"EDITORIAL
the pause that refreshes
Ring out the old, ring in the new. Time to step
back from life and gain perspective; another year
is over, another year begun.
There are those who would advise against
making new year’s resolutions. ‘Bah!’ they
grump, ‘“‘what good are resolutions? Make ‘em one
day, break ‘em the next. Why bother?”’
Because they feel good, that’s why bother.
Resolutions made at the beginning of a new year do
much to assure us that it is always possible to begin
anew, that our lives can—and will—be better.
. Tabula rosa, the clean slate—how comforting
to imagine that our souls have been cleansed of an
entire year’s accumulation of grit and grime. How
easy it is to shed the shroud of a year gone by, a
year that may have held more than its share of
goofs, by promising never again to make the same
mistakes. We can vow to be happier people, more
honest, thinner, harder working—we can even
promise to quit smoking—and if we secretly realize
that life will go on as before, that nothing will be
changed, that we will continue to be the people we
have always been—it really doesn’t matter.
Hear! Hear! A toast to new year’s resolutions!
happy Chanukah!
Jewish families throughout the Back Mountain
community will light the last of eight candles in
observance of Chanukah tomorrow evening. The
celebration of Chanukah, long symbolic to Jews of
religious freedom, began this year on Dec. 22.
Traditionally celebrated during December,
Chanukah pre-dates the Christian celebration of
Christmas by many centuries. Historians note that
after the death of Alexander the Great, Jews in
Palestine were hindered in their attempts to wor-
ship according to their own beliefs. Particularly
repressive was Antiochus IV, who sought to force
the Jews to give up their religious customs and
dietary considerations and forbade observance of
the Sabbath. Images of Zeus were set up in the holy
temples and worship of the idols was demanded of
the Jewish populace.
The tyranny continued until the aged father of
Judah Maccabee struck down a renegade Jew and
sounded the call to battle. After three years of
fierce fighting, the Jews succeeded in defeating the
Syrians, cleansing the defiled temples, and re-
lighting the eternal lamp. When a very small jar of
oil burned in the lamp for eight days, it was taken
as a sign of God’s favor and is the basis for the eight
candles in the Chanukah candlelabra.
Known as the Feast of Dedication, Chanukah is
historically significant to persons of all faiths be-
cause it represents the first successful insurrection
against the limitation of religious freedom. To all
our Jewish friends, then, we bid a ‘Happy
Chanukah!”
hail the road crews
We think a note of commendation is due to the
road crews who have labored long and hard to keep
the roads and highways in the Back Mountain com-
munity safe for motorists during the past several
weeks.
It hasn’t been easy for them. Freezing rain and
light accumulations of snow have made roadways
treacherous and have demanded that crew
members maintain a degree of vigilance unusual
for this time of year. Despite frequent snowfalls
and varied road conditions, the workers have
managed to keep most roads open and free of dan-
gerous ice patches.
As bad as the auto accident rate has been in
our boroughs and townships, one must concede that
it would be far worse were it not for the continued
efforts of our road workers.
I
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by The Gaffer
According to the more or less prestigious
Harris Public Opinion Poll, 81 per cent of the
people queried didn’t shun older people who
tell you how great it used to be in the old days;
therefore, I am emboldened to inform my
readers, if any, that in the good old days,
when Ma and Grandma attended to most of
the food preservation in this world, they
sometimes were unsuccessful in their can-
ning and preserving and had to throw out a
certain amount of their products when taste
buds and sense of smell informed them that
something had gone amiss.
Public Opinion polls have been known to
go a little sour on their originators, so it may
be that I am boring you a bit with this in-
formation. Anyhow, I just brought it up to
give you the base of my thinking that the
federal and state authorities who get all
worked up over cranberries laced with bug
poison and tuna fish with a dash of mer-
curycan cause a lot of financial damage to
cranberry pickers, tuna fisherman and who
can say how far the ripples extend when they
give out their dire warnings to the
newspapers.
In short, my thesis is that these agencies
are absolutely unchecked in their notions and
should be. Unsupervised home canning may
have brought about a belly-ache or so and in
rare cases probably gave the undertakers and
tombstone cutters a little business, but, if so,
the news didn’t get to far afield, causing panic
throughout the world and damaging
thousands of innocent people, who suffered
loss because some br-reaucrats wanted to
demonstrate that they were ‘‘on the job.”
Sure they should be on the job. If they
weren't, a lot of unscrupulous canners and
fishermen would take advantage of the
laxness and send out really contaminated
food, causing untold damage to the human,
race. But in two scares I have mentioned,
there was no charge that anybody had had
deliberately or knowingly sent out cran-
berries or fish that were below standard.
Also, there was no mention of the fact, if
any exists, that anyone was in any way hurt
by the cranberries or by the tuna fish. I am
not even sure that anybody was endangered
in either case. When the cranberry scare
came up, I deliberately bought and ate
cranberries, figuring that I would either be a
martyr or prove to myself that the whole
thing was a lot of baloney stirred up by
publicity-mad bureaucrats. May be I didn’t
get the right cranberries or maybe a little
dollop of Old Overholt now and then acts as an
antidote, but I didn’t hear of anyone else
being damaged by eating them.
The tuna fish publicity strikes me in the
same way. I looked up ‘‘mercury” in the
encyclopedia and it confirmed my previous
impression that mercury is a comparatively
rare and expensive metal, which used in
certain ways can be poisonous, but which is a
valuable aid to medicine in certain other
ways. It is an ingredient in someinternal
medicines and is extremely valuable in
treating skin diseases. If any of my readers
have heard of blue ointment, I wish to impart
the information gained from the Brittanica
that it is largely composed of mercury.
According to the newsprints, the
guideline for mercury in fish is 0.5 part
allowed per million of mercury; the ocean
contain 0.1 part of mercury per billion parts of
water and “‘the total diet of even the heaviest
fish eater would still be far below this
guideline.” The tuna which caused the uproar
wasn’t much above this guideline as I recall it
and nobody has said that it bothered the fish.
There was also an item a while back that
some seals from the Pribilov Islands near
Alaska had been killed four years ago; their
livers had been stored and made into health
food tablets and the tablets contained 60 parts
of mercury.
The tablets were withdrawn from the
market and I couldn’t care less because I am
firmly of the opinion that dessicated seal liver
tablets are something I would never volun-
tarily eat and I don’t know personally anyone
who would be much tempted by the delicacy,
if such it be.
I quote from the same article: “No health
hazard apparently exists yet. Federal food-
safety officials emphasize that the amount of
tuna being found with undue quantities of
mercury isn’t large enough to constitute such
a threat.” .
Also: “FDA officials are clearly worried
that the public will misunderstand the
removal of the canned fish and unnecessarily
turn the tuna troubles into another ‘cranberry
crisis’ ”’.
The man who stirred this up was an
analytical chemist from Binghamton, who
later said he found mercury levels in a frozen
swordfish steak to be higher than in the tuna;
but apparently this contribution to the morale
of the nation didn’t make the headlines in our
local papers.
Anyhow, I still think that the Food and
Drug boys would be a little smarter if they see
to it that we get reasonably pure food to eat
and, as long as the canners are decent about
it, keep their own big mouths shut.
It isn’t necessary to cause a big financial
loss to a lot of people to do it that way.
THE DALLAS POST, DEC. 29, 1970
ap
(OFESANGES TIE SHAVE
I7OTHEDRWNER FORT ——
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) , from Washington
pause for station identification
In the uproar of Grand Central Station 50
years ago the dean of the University of Penn-
sylvania called a Red Cap. ‘Why, Ray,” he
said, “what are you doing here?”’—and did
not wait for an answer. It was obvious what
the student, Ray Alexander, was doing; he
was trying to survive. He had graduated in
three years with highest honors but had been
denied school membership in any honorary
society because he was black.
That was 1920; fifty years ago. The boy
wanted to go to Harvard Law School but was
strapped. He had married a girl (who also
graduated in three years with high honors and
later became one of the first black women to
get a Ph.d.). Some professors at Harvard
gave Alexander enough academic chores to
do to keep him alive and he joined the 400 in
the freshman law class.It included eight
black entrants, highest in history because of
the post-war veterans’ allowances.
It was a grim business. When a white
classmate said ‘‘Hello’’ that about ended the
social side. Law clubs barred Negroes, and a
new black club was started that only partly
filled the vacuum. To survive meant spending
virtually all the time in the law library. Alex-
ander won out. Professors encouraged his
ambition to practice law back in Philadel-
phia. Dean Pound and Professor Williston
wrote letters of recommendation to the same
prestigious law firm.
Alexander got copies of the letters and
replies and was told that now all would be
well. His future was assured. Meanwhile on
the side he was upgraded to Pullman porter
and helped A. Philip Randolph organize the
$30-a-month blacks, while between times he
passed the Philadelphia bar exams.
Clad in a new, conservative suit and armed
with his letters, Alexander nervously went to
the law firm. The receptionist stared and
doubted that he had a personal appointment
to see Mr. Big. “Oh,” said Alexander, “I do,
and here are my letters from Harvard.” She
disappeared with the letters without asking
,him to have a seat. Down the hall a door
opened and a woman looked out, stared, and
closed the door.
Alexander was still standing when Mister
Big came out and greeted him. ‘“‘So—you are
Alexander. How nice to know you.” He read
the letters silently and remarked, ‘How nice
of the professors to speak so well of you. But I
am afraid there has been a mistake. I'm very
sorry, We can’t use you.” Courteously he
returned the letters, took Alexander’s arm,
slowly walked him to the elevator, pushed the
button, and said ‘‘Goodbye.”
Alexander moved to the rear of the elevator
and suddenly, impulsively, burst into a flood
of tears, something he hadn’t done since his
mother died. The operator stopped the car
and asked apprehensively, ‘Did something
happen to you? Can I do anything?”
Today Judge Raymond Pace Alexander is
senior Judge of the Court of Common Pleas,
No. 4, in Philadelphia and author and public
figure. He was one who didn’t quit. As Judge
Alexander says in a recent issue of the Cornell
Law Forum, most top law firms in Philadel-
phia today have black staff lawyers. Times
have changed.
Here at the end of 1970 it is appropriate for a
minute to consider that change. Without
doubt, racial discord is the greatest problem
in the United States. It is so big and prevasive
that generally we don’t talk about it much.
One American in 10 is black. Russia has no
such problem; neither has China. America
has, prosperity unparalleled in the history of
civilization but the disparity of the distribu-
tion of that wealth and the agonizing racial in-
equality weaken the whole; we could become
like a great tree with a hollow trunk.
Once a year, maybe at Christmas, we ought
to stop and think how far we have come in-
stead of how far we must go. Lest it breed
complacency, it can be considered along with
the 1968 Kerner Commission report, which
brought an indictment of ‘‘white racism.”
The Negro can never forget, it said, the impli-
cations of the ghetto: “white institutions
created it; white institutions maintain it, and
white society condones it.”
off the cuff:
Nevertheless, once a year, at this il e of
wreaths and carols, we might take some pride
in what we have done. Other nations are gmug
but they can’t even conceive our probleid In
justices continue but nobody can study
overall statistics without seeing the direction
we are going; the pressure is irreversible,
short of national disaster. The boy sobbing in
the elevator is still with us, but remember, he
did not turn to bitterness and bomb-throwing
but instead broke paths for others. More
break through that path every year and there
is no end in sight. So let’s, for a minute,
consider not how far we must go but how far
we have come. Pause, friends, for station id-
entification.
the sad-eyed puppet
by Bruce Hopkins
It was our eighth performance. We had
been presenting RAINBOW JUNCTION, a
musical children’s play, every weekend since
Thanksgiving, and we had been getting good
sized audiences. And as this was the weekend
before Christmas, we figured there would be
a number of children in attendance. We were
wrong.
I play the crooked man. In RAINBOW
JUNCTION I portray the role of a puppet who
has only one emotion—sadness. All I do is cry
and be sad. I live in a warehouse with three
other puppets who also have only one
emotion. Mr. Madcap is angry. Simple Sarah
is constantly happy. Queen Powder Puff is
pompous and vain. As the play progresses, we
do all sorts of nasty things in order to force
the puppetmaster (Oska Woska) to give us
the rest of our feelings. We steal the sun and
the moon. We create a street protest. But
nothing works. In the end, we discover that
the feelings were there inside of us all the
time—all we had to do was to find them.
(Okay, now listen, you gotta’ look at this
through the eyes of a child).
Five minutes before curtain-time of our
eighth performance, the audience consisted
of four staunch fans all of whom had seen the
show before. They were the only ones there.
The puppets were a bit discouraged. I tried to
cheer them up.
“Don’t be discouraged gang. Think of it
as a rehearsal with audience.”
Simple Sarah looked at me with her big
puppet eyes and said something that one
would not normally expect a puppet to say.
“Why, Simply Sarah,” I remarked with a
tone of aghastment, ‘What kind of langauage
is that for a puppet to use!” Madcap and
Queen Powder Puff didn’t say anything. They
just stook there looking hungover. As a
matter of fact, they were hungover. Very
hungover.
Five minutes after show time the
audience had swelled to a grand total of ten.
That included the director and the director’s
mother. Someone said they guessed we might
as well start, and everyone said yeah, we
might as well.
“Listen gang, when we’re starring on
Broadway we can look back on this as one of
our struggles,” I encouraged. The puppets
looked at me as if they were about to cut my
strings. Queen Powder Puff suddenly made a
mad dash for the powder room. The house .
lights dimmed, and we thought about starting
the showwsSuddenly we heard some gather
strange sounds from the ladies’ coor ff
~ “Richard,” cried Queen Powder "Puff.
Richard is the real-life name of Mr. Madcap
who happens to be the real-life husband of
Queen Powder Puff. ‘Richard, can they hold
the curtain?”
“Why, dear?” Richard inquired.
“Because I'm throwing up, that's $y
replied the Queen. At that moment Oska
Woska walked out on stage and started the
show. Simple Sarah started laughing. And
laughing and laughing.
“Are you alright dear?’ Richard
inquired between convulsions of laughter. We
could hear the townspeople singing “I'd
rather be me than a piece of a tree,” which
meant it was almost time for us to enter. Just
as Oska Woska hung up the picture of The
Evil Gypsy Troll and our entrance music
began, Queenie came out of the rest room.
“Just don’t touch me. If I talk I’m going to
throw up.”
“Well,” I said, ‘Your vocal numbers
should be fascinating.” And I made my en-
trance.
The show seemed sluggish. It took hours
to get to my first song, and right in the middle
of it Douglas Mount walked iiito thegfiquse.
Douglas Mount is one of the editors Tor thie
magazine I work for in order to earn a living
so that I can portray a puppet on weekends
and call myself an actor. I saw Douglas
Mount and promptly went flat. He looked as if
he thought the audience might have ge out
to lunch. 3
What must have been seven hours” ‘ater,
we had managed to capture the Evin Gypsy
Troll, found our feelings, and joined the other
puppets for a rousing finale in which we
celebrate the fact that now we belong to them.
Douglas Mount met me outside after I
had removed my make-up and had become a
person again. He asked if I'd like a drink. I
said he’d better believe it. We walked away
from Rainbow Junction mostly in silence. I
wasn’t particularly sad. I was actually kind of
warm I knew it was all a part of the growing
process for an actor. There are those stan-
ding-ovation-periods of total satisfaction.
There are those moments of Hoplete
discouragement and humiliation. And I knew
that tomorrow was coming. I knew tomorrow
was going to be a better show. Perhaps one of
our best performances. Because that’s the
way it works. And it did. And it was.
Tie DALLASC20ST
A non-partisan, liberal, and progressive newspaper published every Thursday morn-
ing by Northeastern Newspapers Inc. from 41 Lehman Ave., Dallas, Pa. 18612.
Entered as second class matter at the post office at Dallas, Pa., under the Act of
March 3, 1869. Subscription within county, $5 a year. Out-of-county subscriptions,
$5.50 a year. Call 675-5211 for subscriptions.
The officers of Northeastern Newspapers Inc. are Henry H. Null 4th, president and
publisher; J. R. Freeman, vice president.
Editor emeritus, T. M. B. Hicks; managing editor, Doris R. Mallin; editor of the
editoral page, Shawn Murphy.
v
[only yesterday
FORTY YEARS AGO
Inland utilities, owner of Dallas,
Shavertown, and Tunkhannock Water
Companies, is in the hands of equity
receivers, climaxing a year of financial
disaster. Liabilities exceed 3 million. The
company took over the local companies over
a year ago, and has made extensive surveys
and improvements.
An editorial says 1930 has been hard.
Business has been slack, money hard to
collect, credits curta:led, spending less, more
people out of work than at any time since the
last great depression in 1921.
Eighty needy families in this area
received assistance at Christmas.
THIRTY YEARS AGO
The best business volume in history is
predicted by Babson for 1941, whether this
country goes to war or not.
No trace has yet been found of the hit-run
motorist who two weeks ago struck down
John Kuchta at Alderson. The victim is at
Nesbitt with a broken pelvis.
Harveys Lake chief Ira Stevenson,
following a lead to a Bennett Street home in
Luzerne, has recovered many antiques stolen
from lake cottages six years ago, including
two heirloom woven wood bedspreads
belonging to Rose Troxell. Thirty-five cot-
tages were robbed, and the old traction
company depot at Harveys Lake was fur-
nished with the loot.
TWENTY YFARS AGO
Remodeling of the American Legion
Home on Huntsville Road, started in Sep-
tember, is practically complete. The chrome
and leatherette bar stools, knotty pine
panelling, asphalt tile floors, and modern
decor in the dining room make an attractive
picture. (The building was destroyed by fire
the following spring.) i
Kingston Township proposes to give
several hundred acres of scrub land on the
extremity of Bunker Hill, to Luzerne. School
children, much nearer Luzerne schools than
Kingston Township schools, have to be ser-
viced by a bus running through Luzerne. The £3
move would save Kingston Township school ~~
board $1,500 annually. /
SI ——
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