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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 S • •