PAGE TWO
RURAL
By ROGER KYES
TRENDS
WHO SAID “PETTING” ?
It's a funny thing about facts.
and accept, obvious truths that have been good enough through the cen-
turies. Tinkering with the natural is thumbing your nose at facts. Trouble
usually begins when man attempts to do unnatural things, such as limit-
ing the products of the land by law.
It is like passing a law requiring all water to flow uphill, just to try
Men take a long time to discover
to get rid of a seasonal pond or a creek in an undesirable location. It would
be a lovely law, but the water
would still flow the same old way.
Laws which limit production from
' the land, assuming that the land or
its fertility is not destroyed there-
by, are equally unnatural.
One needs only to read the re-
ports of recent conventions of farm
organizations to realize that rural
America is not exactly satisfied
with its place in the picture. To
put it mildly, there is a growing
suspicion that farm progress has
been in the wrong direction.
It has not been convincingly dem-
onstrated that too much food has
ever been grown in this country.
Everyone knows that there are mil-
lions of people who do not get better
than a subsidence diet. Something
pretty wonderful would happen to
"the health of this nation if it were
possible for everyone to enjoy the
kind of abundant diet most readers
of this column take as a matter of
course. ae
The real problem is not how
much, but how to get food to the
people that need it, and at the same
time assure an adequate net return
to the farmer. ' Looking at one end
of the problem, authorities in farm
management are beginning to have
new respect for an old fact; that
. the family-sized farm is the econ-
omic unit with the greatest possi-
bilities in American agriculture.
Any sound program to stabilize
“agriculture must look to the re-es-
tablishment. of the family farm on
a sound business basis. It has had
a lot of body blows from so-called
commercial farming, but it not only
must be made to survive but also
to predominate,
Just what does such re-establish-
ment entail? Two things, at least:
Ownership and proper equipment;
both on terms which can be met
without an annual crisis that often
is a catastrophe. The farmer has al-
ways paid high interest rates. The
reasons are not as important as the
consequences. The farmer that is
hopelessly in debt can’t be a good
farmer. His load won’t let him!
There are more than six million
farms in this country. What could
be better assurance of rural well-
. being than six million family-owned
and operated farms, adequately fi-
nanced and adequately equipped?
Government has toyed with methods
of rehabilitation as a sociological
mission. Yet it has been true over
the years that sociology takes care
of itself if business considerations
are equitable to all concerned.
Right now the RFC is offering
industry money at 1% % on bank-
able defense orders. That is admir-
able, and proper. But farming is
defense production, too. As the man
says, raising food is defense, than
which ‘there is nothing than-wicher.
The country expects the farmer to!
supply th® food, but it seems to take
for granted that he can equip him-
self to do it out of the thin air.
Industry isn’t asking to be pet-
ted, but only to be loaned the mon-
ey it needs to get going. If there is
any considerable number of farmers
that want to be petted, we haven't
heard of them, But they would sit
up and take notice of the same kind
of a loan. It looks like it was time
for another national slogan: Let’s
Reton! the Farmer, Too!
|
— aS
THE LOW DOWN FROM
HICKORY GROVE
Being in a quandary is
our national dish. We
would feel lost if there
was mothing lurking |
around the corner—nmeed- |
ing some super-man to fix
it. And when one emer-
gency bogs down, they
serve up a new one—and
tell us how they will fix |
the mew one. :
Right now we got our
|
I
|
I
|
foot in the door in Europe.
That keeps us from asking
where is the Utopia that is
now. over due.
One hundred years ago
or even ten, everybody
was busy and got along
pretty good — had plenty
to eat and wear—and was
happy. Now, mobody is
happy. A carpenter, fifty-
years ago, got three dol-
lars a day and today he
gets three or four times as
much and he is three or
four times as unhappy.
In old Egypt they had
locusts to plague em. We
are just a jump behind
Egypt—we been plagued
with rackets, big ones and
and low. And in a few
years, when our grandson |
says, “Grandpa, tell me
the story about when ev-
erybody had everything
but was still unhappy—
and why didn’t you fix it”
—we will feel sheepish.
JO SERRA.
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FRANCE PLANS SWAP
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Reports
France may regain her Riviera and
from Vichy indicate
Alpine territories (shadow), now
in Italy’s hands, in return for al-;
lowing Italian civilians to flee from
the British army in Libya into
French Tunisia and Algeria (ar-
rows).
THE POCKETBOOK
of KNOWLEDGE 3
“THE PACIFIC OCEAN
1S SIX INCHES
LOWER IN THE
SPRING THAN IN THE
| FALL, OFF THE
CALIFORNIA COAST
Materiars from AgouT 720
DIFFERENT MANUFACTURING PLANTS
ARE INCLUDED IN THE AVERAGE
"STEAM LOCOMOTIVE
_| Februs
THE POST, FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 28, 1941
HE'S SORT OF TIED UP RIGHT NOW!
22.2
A VYUNDERFUL
Copyright 1944 Lincoln Ngwspaper Features. Inc.
(AFFORD A TRIP
AT THE MOMENT
I
SECOND THOUGHTS
by javie aiche
NEWS ITEM: The Laing Company
boys are considering a minstrel show
as a likely next in their series of
entertainments.
If minstrelsy it is to be
Then on its format let's agree:
For end men, to be right and fair,
There is the one outstanding pair
With range of voice, wild mirth to
kindle,
The irrepressible Vince Shindel
And Burgess Smith (the chance he'll
snap)
To even up with Clydesdale Lapp.
For orchestration, give three cheers
To pick-up bandsmen volunteers.
As interlocutor the spark
Could be applied by Peter Clark.
And who as balladist could earn
A higher rank than Herman Kern?
\| He seems to laugh both night and
day,
So save a part for Joe MacVeigh.
Then Logger Stillson, erstwhile Rood,
Would blackface in the proper mood.
The Olio might call to duty
All Dallas girls; they'r’e blest with
beauty.
* * *
TWICE-TOLD TRUTHS: A change
of pace is a change of face. Environ-
ment often determines tempera-
ment,
Of years I count at least a score
In which all methods I'd attack
To win of sleep six hours or more.
I've lain upon my side and back.
I've counted sheep flocks mile on
mile
"Til lamb and mutton brought dis-
taste
{ But Morpheus refused to smile
And hours of night were hours of
waste.
“More than a newspaper,
a community institution”
THE DALLAS POST
ESTABLISHED 1889
A non-partisan liberal
progressive newspaper pub-
lished every Friday morning
at its plant on Lehman Ave-
nue, Dallas, Penna., by the
Dallas Post, Inc.
Entered as second-class matter
at the post office at Dallas, Pa,
under the Act of March 3, 1879.
Subscriptigns, $2 a year, payable
in advance.
Editor and Publisher
HOWARD W. RISLEY
Associate Editor
MYRA ZEISER RISLEY
Contributing Editors
FRED M. KIEFER
JOHN V. HEFFERNAN
Mechanical Superintendent
HAROLD J. PRICE
Then I took counsel. Having seen
The Dallas players debonair
And, loving yet the scene serene,
Agreed to spend the week-end
there
With playwright Kiefer, Sourpuss
Fred,
Whose hilltop home is now my
shrine,
I lay away past noon in bed
And rose believing it was nine.
To Kiefer’s virtues (few he lacks)
Add this: He cures insomniacs.
THE SAFETY VALVE
FOND MEMORIES: Getting home,
at last, part way by bus, the uni-
| formed gentleman at the wheel
regaled your correspondent with
stories of the service and recollec-
tion of the last flood prior to the
one impending.
"Twas jolly by golly,
To ride on the trolley
To Harvey's big lake in the hills
In nights that were golden.
The moon was beholden
To rivulet, meadows and rills.
They're gone, those days olden,
And gone are their thrills
The gasoline buggy
Throws fumes that are druggy,
By day Winter's streets are a muss,
But riding is dandy
At night-time and handy 3
When out-bound from Dallas by bus.
The bland operator
Is good as relater
Of happenings marking his day.
The bus-loads he ferries
Invite commentaries
And so he has plenty to say.
It’s likely you only,
Are with him and lonely,
You welcome his garrulous mood
From Dallas the sportdale
Clear down into Courtdale
Where finally ends solitude.
A light turning amber
Calls halt. Night-hawks clamber
Aboard at the very next turn,
The bus gets more chummy
With atmosphere rummy
Announcing you're now in Luzerne.
With lights everywhere, too
Lit up is each fare to
Permit of much more to be said.
The bus-man keeps driving
And soon you're arriving
At where you get off. So, to bed.
by
The Post's Readers
Safety Valve
Editor, The Post:
“Deeds not words,” says Secretary
Hull to Japan. How about trying of
the same thing here at home? If
verbal blasts had the same ef-
fect as T. N. T. it would be an
easy matter to dispose of Hitler—
just turn a few of our politicians
loose on him, sit back and enjoy
the fun.
When better speeches are built,
we will build them. (Apologies to
Buick) If talk were tanks even the
dove of peace could ride. There is
an old man, by the name of Uncle
Sam, who is talking himself to
death just as fast as he can.
“Work is the backbone of the
Nation.” “Talk” must make up the
rest of the body.
Spring housecleaning will soon be
the order -of the day. Wouldn't it
be nice if Labor should decide to
do its own house cleaning and clean
out some of th subversive element
from among its leaders?
The rank and file of labor is just
as patriotic as anybody in this
country. It’s time it got out from
under the stigma attached to it be-
cause some of its leaders are more
interested in personal gains than
the defense of the nation.
President Roosevelt has done so
much for labor that one might think
it would show its appreciation by
co-operating 100% with his defense
program instead of hamstringing it
with strikes in the defense industry.
Alderson, Pa. H, A.
A Matter Of Precedent
Editor, The Post:
Eye-witness accounts of British
bombings of Berlin indicate that the
damage in the Nazi capital has been
negligible. It is attributed to the
fact that British bombers cannot
carry sufficient gasoline for the
round trip and a load of heavy
bombs. The comparatively light
British bombs are incapable of cre-
ating anything like the terrific de-
struction which the Nazi 1,000-
pound bombs have accomplished in
London.
If Britain were able to give the
Germans a taste of their own med-
icine it would have a tonic effect on
the brave Britishers and for every
1000-pound bomb dropped in a stra-
tegic area, a thousand Germans
would be a little less likely to swal-
low without question the rantings
of Little Joe Goebbels and Herman
(the Vermin) Goering.
But where is Britain to get the
I~
=
FREEDOM
The colummists and con-
tributors on this page are
allowed, great latitude in
expressing their own opin-
even when their
opinions are at variance
with those of The Post
tons,
bombers to do the job? The answer
is right here—in the United States.
We have the finest long-range heavy
bombers in the world. We are re-
puted to have a bomb-sight almost
unbelievably accurate. And we have
the personnel.
We want Britain to win, Why not
lend them some Flying Fortresses
and give a leave of absence to the
trained crews who will volunteer to
fly the planes for Britain?
Would this put us in the war?
That question might be answered in
the negative by citing the many au-~
thorities who say we are already
in the war. Or, as a matter of pre-
cedent, we can recall to Hitler's
mind that a few short years ago
er scale.
Germany, and Italy, and Russia did
precisely the same thing in the
Spanish Civil War—on a much larg-
Ww. H.
COMING TO NEW YORK?
hin
ETRE
I
GATMET, cASY OF BROADWAY
odd ab ae
—
THE SENTIMENTAL SIDE
‘By EDITH BLEZ
I am fully convinced that spring is just around the corner and don’t
try to discourage me! Perhaps you would like to know why I am so cer-
tain. I have seen and heard the signal! Have a little patience with me
and I think I can convince you that an early spring is not just a myth.
No, I have’t seen any robbins and there are no buds on the plum tree
but there have been other signs! One morning last week I was awakened
very early by the sweet singing of
a bird. I have told you before this
that I know absolutely nothing about birds but this one sang such a
THE OLD
SCRAPBOOK
By "Bob" Sutton
Truth is what God says about a
thing.
When you can’t see in any other
direction, look up.
A God conquered man
conquerable,
is un-
* * *
To hate a man—
Is to put yourself beneath him.
Is usually to confess that you do
not know him.
Is always easier than trying to
understand him.
Is the beginning of the suicide of
the soul.
Is to wreck your own happiness.
Is to be as guilty as he is.
* * *
Lenten Thoughts No. 2
It is only in the cool of the day
that I can hear Thy footsteps, O
God. Thou art ever walking in the
garden. Thy presence is everywhere;
but the burden and heat of the day
are too strong for me. The struggles
of life excite me, the ambitions of
life perturb me, it is all thunder,
fire, and earth quake. But when I
find myself and catch Thy still,
small voice, then I know that Thou
are God. Thy peace can only speak
to my peacefulness. Thy rest can
only be audible to my calm. Let me
hear Thy voice in the garden in the
cool of the day,—Rev. Geo. Math-
ewson.
* * Xx
Sorrow can make no scars that
love cannot heal.
We approve only those who like
us. :
Nothing was ever done with-
out enthusiasm.
*
* 0%
I’M COMING BACK TO YOU GOD
I'm coming back to you, God,
I couldn’t make it go;
With all my blatent boasting
How little did I know.
I found the Broad Way narrow,
The swift pace ended slow;
I'm coming back to you, God,
I couldn’t make it go.
I'm coming back tc you, God,
I couldn’t make it go;
With all my worldly wisdom
And wealth’s deceiving show,
My soul has met disaster,
I'm disillusioned—Oh—
fm coming back to you, God,
I'm coming back to you.
—Selma Weaver
FOOTNOTES
By EMMONS BLAKE
Bathing the dog is almost always
described as a harrowing task. The
dog if he is a small one squirms
free and dashes water on everything
near that water will damage, If he
is large he will either upset the tub
or force his master into it. These
are to be expected when one reads
about canine cleansing. However,
when I bathe my small dog just the
opposite occurs; Pepper is so polite
it hurts. Sometimes I wish she would
raise a fuss; then I would not feel
that I was so mean to her.
When the time comes for Pepper's
bath she seems to sense it. The
sound of water being run into the
splaintive song I knew I hadn't
heard it for at least a year. I felt
quite certain that bird had come
home again! The notes of its song
were really a definite sign of spring.
What could he have been singing
about if his small heart wasn’t
yearning for warm skies and green
least that was the way the song
sounded to me. There is always the
possibility that my interpretation
was wrong! )
On afternoon last week I found
my nose literally glued to the win-
dow of a florist’s shop at.Eighteenth
and Chestnut Streets in Philadelphia.
Perhaps some of you know that shop.
It has been there a long time and
the window displays are always a
little breath-taking but this after-
noon my eyes lit on a spray of what
looked like japonica, in full bloom
at the back of the shop. I really had
no excuse to go in, and the shop-
keeper I know, was a little suspicious
aged to get a closer view of the
japonica and all over the shop there
were huge bunches of forsythia in
yellow glamour. I suppose florists
have the privilege of hurrying spring
along but all that forsythia and that
lone spray of japonica couldn’t be
false alarms. Surely Spring is closer
than just around the corner!
The last but most convincing sign
was near home, in fact it was right
next door. For some reason one
morning last week my eyes sudden-
ly lit on a little red wagon which
stood along side the house. It seem-
ed rather strange to me that I hadn’t
noticed it before because a hun-
dred times a day, my gaze must
wander across the back lawn to the
house next door, but it wasn’t until
last week that the small red wagon
on wheels came into my range of
vision. And why should I suddenly
see that red express wagon ? I know
why I hadn’t been seeing that small
red wagon, It wasn't until last week
that I was conscious that spring was
so close and I couldn't help but see
it then because small red wagons
mean warm days, and blue skies,
and robbins, and small boys who tug
at the handles of small red wagons.
Small red wagons are an important
part of spring. They are just as im-
portant as green grass, and birds,
and spring flowers, and blossoms on
the trees.
I hope you agree with me that it
looks like an early spring. Surely
japonica and forsythia, and strange
birds, and small boys, and red wa-
gons mean something!
the living room wearing, as much
as her species will allow, the face
of a martyr. Upon actual contact
with the water she invariably goes
into a sort of ritual. She starts pant-
ing and at the same time arches her
back and stands on tip-toe as if to
complain of the unbearable heat. I
have tried putting her in luke-warm
water to test her and she still goes
into her act, only at the end of it
she starts shivering. During the
i rest of the bath she stands perfectly -
I still contemplating a water-soaked
flea in front of her or watching a
| soap bubble slide down the wall of
| the tub.
There is, however, one rebel
streak in her that I have not as
yet conquered. She insists on shak-
|ing off all excess water, even though
she knows I don’t approve of such
'a move. I know that she disobeys
, deliberately because the moment my
back is turned she starts vibrating,
{and when I turn around she freezes
; half-smiling beneath a miniature
i mist. The climactic moment comes
| when freed from the tub, rubbed
i briskly with towels, she feels her
| collar slipped back on. Then she
becomes her happy self again, She
| tears around the living room eager
| to show anyone looking that she is
|once more spotless, and to prove
that she is not only clean on top
{she rolls over and over. This last
tub, makes her jumpy and she as-
act rather defeats the whole purpose
sumes a look of the ‘hainted.”|of the bath, but no one ever says
When I call her, preparatory to put-
ting her into the tub she walks from
anything about it; I am certainly
not going to bring it up.
“9 MIGHGY FORGRESS IS OUR GOD”
~ a» MARTIN
\
A mighty fortress is our God,
A bulwark never failing.
Our helper He, amid the flood
Of mortal ills prevailing
For still our ancient foe
Doth seek to work us woe
His craft and power are great,
And armed with cruel hate.
On earth is not His equal
This immortal hymn was inspired
important part in the growth of the Christian church, for Luther's
hymns conlrary lo the doctrines of the Church, were written in t
- tongue of the common people Each hymn was a Reformation sermon
LUTHER » .
A 5! Ni ids,
AT =
* roy
SINGS,
NA ;
Pa a
-¥ or
by the 46th psalm It played a most
go “C f { G, °
»
iE Ga
HOWARD H WOOLBERT
FUNERAL DIRECTOR
DALLAS 400 © SHAVERTOWN, PA.
as SM OJ
grass and blossoms on the trees; at
of my vague conversation but I man-
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