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“Congress shall make no law . . . abridging the freedom of
speech or of Press” — The Constitution of the United States.
The Dallas Post is a youthful, liberal, aggressive weekly, dedi-
cated to the highest ideals of the journalistic tradition and concerned _
primarily with the development of the rich rural-suburban area about
Dallas. It strives constantly to be more than a newspaper, a com-
munity institution.
Subscription, $2.00 per year, payable in advance. Subscribers
who send us changes of address are requested to include both new
and old addresses with the notice of change. Advertising rates
on request.
THE
HoweLL ‘B. REES.....ccciaiiisivivnens
HAROLD. J. PRICE... clinton:
More Than A Newspaper—A Dynamic Community Institution
DALLAS POST
ESTABLISHED 1889 2
A Liberal, Independent Newspaper Published Every Friday
Morning At The Dallas Post Plant, Lehman Avenue,
Dallas, Penna., By The Dallas Post, Inc.
Entered as second class matter at the Post Office at Dallas, Pa.,
under Act of March 3, 1879.
HowaARD W. RISLEY........eereeisenne
Solace deltas tes Managing Editor
ons Mechanical Superintendent
Siseshientirntusas ed General Manager
THE POST'S CIVIC PROGRAM
1. A modern concrete highway leading from Dallas and con-
necting with the Sullivan Trail at Tunkhannock.
2. A greater development of community consciousness among
residents of Dallas, Trucksville, Shavertown, and Fernbrook.
3. Centralization of local fire and police protection.
4. Sanitary sewage systems for local towns.
5. Better water service.
6. A consolidated high school eventually, and better co-operation
between those that now exist.
7. Complete elimination of politics from local school affairs.
8. Construction of more sidewalks.
IN
THE WAR OVER MILK PRICES
There are very few persons who are not touched to some extent by the
current squabble between farmers and dealers over milk prices. Since the
problem may be thrown before long directly into the lap of the consumer,
it might be well if those families who take the morning bottle of milk on the
front porch for granted, study some of the underlying factors in the situation.
The farmers in this section complain that the new price schedule fixed
by Pennsylvania's Milk Control Board forces dairymen to produce their
product at a loss. They charge further that the regulations upon which prices
are based are so complicated they are never sure if they are getting their fair
price. The dealers, some of whom are opposing the farmers’ union bitterly,
defend their policies by claiming that their profits are not exhorbitant and
that if milk prices to the consumers are increased the demand will drop and
the farmer will lose his market.
Obviously, the consumer is the final arbiter, and his or her intelligent
interest is essential to any prompt and satisfactory conclusion to the dealer
farmer controversy.
Not only directly, through the price he pays for milk, but indirectly,
through the mass purchasing power of the farmer, is the individual con-
sumer effected by the price the farmer receives for his milk. Milk has been
the largest single source of farm income each year from 1930 to date and
when the farmer takes a loss on such a basic product his purchasing power
is effected vitally. Often, his profit or loss on milk means the profit or loss
for his year’s work, and is reflected in the volume of merchandise he can
- buy for his home, his family and his farm.
The consumer has little just complaint now about the price of milk.
During the 1930 depression years retail prices of dairy products declined sub
stantially more than the cost of rent, clothing, house furnishings and other
major expenses making up -the consumers’ “Cost of Living.” Dairy pro-
duct retail prices have been consistently lower than the average prices of
food as a whole each year since 1930.
To make another comparison: The price of milk in United States, on
the basis of prevailing wage rates, is considerably less than in other countries.
An hour's work will buy 5.3 quarts of milk in this country, 4.8 quarts in|
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Sweden, 3.5 quarts in France, 3.3 quarts in Germany, 3.3 quarts in Belgium, |
2.1 quarts in Italy, 1.8 quarts in Great Britain and 1.0 quarts in U. S. S. R.
As consumers, we cannot complain that the retail cost of milk is too high.
Now consider the farmers" share of the money you pay for a quart of
milk. When you pay for a pound of pork, the farmer receives 62 per cent
of the amount. He receives 59 per cent when you buy lamb, half when you
buy a chicken. But the dairymen, who produces the milk you buy, receives
less than half—only about 42 per cent—of the retail price for your milk.
S The farmer deserves a better price for his milk and if the only way to
get him a better price is by charging the consumer more, then we, as consum-
ers, should be willing to pay a fair price, particularly since our accumulated
pennies will swell the farmers’ purchasing power and aid in’ economic re
covery along all fronts.
The United States has one telephone to every seven persons. The four
other leading nations average but one telephone to every 35 persons.
THis Neeps LicHT, Too!
This country was a long time developing enough courage to discuss
social diseases frankly. For years, syphilis and similar scourges flourished
because our silly modesty prevented us from acknowledging their presence.
Then, when the danger had become so great we could no longer ignore its
threat to society, we began studying the problem publicly and now human-
ity is beginning to hammer down the rising index of dreaded disease.
Now there is another unpleasant subject to face—the growing preva-
alence of sex abnormalities. An article in last week's Post, reporting that
an estimated 23,000 persons in Luzerne County alone would be effected by
Senator Mundy’s proposed bill for the control of sexually-abnormal persons,
indicates how close to home the subject comes.
The thorough questioning of sexual perverts in this section since the
murder of Margaret Martin has uncovered evidence of abnormal practices
which are almost unbelievable to normal persons. The great majority of the
cases uncovered are unprintable, but they form a revolting picture which
demands decisive action to attack another grave social problem.
The Mundy Bill which is now being discussed at Harrisburg is a partial
answer to the problem, but the real solution lies in an awakened realization of
the cause and danger of sexual maladjustment. Little can be done for those
unfortunate persons who now suffer from abnormalities, but parental under-
standing and the proper application of psychological theories, in school and
at home, may protect the coming generation from the dark shadow of per-
version.
It took 105 minutes’ work for the average man to earn an electric light
bulb in 1914. Today, it takes 12 minutes, and the bulbs are far better.
PROGRESS IN REVERSE
For a half-dozen years the recovery theory practiced in Washington
has been based on an analogy between the national economy and a hand
pump. That theory has been that if a hand pump can be made to work by
priming it with water, the national economy can be made to function by
priming it with dollars.
From the beginning of this experiment with the national economy,
learned economists have warned that although priming might work on a
hand pump, it could not be made to pump recovery out of the well.
And even the failure of the theory in these six years has not convinced
(apparently) the experimenters that the analogy is a false one. They are still
pouring billions into the economy pump with no more show of concern than
a farmer pouring a bucket of water into a hand pump.
And what have been the rewards of the priming theory? It is not
likely that anyone has bothered to count the gallons of water pumped by
a primed hand pump, but the National Industrial Conference Board has
published these figures after a study of the primed economy pump: For
every $3 poured into the pump, only $2 has been returned. ;
During 1934-38, inclusive, this study finds, the administration has
increased the national debt by $14,000,000,000. Those billions have gone
for pump priming. But instead of causing a vast increase in the national
income which, according to these spend-our-way-out-of-debt advocates,
should have resulted, the income was only $9,000,000,000.
That is what a fisherman might call “catching a two-pound fish, using
a three-pound fish for bait!”
. BOUNDARY PROBLEMS
Washington is having plenty of trouble as a result of the turmoil in
Europe, not the least of which worries is the $20,000 mosaic floor of the
new multi-million dollar Post Office Department Building. The mosaic
is a large map of the world.
When the floor was laid about 4 years ago, Austria, Albania and
Czechoslovakia were countries in Europe. Today they are only memories
of mapmakers. The mosaic, however, is a map that cannot be altered.
Austria, Albania and Czechoslovakia appear in bright-colored stones.
Officials don’t know whether it is best to tear up their $20,000 orna-
ment or let time and shuffling feet wear out the boundary lines—or wait
VIEW FROM
Who ever knew truth put to the worse in a free and open encounter—MILTON
By RIVES MATTHEWS
A SOAP-BOX
If your name appears on the so-
ciety pages of a big metroplitan
daily, don’t ever think it was because
some Society Editor knew your
grandmother was above eating peas
with a knife, or that your great-
grandfather haggled over cod fish,
and thus became a Yankee aristocrat.
There is only one reason why the
people whose names you will find on
the society pages rate such a distinc-
tion over the thousands who fork
over their pennies to buy these Man-
hattan dailies.
Dubbed socialites, these people are
not exalted, primarily, because their
weddings, luncheons, dinners, dances,
debuts, arrivals and departures can
have any considerable interest to thou-
sands of subway-riding gum-chew-
ers, to whom a dinner jacket is some-
thing they rent to be married and
photographed in, and a wing collar is
a “Board of Health Collar,” required
of hash-house workers.
For every paragraph of society
news printed there is only one reason,
and that is business.
Not by a long shot do newspapers
as big as these live by news alone.
They live because their advertisers
want them to live. They live and
sometimes flourish by the business
they can drum up for advertisers,
either directly through advertising, or,
indirectly, by giving their advertisers
tips on where business can be found.
This last is the chief function of the
social page.
When, for instance, you read in
the Tribune's curiously-named col-
umn, ‘Personal Intelligence,” that
“Mr. and Mrs. So-and-So from Mil
ton, Mass., are at the Madison” you
can be sure that the Madison's man-
ager is glad to have it known that the
So-and-sos are stopping with him.
You can rely upon it that he hopes
more people from Milton, with bank-
rolls to match the So-and-sos, will stop
at his expensive hostelry. You can
be pretty sure it was from the Madi-
son’s management that the Tribune's
Society Editor got the news.
No doubt, too, Mrs. Cushing is
club back home know that George
can afford the Madison, and doubt-
less George himself, who may be in
New York to put over some deal
down in Wall Street, doesn’t mind at
all to have it known he’s putting up
in such a swell dump. It makes him
seem such a high-priced guy.
This little item should also prove
useful to the telephone company. It
is likely to keep Mrs. So-and-so’s tele-
phone ringing with calls from swank
dress shops and theatre ticket brokers,
to mention only a few businesses
anxious to have her trade. Useful in-
formation it is likewise apt to be to
Milton porch-climbers, who might like
to lay their hands on the Cushings’
flat silver while they are away.
Perhaps of all the items carried on
a social page, the wedding announce-
on the possibility that before long there may be other alterations to make.
ment is potentially the most commer-
cial and that is why so much space
happy to have members of her bridge
is given to the weddings of people
who may never, thereafter, see their
names so close to a dollar-spangled
Vanderbilt again.
For one thing, the presumption is
that people who are about to get
married are going to spend a lot of
money. People who can afford five
bucks to have their names carried in
that convenient little address book
containing the names of people who
can afford five bucks to have their
names included are generally the sort
of people outfits like Tiffany and
Cartier can expect to make some
formal gestures in the way of engrav-
ing, since their friends can always be
counted upon, after generations of
finger-training, to detect almost in-
stantly, whether “requests the honor
of your presence” stands out from the
paper sufficiently to indicate the ex-
pense of a copper plate.
Once your intentions to wed have
been thus publicized, you should not
be at all surprised if a coolness springs
up between you and your postman.
For days his back will be bowed down
under mountains of direct mail adver-
tising, all addressed to you, all de-
signed to part you from your money.
I know, because I got married, once,
myself.
Tiffany, Cartier, Black, Starr &
Frost made me feel like a regular ty-
coon with their offers to lend me their
expert lapidaries to help me select a
suitable diamond for my bride. A
publisher offered to sell me a book
which would tell me how to prede-
termine the sex of the infant I would
shortly beget. Florists clamored for
the honor of making the bride's bou-
quet. Life insurance salesmen wrote
me long letters about the serious re-
sponsibilities I was undertaking and
begged for the opportunity of making
it possible for my widow to take West
Indies cruises after I had passed on,
worn out by the struggle of keeping
up with the premiums.
What I received in the way of
direct mail advertising was nothing
to what my mother-in-law got. Every
! dressmaker in’ New York wanted to
whip up something out of white satin,
lace and tulle, and so completely out-
fit my wife that I would never have
to give a thought to buying her
clothes, or she to current fashions.
| Caterers made wild claims for their
{ several brands of patties. Awning
| companies, more florists, jewelers, de-
| partment stores, all wanted to share
our happiness with us to such an ex-
tent that if all of them had had their
way, we should all have been impov-
erished, but, presumably, still happy.
Then, of course, such announcer
ments are expected to bring on an
avalanche of presents.
| the jewelers hope to profit most. That
| is why they have insisted for years it
| is good form to give a bride silver, in
| a pinch Spode, or some other imported
| china. Tiffany, I think, made the
{ most out of our wedding. They did
| the announcements and our well
Here again, |
THE SENTIM
17
ENTAL SIDE
All the reasonings of men are not worth one sentiment of woman—VOLTAIRE
By EDITH BLEZ
It might shock some of my readers
to know that I dare to think our
highly commercialized Mothers’ Day
is something to be sad about; and not
a day to celebrate! The day which
has been set aside to commemorate the
Mothers of the world has always
sickened me with it’s cheap sentiment.
It is such sickening, sloppy, maudlin
sentiment. There are good Mothers
and there are bad Mothers but one
day in each year every Mother good
and bad, is held up as a shining ex-
ample to the rest of the people who
haven't been fortunate enough to have
been a Mother! Mothers’ Day has be-
come a holiday because the florist,
the confectioner, and the shop keepers
in general see it as a day to reap a
harvest. They play on the sympa-
thies of the unsuspecting public—
a public which dare not forget to buy
a gift for Mother on her great day!
Everywhere, long before the actual
day of celebration, in the newpapers,
in the magazines, on the street cars,
in the bus, on the train, on billboards,
on the radio we are met with: “Don’t
Forget Mother,” “Remember Mother,”
“Buy Candy for Mother,” ‘Buy
for Mother”—just so you buy some-
thing! It goes on and on until we
tare sick to death of all the silly empty
phrases!
I don’t want any nation-wide cele-
bration of my mother-hood. I don’t
want gifts to remind me that I am a
Mother. I don’t want a day set aside
to celebrate the little I have done in
my all too short career as a parent!
There are so many other rewards—
rewards which are not measured by
their potential value. There is more
satisfaction and more reward in my
daughter's smile and in the warmth
of her hand in mine than I could find
in a dozen Mother's days.
it is a privilege to have children and it
is a privilege many of us all unknow-
ingly abuse. Isn’t it enough if one’s
children grow into real men and wo-
men—individuals who look at life
bravely—men and women who have
faith in themselves. Isn't it enough
to help develop children who can
make their own decisions—children
who will be able to take their place
in the world—children who look at
life and are not afraid of it’s obstacles.
Why must we have a day to cele-
brate motherhood? We can celebrate
in our own hearts, and it isn’t always
a celebration we are so eager to share.
It is something too close to our hearts.
We watch our children grow from
helpless babies into gangling awkward
youngsters. We try so hard to grow
with them. We try to be big enough
to be good parents. We try to give
them a heritage of which they can be
proud. We try to give them homes
where they can find peace and under-
standing. We try to the best of our
ability to be friends to our children.
We help them as best we can to
profit by the mistakes we might have
made.
Many times we do not succeed and
our children become strangers to us.
The gap widens as the years go on
and if we fail there is nothing we can
do about it. We do our best and if
that isn’t good enough then we must
accept our defeat. I refuse to take
part in a Mothers’ Day which has
been reduced to the level of dollars
and cents. I'll do my own celebra-
ting. I'll take my own’ gifts and re-
wards from my daughter’s respect for
me, from her thoughtfulness and her
understanding, for her knowing that
there are years between us but we are
living in the same world! I'll secure
my reward from my daughter's happi-
ness rather from all the inane senti-
ment of a commercial holiday which
Certainly ' means absolutely nothing!
TOWN MEETING
IT WON'T BE LONG NOW!
World peace is being threatened,
We are getting in a rut,
Perhaps we are forgetting
What other wars have brought!
All war departments are buzzing,
Like a busy telephone exchange,
As dictators keep us guessing,
“What goes on within their brains?”
It won't be long till something breaks,
The feeling is growing tense,
It won't be too long, how long it takes
For, we'd rather have suspense!
Like a checker game, all carefully
planned,
Dictators move with either hand, . . .
Just a slip . . . on either side!
. . . The game is lost . . . men have
died!
—Jerry Sullivan
Dallas
To the Editor:
I was to the amateur bouts the oth-
er night at the armory and saw Tom-
my Dropchinski win his third suc-
cessive bout. They say Tommy caught
a bad cold in his chest Thursday and
that slowed him up considerably, but
to my estimation he has the makings
of a good boy, especially ‘since this
Kid Earl has been handling him. Earl
has sure got his jab working fine. Paul
Fiske is another fighter in town that
is making good. Why doesn’t Earl
give him a little advice, too. They
say this Earl boy was a good boy
himself years ago and was never
knocked out in three years of fight
ing and only knocked off his feet
two times out of 100 fights. We are
having some good sportsmanship as a
result of the interest in boxing in this
section. I hope it grows.
—A Fight Fan.
To the Editor:
I would like to know why the
President is so worried about Europe.
| wishers into sending us china.
With so many people in the United
States ill-fed, ill-clothed and ill-
housed, I think he has enough to do
to worry about our own people.
Why doesn’t he have Congress
pass the Townsend national recovery
plan? It would benefit everybody.
V. M. SIMON.
HOMECOMING
Mother was bigger and she could
see
When Daddy was down by the pop-
lar tree
And that was the moment when,
tender-eyed,
She opened the door and propped it
wide
And started the baby on eager feet,—
Daddy was coming up the street.
Daddy was weary and shabby too,
But oh, the print of her little shoe
And the welcoming of her tiny hands
Made him monarch of richer lands
The little game was their dear delight.
Night by night—till the one when
Death
Snatched her up on a
breath.
A staggering car that rocked and
reared
Free of a lad’s light hand that
steered
And crushed her lifeless before their
eyes, :
So little, so eager, so sweet and wise.
laughing
Three souls cry out in the little town
When darkness hovers and settles
down),
A man who plods from his day's
work home
Remzmbering how he used to come,
A woman who listens with straining
ears
And fights the silence with bitter
tears,
And a lad with a haggard brow who
sees
JA baby’s ghost in the poplar trees.
—Anne Sutherland Brooks.
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