'Neill, Jr. In 25 years Robin has been a tireless advocate of family planning, world population stabilization and women's reproductive rights. Since 1974 she has served with the Population Crisis Committee where she is now the national chair. She is former director of Planned Parenthood Federation of America and is president emeritus of the National Abortion Rights Action League. Robin has been decorated by the Governments of Spain and Luxembourg for her work on humanitarian affairs. She is a director on four major corporate boards and uses her energies to shape corporate social policy on population and reproductive issues.

With Dukes and cardinals I dwell
Where power is in the temperate air.
With dogwood and tobacco smell.
My God, The Dukes are everywhere

With mockingbird and Judas tree
This Carolina climate means
A lot of Dukes, but luckily
I like them with my turnip greens

These patriotic days may change for me because of what happened to me after I watched my neighbor unfurl his flag and drape it over his front door. He brought it out folded in a triangle, the way flags are supposed to be folded. He let it drop so that the stripes stopped just short of the ground. Then his wife tossed him a line from the second story window and she hoisted the flag up so it hung down along the front of the building

Other neighbors all along the street mimicked that couple, so by midmorning our little lane was festooned in red, white and blue. Banners were slung over front porches, hanging from balconies and waving from trees. There they stayed all day, making my house look miserably naked.

I never had been interested in owning a flag or even flying one, perhaps because as a young child I developed a feeling there would never be a lack of them in my life. My father was an ambassador-a U.S. representative abroad. Although he was understandably proud of the standard. It came with the job. It was easy for me to take for granted.

There was always one behind the desks in his various offices, and frequently at least one in a little holder next to his desk blotter. As a child visiting him at work, I would often go over to the flag in the comer of his office, sit down and curl up in its cool nylon, letting the red and white folds rub against my cheek.

Flags sometimes hung in our living room. The official embassy cars flew little flags on the front fender. As a little boy by his side, I would salute the flag as he conducted official ceremonies. Flags would fly when foreign dignitaries were received and when they departed.

Flags symbolized formal occasions for me. They flew during parades, funerals and parties which I had attended in stiff flannel suits that itched and were hot. I didn't complain but those were logged in my memory as uncomfortable flag days. They sometimes began with the ceremonial unfolding of the flag and ended with its folding, which I always awaited impatiently.

Years later at high school in New Hampshire, I got the job of flag boy. Every morning I was suppose to carry out the task of raising the flag on the school's pole, a focal point of the campus.

It was a shock to my father when he heard I was not up to the task. The patriotic duty didn't stir me from sleep. I was a rather carefree teenager, and on several occasions the headmaster passed by a naked flagpole on his way to breakfast. It wasn't a mystery to me when, after six months, I was quietly replaced. Although students with the assigned job were viewed as squares, I never quite got over losing it. The only person to scold me was one of the school's janitors, who said he couldn't understand how I had shirked such an important task.

As the late afternoon sun marked an end of flag flying time on our street this Fourth of July, I felt pangs of envy. The neighbor across the street lowered his flag into his wife's arms. Together, they folded it into a perfect triangle, to be stored.