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Clinton News-Record, 1971-08-19, Page 4Residents of Huron County should be master chefs by now: they've been cooking their own goose for the last two years. To those working to try to get new tenants for the Canadian Forces Base at Clinton it has been discouraging and downright annoying to see the apathy of the public towards the situation. For 30 years the Base pumped millions of dollars into the area, not just around Clinton, but throughout the county. The county council saw the problem of losing all this and tried to head it off by appointing a county development officer to try to get new development for the base. But his efforts, and the efforts of elected officials, have been hampered by the opinion of people in Clinton and the county in general that if they wait long enough someone will drop a new golden goose right in their laps. By now they should know it just ain't going to happen. Citizens now have two alternatives: write letters and put pressure on the federal and provincial governments to do something, or sit back and watch all chances of development of the base go down the drain. And if YOU do the latter,' don't come complaining in this direction about government inaction. Pond, hill and cows Double trouble NM Letters to the, Editor • • • The Editor: Just one month ago today my wife and I and two of our sons had spent the evening in Kincardine saying goodbye to some very good friends of ours who were to leave for duty in India. On our way home, we met about 10 cars from Kincardine to Clinton. We had remarked about how little traffic there was on the road. We stopped at the light at the main intersection in your fair town and then we headed down No. 4 Highway for Lucan and home. We saw by the big clock that it was just 10:45 p.m. We would be home in good time, so we wouldn't be too tired for work the next day. Little did I know at that time that we wouldn't be home for two weeks and that a month later there is no sign of going back to work. As we crossed the bridge and started up the hill going south, we seemed to be leaving a sleeping little town behind us on such a quiet night. Our restful thoughts soon came to an end when we saw two cars coming north down the hill. The lead car just seemed to be moving at a normal rate of speed, but the rear car went into the ditch and passed the car it had overtaken. I spoke to my wife and told her there was a car about to roll over in the far ditch. These words were no sooner spoken than that car came out of the far ditch and across the road. I was sure he would hit the car on the road before he got to me. I waited a few seconds for a miracle to happen, but it didn't. The thought went through my mind, if I put on the brakes he may go in front of me, or if I give it lots of gas I might let him go behind me. In a case like this it all happens so fast there isn't much time to do anything. I am not sure, but I imagine I just stayed on course and he hit us broadside and drove us into the ditch with a sickening wrenching sound of metal and glass being torn from its appointed places. For anyone who has never been in an accident, there is no way you can describe your feelings. At first everything is so very quiet. Then as life sort of comes back to you, or you to life, which ever it may be, there is a very strange feeling of being trapped. When I felt, around in the dark I found my wife on the floor, driven under the dash. She asked me not to move her as her back hurt. Then there was a cry from the back seat and I remembered we had the two boys with us. The seven year old had been thrown onto the floor and was hurt. The older boy was sitting up and didn't seem to know just what had happened. By the time we knew what was happening, someone had lit a flare to warn other cars. There is nothing worse to my memory than to look at a little family in different forms of agony by the light of a flare. Someone said they should get the people out of that car as it was going to blow up. At this point my wife got renewed energy from somewhere and got up on the glass-covered seat with me. Being the thoughtful person I like to think I am, I reached along the dash until I found the key and then I shut it off. Needless to say there was nothing to shut off, as everything in front of us was moved from its original position. The Editor I kept drifting off into little quiet interludes for the next little while and when I came partly to my senses I was sitting • on the grass with my family nearby, That few minutes I was in the front seat alone was the first time in my life I ever wondered what it felt like when a person was dying. At this point I would like to extend my apology to all the people for my use of some very uncalled for words. I haven't yet found out from my family what I said; I guess it was too bad to repeat. They just told me I wasn't very nice to know at that time. That was one part of the whole evening that I just can't remember much about. I guess we should thank all those kind people who were at the scene — to the man who helped get the rest of the family out and kept checking on us later; to the lady who lives nearby whd.gave me some water to wash the glass out of my mouth (also the bad words); to the people who gave us blankets and pillows while we waited for the ambulance. These are the people who make up the back bone of a community such as you have. They were all so kind and helped in so many ways. Then the ambulance men who I don't remember much about, but who lifted me very gently from that ditch and sped me to the hospital. Under normal conditions I would have wanted my wife and children to go first, but at that time I didn't even know if they were gone or not. The doctors were waiting for us as we got to the hospital. .I hope everyone in your community has a lot of respect for these men. We had Dr. Street and Dr. Walden and I feel sure we were in the care of two of the best. I just don't remember much about our first introduction that first night, but as the days went along I could see just how popular these two men are in your town. There were the little girls who had to be called from home at midnight to take x-rays and an electrocardiogram. They should be mentioned in dispatches for their devotion to duty. Then, of course, there were the nurses. They were just the best a person can find anywhere. They had to stay overtime the night we were admitted and they were always there to help in any way they could. They were sure angels of mercy and may God bless them all. Last, but not least, is all the rest of the friendly staff at that hospital. They were all just wonderful to all of us. When our oldest boy was released from the hospital, two of the girls drove him to Lucan when they got off work. This is the kind of beyond-the-call-of-duty treatment we got while we were here. Everyone in your town should be more than proud to have a hospital and staff that is of such a high calibre as you have. I guess if we had to have this accident we couldn't have bad it in a better place. I have been in much larger hospitals in my time but never have I been looked after like I was in Clinton. I guess I should say a bit of an extra thanks to the lady who gave me the morning paper (she looked Irish, but her name wasn't), to the Flying Dutchman and the lady with the bee. Mert Culbert, Box 253, Lucan, Ontario, A lack of understanding People around the world are troubled these days at the growing severity of the problems in Northern Ireland which have led to virtual civil war in the last two weeks. Next to racial warfare, religious warfare is perhaps the worst type of dispute. The lines are hard. Both sides feel they are right, that they have God on their side. And both are anything but Christian. There seems to be little room for compromise left in the country. Even the British army, which was brought in to protect the Catholics from the Protestants, thus winning the hatred of the Protestants, is now hated by the Catholics. There is little doubt that the Catholics have reason to feel hard used. Since the partition of Ireland into North and South, the minority Catholics have been discriminated against by the Protestants in nearly every field of life from housing to jobs. The Catholic Irish and the southern Irish have never accepted the partiton of 1902 which excluded the six northern counties with Protestant majorities from the Republic of Ireland. Doubtless the Protestants felt they had. to control the North completely to maintain their way of life. So the lines are hard and fast. They haven't been helped any by the rantings of Rev. Ian Paisley on one side or the antics of Bernadette Devlin on the other. They won't be helped either by the type of biased article which appeared recently in the New York Times, generally known as the Bible of Unprejudiced Journalism. The writer of the article referred to the Protestants in Northern Ireland as settlers, which they were—way back in the 17th century. He said the only way the situation would be solved would be for the British to give up and negotiate the union of Ireland into one state and for the "settlers" to find themselves another home. Apparently the writer didn't believe in majority rule because the protestants make up two-thirds of the population. Never-the-less, it would be a great solution to the problem if he could make it work. If he could, then we could send him to the Middle East to tell all the Jews in Isreal to clear out so the Palestinians can have back their land and he could come to North America and reverse the injustices done to the Indians by sending the whiteman back to Europe. Heck, there's nothing to solving these world problems. Tenting on the cold, damp ground I don't know how you've fared, but so far it's been a rotten summer in these parts. Instead of the "sunny with scattered showers" it has been, day after day, "rainy with scattered sunshine". Usually, by now, municipal conuncils are begging citizens to go easy with their lawn sprinklers, or flatly threatening householders with a fine if they use them at all. Brown, burned-crisp lawns are common by mid-August. Not at our place this year. We haven't used our sprinkler since the first week in July and the lawn is alarmingly verdant and growing like weeds, which of course a good portion of our's is. Not much one can do about it. But my, heart goes out to the poor devils who are tenting. Tenting is great fun under ideal conditions. It's about as close as we can come to really getting back to nature. There's the pleasure of finding that choice campsite with a mere 30- de gre e list, the solid satisfaction of getting the tent up on the fourth try, the adventure of exploring a new camp and its adjacent waters. There's the long day of puttering about in the sun, fishing, swimming, gathering firewood, relaxing. For the men and children, that is. There's the long day of puttering about with dishes, cooking meals, fooling with balky gas stoves, and administering first aid to sundry scrapes, cuts and bites, for the lady. Few women like tenting. But even for them there are joyful aspects. When the last pot has had its black bottom cleaned with sand, when the last child has been tucked away, milady can perch her weary tailbone on a stump or a stone by the campfire, look into the blue-red-orange flames, and dream of the glorious day when this ghastly trip is over and she'll be back in her castle, with a proper stove, refrigerator and automatic washer. She sits there, counting on her fingers, with a dazed smile. When the campfire is dying, Mom has her supreme moment of the day. She can crawl into her dampish flanellette pyjamas, crawl into the huddle of blankets on the camp cot which is tilted toward her head, and shudder for hours with a combination of cold and fear of the things that go bump in the night, What tops it all is that about 3 a.m. she discovers that she has to go to the bathroom. It's purely psychological, of course. But it's quite an ordeal. The flashlight doesn't work, and the little house with the facilities is 80 yards away, across ground that is crawling with snakes and spiders, with a bear behind every tree. This is where she get her revenge. Whining and whimpering, she rouses her spouse from a deep, sweet slumber and issues an ultimatum: either he gets up and goes with her, holding her hand all the way, or she starts packing and they head for home right now. This is known in some circles as wedded bliss. But nothing could be better calculated to put another nail in the coffin of their marriage. I've portrayed so far only the good side of tenting, when the weather is fine, But put yourself in the boots of the miserable male who has rented a tent for his two-weeks-with, takes the wife and three kids, and gets one half-sunny day, the rest cold or raining. On the third day the guaranteed water-proof tent begins to leak. The firewood doesn't even smoulder. The kids are going hairy with boredom, There isn't a piece of dry clothing to be had. The wife has stopped speaking entirely. The tent is full of ants who are smart enough to get in out of the rain. What to do? If he packs and goes home, it is obvious that the sky will clear and there'll be a heat wave. If he insists they stick it, out, he will earn the undying hatred of his wife and the sullen contempt of his kids. Give me the tenting life any day: the sizzle of frying bacon, the scent of wood smoke, the clean, cool air for sleeping, the murmuring talk by the campfire. But don't give me tenting on the cold, damp ground, as Stephen Foster didn't put IL I'd rather spend my holidays in jail. THE CLINTON NEW ERA Amalgamated Established 1865 1924 THE HURON NEWS-RECORD Established 1881 Clinton News Record A member of the Canadian Weekly Newspaper Association, Ontario Weekly Newspaper Association and the of Circulation (ABC) Audit Bureau second class mail registration number — 0817 SUBSCRIPTION RATES: (in advance) Canada, $6.00 per year; U.S.A., $7.50 it g KEITH W. ROULSTON — Editor :DOWARD AITKEN — General Manager 4010 22lict.,xtk every Thursday at of Huron County Clinton, Ontario Population SATS THE HOME OP RA IM! IN CANADA Published the heart Thursday's This is a brief review of the news from the Free Press and News Record from the last few weeks. "Irate Citizen reports several cars upset between Cloud Nine and the Old Commercial"— this isn't something new — one bright eyed correspondent even made the front page of the Free Press about four and a half years ago with this type of information. In fact, if you were watching, you could have seen it in living color on T. V. "Town Pall too old — Clerks Office too small — Police Station too tiny." "Fire Marshall closes drunk tank before fire hall burns down." ``.May or wants `Squeel-Tires-On —Pavement' stopped" in reply "Baby-sitters turn back." Now there is an easy solution to some of these problems. An $85'00, seven-room house complete with hot and cold running water, bath, kitchen and f.a. gas beat is available for a police station, 'not on the main drag but situated "close to the action." Smile It is a foregone conclusion the price is lower than the consultants are going to quote. The drunk tank might present a problem but until a fire-proof walk-in cooler is available, the new compound behind the P.U.C. should suffice unless a ground hog or better-than- average pole vaulter is arrested. You are welcome to inspect the new police station site any Friday or Saturday night, just bring your tooth brush and pyjamas. We only require minor guarantees - your hearing aid must have new batteries and be left on and no sleeping pills, please. $64 question — who was the youngster in the blue car lie. K$4--+++ that tore the sod off the boulevard at the "In" and "Out" store about 11:15 last Sunday night? The sign says it's "Olt" to use the parking lot but not time grass. Coming events; Come out and get bombed at the rock and tomato festival every weekend until Hallowe'en. "Toot-Toot" Good-bye, Lights Out 4 ..Clinton News-Record, Thursday, August 19, 1971 Editorial comment Cooking .your own goose.... I would draw your attention to the following news item, datelined LONDON, ENGLAND—"A double-bed was described as one of the secrets of happy marriage today by the British Medical Association. Dr. O.K. Shelbourne, writing in a booklet published by the association, described the sharing of a double bed as 'the normal way of dissipating the worries, mutal irritations and argufyings of an average day which,' he said, "is, and remains, natural, spontaneous and habitual." Well, now. Not the least of the advantages of the double bed, as I am pointing out in my booklet to be called "Six Thousand Perils of Shared Sleeping", is that it, teaches co-operation, tolerance and a Yogi-like patience, so vital to a successful marriage. The habit pattern, as my " British colleague has pointed out, is extremely important. As early as the honeymoon, life-long psychological advantages may be won or lost. We have in our files, for example, the case of Mr. A. A. who was able to convince his bride that, due to his sheltered upbringing, he was incapable of sleeping anywhere but next to a wall. This, of course, put the lady on what is known in our studies as The Outside Position. For some years Mrs. A. was thus in the first line of defence to cope with burglars, fire-alarms, diaper-changes, thermostat- adjusting, water-carrying, alarm-clock-turning-off and similar insomnia-inducing responsibilities. Divorce proceedings were 75 YEARS AGO WEDNESDAY, AUG. 19, 1896. Fashionable women in London are agitating a new league, Which has the worthy motive of limiting the number of dresses a woman shall buy in a year; providing of course, that she chooses to become a member. So many women dress beyond their means to keep pace with the more favoured that this "anti. dress league" is proposed to bring about an ar erage rule for poorer members of the society.. It is noted, however, that the most enthusiastic workers in the cause do not care to join thernselt es. The other day Mr.. Thomas Brittou showed us a 12-Inch branch from a plum tree containing no less than 38 well matured plums. The field this year is „exceedingly abundant. Mr. Britton's sample is one of the best we hai e seen. 55 YEARS AGO THURSDAY, AUG. 17, 1916. Some lads while fishing recently pulled up a large grey snapping turtle, on whose back was carved "1898." It is presumed that the thing is at least 18 years of age; and that the numerals were carved on its shell when it was small, it then being thrown back into the water.. 40 YEARS AGO THURSDAY, AUGUST 20, 1931 Mr. Arthur Cantelon brought into the News—Record "office yesterday a potatoe vine which be said measured six feel; one and a quarter inches. It was what he called a "Volunteer" having :ortunately halted by psychiatric advice which put theA's into twin beds where, at last report, they were sleeping happily ever afterward. The problem of cold feet is another which teaches great self-control. Laboratory tests have shown that the average woman has a nocturnal foot temperature 40 degrees lower than the average male and very often approximating a bag of ice cubes. ' A more-or-less typical case was that involving Mr. B. who, in his testimony, said: "It's the initial shock that does it. Most nights Mrs. B. comes to bed after me. I lie there, rigid with terrible anticipation. She's a wonderful woman, mind you, gentlemen, but her feet's too cold. It's like making contact with one of the northern glaciers of Greenland. I try to be understanding about it, but she gets so cross with me when I scream." In rebuttal, Mrs. B. gave evidence that, her husband was a Cover-Puller-Over, a familiar type who appear to have a coccon complex. For 14 years," Mrs. B. testified, "I have spent the nights gripping the edge of the blankets on my side. The double bed for me has been one long, losing tug-of-war." Some hope was held out for Mr. and Mrs. B. until it was learned that, in addition to her frigid extremities, Mrs. B. was also a Late Snack Nibbler who not only brought soda crackers to bed, but on several occasions had actually munched apples while her husband writhed and groaned beside her. been in the ground all winter so it had a good start. We asked how many potatoes it had and he said seven goodsized ones, It is not often that a potato sends up so much top. Sometimes a boy's dream comes true. What boy has not dreamed at sometime or another of rescuing someone in dangeil The other day at Bayfield John Cuningharne of Clinton had the thrilling adventure of realizing this dream by bringing safely into port a large pleasure yacht which had got befogged and lost its way from Detroit to Goderich. 15 YEARS AGO THURSDAY, AUG. 16, 1956. Something we hay e missed a good deal this summer has been the cheerful falling of water from the fountain in Library Park. Throughout, the rainy season it didn't much matte4 but now with sunny days and so many folk attracted to watch the doings at the town hall, it would be nice if the fountain could be set working again. There's another two or three months in which it can help make Clinton beautiful. Five lucky people took home prizes from the frolic held at the Legion Memorial Hall, Kirk Street, last night. An electric frying pan was won by Mrs. Will. Bragger; an electric mixer went to George Knights; Mm. Gordon Herman won an electric shaver; a pop-up toaster was won by Will. Grigg and Bill Tideswell was the winner of a coffee maker. The weather during the past There are, of course, more subtle examples of natural, spontaneous and habitual performances including the frequent and remarkable cases of women whose powers of imagination are strangely heightened by the effect of a double bed. We have a portfolio bulging with well-documented instances of Smoke-Smellers and a typical one is recited by Mr. C. "It happens—oh, twice a week, anyway," Mr. C. Testified, "and always just after I've got to sleep. My wife sits bolt upright in bed, causing me to wake up in a panic. 'Harry!' she hisses. 'I smell smoke!' We generally sit there together for about five minutes, sniffing like beagles, and then my wife goes to sleep like a baby while I stare into the darkness, hating her." A rarer type is the wife who appears to do her only original thinking when supine. In this case we're fortunate to have an uncensored tape recording of an actual episode, an excerpt of which follows: Wife: George? Husband (four-fifths asleep): Fn f? Wife: I wonder if there's really anything to reincarnation? Just, think. We might come back as grasshoppers or pigs or something. I wouldn't want to come back as a pig, would you, George? Husband (now wild-eyed awake): For God's sake, Martha, will you... But the rest is personal as, I suppose, it should be in a double bed, eh, Dr. Shelbourne, you old dog? rive weeks permitted rapid progress with grain harvesting operations, but has been decidedly too dry in large portions of Ontario for the growth of pasture or market garden crops. C. Hoare Pruit Farm: As the Great Creator has favoured me with a real nice crop of plums of fine canning tsweet and coloured varieties I will fw our all who come for stock to the orchard when ripe. The liner "Mauretania" is expected to dock in Halifax N.S. around Aug. 24. She is carrying more wives and children of sew icemen. In the crowd are two scheduled to come to this area. They are Mrs. R.F. Leppington, coming to her husband Roy and Mrs. G.H. Snowdon, Seaforth. 10 YEARS AGO THURSDAY, AUG. 17, 1961. Clifford Epps .well known industrialist in Clinton, .has decided to return to his pumps and Plumbing supplies business once more. He reached this decision when the companies formerly occupying his property on Erie Street, moved out this spring. Saw a pair of real live beatniks strolling hand in band down the street the other day. Tire young man with a luxuriant beard and rather curly hair; the girl with tight, fitting slacks and a loose Mouse. Both were barefooted the soles jet black and both were as happy as larks. Harry Gould celebrated his 81st birthday, August 1.