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PACE TWO THE POST, FRIDAY, OCTOBER 19, 1951 ; Pent End
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Gin, Gur Poet's Corner || THE DALLAS POST YOU KNOW ME |
of _58|| “More than a newspaper, BY B d N
. ors lie IROL ES =
cud Transition @ community institution Al, Himself 3 arnyar otes
(In Memoriam to Ethel Still Ritts) ESTABLISHED 1580 - = i
ecllien How sweet can be transition Member Pennsylvania Newspaper This baby never cries. Her I am about to start this column with Hank Peterson’s tale dbout
From this, our earthly sphere mother, as a baby, never cried the “Yankee Clipper” when the dreadnaught enters with tears in
By William J. Robbins Jr.
Stream pollution can take place®
in a few minutes or over a period
of years. It can happen in either
a small or large stream. No matter
the size of stream or the time in-
volved, man is the culprit for such
transformation.
There is, as authorities of waters
know, a certain amount of wash
from roadways, meadows, etc.; but
the chance of disease by such pol-
lution is very rare.
In a case of small stream pollu-
tion, the Bowman Creek incident
can be referred to as a sound ex-
ample. Here was a stream as pure
as any in the State that was con-
taminated in minutes. For this
act the offenders were apprehend-
ed and fined for such negligence,
and so the case was closed. It was
estimated that the fine amounted
to about 10c per fish, for those
that were found dead. Hundreds
were not found, however, for our
scavenger birds found them first.
As for large stream pollution no
better example can be found any-
‘where in the U. S. than our own
Susquehanna river.
Not more than 100 years ago the
water of this stream could be used
for public consumption without
filter and chlorine treatment. Today
the story is wery different with the
chance of disease contraction ex-
cellent.
Many people are still living that
have as memories, the boat rides
on the paddle wheelers that plied
between Butzbaughs landing at
Nanticoke and Pittston at the north
end.of the run. The cool air over
the river was invigorating, and
many of our early valley residents
looked forward to a Sunday boat
ride to put them in shape for the
week abead. This era is just sixty
or so years ago, about the time
coal companies started to dump
mine waters and other waste ma-
terials into the river channel.
My memories of a much later
date are of Finch’'s boat house
that was anchored in the river on
the east bank at Northampton
street. Flat boats and canoes could
be rented and an enjoyable time
assured. Swimming at the Wilkes-
Barre City—maintained beach in
Nesbitt park is also fresh in mind,
and standing on the old Market
strect bridge and watching fisher-
man land Susquehanna Salmon,
(not carp,) and bass that would
deserve mention in any one’s an-
nals.
Why are all these things just
memories? There are several rea-
sons. Every industry and every
Hamlet, Borough, Town, or City,
on or in the wicinity of the Sus-
quehanna water shed is using this
stream as a sewage disposal plant.
Sulphur water eroded the caulking
of the river steamers, making main-
tenance too high to continue as a
profitable business, so the business
folded up.
Finch was compelled to close his
Boat House, for in reconditioning
his boats each year he found a
greater amount of solidified human
waste that had to be scraped from
the keels. The Board of Health
closed the swimming beach because
of epidemics. There were several
typhoid cases, but luckily for the
community, milder diseases pre-
dominated. No Susquehanna sal-
mon or bass. They cannot survive
in ‘sulphur water, and if one hap-
pens to get out of its habitat and
is caught, the flavor is gone, or to
be more explicit, it tastes and
smells like sewer gas.
Are filter. and sewage disposal
plants the remedial measure for
this condition? The answer is,
partly. If such a program were
completed within the next three
to five years, I'm doubtful if fish-
ing in the river at Wilkes-Barre
would reach the level of fifty or
seventy-five years ago.
Many factors are involved. The
spray programs on field and wood-
lot such as the one that drove fish
into migration down our river a
few years ago would have to be car-
ried out by well planned spot spray
methods. Ichthyologists would like
us to believe that this migration
was caused by the lack of oxygen
in the water, but they forgot to
mention that most fish that par-
ticipated were in their adult stage,
and reached this age in waters
from whence they came. The
change of temperature and mineral
contents of water, caused by quick
drainage: from improperly tilled
lands are .two more factors to be
reckoned with. Rural residents can
reduce these conditions. Survey
and restocking would also enter
the picture, and if this work pro-
gressed with the same speed as
the Harvey Lake survey, I'm doubt-
(Continued on Page Seven)
Unto that fairer land, so free
From pain and anguished tear.
How sweet to stand in glory
clothed
Before our Father’s throne
And know the joyous welcome
there,
On reaching safely home.
How sweet can be the glad release
As from a tired form,
He lifts at last, the heavy cross,
So long and bravely born,
How sweet to feel His healing
hand
Upon a tired brow
And know the great Physician
Is taking over now.
How sweet then is transition
From this, our earthly sphere
To where is naught of sorrow,
Nor pain, nor care, nor fear.
How sweet can be transition,
How good at close of day
To find the Master waiting,
At end of weary way.
by
Mrs. Fredric Anderson
October 15, 1951.
Toll Gate Lions Make
Progress With Scrap
J. Lear Wagner, chairman of the
Triple Scrap Drive, Old Toll Gate
Lions Club, reports great progress
and support for the project.
Scrap metal, tires, old batteries,
etc. are being stored in Bert
Smith’s barn, in Trucksville.
Atty. Herman Cardoni, former
assistant district attorney, and a
student of the life of Christopher
Columbus, will speak at the regular
meeting Tuesday evening, 6:30 at
Colonial Inn. Atty, Cardoni is an
authority on the life of Christo-
pher Columbus and his address
promises to be exceptionally in-
teresting. g
Old Toll Gate Lions Club is also
completing arangements for the
Turkey Party in Shavertown Hose
House November 15. Robert Wil-
liams is chairman of the com-
mittee. :
Li& hg.ig
Guest Speaker
Rev. William Williams, rector
Prince of Peace Church, will be the
speaker Monday night before St.
David's Society at Wilkes-Barre
Y. M. C. A. Donald Evans, vice
president, will preside.
ca
Ta
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il
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A non-partisan liberal
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Editor and Publisher
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ONLY
| YESTERDAY
From The Post of ten and
twenty years ago this week.
From The Issue of October 17, 1941
Chief Warden Charles Stookey
is pleased with success of the black-
out Friday night, 99.99% success-
ful. Only six violations were noted
for the entire Back Mountain. Sig-
nals went through rapidly and were
obeyed.
B. Frank Bulford, only surviving
signer of Dallas Borough charter,
will celebrate his 86th birthday
on Monday with an open house.
Jackie Yaple, four-year-old son
of Mr. and Mrs. John Yaple, Goss
Manor, has infantile paralysis, but
is getting along well. This is the
first case for two years, since the
son of Mr. and Mrs. Earl Weidner
was stricken.
Dr. G. K. Swartz is leaving his
Dallas practice to. enter public
health service in Washington, D. C.
Herbert Lundy, defeated in the
Republican primaries, will run on
the democratic ticket against Wil-
son Ryman for tax collector of Dal-
las Township.
Round steak, 29 c¢ per lb; let-
tuce, two heads 15c; skinless
Franks, 25c per lb; tub butter, 2
lbs 75c; combination storm and
screen door with bronze screen,
$6.98; eight pound capacity wash-
ing machine, $49.95.
Nancy Hagney, Kansas, and
Charles Mattingly, Dallas, were
married Thursday evening in
| Wichita.
Florence Miller, Dallas, will wed
John Gaughan, Jr., Wilkes-Barre,
today at noon.
Charlotte Cease, Trucksville, be-
came the bride of Dr. Hamilton
Young, Plymouth, Tuesday evening.
Amanda J. Johnson, 84, died at
Beaumont Sunday morning. It was
her parents who cleared the land
where the Sterling Farm is now
situated. She was born in a log
cabin near Harveys Lake before
the Civil War.
Fifteen boys won the « Green-
Hand degree at Dallas Township
school Friday evening.
Subject to prior sale, we offer
a limited amount of
LUZERNE CO. GAS
& ELECTRIC CO.
4; % preferred stock
at market
Yielding over 4%
BOOKER BROS., Inc.
Miners Nat'l Bank Bldg.
PHONE 2-3121
either. We had five kids, we stll
have, but they are not kids now.
Well, one time when we had a
long week-end we took a trip to
Atlantic City when the mother of
this baby that never cries was
only six months old. We called in
a friend to take care of the elder
four kids, and with our wife started
off with the mother of the baby
that never cries.
On reaching our hotel room we
pulled out a bureau drawer and
our wife made a comfortable crlb
with some pillows and stuff and
placed our yeungest child in it.
We asked the woman in charge
of the floor to watch her while we
took a stroll on the boardwalk.
We paid her a dollar, a large
tip in those days. She didn’t want
to pass this up, but she was very
much alarmed.
“What will I do,” she exclaimed,
“If the baby cries?”
“Don’t worry,” we assured her,
“She never cries. She'll just lie
there counting her fingers. All you
have to do is get her out of here
in case of fire.”
So we took our stroll and came
back in an hour and there she
was, wide awake as we had left
her, cooing away and counting her
fingers.
She grew up, married and had
a baby. It is this baby that never
cries. When it was three months
old and never cried, her parents
were worried that she could not
see, .then as the baby grew older
they were alarmed that she could
not hear.
“Why all this worrying?” we
asked.
“Well, she never
swered her mother.
We assured her that everything
was alright. Her only fault was
that she took after her mother in
never crying, We were right. The
baby is five months old now and
she can see and she can hear but
she never cries. .
That is, hardly ever.
Last week we were invited to
her christening. We hadn't seen
her in eight weeks, but there she
| was awake, cooing and counting
her fingers. This was going to be
the grandest baby ever christened.
She awoke as usual Sunday
morning, talking to herself, waiting
for her mother to prepare the
bath. She was bathed, fed and
dressed, laughing away with not
a care. Were we going to be proud
of this grandchild! :
She was brought through the
ante room door and smiled at the
whole congregation. Our wife had
to place a restraining hand on our
arm to stop us from getting up
right there and announcing to all,
“This is our grandchild.”
The first hymn was started. This
baby lifted up her head, took one
alarmed look around and let out
a yell that told all that this was
not the sort of thing she expected.
She never stopped. They took her
out to the ante room and all during
the service we could hear that
baby. She was christened some-
how, but never stopped protesting.
The minister tried to console us by
stating that she would undoubtedly
be an excellent help to the choir
when she grows up.
That isn’t all.
We saw a beautiful leg of lamb
go into the oven in the morning
and on reaching the table fall
apart, so the mother of this baby:
that never cries, cried.
Then it started to rain. Did we
say rain? It just poured. We were
drenched packing our grips in the
car for an early start from New
(Continued on Page Seven)
LOOK
_For The Name
REALTOR
when buying or selling
cries,” an-
real estate.
The principal interest
of a realtor is to ‘see
that the transaction,
large or small, is com-
pleted in an intelligent,
ethical manner.
Your local realtor
D. T. SCOTT JR.
Dallas 224-R-13
D. T. SCOTT
and Sons
REALTORS
10 East Jackson Street
Wilkes-Barre, Pa.
her eyes.
The shades of night is falling fast and I am four days late with
the Notes. But it makes no difference that my conscience is puckered
up like a month’s old lemon!
“What?” says she, “are you sitting there for at the typewriter
when Blaze and Rogue have run away all day. Maybe they're killed
on the highway. I wish I could be so phlegmatic!”’ Which is her
way of saying, “Why don’t you do something?”
And then we are off to the races, Notes or no Notes, like a couple
of bloodhounds on a new scent; but a good bloodhound stays on the
scent and don’t trail off after no bitches.
I am convinced that Rogue will come home in due course; but the
thoroughbred Blaze, an Irish Setter at that, may take some 6nding
and I say as much.
Off and on for fifty years I have lived with dogs, long before the
dreadnaught and I tied’ up in the same harbor. I have slept with
dogs, doctored them, petted them, loved them, and shared my food
with them; lost, found, buried them; but of all I ever see, there is
no doubt, the smartest is a mongrel. I have owned two of them,
Tyke, now departed, and Rogue, who I don’t own but who adopted
me. I am sure Houdoni will come home—but Blaze is another story.
We are off to the kitchen for a bologna sandwich before starting
the search when Hallowe'en vandals throw apples on the porch and
one shatters the glass in the yard lamp. I am out to the barn in a
hurry for the car and the spotlight to find them, and it is whilst I am
cruising slowly, spotting the bushes and brushes on Norton Awenue
where they ran, that I hear a great yapping very much like Blaze.
I return to the house and there find the dreadnaught torn be-
tween canine affection and an injured property owner's lust for
vengence. But we take up the first scent again and start out looking
for dogs. Not, however, before I take up the message vine and in-
quire of Charlie Heminway, Fred Dodson, Clint Ide and Fred Broken-
shire if they have seen a beautiful Irish Setter and a plain black and
white dog with a black patch on his eye, which is Rogue. They are
no help.
On the way to the car there is young Davy Estus waiting on the
sidewalk. He always turns up at such times to report nature's do-
ings, a grey squirrel killed, a flock of wild geese, a robin out of its
nest or a gartersnake in the strawberry barrel. He is ready for
action and hops in the back seat.
We cruise hither and yon, listening yon and hither for the plain-
tive yelp of a bitch Irish Setter, an insistant yelp which grates on
. your nerves and the neighbor’s when she is confined to her yard
+ but which is very helpful on this moonlit evening when she is lost.
On Machell avenue we can hear it coming from the direction of
the high school. But on Franklin street, with the motor off and
the lights out, we can’t hear because of traffic on the lower road, and
when the traffic ceases, someone is talking; so my patience is worn
thin as the seat of my gaberdines. But the dreadnaught is cool and
collected and gets in some nice punches in the infighting.
Then above the over rated quiet of a Dallas evening, we hear
more yelping from the hillside back of Carrie Caproon’s house, and
jumping to a quick conclusion, Davy says, “That's Bill Jeter’s dog."
I am now sure it is Blaze trapped behind the Newberry Estate's
guarding fence and says as much, but I am overruled in the Council
of War that follows and although I have now driven to the main
entrance on Pioneer Avenue am forced by youthful enthusiasm and
women’s intuition to turn around and drive up to Bill Jeter’s place,
where the short-haired pointers are having their meeting."
We can see by the empty pen, that it is not Bill Jeter's dog that
is breaking the evening calm and that is one barrier swept away
from my conviction that it is Rogue and the bitch setter that is
somewhere on the Newberry property.
Davy knows the countryside well, even after dark, he and young
Murray Scureman having played cowboys and Indians all over that
end of Dallas. So leaving the dreadnaught to save her nylons in the
car, we take off into the underbrush and are soon up against south-
western end of the Newberry fence. And we are no sooner at the
fence than Davy jumps back four feet as a cub bear tears out of
darkness, so he thinks. But it if no cub bear. It is Blaze on the
other side of the eight-foot fence and with barbed wire at the top
there is no way to get her over. Rogue is not with her. She has no
collar, is very nervous and no doubt thirsty, and it is two miles
around to reach the entrance. So the dreadnaught comes down from
the car to stand by Blaze and hold her attention, whilst Davy and
I drive back to Pioneer Avenue and into the Newberry Preserve.
There is nobody home at Bill Higgins and nobody in the big house
though the lights is on and we are trespassers. But we are sure
neither is hankering for the company of ‘a lost Irish setter and a
black and white dog with a black spot over his eye. Which is very
sensible. So Davy and I take off in the Dodge and follow the blazed
trail around the inside of the fence, through ferns and rhodendrons,
over brush, bushes and rocks. It is very large this Newberry Estate
and the rabbits sound like mountain lions in the dry oak leaves
even in bright moonlight. Then we find a place where the road that
skirts the inside of the fence is only for antelope and Davy and I
leave the Dodge marooned on top of a rock and walk through the
forbidding woods in the direction of Parrish Heights and Bill Jeter’s
back yard. And there we find Blaze on our side of the fence and
the dreadnaught on the other standing ankle deep in the stuff that
makes roses grow redder. We are mauled with affection by Blaze. *
The dreadnaught said there is no need for us to drive around and
pick her up; she will take a shortcut home. So the three of us, Davy,
Blaze and I start back along the fence for the car.
And there would be no more to this story, but when we get home
and are taking Blaze to her kennel, who should greet us but Granny.
“I have fed Rogue, he has gone to bed for the night; and here’s some
food you can give to Blaze.” “Hell”, says I, “a thoroughbred that
can’t get over a nine foot fence and find her way home is too darn
dumb to eat”—and you know, I think I saw Rogue wink that eye
that’s hidden by the black spot.
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