PAGE TWO THE POST, FRIDAY, DECEMBER 25, 1942
i
SECOND THOUGHTS
By javie aiche
A SE SB RE CT OE BE BE FR FE RE TTT
It isn’t the snow; it's the stupidity.
Neighbors. long since have been aware of my sedentary habits and
they should be able to guess that my attacks upon recurrent storms of an
b
¢
. A CHRISTMAS CAROL, 1942 :
A Slight Misunderstanding
ot HR
RRL RKK
EN d o \ o . .
2 By Elizabeth Langdon in the Wyoming Seminary Opinator
0
; Marley was dead, but Scrooge rarely thought about
him any more. Marley had failed miserably in his busi- *
early-starting winter are a matter of necessity. Necessity is the mother
of invention, not only; it also is the instigator of initiative.
So, it is annoying to the extreme
of exasperation to have them come
grinning past me with remarks
drawn from the deep wells of in-
anity.
“Out early, aren’t you?” says
one, forgetful that insomnia ordains
my waking hour and that muscular
flabbiness is excuse enough to start
shoveling before the gentlemen of
the mines and railroads and the
ladies of the factories have vulcan-
ized the fleeces from heaven into
the sidewalk flags.
“It’s good exercise, isn’t it?” re-
marks another. Of what is good
about it I haven't the least notion,
because after only a half-dozen toss-
es of the scoop I must stop to catch
my breath and permit inaction to
soothe the cramping muscles of back
and abdomen.
There always is the overly friend-
ly chap who stops to make conver-
sation, and usually to suggest that
a much cleaner job could be attain-
ed if the scoop were complemented
by a sharp scraper. As ‘though I
give three hoots in Gehenna wheth-
er the last vestige 'of snow is re-
moved, it being my argument that
if people tramp the stuff down it is
sufficient on my part that I get rid
of what is loose.
In my neighborhood -there are
bars that remain active long after
the Liquor Board curfew, and there
is a railroad yard having three
eight-hour shifts, a combination of
circumstances to preclude any
choice of a period for snow shovel-
ing that will be free of commenta-
tors. Additionally, there are a kin-
dergarten, a college and a very
large public school. If the children
come by when I am huff-puffing a
path through for them they always
suggest that I leave at least a res-
idue for the runners of their sleds,
but the older chaps are critical
about that:
“You're playing both sides against
the middle, aren't you, Mister?”
one of them will remark.
An end there must be to all
things, and there periodically is fin-
ality for each session of snow shov-
eling; yet, as frequent as have been
the crystalline concessions from the
clouds, 1 find no surcease of the
fatigue consequent upon my efforts
to transfer them from sidewalk to
street, where later on the busses
will gradually ease the accumula-
tion into a gutter blockade for the
street department.
I envision a city of the future,
after all the shortages are ended,
when sidewalks will be laid over a
network of piping into which steam
can be pumped when the flakes be-
gin to fall. Presently, though, there
is no release for the householder un-
der winter siege. Boys who a year
and more ago raced for the chance
to clean. off the flagstones for a
half-dollar are strangely missing.
They are too young for the Army,
and in wondering what may have
become of them I have only the
possible answer of their belonging to
families to whom four bits mean
nothing in contrast with war-time
wages.
Three afflictions of the winter nui-
sance have cramped my style. They
also have cramped my fingers. I
could not respond in kind to those
who sent me holiday greetings. One
of the joyful missives I have before
me as I pound the keys of my type-
writer, and because it is different
and perhaps a little caustic, too, in
keeping with knowledge gained by
its author in enduring contact with
the Washington scene, I shall repeat
it here. It is from Paul Mallon, na-
tionally commentator,
and it says:
THIS GREETING
Permits Delivery Of
renowned
One C Unit
— of —
MERRY CHRISTMAS
— From —
PAUL MALLON
Coordinator of Confusion
“News Behind The News”
ADMINISTRATION
The same to you and much of it.
A Safe Deposit Box in our Fire-and-Theft-Proof
{Vaults Protects valuables at iass than lc a day.
First Floor — Street Lovel — No Stai
@
SAFETY VALVE
You Can’t Print That . . .
It was with infinite sadness I
read this morning that I, with my
mild mannered little wife, and in
company with such meek and hum-
ble gentlemen as James Hennihan
and Joseph Walsh have been put
into an association with a ferocious |
fellow like the Reverend Martyn |
Keeler to persecute Wilkes-Barre's
greatest war hero and a man beside
whom the late Rufus Choate pales
as a member of the bar. -
Naturally only one barrister could
fit this description. I have searched
the biographies of Choate, William |
Travers Jerome and the late Abe |
Hummel and not one of these at- |
torneys could lay before the court
of posterity so brilliant a record for
the repossession of ice boxes, ra-
dios, beds and babies’ cradles from
the grasping, domineering, arrogant
people who buy on the instalment
plan, as Mr. Robert J. Doran, for-
mer chairman of the Americanism
Committee of the American Legion,
Chairman of the National Defense |
Committee of the Wyoming Valley |
Chamber of Commerce, member of
the Executive Committee of the
County Council of the Office of Civ-
ilian Defense, Chairman of Local
Draft Board No. 9, member of the
Veterans’ Commission of the State
of Pennsylvania and Chairman of
the Wyoming Valley Chapter of the
~g |
American Red Cross.
It is perhaps true that the Rev-
erend Martyn Keeler makes it his
practice to throw lions to the Chris-
tians, a form of brutality which is
hereby called to the attention of the
Society for the Prevention of Cruel-
‘ty to Animals but that Mrs. Weit- |
zenkorn who even wears mourning |
for the death of a rosebud would |
put a man who so valiantly attacked
that hotbed of learning, the Oster-
hout Free Library, Wpon the rack
of torture, so disturbed me that I
was_unable to finish my matutinal
devotions before threatening her
with divorce.
“Did you know, Mrs. Weitzen-
korn,” I shouted in spite of the
lingering affect upon me of the 22nd
Psalm, ‘that you are accused of
persecuting Wilkes-Barre’s greatest
lawyer and a man who was twice
wounded in the first World War?”
I could see her lip quiver.
“Where was he wounded?” she
asked trying to keep back the tears.
| “Where? Where? Why what
{the hell does it matter where!” I
was clearly out of control. “Suppose
he was only wounded in the foot?”
“You said two wounds,” she sob-
bed.
“Very well, two wounds. Do you
~DEAR SONTA
PLEASE BRING Us
d PLENTY OF CANDY
AND NUTS
THE PEOPLE
HEY SANTAT
WE DIDN'T’
MEAN THAT
/
’
¥]
3 DY po
HEA
| issue of the Post which suddenly re-
jest at. scars. who never felt a
wound, Madame ? Suppose Mr. Dor-
was wounded in the Battle of Flan-
ders? Would you not then let the
soul ? Suppose he were
wounded in the head?
ing to you that Mr. Doran has pro-
tected our hearths and homes from
N. Loveland who tried to loosen the
wild beasts of peace upon our chil-
dren ?”’
She fell upon her knees, supplicat-
ing.
“Where was Uncle Toby wound-
I could not answer so indelicate
| a question.
| “Don’t change the subject,” I said
| coldly. “I wish to know if you are
{ persecuting the former chairman of
the Americanism Committee of the
American Legion, the Chairman of
the National Defense Committee of
the Wyoming Valley Chamber of
Commerce.” A horrible fear came
into my breast. “Madame, are you
by any chance, and secretly, also
persecuting the Wyoming Valley
Chamber of Commerce?”
“No, believe me,” she begged.
“Nor the American Legion?”
“No, no, a thousand noes!”
“Are you persecuting Local Draft
Board No. 9?” :
“Oh, no!” .
' “The American Red Cross?”
She lifted her ninety pounds
proudly.
“Would you believe that of me?”
I was shaken. But I hid my emo-
tion.
NEED GLASSES ?
Get them fitted : properly.
them quickly, see
Dr. Abe Finkelstein
OPTOMETRIST
Main Street, Luzerne
Get
“Madame, do you associate with
Presbyterian clergymen who perse-
cute book burners, library purgers
and people who are in favor of the
72 hour work week?”
“Don’t tell me,” she moaned,
Keeler .is
“that the Reverend Mr.
against Adolf Hitler!”
an were wounded as Uncle Toby |
sweet tears of pity drench your iron
only |
Is it noth- |
that fiendish Quakeress Mrs. Charles |
ed?” she asked clasping her hands. |
I could only think
I gave up.
THE OUTPOST
Where those at home and the men and women in the armed
services from the Back Mountain Region—in camps and on
By the fighting fronts—keep contact with their fellows through-
ESS out the world.
&»
3
~~
SS
of theory and laboratory work and | making it. It will mean a rating of
{ also code for the first 10 weeks, and | Staff Sergeant upon graduation and,
from there we get experience on the | more than anything, the chance to
practical sets which we will be using | get up there in the action which
minded me that I forgot to let you | later. Am now in my 8th week of | we're all waiting for. Here's hop-
know of my change of address. Last | it and getting along great. Taking | ing for the best.
Tuesday I was transferred from Par- | 25 words per minute in code, which | No chance of getting home for the
ris Island, S. C., to Cherry Point, [is 9 words over the required amount | holidays as we are only given the
N. C. I don’t expect to be here | necessary for graduation, so it looks | 24th and 25th off and allowed only
very long as I am waiting transfer like I shouldn't have much trouble | 40 miles from camp. Guess St.
to an air school. [in making the grade. | Louis, which is only 20 miles away,
I like to read the Post and would | Have also filled out an application | will be the destination for most of
appreciate it very much if you | to go to aerial gunner’s schoo] im- |us. It is really a swell town. The
would send it to my new address. | mediately after graduation of radio | soldiers are given every considera-
From what I have seen and heard | school, and am counting heavy on | tion. Something doing all the time
of this station I would say it is the | | at the U.S.0.—dances, parties, mov-
best in the Marine Corps. Every- | ties, etc. We're treated like kings.
thing is new, liberty and leaves are || “More than a newspaper, Wishing you all the merriest
frequent and the chow is swell. In a community institution” | Christmas and happiest New Year
comparison to P. I, itis really | ever, and again thanking you for
THE DALLAS POST
something. the Post. Am looking forward to
ESTABLISHED 1889 |
No Rifle This Time
Dear Editor:
I just received the December gh!
When at P. I, I used the excuse | receiving many more of them. J
that my rifle needed cleaning to : Pvt. Kenneth Davis /
end a letter, but here I haven't any | 30th T. S. S., Barr. 705
rifle so I guess I'll have tor close | Scott Field, Illinois
without an excuse. / J progressive mewspaper pub-
Sincerely yours, {_»” || lished every Friday morning ||
Robert A. Ray at its plant on Lehman Ave- ||
U3. M.C.A 8 nus, Dallas, Penna., by the
A.E. S., 44-214
Cherry Point, N. C. Dallas Post.
I got rather attached to that
A non-partisan liberal ||
Thanks for a swell letter,
Kenneth. May your Christmas
be a happy one in St. Louis,
and your New Year a Glorious
One. —Editor.
Entered
the post office at Dallas, Pa., under
as second-class matter at - |
rifle too, Bob. Nice to hear the Act of March 3, 1879. Subscrip- A Christmas Letter
i i tion rates: $2.00 a year; $1.25 six
| o ’ |
from you. agam., With all Good | months. No subscriptions accepted J Dear Mr. Risley:
Wishes of the Season.—Editor. | for less than six “months. Out-of- * y:
state subscriptions: $2.50 a year; Well here is a letter which I
3 six months - or SS. Back
| issues, more than one week old, 10e owed the Dallas Post for a long |
From A Lake Boy gas! . go | time. I think its my duty to write |
Single copies, at a rate of 5c each, |
| to you and tell you how things are
going just for payment for the Post
we get each week. I am sending
you a sort of a letter about a sol-
| dier to his mother at Xmas time
1and I think it expresses very well
| the thoughts of a soldier to his
| mother while away from home at
| Xmas time, so here it is:
You must not feel too bad
"about me not being home with
you this Christmas, I shall be
with you, Mom, in spirit. Just
now I am needed somewhere
else, to insure that American ° |
kids shall have THEIR Christ-
mas good times, not only this
can be obtained every Friday morn-
ing at the following newsstands:
Dallas—Tally-Ho Grille; Shavertown,
Evans’ Drug store; Trucksville
Leonard’s Store; Idetown Caves
Store.
When requesting a
dress subscribers are
their old as well as new
order to prevent delay.
We will not be responsible for the
return of unsolicited manuscripts,
photographs and editorial matter un-
addressed, stamped envelope
Dear Editor:
Have just received my 4th copy
of the Post, and believe me it’s real-
ly great to sit down and read about
all your old buddies, see what they
are doing and also catch up on the
home town news.
Since I left Harvey's Lake on De-
cember 8, I have had quite a bit
of traveling. After being made up
to look like a soldier at New Cum-
berland, I was sent to St. Peters-
burg, Florida, where I was classi-
fied, took exams to find out what
I was best qualified for. From there |
on to Clearwater, Florida, where I
change of ad-
asked to give
address in
less se
is enclosed, and in no case will we
be responsible for this material for
more than 30 days.
Editor and Publisher
HOWARD W, RISLEY
Editors
% Cadet Warren Hicks, U. S. A.
Associate Editor
MYRA ZEISER RISLEY
Contributing Editors
JOHN V. HEFFERNAN
FRED M. KIEFER
MRS. T. M. B. HICKS
received by basic training, and then
to my present camp, which is at
Scott Field, Illinois.
Am going to school 6 nights each
week from 11 P. M. until 7 A. M.,, |
studying to be a radio operator me-
chanic. The course in itself is quite |
difficult, but have also found it very
interesting, and like it a lot. The | EDITH BLEZ
course lasts 18 weeks, and consists | DR. F. B. SCHOOLEY | me away, but no matter where
| MARTHA HADSEL I am or what I am doing, this
! Christmas, this heart of mine
will go winging back over the
year, but’ for all time. God |
willing, Mom, dear, I ‘shall be |
back home with you and the |
folks NEXT Christmas, when, |
we all hope, the lights will be
on again.
Maybe it won't seem like the
same old Christmas, Mom, with
|
|
+ Pvt. Howell E. Rees, U.S.A. |
|
|
|
Mechanical Superintendent
that h ife was less than |
at perhaps my wife was le an | LLARRYF. POST
half witted. miles to you, the dearest moth-
“I shall have to punish you, ma- | Mechanical Department er in all the world. Like I said,
dame. I shall write a letter about || 3% §/Sgt. Alan C. Kistler, U.S.A. Mom, maybe I won’t be there
you to the newspapers.” with you in person, but, I shall
+ Norman Rosnick, U.S.N. . Al
“They won't print it,” she said, || J 5/Sgt. Alfred Davis, U.S.A. be therein spirits :
idiotically. * Pvt. Wm. Helmboldt, U.S.A. Heads up, Mom! You're an
She didn’t even comprehend the AMERICAN MOTHER. A sol-
courage of the American press! dier’s mother. Be proud in the
Louis Weitzenkorn.
|
|
| + In Armed Service.
(Continued on Page 8.)
ness twenty-five years ago, and Scrooge had taken up
where Marley had left off. However, up to the present,
Scrooge had been overwhelmingly successful.
It was quite late on Christmas Eve, and Scrooge,
flanked by his guards, of course, walked briskly through
the iron gateway of his gloomy house. Upon reaching the
door, he paused while one of his guards stepped forward
to fling it open. Quite by accident, Scrooge glanced at the
massive knocker, and what he saw there caused his eyes to
dilate. He could have sworn that three small dots and a
dash, embraced by a large V, had flashed across it for an
instant. Scrooge frowned.
“Bah, humbug,” he scoffed aloud, and stalked angrily
into the dreary house. Scrooge, however, was not a man
to be annoyed by an imagination, and having dismissed
his guards at the door of his bedchamber, entered and be-
gan pouring over some maps at his desk. The lateness of
the hour and the warmth of the room, however, soon
caused his head to nod with drowsiness . . .
The first Ghost was a short, stout man with a round,
cherubic face, a very bald head, and with a large cigar in
his mouth. He entered the room quite noiselessly, but
Scrooge woke with a start, being of necessity a light sleep-
er. His hand reached for the buzzer to call the guards, but
something in the visitor's face arrested him, and as al-
ways, he had his bullet-proof vest on.
“How did you get in here, and what do you want?”
Scrooge demanded suspiciously. ‘I know who you are.
Youare....?
“I am the Ghost of Christmas Past.” The phantom
took a long puff on his cigar and twirled his large, black
umbrella. “You have no need to fear me, Scrooge, since I
am a Spirit. . I would merely like to take you on a short
journey.
Before he could utter protest, Scrooge was whisked
out of his bedroom, out of the city and into a strange coun-
try. This last he could tell by the quietness of his sur-
roundings. They were in a small village.
“Where am I?” demanded Scrooge in bewilderment.
“And who are these people?” He pointed to a group of
peasant women with kerchiefs over their heads, talking
quietly among themselves. A number of them seemed to
be weeping despairingly. All had the unmistakable fea-
tures of Polish peasants.
“These,” said the Ghost, “are but a few of the people
whom you have wronged in the past five years.”
Scrooge sniffed disdainfully. ‘If you think that I am
remorseful, you are mistaken. Take me back to my country
immediately.”
“Be patient, Scrooge.
things beforehand.”
An instant later, Scrooge found himself in another
village, located on the jagged tooth of a great fjord. Fish-
ing boats lined the wharves. Scrooge noticed that most of
the fishermen were large and blond, definitely of the Scan-
dinavian type. Here, too, was a spirit of hopelessness and
resignation. At sight of Scrooge, terror, then hate, crossed
the faces of the native villagers, and they fled in the op-
posite direction.
Scrooge was annoyed. ‘You need not tell me what
this is, Spirit. I demand to be conducted home at once!”
“Very well,” said the Ghost of Christmas Past, “but
you have seen only a mere fraetion of the wrongs you have
done the people of the world.”
By some miracle Scrooge was once more alone in his
bedroom, and being too overcome by fatigue to ponder
over his experience, he fell exhausted upon his bed.
Hours later, Scrooge was awakened by a rough hand
on his shoulder. This time he gasped in real terror, but
the apparition placed its hand over his mouth. Scrooge
saw that he was a large, powerful man wish bushy black
hair and eyebrows, and a thick moustache. He was dressed
in military garb, and a pipe was clenched between his
teeth.
The Spirit uncovered Scrooge’s mouth. “If you have
come to kill me, Joe, I think you realize that I am very
closely guarded.” Scrooge was trembling visibly.
“TI am the Ghost of Christmas Present,” said the phan-
tom. “I will not harm you, Scrooge. In only wish to show
you a few things that are happening now. Come with me.”
The Ghost beckoned.
A moment later Scrooge found himself in the midst of
a large city. It was late afternoon, and icy winds swept
down from the north, making the cold unbearable. A
bloody battle was at that moment raging in the city. Great
fires were destroying the buildings, men lay dying in the
streets, and cannons boomed in the distance. Scrooge no-
ticed with distrust that large posters, bearing uncompli-
mentary likenesses of himself with his tiny black moustache
and hair hanging over one eye, had been placed in every
store window. Underneath these portraits the words
“Brother of Swine’ had been inscribed in Russian letters.
Soldiers appeared to be running to and fro in great haste.
At sight of Scrooge some stopped and saluted mechanical-
ly, while others uttered cries of triumph and lunged
toward him with their bayonets poised.
“Spirit, take me away from here!” cried Scrooge fren-
ziedly. :
The next instant, Scrooge was aware of burning heat
about him and sand under his feet which sharply con-
trasted to his previous experience. A vast desert stretched
itself before them. Here again was the scene of a great
battle. Observing closely, Serooge noted that the com-
batants were of many different nationalities: Arabs, Afri-
can Negroes, French, Egyptians, Italians, and one face
which, though more closely united than any other group,
seemed to be a melting pot of all nations. Scrooge noticed
to his horror that the army of his own superior race
seemed to be in full retreat on all fronts.
“I have seen quite enough, Spirit,” Scrooge mumbled un-
easily. “I--I must return to my country at once and issue
orders to correct these matters.” “There is one more place
to which I wish to conduct you,” said the Ghost.
With the speed of the wind, the apparition had trans-
ported Scrooge to a tiny house on the northern shores of
the Mediterranean.
“This, my dear Scrooge,” said the phantom, “is the
home of the proverbial Cratchits.” :
However, the house appeared deserted, and Scrooge
strode to the doorway and looked out on the street. It was
obvious that the population here was starving. Bodies of
the dead were being shoveled by the carload into wagons.
Mere skeletons of people were poking through garbage
cans lining the streets. Tiny, starved babies cried weakly.
There certainly were no ‘“‘Cratchits’ to be seen. They were
all out foraging for food, or dead long since. Occasionally
an arrogant, well fed “Aryan” would walk through the
streets and jeer at the famished populace. Scrooge stared
at the scene scornfully, unemotionally. :
“Starvation,” said the Ghost, “makes brothers of all
beings. But you ....”
His voice trailed off, and Scrooge once more found:
I wish to show you a few other
(Continued on Page Seven)