Page 4 EDITORIAL Neighbors We know the oft-repeated platitudes: milk of human kindness, good will toward men. We saw the good will and the kindness working, with people be- having like real neighbors—some of them, perhaps, for the first time in their lives. We knew that it was a natural disaster beyond all comprehension; it was bigger than we were, and fighting it, then giv- ing in, then working to keep the wheels turning were all that we could do. If by incident of fate they were not affected by the flood, people on the fringes of the disaster areas made it touch their lives. The list of credits seems limitless. Churchmen, volunteer firemen, mem- bers of civic groups and fire company auxiliaries, doctors, scouts, teenagers, and Mr. and Mrs. America forgot the pleasures of home and hearth and got their hands dirty. Tirelessly sorting clothes, packing boxes of food, and soothing the anxiety of the homeless, they worked for hours on end—in their own little communities or in the larger centers where evacuees were being housed. Saturday, in the pouring rain, we saw a young girl, not more than 12, walking from door to door in a rural area unscathed by the Susquehanna’s angry waters. Had we any blankets to give to the people in the flood, she asked, as a look of urgency and wis- dom beyond her years crossed her face. People hadn’t thought much about ‘civil defense’ since the Cold War days when air raids routed children from classrooms and volunteers hastily- cleared the streets of traffic. Now, here were the civil defense crews, manning radios, piloting helicopters, directing rescue operations, coordinating work at evacuation centers. Not a nuclear holocaust, but Mother Nature’s sound and fury. Where, we wonder, would we have been, what would we have done, without them? The atmosphere at evacuation centers was, as one observer put it. ‘“unworldly.” Crowded by hundreds and thousands into schools, an armory, the airport, and even a racetrack, flood victims gathered, grateful for food and shelter. Some were dazed at first, some caught up in the ‘‘excitement’’ of it all. Those who had been reluctant to leave their homes were skeptical; they wondered why they weren't safe on the second and third floors of their residences. The realization was slow in coming. Not till the second day, perhaps, or early this week when people began to return to their properties to see-the destruction firsthand, did the impact regis- ter. The real work begins now. One major city, many small towns, and countless rural villages must be rebuilt: and the clean-up is a painful, heartbreak- ing, and in some cases hazardous procedure. The aura of ‘excitement’ can easily turn to frustration and then despair as people view the ruined rem- nants of the things they have worked for all their lives. Those who once lived in spacious homes may be forced to move to cramped, temporary housing provided by the government. A blow to the ego, indeed, and a serious one for those who are proud and accustomed to standing on their own two feet. Tempers will be short and patience lacking. They are our neighbors, whether we have met them or not, and they need us now, perhaps more than they did last weekend. How we respond to their needs will determine how quickly life, at its normal pace and under its usual circumstances, can begin again for those uprooted by the flood of 1972. By Eric ‘Mayer Changes On election day Thomas Wilson was surprised to find an envelope postmarked Washington D.C. in his mailbox. The com- puter printed letter inside read: Attention: Thomas Alvin Wilson Soc. Sec. 308- 97-213 Demographic Brief: White-Male-38 yrs., Married-2 children, Employed-Glenvale Shoes Inc.; Residence-Suburban, 18 Oak St. Greetings Citizen. The Constitutional Computer in Washington, operating under its annual Election Program, has chosen you as one of 1600 members in the Governing Population Sample for the year 2003. You have been carefully pre-selected, in accordance with statistical information re- sulting from the latest annual census and stored in the memory banks of the Constitu- tional Computer, to comprise one part of an accurate cross section of the United States population. Further information regarding your duties will arrive shortly. IMPORTANT: In order that the integrity of the Population Sample be preserved members are advised to reveal their status to as few persons as possible. Wilson didn’t know whether to be excited or angry at this surprising news. Of course it was a great honor but it was also a lot of work. And for what? Members received no pay since that would have invalidated the Sample. dition the office held no real power. The whole aim of the new Statistical Democracy was its scientifically insured guarantee that the government would always reflect precisely the wishes of the American people. In a statistical sense the 1600 members of the Population Sample were the American There’s an ‘‘X’’ factor in this election; how deep does alienation run, how far can McGovern articulate it? I watched McGovern testify here last week. The GOP wavers between thinking him a nut and having twinges of apprehension. Is it possible, just possible, the White House asks, that the public is taking him seriously? McGovern is unassuming and unglamorous. He is balding. The staggering thought as you watch him is that this decent man really intends to try to do something about unfair taxes, excessive defense costs, and over extension abroad. TRB, You look at him ‘and say, golly, the guy must have been type-cast to play McGovern. What I mean is that the late Everett Dirksen created the lovely role of “Everett Dirksen” and enjoyed performing it immensely and of one of his finest flights. But McGovern is just himself. The committee sharply questions him. What comes almost as a surprise is a certain formidableness. He fuzzes the ground somewhat on specific details but he is dogged on general direction. Can somebody get nominated, you ask yourself, who says “‘ve-hick-el”” and ‘‘cow-ar- dyce”’? It was good theater to be standing there at an intermission when a reporter rushed in with a bulletin on the spiteful charge of the Manchester (NH) Union Leader that McGovern had a smirch on his war record as a bomber pilot. He could have thumped his chest and struck a heroic pose; what a set-up, with all the reporters yelling questions or holding up mikes! McGovern was irritated but he didn’t register noble injury. He said he thought the charge was pretty silly, that the Elementals by Carl T. Davies Political pundits who believe that all of the world’s problems "are solved by in- tellectuals in Ivy League universities or Harvard professors serving as presidential advisers have obviously never heard of Pete’s Pub in upper Manhattan where taxi drivers, tourists, and truck drivers, as well as a few wandering journalists, have the inside dope on how to get our wobbly world back on an even keel. Having spent last Saturday afternoon traipsing along the sidewalks of New York craning my neck at the still-awesome skyscrapers, and passing out quarters to faith healers, transcendental meditation freaks with shaven heads and orange robes, fire and brimstone preachers exhorting indifferent crowds to forsake the diabolical firewater, and bleary eyed old ladies with swollen feet wearing black shawls and talking to them- selves, I felt the urgent need to sit down in a quiet tavern and settle my whirling brain with a draught of sparkling ale. I had never quenched my thirst at Pete’s Pub before. I wanted desperately to escape the madcap world of lovable weirdos, but was I in for a surprise! Pete’s was crowded that afternoon. Refugees from the hot, razor blade rays of the Manhattan sun had filled the pub to the brim. I was fortunate enought to find an empty chair at a table with three rather quizzical creatures—a taxi cab driver, a haberdasher, and a hospital orderly with beady eyes. Feeling like a twentieth-century male version people (Historians noted with irony that the number of members in the Population Sample coincides with the address of the White House, a term once synonomous with power.) It all started a quarter century ago. Back then the representative bodies of the country were incredibly bad population samples, horribly overweighed with rich, white, males. Indeed the whole business of politics was so biased in this direction as to make represen- tative government a farce. In those days scientists noted that by carefully selecting and interviewing a small group of people, they could predict election outcomes with great accuracy. As time passed enormous computers were developed which could store thousands of bits of in- formation concerning every American and which could automatically scan their memory banks for population samples. This made political predictions fool proof and led many people to question the need for elec- tions. In 1988 (after only 35 percent of the eligible citizenship had voted in the previous presidential election) it was decided that the election would be conducted scientifically, by a poll. That way only 1600 people were an- noyed and the majority did not have to bother themselves with voting. This method was continued for several years until it was noted that the polls were™ still electing the rich white males who dominated both political parties. Finally a pure, statistical Democracy was instituted where all power rested in the hands of the Population Sample which scientifically reflected the entire United States population. A president and a small congress was elected by the Sample. The president was largely a figurehe#§ though he sometimes aided the congress in preparing alternate programs to offer the voting Sample. (Computers more often than not assisted in the formulation of government programs). One of the great advantages of this system was that the. American people no longer had to worry about the issues. The Sample, which did vote, voted exactly as everyone else would have voted anyway. Needless to say the members of the Sample remained at their jobs. (Their votes were recorded on special voting machines installed for the year of their term in their own homes.) The people who formulated the new government realized that taking these people out of their familiar nvironment, making them seem nr them large salaries and special privleges would, in effect, make them different people and ruin their value as a cross section of American opinion. Wilson read his election notice over once again. The responsibility of his position ap- palled him. Could he handle it? For a moment he was gripped with fear, then he relaxed. The Constitutional Computer could never make a mistake. However he chose to vote would be fine because, somehow, deep in its mazes of circuits, the computer already knew how Thomas Wilson would we Wasn’t technology wonderful? The co¥iputer had done such a superb job in making government more fair that Wilson thought that the first thing he’d do was vote to have the computer enlarged. air force had his record. He got to talking about his 35 missions; on one of them he flew over target with one engine out, he recalled, lost another coming home, and crash-landed. He noted that by tradition the final mission is group rejected this leniency. “I put it up to the crew,” he said mildly, “they voted to take the usual assignment.” He added with a grin, “A lot of times I was scared. But that’s not the same thing as cow-ar-dyce.” Republicans, I think, underestimate McGovern. Because a-man is homespun he isn’t necessarily a nut. Personally, I don’t think his present tax and welfare proposals add up; they are currently in process of refinement and I'll wait for the revised version. But there is no question of his determination. He opposed Vietnam when he was almost alone. He believes America’s danger is at home; not abroad. He wants to give the poor a fair shake. And if he isn’t nominated after New York we think the nomination isn’t worth much. Against McGovern’s simplicity Washington takes on a murky Alice in Wonderland quality as police arrest five men with GOP con- nections set to bug Democratic headquarters. An embarrassed John Mitchell denies any connection with the affair though a couple of the arrested men turn out to have contracts to provide security service to his Re-Elect the President organization. You have to measure the prairie simplicity of McGovern against this kind of stuff. It is a new credibility gap; a new kind; it is different from that of Lyndon Johnson which was personal; this seems to pervade the whole upper echelon of the GOP team. Can we really believe there wasn’t something fishy in the relation of the GOP and the ITT, and the shredding of all Dita Beard’s papers? How about the $10 million which corporate fat cats contributed at the last minute to the Nixon campaign, just before the deadline for the new Federal public disclosure law. “We have no moral obligation to disclose where the money came from,” says Mitchell haughtily. Extraneous things fit the pattern. Take the admission of Gen. Lavelle that he ordered at least 28 unauthorized raids into North Viet- nam, and lied about them as having been for “protective reaction’ (i.e., defensive). He did it just about the time that Mr. Nixon was denouncing Hanoi for violating ‘‘un- derstandings” and for being an “outlaw” that couldn’t be trusted. Does Mr. Nixon really know what his generals are doing? Reporters used to put matters like this up to Presidents at regular press conferences. If Rogers disputes Laird, where can you go but to Mr. Nixon? But Mr. Nixon has all but ended the press conference. White House adviser Ehrlichman, in Los Angeles, explained that the President is tired of hearing all those “flabby” and ‘‘dumb”’ questions. It would be nice to ask a question or two about the crew trying to bug Democratic headquarters, even a flabby one. A year ago TRB wrote a piece questioning Mitchell’s judgment. We said he was responsible for his boss’s humiliation in the Haynsworth-Carswell rejections, and for abetting the President in his bitter tirade against the Senate on the Presidential yacht Sequoia when he ‘reluctantly concluded’ that he couldn’t get a southerner confirmed to the Supreme Court with the Senate “as then constituted.” Mitchell stood right beside him. Mitchell backed the southern strategy. He botched the 1970 midterm election, too, by encouraging the hysterical attack against students and demonstrators. Mitchell ran the 1968 sure-thing campaign against the wounded Humphrey and won; but the thing we remember is that Mr. Nixon started out with a 16 percent lead after Gatcago, and ended up with less that one percent, and with no mandate, and with a Democratic Congress. So often it is Mitchell’s long shadow! For example, he is hipped on wiretapping. He argued that the FBI could tapfires of domestic subversive suspects™ without bothering to get a warrant (because the President has an ‘‘inherent right” to do this and can transmit it through the Attorney General). Mitchell is no constitutional lawyer; he was the municipal bond authority in the Nixon New York law firm. ‘Never in our history,” he declared a year ago, has America been so threatened with “revolutionary elements’ needing the curb of wiretapping. He got Mr. Nixon to go along with him, who defended the Mitchell thesis (San Clemente, May 1, 1971) against . “hysteria” and “political demagoguery.” Well, Mr. Nixon’s Supreme Court last week unanimously slapped down the Mitchell- Nixon thesis. The opinion was written by a Nixon appointee. Mr. Nixon is loyal to John. The Supreme Court’s rebuff and the curious effort to bug the Democrats by somebody or other won't destroy this beautiful relationship. Both are self-made, private men. John is stoney-faced and absolutely self-assured. Somefzing in Mr. Nixon needs him. of Alice Liddell at the Mad Hatter’s Tea Party, I offered to buy the first round, and for an opener, tossed out the naive question: “How did a man like Richard Nixon ever get to be President of, by far, the greatest nation ever to glorify the cosmos with its existence? To which the haberdasher responded while downing half a mug of ale in one gulp, “Oh, dat’s easy, man. Dey desoive him.” And with that sacred utterance began one of the most bizarre drinking tales I’ve ever heard, as the taxi cab driver butted in and explained not only how Richard Nixon became President of the United States, but why our great nation deserves him. Throughout the tale of the taxi driver, neither myself, nor the haberdasher, nor the hospital orderly uttered a word, so, in that respect, the conversation differed little from previous discussions I've had with taxi drivers. “Let me tell you a story,” he began. “Now foist of all, I must warn you dat in order to protect myself from prosecution, the story I'm going to tell you is a big bunch of lies. I love de president and I would never say anything against him.” And thus unfurled the taxi driver’s magical tale of King Noxnorf and his un- fortunate childhood. All the while, the hospital orderly fixed his strange, beady eyes on the taxi driver and nodded his head furiously as though it were attached to a rubber band and manipulated by some un- seen giant hand. As the taxi driver spoke, his gruff Brooklyn accent disappeared and his voice assumed the tone of a television announcer in a baby oil commercial. “When King Noxnorf was a child in the land of giant hamburgers and endless superhighways, he was brought up by the most genteel of queens.” “She never uttered a word when Nox- norf’s friends would beat him up and steal his marbles. She left him crying. “When Noxnorf failed to get a part playing a singing toadstool in the first grade musical, she left him crying.” “And when Noxnorf found out that his genteel mother was not always a legitimate queen in the political sense, but was once crowned Cheeseburger Queen at the grand opening of a giant hamburger stand in Ring- town, Pa., his heart was broken. And she left him crying.” The the taxi driver, at the climax of his bizarre tale, annoyed us all by bursting out in tears. / : “He’s still crying. He's still crying,” the cabbie sobbed. : The taxi driver began pounding on the table. He was getting a little drunk. “And do you know why that son of a cheeseburger queen is King today?” Do you really wanna know?” He began lapsing into his Brooklyn ac- cent. “Because do whole damn cougyy is cryin’ on da inside.” ? “And do ya wanna know why?” “Ya can’t buy a good cheeseburger anywhere dese days.” scripfion, $6. per year. Call 675-5211 for subscriptions. Editor emeritus: Mrs. T.M.B. Hicks Editor: Doris R. Mallin News editor: Shawn Murphy Advertising: Carolyn Brennan x
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers