HomeMy WebLinkAboutThe Exeter Times-Advocate, 1976-12-30, Page 4The editorials this week are reprints of
words of wisdom authored by the late J. M,
Southcott in the January 5, 1950 issue of The
Times-Advocate. While they were written
27 years ago they apply quite closely to
current situations and problems.
The Best Defence
Everyone who takes the present
business situation at all seriously knows
that there is a real struggle ahead. The
question is what is to be done about it.
Grouching will get one just nowhere. It will
drive prosperity to the bow-wows — that
we have seen over and over again. Time
spent in 'getting the other fellow to do our
job is for the most part wasted, We refer
directly to the thing of standing before the
government, tin cup in hand, begging for
subsidies and bonuses or other forms of
benevolence. Safe experience has proven
that mere organization of any sort gets its -
members but a little way. The men the
government heeds are the men who have a
record of achievement and who are pushing
ahead. Windbags and loafers are not the
citizens any government heeds for long.
Still another necessity for getting out of the
hobble is to get rid of those committees and
appointees of this or that ruling body whose
business seems to be a monotonous repeti-
tion of the word "don't". These busy-bodies
are very likely to be under the influence of
parties who persuade those regulators of
finances to have • the government stifle
every enterprise that in any way hinders
the would-be privileged farmers.
Step Out
If anyone is to come out of this present
financial muddle with all his tail feathers
he will find a vigorous attack his best
defence. Of course, culling needs to be
done. The loafing help is no help at all and
should be got rid of. It is plain stupidity to
manufacture or to produce or to secure
goods that no one wants. Dollars will not be
found on berry bushes. Even the Astors
could not sell beaver tail hats when the silk
variety cube into bloom, Astor simply
opened his eyes and secured something
else. Every man jack among us must see
this and not waste his breath in idle wail-
ing. Some of our best fortunes were made
in difficult business times. There is not
space to relate all the major advances
Canada has made recently but we mention
three: Canada has advanced 19.39 percent
Over her production, has advanced by 40
percent in exports, and 75 percent in im-
ports. So much for the figures of 1949. Add-
ed to this we have the sober opinion of the
president of the Bank of Montreal that the
decade just beginning promises greater
growth than in the decade just closed.
Those are sober words spoken by a man
high in finance. Why should not every Cana-
dian share in the good things to come? We
are living in sobering days when the bluff is
being squeezed out of much Canadian life.
This only means that the less bluff and
wind we have, the more room is available
for real work and sober thought. Whatever
changes may come, every man must learn
to stand squarely on his own feet. The
sooner this country gets over the idea that
somebody else will pay his bills, guarantee
him capital for his business, and assure
him of a profitable market for his product,
the better it will be for him and everybody
else.
Unemployment grows
Word comes that there are 30,000
jobless men in Victoria and Vancouver.
Near riots are reported from Montreal and
other large cities. This is all too bad. Local
employers of labour are speaking of lean
conditions for labour fast -approaching this
region. This is bad-news,, It should be seen
that employers of labour are delighted to
give men jobs, provided they can do so at .a
profit. Employers are glad to manufacture
provided they can sell their goods and
make a dollar so doing. When the last
depression was on, it must not be forgotten,
employers kept business going for years
without making a copper. They were con-
tent to get on without loss. We are not yet
into a business depression but we see clear-
ly that such a condition is threatening. The
present high prices are making it difficult
to keep that storm from our borders. We
hear the complaint that our Canadian
products are not wanted simply because
the price asked for them is too high. It
naturally follows that all who take part in ,
the production of such. goods will need to
take less, for their contribution in getting
these goods to the market. Labour cannot
escape in such a struggle. All who love
their kind are sorry that labour is facing
the present dull outlook but things are as
they are and it seems that there is little
that can be done about it. Labour may as
well recognize that management is having
many a headache as it faces the future.
Time moves on _
tdecamedao4 on
good year, we look forward to one
even better, shared. With our friends.
.:"At5.,NiNc'W!rITHM.PVEQUIPSTA,MTNCOP.Sla •
Odds n 'Ends
By ELAINE TOWNSHEND
Thoughts for New Year
Page 4 Times-Advocate, December 30, 1976 •
A
Christmas...unique season
Those pesky needlei
versation with a friend of mine
who has been very sick who told
me she was 'simply amazed' at
the goodness of the people in the
community who made her feel
she was floating on a cloud of love
by their caring and helpfulness,
Like some of those pine needles
that get so imbedded that their
sharp • points will ' continue to
prick our feet for weeks if we're
not careful, we tend to let the,
most unbeautiful and life-sapping
traits hook themselves into our
lives making us unhappy and
miserable.. I'm speaking about
things like touchy dispositions
and hurt feelings. I know of one
lady who simply refuses to
forgive some one for a real or
imaginary thing that happened
years and years ago. One only
has tolook at her face to see how
unhappy she is. If only she could
forget and forgive, what a
blessing it would be for both her
and the other person.
All of us have pine needles that
stick in our craw...old fears,
resentments, jealousies,
selfishness. We should get rid of
them before the new year settles
in. Goodness knows, the old world
has enough woes without any of
.us adding any more and if each of
us could rid ourselves of some of
the things that make us
miserable to live with what a
difference it would make in our
families, our communities, and
our country.
We can do this, with God's help,
simply by humbling ourselves to
admit there are some dry, sharp
needles that need to be plucked
out of our lives and then by
getting on with the job and doing
i t.
Here's wishing you a Happy
New Year with none of last years
sharp, useless, wretched pine
needles still clinging to you.
Holy Ole Moly, I must be
getting on! Just walked in the
door, picked up the mail, and
there was an invitation to a
retirement party for Pete
Hvidsten, publisher of the Port
Perry weekly newspaper. Say it
isn't so, Pete!
Per (Pete) Hvidsten is a friend
of more than a quarter of a
century, but it seems only
yesterday that he and I were the
life of the party, waltzing the
girls off their feet, watching the
dawn come up as we sat in the
bow of one of the old passenger
steamers sailing up the St.
Lawrence while everybody else,
including the very young, had
gone to bed.
This retirement gig is a trend
that deeply alarms me. All my
old buddies are putting them-
selves out to pasture. They don't
seem to spare a thought for me, I
have to teach until I am eleventy-
seven to get a pension.
About a year ago, three old and
close weekly newspaper friends
phoned me from a convention in
Toronto: Don McCuaig of Ren-
frew, Gene Macdonald Of
Alexandria, and Pete Hvidsten. It
was about midnight and they
weren't even flying yet. I sensed
something wrong. I thought they
needed Smiley there to get some
yeast into the dought. They
sounded tired.
McCuaig is semi-retired, a
newspaper baron of the Ottawa
Valley. Gene must be either dead
or in tough shape, as he wasn't at
the summer national weeklies'
convention, which he never
misses. And now Pete.
Migawd, chaps, I'm just get-
ting warmed up in the teaching
profession. I reckon I have
another 20 years to go, leering at
the latest skirt-length, telling and
re-telling my four jokes, trying to
sort out the difference between a
dangling participle and a split
infinitive. How dare you "retire",
when I have to go on working?
Well, maybe I know, at that.
You've quit because you've
worked like a dog for 30-odd
years in one of the toughest
vocations in the world — weekly
editor. I had 11 years of it, and if
I'd continued, I'd probably be
pushing up pansies right now,
We were in it together when
you worked 60-70 hours a week,
when you had a big mortgage to
pay off, when staff was tough to
get and hard to keep, when the
old press was always breaking
down and you couldn't afford a
new one, when you had to sweat
over a four-dollar ad. when you
wereilucky to take home$60 or $80
a week.
But it had„its rewards, right?
There was that sheer physical
satisfaction of seeing the first
copy run off and folded, smelling
of ink, practically hot in your
hands, 'like a fresh-baked loaf.
There was another type of
reward — knowing you had stuck
to your principles, and written a
strong and unpopular editorial,
letting the chips fall where they
might,
Amalgamated 1924
@WI 'MON
AVVAKD
1.14
By TED ROWCLIFFE
Christmas is a unique
phenomena in our society.
The season, the day, the
traditions can all bring the
greatest joy, reaching dizzily to
the heights of ecstasy — or the
deepest despair, sinking to the
depths of loneliness and resigna-
tion.
Since T-A editor Bill Batten
took some well deserved
holidays with his family this
week, the task of editing the
paper fell to Ross Haugh and
myself. Among my duties was to
pen some words to fill in for
"Batten Around", Bill's weekly
column.
Being away from the home
fires quite a bit myself over the
festive season, I returned to the
T-A ill-equipped to write a
column or so I thought.
I hadn't been around to hear
the current topics of discussion,
but I had experienced some very
moving scenes over Christmas,
some happy, very happy and
some very very sad. This column
then is a few glimpses of what I
experienced at Christmas.
*
Traffic was just terrible. Cars
impatiently puffing clouds of ex-
haust were lined up 20 or 30 deep
to gain entrance to the parking
garage.
The cars were filled with well
dressed shoppers, eager to part
with their money on last minute
ChilStrnas gifts:
Although it was trying, knotic-
ed that the driVers were a little
more courteous than usual, after
all it was Christmas Eve.
There was the deep pleasure of
seeing, after months of writing
and urging, the reluctant town
fathers adopt a policy that was
right and good, instead of merely
expedient.
Some people would prefer to be
remembered by a plaque or a
statue. A good, old-time weekly
editor would die happy, if they
named a new sewage system or
old folks' home, for which he had
campaigned, after him.
There aren't many of the old
breed left, come to think of it.
George Cadogan, Mac McCon-
nell, Art Carr, the Derksens of
Saskatchewan. The type of editor
who could set a stick of type, fix a
machine, run .a linotype in a
pinch, carry the papers to the
.post office, if necessary, pound
out an editorial.
There is a new breed abroad in
the land. Many of them are
graduates of a school of jour-
nalism. This type wants every
news story to he a feature article.
They all want to be columnists,
not reporter's.
There's another type, among
the y'oung \ They refuse to believe
that a weekly editor should be
poor but proud. They work on the
cost of a column-inch rather than
records of peoples' lives. They
won't die broke. They believe in
holidays and fringe benefits and
all those things we never heard of
and couldn't afford.
Maybe it's all for the best. We
were suckers. We literally
believed that an editor's first
allegiance was the betterment of
the entire community, not
himself.
Weekly newspapers, today, are
better-looking, fatter, richer.
They are put together with
scissors and paste, printed at a
central location on a big, offset
press which doesn't break down,
folded and bundled with dispatch,
They only thing that hasn't im-
proved is the postal delivery,
But a great deal of that per-
sonal involvement is gone, The
editor is not. as close to his reader
as he once was. When I was in the
game, I was always introduced to
strangers as: "This is our
editor." Not the editor of our
paper, but our editor.
Pete Hvidsten, green pastures.
Keep your nose out of it, and let
the young guys make a mess of
the paper.
We had a good session at the
oars of the galley. And any time
you want a game of arthritic golf,
you know where to come. As d
practically barely almost middle-
aged school teacher, I think I can
I, handle a "retired" editor any
time.
Will it be Jovin or Este Lauder
for that someone special? Would
the Millionaire game be better or
the Gambler? Ear rings for her
or a sweater for him?
Thoughts such as these were
racing through my mind and no
doubt the minds of other Christ-
mas shoppers.
And then I saw him, leaning
against a building, so drunk he
was having trouble keeping his
balance.
Suddenly this little man, short,
balding about fifty and poorly
dressed, decided to move on. He
took two steps forward, three
back and then, realizing the
hopelessness of his inebriation,
started back for his refuge lean-
ing against the side of the
building.
One step, two . . closer and
closer . . and then he fell,
smashing his face against the ice
covered sidewalk.
Still conscious, he laid almost
still, blood trickling from his
face onto the sidewalk.
I felt an initial impulse to get
out of my car and help him . .
but I didn't. At least three or four
drivers closer to him than I
remained warm and comfor-
table, looking in the other direc-
tion but sneaking furtive glances
toward their fallen fellow man.
Would no one help him?
Only a matter of five seconds
had passed but much soul
searching had been done.
Thankfully the first pedestrian
by, felt compassion and
attempted to lift him, Recruiting
a second shopper, he managed to
get the man to his feet, and back
to his perch against the building.
That act in itself would have
been enough but not for this kind
man. He stayed with his fallen
comrade, used a handkerchief to
clean the blood and mucous from
his face and was looking for a
safer haven for the drunk when
the traffic started to move.
Shopping later I wondered
would I have stopped and helped
if this man had not?
Would you have stopped and
helped?
Letter to Editor
Dear Sir:
Much of Ontario's history is
buried in the sagas of her smaller
forgotten towns and villages. To
unearth this chapter — as part of
a book — I am probing the stories
of some older communities in
your area.
If any of your readers would
care to participate in this project,
I would look forward to hearing
of old stories and old photographs
of : Rodgerville.
Yours truly,
Ron Brown
280 Wellesley Street East,
Apt, 1608
Toronto, Ontario
M4X 1G7
It was later Christmas Eve, in
another city, another world.
Affluent suburbia and two lit-
tle girls were opening their
Christmas presents. All im-
agineable treats were poured'
upon them.
A certain amount of excite-
ment was in the air but the scene
was lacking.
The girls, perhaps eight and
ten years old, were quite
sophisticated for their age. The
myth of Santa Claus had been
dispelled some years before.
And then the magic sound of
sleigh bells filled the air, coming
closer and closer up the
driveway. The door burst open
and in bounced Santa Claus, jolly
beydnd belief, kind and gentle to
an art but most important, Santa
Claus!
The little girls didn't really
believe — or did they? Somewhat
taken aback, their eyes grew as
large as saucers and they were
quiet as mice.
"There isn't really a Santa
Claus — or is there?" They
seemed to be silently asking.
After a friendly chat with
everyone and a kind warning for
the girls to get to bed early, San-
ta was gone.
His visit had not been planned.
No one in the house had known he
was coming. Santa _just knew
there were two little girls in that
house and he had to come and see
them. '
The handshakes and kisses on
cheeks completed, the Merry
Christmases cheerfully wished,
the family of three stepped onto
the elevator.
They were from out of town
and had spent some time with
relatives in a Toronto high-rise.
They didn't see their Toronto
relatives very often, usually once
a year when they came to the
city at Christmas.
The elevator doors closed and
the steel cage began its smooth
descent to the ground.
"Why don't my family ever
come to visit us?" asked the
mother, a woman about fifty. At
the same moment she burst into
tears.
Ashamed that others on the
elevator had seen and heard her
sadness, she regained her com-
posure just in time to step off the
elevator as the doors opened.
The doors closed. The family
was gone and I'll likely never see
that lady again.
* * *
The scene was Toronto Inter-
national Airport, Christmas Day
at terminal one.
Hundreds of people jammed
the airport, people of every
origin and stature.
Planes were landing regularly
and after clearing customs,
bewildered travellers were spill-
ed out into the crowd.
A little Italian lady, hair white
as snow and clothes black as coal
was greeted by a tearful son,
proudly holding forth a fine
grandchild of three or four which
grandmother had probably never
seen.
A proud man, Greek perhaps
with bent back and drooping
mustache held his head high and
straight until he saw his children
and grandchildren ahead of him,
I wondered if grandmother
was waiting behind in Greece?
Would she join him later? Or had
he made his last trip with grand-
mother?
There were sad scenes at
Toronto International that
Christmas Day,
A little old man, eyes sunken
and complexion sallow, knew
there would be no one waiting for
him. His eyes did not search the
crowd. He looked for no one and
no one came.
Perhaps the saddest were
some of those net setters" just
returned from a holiday in Mex-
ico. Their booze, money, women,
free wheeling style didn't make
it on Christmas Day.
Their disco musk, funky
clothes and slick talk crumbled.
It was Christmas and all the
tapestries were stripped away.
They felt alone and naked,
6hristmas is a unique celebra-
tion, it can bring the joys of hap-
piness or despair!
Our Christmas tree, which had
started out so majestic and
splendid ten days before, came to
an ignoble and undignified end
the day after Christmas when a
lively grandson whizzed by too
closely and sent the tree
sprawlling on its face decorations
flying in all directions.
The event, as you might guess,
caused several reactions and
grandfather had to move swiftly
into the affray, first to placate an
upset and annoyed mother, and
then to sooth a scared little three
year old boy who was sure he was
in fpr a sound spanking.
"I'm sick of that tree anyway,"
Grandpa assured the boy, "Just a
good thing it got knocked down so
we can get it out of the way." And
so saying, they hauled it outside
and stood it in the snow, but not
before it had dropped about one
third of its needles all over the
carpet,
Every year about this time I'm
almost won over to the artificial
variety that leaves no mess. This
time it was my husband who had
to, contend with the' clogged up
vacuum cleaner and the pesky
needles, some of which hooked
themselves into the rug so deeply
we'll still be picking them out in
July,
As I start to write this column
for the New Year, I think about
all the sticky, miserable things in
our lives we should be sweeping
up and throwing out with the pine
needles.
It's a good time to throw out of
our minds everything that is
useless, dead, dreary, listless
and evil and get tuned in to all the
good, the new and the happy
things that surround us. Because
in spite of the present state of the
world there are still many lovely
things to appreciate. I'm
reminded of a recent con-
Another year is about to unfold
in our lives, and I wish you all the
best in 1977.
"As you travel the hill of the
coming year,
May you travel in high and never
shift gears,
With plenty of spark and never a
knock
And a joy filling station in every
block."
Furthermore , "As you slide
down the bannister of life, may
the splinters never point your
way."
If you're trying to decide on a
New Year's resolution, here are
bits of wisdom to keep in mind.
I found some in magazines,
others in newspapers and several
in novelty gift shops. Many were
written anonymously, but all
deliver a message worth noting.
For example, "The man who
gets ahead is the one who does
more than is necessary and keeps
on doing it."
On the other hand, "Do more
than people expect of you, and
soon they'll expect more."
"If you can't see the bright
side, polish the dull side."
Remember also the Indian
Prayer: "Great Spirit, grant that
I may not criticize my neighbour
until I have walked a mile in his
moccasins."
Hilaire Belloc reminds us:
"From quiet homes and first
beginnings
Out to the undiscovered ends,
There's nothing worth the wear of
winning
But laughter and the love of
friends."
Moreover Rae Cross advises:
"A smiling face, a word of praise,
a helping hand, forgiving ways,
Add tolerance, faith, love and
prayer.
This recipe works everywhere."
The "Serenity Prayer" asks:
"God grant me the Serenity to
accept the things I cannot
change,
The Courage to change the things
I can, and the Wisdom to know
The Courage to change the things
I can, and the Wisdom to know
the difference."
Perhaps the most noteworthy
philosophy is contained in the
verse entitled "A State Of Mind."
This popular poem is often seen
these days for it is stamped on
bookmarks, engraved on wall
plaques and painted on
decorative plates. However, it is
more than just a catchy phrase;
the attitude it promotes is an
excellent motto for all of us to
adopt.
"If you think you are Beaten, You
Are.
If you think you Dare not, You
Don't,
If you'd like to Win,
But You Think You Can't,
It's almost a cinch You Won't.
If you think You'll Lose, You've
Lost,
For out of the World You Find
Success Begins with A Fellow's
Will
It's all in the State of Mind."
What better philosophy could
we begin the New Year with?
Times Established 1873
Advocate Established 1881
`fie &chilli mes-Ainiocafe
SERVING CANADA'S BEST FARMLAND
C.W.N,A., 0.W.N.A. CLASS ',Viand ABC
Published by J. W. Eedy Publications Limited
LORNE EEDY, PUBLISHER
Editor — Bill Batten
Assistant Editor — Ross Haugh
Advertising Manager — Jim Beckett
Plant Manager — Jim Scott
Composition Manager — Harry DeVries
Business Manager — Dick Jongkind
Phone 235-1331 Published Each Thursday Morning
at Exeter, Ontario
Second Class Mail
Registration Number 0386
Petit] in Advance Circulation
September 30, 1975 5,409
SUBSCRIPTION RATES: Canada $11.00 Per Year; USA $22.00
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