_PAGE TWO
THE POST, FRIDAY, MARCH 25, 1949
THE PRESIDENT
The National Scere
AND CONGRESS
J. E. Jones
Washington, D. C., March—Washington reporters have been pre-
dicting that President Truman will take his legislative program to the
country if it fails in Congress. He says the “special interests are using
every trick they can think of to defeat our labor policy.” Evidently
the Congress doesn’t agree with the President that the present labor
law is “an insult to the working
men and women of this country,”
who he insists, “will not rest until
it is destroyed.” The President has
political ideas about labor laws
that are not accepted in either
branch of Congress. He has no more
desire to work for the interest of
the people than Senators and Rep-
resentatives — they are servants.
first, of the People—and indepen-
dent of so-called ‘special inter-
ests.”
President Truman has suggested
that the Government jump head-
first into what he calls safeguard-
ing “critically short supplies” such
as steel; and if necessary to author-
ize Government loans for the ex-
pansion of production facilities ‘if
action by private construction fails
to meet our needs.” Right on top
of this the President recommends
“that the Congress enact new addi-
tional tax legislation for $4 billion
of Government revenue, principally
“from additional corporate taxes.”
From this position he branches
off into all phases of American
life including ‘surplus requests”
for legislation relating to housing,
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Member: F.D.LC.
education, health and social sec-
urity.
Everyone, even the Republicans,
has wanted President Truman to
succeed with his Administration.
It is too bad but it is nevertheless
true that Democratic Congressmen
don’t see things in the same light
as the President.
What's going to happen ? Nobody
seems to have the correct ans-
wer to this question but you may
be sure that there is going to be
“a hot time in old Washington”
during the next few months.
One thing that everybody seems
to agree about is that the Mar-
shall Plan is making good—and for
that reason Congress will contin-
ue the support of it with more
billions of dollars.
The President proclaims that:
“The business cycle is man-made;
and men of good will working to-
gether can smooth it out.” ‘Rah!
But the Congress had better go
very slow on proposals made by the
‘White House, for the Government
to control bank credit, regulate
speculation on the commodity ex-
changes, extend and strengthen
rent controls; impose price ceilings
for scarce commodities, etc,
Little Haiti Busy Helping Itself
Taxpayers as well as the brass
on Capitol Hill are following with
keen interest the plans for the
Little World's Fair being held by
one of our neighbors to the South
—the Republic of Haiti. The oc-
casion is the two-hundredth anni-
versary next winter of the founding
of Port-au-Prince, its Capitol City.
The point of interest to Americans,
however, is the fact that Haiti,
one of the under-priviledged in the
family of nations, is making a mo-
mentous effort to pull itself up by
its own boot-straps in staging this
Bi-Centennial Exposition. “Might
not other nations do likewise and
lessen their demands for American
help ?”, they ask.
To tax-weary folks in the forty-
eight States it comes as welcome
news that there is one little
country too busy helping itself to
find time to put the bite on Uncle
Sam!
Kettering Is Always Right
“There are more opportunities for
more people than ever before in
the history of the world,” according
to an article in that fine family
paper, the Palm Beach Daily News,
Palm Beach, Florida. That is a
prize paper that has long cooper-
ated with the newspaper syndicate
Letter that you are now reading, &
(Continued on Page Six)
A
to a queen’s taste in
watching.
electric cooking now?
available now.
How Do You Like To Cook? |
Reddy Kilowatt says:
“YOUR ELECTRIC RANGE
MAKES IT EASY ANY WAY”
Every woman has certain dishes that she does
Whatever your dish, however you cook it, the
new electric range in your kitchen does it your
way, and to perfection.
speeds make top-of-the-range cooking easy.
The Broiler takes care of quick cooking. The
oven clock turns heat on and off automatically
so a whole meal can be cooked without
Why not start enjoying these advantages of
glad to show you the new Electric Ranges
LUZERNE COUNTY GAS |
AND ELECTRIC CORP.
her own special way.
Five or six heating
Your dealer will be
| compartments,
| and Lord knows what else. The kids
that I first became furniture con-
scious and ever since, Norm has
been kept more or less unconscious
paying the bills as I have run the
gamut from eighteeth century ma-
hogany to my present love, country
pine, maple and cherry. I found a
very congenial friend for this time
consuming hobby and we helped
keep Stoher and Fister in Scranton
going financially for a couple of
years. Our weekly jaunts to Scran-
ton annoyed our husbands no end
not to mention Mr. Quinn—the long
suffering clerk who had learned not
to depend on us for his weekly
bonus. Norm soon learned that
when I came downstairs with my
hat on, a trip to Scranton was the
inevitable. He didn’t pay too much
attention until a rather big bill
arrived and did I laugh when he
made the check out to “Thorn and
Thistle” instead of ‘Stoher and
Fister”. Norm always has been that
conveniently half deaf type who
hear everything you don't want
heard and nothing you want heard;
so I never let on that there was
anything wrong with the name
“Thorn and Thistle.” Mr. Quinn, the
salesman the store had assigned to
us for our weekly forays, was com-
pletely lacking in humor and wasted
no time in calling my attention to
the error. In fact he produced the
check and waved it in front of
our noses in a very injured manner.
Margie looked it over and said,
“Mr. Quinn, any dope can tell that
that means Stoher and Fister,” and
Mr. Quinn’s feelings for us took a
quick lurch into reverse.
One day we arrived in Scranton
later than usual and as fate would
have it, Mr. Quinn was out to lunch.
When we two crashed through the
swinging doors in our usual quiet
and unobtrusive manner the whole
place changed tempo and we swore
later that they must have seen us
coming. Women clerks started
dusting in a fury, gentlemen clerks
studied the intricate turnings on
the legs of sofas and no one let
on that two customers had arrived.
Undaunted we took the elevator
up to our favorite haunt, the Whit-
ney maple house, and made our-
selves at home. The moment Mr,
Quinn came in from lunch he was
shoved bodily into the closest ele-
vator with instructions to locate
us, no matter what. He overtook us
in the living room of the maple
house where we were relaxing on
wing chairs by the fake fireplace.
We had been sitting there so long
that Margie had become very fond
of her chair and almost had decided
to buy it; not only for a conversa-
tion piece, but to establish her-
self as a potential customer of
Stoher and Fister. Margie caught
sight of Mr. Quinn as he emerged
from the elevator and started to-
ward the maple house at a brisk
trot. He slowed down as he ap-
proached us and Margie said to me
in an undertone, ‘Watch this re-
action.” She spoke out like a wo-
man who had bought many chairs,
on many occasions in many differ-
ent places, “Mr. Quinn, I'll take
this chair.” With that Mr. Quinn
sank onto the sofa and we all
looked at each other in an unbe-
lieving manner. Margie was show-
ing great courage, as her husband
couldn't see the necessity of two
people having more than two chairs
and this would make chair num-
ber three. All I could do was to
mutter, “wait until Sparks hears
about this.” I was interested in a
chair, too, but we decided to wait
until the following week to buy
it, as we didn’t want to spoil Mr.
Quinn. We took the elevator down
and sailed by the clerks who were
no longer dusting and waved a fond
goodbye to Mr. Quinn and promised
in loud tones to return the follow-
ing week,
Meanwhile Norm had caught
some of our enthusiasm and hied
himself down to a furniture store
and bought me the most hideous
hope chest I ever hope to see. The
day it arrived I couldn’t believe
my eyes and I tried to convince
the truck driver that he had made
a mistake as I didn’t think Norm
capable of such horrible taste. It
was a monstrosity complete with
cedar lining, many different little
an electric clock,
were bug-eyed when they came
home from school and I heard
Wade tell Norma that it really
was a fancy coffin with lots of carv-
ing.
As I prepared dinner that night I
was pondering on how I could tell
Norm in a kind way that I couldn’t
live in the same house with that
relic from a screwball’s renaissance.
He came home all smiles and asked
me how I. liked it. I said, “Fine,
but they forgot the glasses and
ice bucket.” He looked very hurt
“and said, “It’s a hope chest, not a
(Continued on Page Seven)
And Six Dependents “More than a mewspaper, The Bo ok Worm
, i ht CHE
By Phyllis Smith a community institution The Bookworm is conducted for
He ESTABLISHED 1889 and in the interest of Back Moun-
1. tain Memorial Library.
The Hopeless Chest Member Pennsylvania Newspaper
Publishers’ Association
I think it was in Shavertown
A non-partisan liberal
progressive newspaper pub-
lished every Friday morning
at the Dallas Post plant
Lehman Avenue, Dallas
Pennsylvania.
- Entered as second-class matter at
the post office at Dallas, Pa., under
the Act of March 3, 1879. Subscrip-
tion rates: $2.50 a year; $1.50 six
months.. No subscriptions accepted
issues, more than one week old, 10¢
Single copies, at a rate of 6¢ each,
can be obtained every Friday morn-
ing at the following newsstands:
Dallas— Tally-Ho Grille, Bowman's
Restaurant; Shavertown, Evans’
Drug Store; Trucksville—Gregory’s
Store; Shaver’'s Store; ldetown—
Caves Store; Huntsville— Barnes
Store; Alderson—Deater’'s Store;
Fernbrook—Reese’s Store.
a change of
are asked to
as new address.
ad-
give
When requesting
dress subscribers
their old as well 3
Allow two weeks for changes of ad-
dress or new subscription to be placed
on mailing list.
We will not be responsible for the
return of unsolicited manuscripts,
photographs and editorial matter un-
less self-addressed, stamped envelope
is enclosed, and in no case will we
be responsible for this material for
more than 30 days.
National display advertising rates
80c per column inch.
Local display advertising rates 50¢
per column inch; specified position 60c
per inch.
Classified rates 3c
Minimum charge 50c.
Unless paid for at advertising rates,
we can give no assurance that an-
nouncements of plays, parties, rummage
sales or amy affairs for raising money
will appear in a specific issue. In no
case will such items be taken on
Thuradavs.
Preference will in all instances be
given to editorial matter which has not
previously appeared in publication.
per word.
Editor and Publisher
HOWARD W. RISLEY
Associate Editor
MYRA ZEISER RISLEY
Contributing Editor
MRS. T. M. B. HICKS
Sports Editor
WILLIAM HART
—_—
YOU KNOW ME
Al, Himself
oT
& ini
Good evening, have you finished
dunking doughnuts at pyramid
clubs yet?
Just as we were congratulating
ourselves that all of our friends
thought us smart enough to keep
out of pyramid clubs, Pete Delaney
called and broke the chain by in-
viting us to join.
We said, “no thanks,” but Pete
was so insistant that we took time
over the phone to explain that if
he won the maximum amount of
$2048 it would mean that 2047
persons would have to contribute
a dollar apiece and his own dollar
would complete the fund. Now,
those 2047 persons have each given
a dollar and haven't received any-
thing yet, so they will continue
the pyramid in order that they
should each receive $2048. So if
you multiply 2047 by $2048 the
result will be that 4,192,256 per-
sons must throw in a buck. Yet
those millions of persons each want
to receive the full prize so you
will have to multiply that fig-
ure by 2048 and you get—well,
you do it, we have run out of
doughnuts. $
The guy that started these pyra-
mid clubs must have been related
to the man who stepped out of a
dark doorway one morning about
3 a.m. when we were going home
after finishing a night shift on the
New York Tribune and held a
razor near our throat and asked
us if we would like to buy a good
sharp $5.00 steel blade for a dol-
lar, We never before or since
parted with a buck so quickly. In-
stead of telling our family the
truth and having the incident re-
ported to the police we lied, ex-
plaining what a wonderful bar-
gain we had picked up. Our father
took one look at the razor and
threw it in the ash can. The rib-
bing we got from our brothers
lasted for years.
Then there was the time we
bought 1000 shares of mining stock
at three cents a share and spent
almost $30 more in buying Wall
Street Journals to see what the
stock was quoted at. We have
reached the point now where we
would rather give $5 away than
spend a penny trying to get some-
thing for nothing.
We remember one time when the
grandfather of the one who thought
up pyramid clubs rode up to a
group of us kids shooting marbles
on a street corner. He said he
needed money badly to get home
quickly to a sick mother and there-
fore was going to raffle off his
motor cycle for ten cents a chance.
Most of us ran home to get the
dime and a lot succeeded. We didn’t
so we were chosen to pull the
for less than six months. Out-of
state subscriptions: $3.00 a year;
$2.00 six months or less. Back |
progresses flashbacks carry the nar-
(Continued on Page Seven)
— as
Raintree County |
Dale Warmouth ;
Just about one year ago Ross
Lockridge Jr., a youthful professor
at Indiana University, had reached
a point that must have been near
the top of his dreams-come-true.
His novel, Raintree County had
won the MGM novel award of
$150,008. The fruit of six years
hard laboring, Raintree County was
without doubt one of the year’s
finest books. As an epic of Amer-
ica, it was a mighty work of art
and history beautifully woven to-
gether. Lockridge had been com-
pared with Thomas Wolfe as a
powerful novelist and a recorder
of the American Dream. Yet on
March 7, 1948, Ross Lockridge, Jr.,
leaving behind him a wife and four
small children, committed suicide.
To read Raintree County would
indicate that he was destined to
become one of this country’s top
authors. This huge volume (1060
pages) is the story of young John
Shawnessy who seeks throughout
his life to find some answer to his
being, to unravel the secret of Rain-
tree County and of America. Writ-
ten within an ingenious framework
the novel has a greater feeling of |
depth than the author could have l
given it by writing it straight
through in continuous narrative.
The entire novel takes place on
July 4, 1892, when John Shawnessy
is already a man well.into middle
age, a solid citizen who is happily
married and a father. As the day
rative into Shawnessy’s childhood,
youth and early adulthood. Young
John, as a Civil War soldier, is on
hand for many important, historical
events, including Sherman’s march
to the sea, and later, the assassina-
tion of Lincoln at Ford's Theater.
Since he is a humble person of the
soil instead of an incredible super-
hero, all these events seem plausi-
ble, and the reader has the feeling
that Johnny Shawnessy really had
been there.
Raintree County is one of several
novels confiscated last year in Phil-
adelphia as “obscene and blas-
phemous”. It is hard to under-
stand how any reader, other than
a Puritan, can find anything in it
to bear out these charges. While
it is true that sex appears without
the usual vulgar camouflages of to-
day's literature, and that discus-
sions of God and morality which
occupy much space do not conform
to the starchiest concepts of some
straightlaced bluenoses, it is equally
true that taken as a whole it is a
most beautiful and reverent novel.
The whole secret of determining
whether a book is or is not obscene
or pornographic. is to read it in
its entirety rather than pick out
the “juicy” portions. The latter
method seems to be the favorite of
the censors who have sought to
ban practically every book which
gets outside the pattern set by, say,
Elsie Dinsmore.
Not to be overlooked is the love
story of Raintree County which is
one of the tenderest to be found
anywhere in modern literature.
The illfated love of Johnny for Nell
Gaither moves the reader strangely,
without in the least descending into
sentimentality or mawkishness. So,
too, is the reader moved by John
Shawnessy’s marriage to mad Sus-
anna Drake who is a symbol, it
seems, of her own tainted pre-
Civil War South. The tragedy of
his first marriage is balanced
splendidly against the heartwarm-
ing success of his later marriage to
By the time this column appears in print, I hope all of its readers
will have had an opportunity to read John Gunther's “Death Be
Not Proud” or at least the condensation of it that appeared in The
Ladies’ Home Journal or The Reader’s Digest.
“Death Be Not Proud” made a deep impression upon me, as it
must have upon all who read it; for I have known three persons
who have gone through the awful ordeal, the suspense and the terror,
of being condemned with brain tumors. Two are dead. One is living.
I had half-heartedly accepted the chairmanship of the American
Cancer Society campaign for Funds before I read ‘Death Be Not
Proud”. But the news that clinched my determination to make the
drive a crusade, even if we have to skip an issue of The Post, came
Tuesday morning in a letter from Jimmy Law of Bloomsburg.
It read:
“Dear Howard:
On the card announcing. the Dallas Outpost meeting of Caldwell
Consistory at Irem Temple Country Club is a note from Harry Ohl-
man suggesting that I bring your old Seminary roommate Ray Schell
along ”
The telephone rang and I dropped the letter on the desk to pick
up the receiver. Before the conversation was completed some one
interrupted to ask about a proof; and there were a dozen other de-
tails that prevented my finishing Jimmy's letter.
But the thought kept flitting through my mind. So Ray's coming
to the Consistory dinner at the Country Club Tuesday night.
Why the old bum!
I recalled the fuss both Jimmy and Ray had created among the
Dallas delegation a year ago when I was a day late going through
the degrees at Bloomsburg. Both of these men whom I hadn’t seen
for twenty years buttonholed the men from Dallas, “Where's that
Risley? When's he coming? By the time Risley reached Blooms-
burg he had been sufficiently paged to make him feel like a visiting
celebrity.
The minute we walked in the door Ray pounced on me and urged
me to come upstairs to the costume room where he was aiding in
the makeup of those who were to present the degrees.
Sitting there on a costume trunk among the wardrobe cupboards,
we recalled the old days at Wyoming Seminary. The nights we had
lain awake in our beds in a corner room on the fourth floor and
talked with boyish enthusiasm of our plans for the future.
The blond, stocky Ray, was a stalwart of the line on the football
team and president of the Christian Association. A veteran of World
War I before he entered Seminary, he was mature and had a steady-
ing influence on his younger roommates.
As we sat there on the trunk reminiscing, no one would have
suspected we had been twenty years apart. He brought me up to
date on the years between.
After leaving Seminary he had matriculated at Colgate and at
Ursinus, graduating from the latter school where he was captain of
football during his senior year. He received his Master's Degree
from Bucknell and for seventeen years had been cdach and instruc-
tor in mathematics at Bloomsburg High School. Then he was stricken
during the latter part of 1945 with a brain tumor.
He spoke of the symptoms, of the steady failure of his mental
faculties, of the loss of memory; and then of the marvelous operd-
tion at Pennsylvania Hospital that cleared his mind.
He spoke of his first feeble efforts after the operation to coordinate
the movements of those once powerful leg and arm muscles . . . .
and then of the glorious day when he worked out mathematics prob-
lems and at last knew that he was on the road to recovery.
“A man returned from the dead”, he said,
of modern surgery.”
He showed me the pictures of his wife and his lovely girl and boy
which he carried in his wallet .. . and we promised each other when
we parted that we would get together soon again.
“through the marvel
That was more than a year ago; and now from Jimmy's letter,
we were sure he would make good his part of the promise. Tuesday
night at the Club we would have another reunion.
I returned to Jimmy's letter lying on the desk, rereading the open
paragraph . . .
“On the card is a note . . . . suggesting that I bring your old Sem-
inary roommate, Ray Schell along. . .
Then the words blurred before my eyes.
“I'm sorry to learn that you did not know about Ray’s untimely
death a week ago. I am enclosing the newspaper article. He had
an operation for a brain tumor three years ago and never fully re-
covered, although he had got back to teaching for a while. It is a
shame that a good fellow like Ray should be taken so young.”
Alfred D. Bronson
FUNERAL DIRECTOR
SWEET VALLEY, PA.
AMBULANCE SERVICE
“As near as your telephone”
363-R-4
FACET
Esther Root.
At times Raintree County (which
by the way, is the name of myth- |
ical Indiana home of the hero) is |
difficult to read with its long windy |
passages of rhetoric and the reader
is inclined to skip along until narra-
tive resumes, as in novels by Thom-
as Wolfe. In style and outline it
is one of the most advanced books |
of our generation. It goes beyond
the present day machine-produced
novel by long strides. This is a
refreshing change, and yet it may
prove irritating to the conservative
reader. Raintree County opens a
whole new area of fiction, and it is
the initial trumpet call of tomor-
rows’s literature. The world will
feel keenly the loss of the man who
wrote Raintree County, and per-
haps the enigma he left us with
his suicide will never be answered.
No one will ever know what sort
of novelist Ross Lockridge Jr., would
have been had he continued his
(Continued on Page Seven)
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Barnyard Notes § 3 1
EE
——