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ZURICH CITIZENS NEWS
THURSDAY, JUNE 15, 1972
Fireworks restrictions needed!
' Now, while the memories of children (inclu-
ding some adult -age ones) playing with fire-
crackers is still fresh in the mind, is the time
to pass bylaws prohibiting these dangerous
products.
They have no useful purpose whatsoever.
Their potential for serious damage is increased
enormously by the climate of violence which
today's young people have become accustomed
to on television and in the movies.
Too many children (including those older
ones) are not merely content to make a noise
with firecrackers, they must also scare some-
one or do some damage.
The proper solution is to ban the bang- type
firecrackers altogether and require a municip-
al licence for displays of the other types of fire-
works. The licence would deter frivolous, un-
controlled use and keep police and firemen
aware of locations of displays.
Many lawmakers are hesitant to go this far
because they somehow believe it is part of
Canadian rights and traditions to set off fire-
works. Such notions are as ridiculous as the
official name of the holiday on which the
nonsense usually takes place. Victoria Who?
The very least which must be done is to ban
the setting off any firecrackers or fireworks on
any public property except for an organized
group that has been given specific permission.
There is nothing more annoying or disgusting
than to have to thread one's way through a
minor battlefield in order to walk down a side-
walk or through a park on Victoria Day.
If the law is to allow immature citizens to
play with such lethal toys, they should at least
be forced to do it on their own property where
the damage will not affect others and where
they will have to clean up their own messes,
(from The Elmira Signet)
Why work?
As unemployment continues to be one of our
national problems, periodically a head of the
government will say philosophically --in refer-
ence to those who refuse a job paying only
$1,65 an hour, "well, if they don't want to
work, why should they?" Other intellectual
types will echo some dream for the future when,
according to them we'll all be on a 3 or 4 day
work week and ours will be a great society of
leisure.
Is this what we really want?
Any society, all in the way from primitive
cultures up to the sophisticated and complex
North American variety, consists of individuals
who are mutually dependent upon each other.
We found this out in recent garbage strikes
and remember it well from some postal strikes
of the past. It is a fact of life that we are
interdependent,
The work ethic is not a hangover from the
Puritans. It is fundamentally good for man to
work, to have challenges and to meet them,
to put his skills against problems. To provide
a service to society through work, even if it
isn't always the kind of job we would choose
if we had a large choice, does give one self-
respect and a sense of value. Man needs to
contribute something to the general pot, as it
were. The insidious effect of continued unempl-
oyment is to create first anxiety, then hope-
lessness, and finally apathy which in turn leads
to degeneration of the human being.
Instead of treating unemployment facet-
iously, heads of state and governments could
be seriously involved in developing more
beautiful cities with greater public services,
thus creating employment. Preventive med-
icine in the form of gymnasiums, more ten-
nis courts, golf clubs, bicycle roadways,
gardens, you name it --where some people can
be employed and others find recreation --is
another area governments might consider.
As a recent survey from coast to coast
reveals, Canadians from labourers to executives,
believe the right to a job should be a fundam-
ental right for all. (Unchurched Editorial)
ZURICH Citizens NEWS
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THE SPEAKER
WAS SPEECHLESS
Life, as some sage put it,
does have its ups and downs,
does it not?
Item. I have a beloved aunt
and a beloved uncle. She was
widowed a couple of years ago,
and he became a widower some
years ago. They were very close
Each was living alone in a good-
sized house. They finally dec-
ided to pool resources, sell
their houses and live in an
apartment, as co.npany for
each other. They went off to
Florida this past winter. In the
same mail I received news that
she was ill with terminal cancer.
and he, at 80, was getting mar-
ried,
Well, "Life is the life, " as
my daughter said when she was
about five. We thought it a
pretty philosophical statement,
at that age. I covers a lot of
ground.
Speaking of daughter, the
bride. She and her husband
made it to Vancouver and half-
way back in a ten-year old car,
which is about the same age
as an 80 -year-old man. Coin-
cidentally, my uncle is going
to Vancouver for his honey-
moon.
Kim rolled the car over at
Regina, on the way home. I
haven't got the details, but
of course, it wasn't her fault.
They got $10 for the remains.
I hope my uncle makes it to
Vancouver, and doesn't decide
to roll himself over in Regina,
unless for a very good reason.
This prelude, as usual, leads
me directly into my theme:
making speeches. My daughter
hasn't made a speech, my
uncle hasn't made a speech,
and I haven't made a speech.
And therin hangs a tail.
The tail hangs between the
legs of a good friend of mine.
Five weeks ago, he asked me
if I'd make a speech, just
three or four minutes, at a
ceremony to make the retire-
ment of a dear friend and col-
league.
Reluctantly, I agreed. I
hate making speeches. How-
ever, this was a special occas-
ion. The lady who is retiring is
a fine teacher, a gracious per-
son, beloved by her thousands
of ex -students, of Irish descent,
and a good Anglican. What
more could a person have?
Two weeks later, my good
friend, who was in charge of
lining up the occasion, asked
me if I would make a short
speech at the ceremony. Rath-
er puzzled, I told him he had
already asked me. He assured m
that the speeches would be short
there were only four speakers,
and I would be last. This suited
me. He who lasts last laughs
last, or something.
Another member of the
dough -headed committee in
charge of the big event kept
reminding me that I was to
It is particularly dangerous to
borrow or lend motorcycles,
according to U.S. research,
reported by the Ontario Safety
League. Approximately 2 per -
cera of all motorcycle mileage
is attributable to borrowers,
but of 1, 230 reported crashes
studied in the 1970 study, 22.8
per cent were attributable to
borrowers. Borrowers had a
significantly higher proportion
of nightime crashes than owners.
speak, and needling me about
having the speech ready.
I replied with a certain haut-
eur that I never failed to deliv-
er, and that the speech would
be ready. And it was. At 11.45
a.m. on the morning of the cer-
emony, I sat down and wrote a
light but loving tribute to the
victim. The ceremony began
at 2 p,m.
It was a huge success. The
retiring lady was almost over-
whelmed. She had expected a
tea with perhaps forty or fifty
people, and some kind of a
gift. Maybe a watch, or a
brooch, or an oil painting.
By 3 p,m. there were over
500 people in the place, some
of them from over 1, 000 miles
away. Then the speakers
began. They ranged from her
first principal, who plodded
with kindly intent but size 12
brogans, through her early life,
revealing her age and various
other unmentionables.
He was followed by a couple
of former students, a couple of
former colleagues, and the
local member of parliament,
for whom she wouldn't vote if
it meant she was damned for
eternity, and a temporary col-
league.
The temperature in the cafe-
torium (how do you like that
word?) was about 110. The
acoustics were hopeless. A
great groundswell of murmur-
ing arose from the back of the
hall, where people couldn't
hear a word and started having
a reunion.
The speakers were intersper-
sed by the reading of telegrams
from the Minister of Education,
the Prime Minister of the prov-
ince, and Pierre Elliott Trudeau,
whoever he is.
I was sweating about a quart
a minute, not from fear, but
from humidity. My wife started
to get hairy, as speaker after
speaker mounted the podium.
She shot looks and hisses at me,
and murderous looks at the chair
man. My speech rustled in my
breast pocket.
The gifts were fabulous: an
oil painting set, a french poodle
live, and an in -perpetuity
scholarship, in her name, for
students of French.
It ended, and the mob's
murmur became a roar. My
wife leaped up, went to the
chairman, and said something
probably not worth repeating.
She came back to me, eyes
blazing, and blurted, "I'm
going home. Right this minute.
And she did. She stomped out,
which, as a lady, she'd never
have done. This is how you
know your wife loves you. It
didn't bother me much. I hate
making speeches.
I gave my manuscript to
Dear Grace. On Monday, she
wrote me a note that can only
be called by that old-fashioned
adjective: beautiful. It meant
much more to me than a
thunderous ovation, And my
good friend, who had fouled up,
couldn't sleep all that night.
Before me, I have five invit-
ations to speak at various affairs,
right up to May 1973. Should I
burn them? Bury them? Accept
them, and then find out I'm the
speaker without a speech.
Life is the life.
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527-1240
Tuesday, Taursday, Friday, Sat-
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Call either office for
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Office Hours:
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