As I was making my way across the Wood Yard from the Locker Room to the Chipper Building, at the Pulp Mill in North Carolina, the Klaxon Horn on the Wood Yard Office sounded. This horn was connected to the telephone so that it would alert the Wood Yard Foreman that a call was coming in. The foreman was, apparently elsewhere in the mill because the black man who cleaned up around the yard was hurrying to answer the call. He hadn’t seen me, and when he got almost to the office he stopped short and said, to himself, in a voice that I could readily hear, “what the hell am I going over there for, I don’t know any thing, let the damned thing ring”, and he went back to his work.