McDonoughColumns

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Selected Columns of Frank McDonough, Jr.

[The following newspaper columns written by Dwights maternal grandfather Frank McDonough, Jr.(8/26/1885-11/29/1964), in the late 1950s and early 1960s and published under the heading The OldMountaineer: Thoughts by the Wayside first in The Columbine Heraldand later in the Colorado Springs

Gazette-Telegraph have been selected by Dwight from the large number that Dwight has on hand. Thereare too many to include on this site, so selection has been necessary. The selectivity has mainly been tochoose those that illustrate his character, which justified the love that so many people felt for him. Manyof the columns that have not been selected deal with then-current political issues. Since these, too, arevaluable, it is worth pointing out that the entire collection has been deposited with the Palmer Lake,Colorado, Historical Society for what is hoped will be permanent retention.]

February 21, 1958:

Once more we honor the birthday of George Washington. As we look back through the years ofhistory, we are apt to associate certain names with great accomplishments or with certain human

attributes. We associate Mark Twain with humor, Rembrandt with art, Beethoven with music and GeorgeWashington with honesty.

The story of the hatchet and the cherry tree may have been a myth, but strangely enough, itdepicts exactly the character of the man throughout his life. Washingtons honesty and integrity wasabove reproach from his boyhood to his dying day. He lived honestly, he served honestly, he advisedhonestly and he spoke truly. When he had served his country to the full, it was not without emotion thathe made his Farewell Address to the People of the United States. He spoke from his heart and he spokewith all the honesty of his great character. The address itself is couched in all the stilted wordiness of theday, but the substance is there for all to read and reread, especially in this day and age, and the substanceand advice is as applicable to us as a nation today as in the day of Washington. There are those who maysay that the world has changed, that it has become smaller, that peoples thousands of miles away are nowour near neighbors, and that military dangers are close by instead of in a far off distance. These things are

true, but the basic relationships between people are the same as they were then, and these relationships areas identical in their cause of strife and wars and quarrels today as they were on September 19, 1796, whenthe address was given.

Remember, Washington thought honestly, and advised honestly. It is well worthwhile to quotefreely from the address, and to take heed of the thoughts and advice given. Washington felt that ourgreatest strength was in our own Union of States and in this Union we would have greater strength,greater resources, proportionately greater security from external danger, and a less frequent interruptionof their peace by foreign nations. He felt that foreign alliances would stimulate, entangle and embitter usin quarrels which were not our own, but which had been going on between other nations of the world forcenturies.

He warned particularly against overgrown military establishments, which under any form of

government, are inauspicious to liberty, and which are to be regarded as particularly hostile to republicanliberty.

Washington was rather wary of political parties, especially those founded upon geographicaldiscriminations and no doubt he foresaw the day when a whole section would become fiercely partisan,only to be dominated by unscrupulous political mobs in our larger cities.

He had some ideas which might be studied carefully by us today. Listen: antipathies againstparticular nations and passionate attachments for others should be excluded; and that in place of them justand amicable feelings towards all should be cultivatedthe nation which indulges toward another


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habitual hatred or habitual fondness, is in some degree a slave. It is a slave to its animosity and to itsaffection.

Against the insidious wiles of foreign influence, I conjure you to believe me fellow citizens, thejealousy of a free people ought to be constantly awake, since history and experience prove that foreigninfluence is one of the most baneful foes of republican government.

July 24, 1959:

An idle hour of a still, sunny, summer day is a value in life which we all should seek. A similarhour in the whiteness of a winter day is of equal value. These idle hours in these days of rushing madnessare hard to come by. They do not just happen, but they have to be sought after and deliberately created.If one can select such an hour, now and then, it is preferable that you be in the deep silence of a patch offorest or upon the mossy bank of a mountain stream, but if these are not accessible to you, the greenswardof a park, your backyard flower garden or patio, or even the cleared silence of your living room willserve. The philosophers of the ages, and the monks of long ago, knew the value of such hours formeditation and contemplation of the past, the present and the future, and they attained not only the

physical rest which they brought, but they swept clean their minds of the sordid and worrisome things oflife. If each of us could find such hours now and then, seek them out if necessary, we should findimmeasurable benefit.

Recently I had the good fortune to find one of these hours, and I assure you that I shall seek outothers in the future. I was on the cool of a mountainside, and there was nothing to disturb or to distractexcept the beauty of the columbine at my feet, the flutter of the wings of a bird seeking its nest, and thehum of a bee now and then. I realized that I could do as ancient Egyptians learned to doexclude everything and every thoughtuntil my mind became an utter blank. Perhaps there was an unknown value tothat in that at least it produced absolute relaxation of mind and body, but it seemed that there was moresubstance in thinking of what life had been, what it might have been and what it might be in the future.

It was not hard to realize that I have had a happy life and, I hope, a useful one. I realized that atide had borne me to the shore of life. I have lived upon that shore, and now I knew that the tide which

brought me was receding and carrying me slowly, but inevitably back into that unknown which is infinity.I knew that that life had been a happy one, but the real question of my meditation was whether I wassatisfied with how I lived and what I had accomplished. And if I were not entirely satisfied, what could Ihave done to have reached a perfection of feeling?

The ultimate of satisfaction might be reached if one had created a majestic overture such as VonSuppes magnificent one to the Poet and the Peasant. This was a masterpiece of a master mind of musicand will live in the minds of men thru the ages. The melodious grandeur of clashing sounds burst uponthe ear of the listener as a bursting galaxy in the summer skies might appear to the eye of the watcher. Itis beauty, tempered with serenity; it is everlasting inspiration, soothed and softened by tender tones. Onecreation such as this would place one into the realm of perfect satisfaction with life.

I believe it would be the height of satisfaction if one could be a sculptor and as his sole life work

carve a Lincoln Memorial for all to see. This is the creation of immortality in marble. The purity of itswhiteness does not in the least dim the luster of the soul of the great man. The bystander stands in silentawe, and somehow catches the dignity and depth of character of the subject. It is all a masterpiece of amaster artisan and will live to influence men for generation upon generation. One could be satisfied withjust one such accomplishment.

Think of the lifelong satisfaction of a Bryant who could give the world a Thanatopsis. He was amere boy when he wrote that immortal work. Just one poem, and his lifes work was done. He need nothave written another because he had created a masterpiece. He had put together words and thoughts farbeyond the powers of an ordinary man, and think of the satisfaction he must have had with his life when


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at last he joined that innumerable caravan, and with pleasant, satisfying dreams was laid to eternal restupon the bosom of the Nature which he loved so well.

Few of us are endowed with the genius which enables us to write an immortal poem, create anethereal image in stone, or put together a majestic overture which will live forever. We are but ordinaryfolk who must get our satisfaction in life from making the most of the human tools which are at ourcommand. We should get our satisfaction in projecting the good that is within us for the benefit of others,building our characters as beacons of integrity and decency for all to see, molding our conduct thru lifethat we may lead others in straightforward paths, and with kindness and temperance bring to ourselvescomplete satisfaction. Then, and only then, will we have created our own immortal monument.

September 12, 1959:

A visit to a modern hospital or convalescent home is an enlightening thing, especially when onecompares present conditions to those of the past. Many a present day householder is juggling the familybudget to find out whether or not he, or any of his family, can afford to be ill and meet the mounting costsof medical treatment and hospitalization. It may be that these institutions are pricing themselves out of

the range of the pocketbooks of ordinary mortals, and thus driving society to socialized medicine.Heaven forbid.

The history of the Healing Arts is very much the same as the general history of mankind. Wetake a few steps forward, then there is a period of stagnation, then a few steps backward, and then forwardagain and the process is repeated. No doubt the forward steps are greater and more progressive than thebackward ones, otherwise we would still be back in the conditions of the dark ages. But the history of theHealing Arts over the ages is a shocking one. At times there has seemed to be certain progress, but atother times the practice of these arts has sunken to the depths of filth and depravity, and some of themethods of the past are entirely unbelievable in this day.

The medical school of the University of Alexandria was ages old when the kindly physician, St.Luke, studied there. Its medical library was famed thruout the then known world, and yet it could nothave been founded until the city was built in 332 B.C. Hippocrates, the famed Greek physician, practiced

his art a century before the founding of the University of Alexandria, and he not only had a heritage ofmedical practice back of him, but Greece itself had in his day a background of long medical tradition.Before him the ancient Egyptians had reduced the art of embalming down to a nicety, yet they knewnothing of the anatomy of the body, and they left no medical writings of any consequence.

It might be said, therefore, that written medical history began with Hippocrates. And please donot make the common mistake of confusing him with the word hypocrite, altho his name and that wordsound very much alike. He left an imperishable legacy to his profession, the famous Oath of Hippocrates,and he also left the Law of his profession and other writings. In the Law he confessed the ignorance ofmany who practiced, and also reluctantly confessed that his profession lagged in progress to the otherprofessions.

Within the past fifty years there seems to be a vast awakening, advances in medicine and surgery

have been rapid, and slowly but surely the members of the profession are overcoming that which haswoefully impeded medical progress thru the agesthe reluctance and failure to recognize new methodsand new practices. Thru the centuries every step forward in sanitation, in antiseptics, in anesthesia, and insurgical methods has been bitterly and cruelly opposed by members of the profession. There seems to bedefinite progress made along these lines, but there is still room for improvement.

This column is inspired by a recent visit to a top-rated hospital. One cannot help but marvel atthe results being accomplished, and then one comes to the kind of cases which are most controversial, andfor which the true solution may never be found. One example will suffice. This particular patient is ofadvanced age far beyond the normal expectancy of life. She has been in a coma for three and one half


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years. She knows nothing, recognizes no one, is helpless, her case is hopeless and, as the doctors say, sheis a mere thing of living cells. And yet they keep the breath of life in her, not with any hope for a brighterfuture for her or for anyone else, but merely for the sake of keeping her alive. There are thousands ofsuch cases, and in the normal course of life these patients would die a natural death and pass to the greatbeyond. No doubt the theory is that something of value may be learned, but to a layman it seems that it isa reversion to the cruelties of the dark ages.

Let us look at the ancient Oath of Hippocrates for a possible answer. After all, he was wisebeyond his time. The Oath says, I will give no deadly medicine to anyone if asked, nor suggest any such

counsel. This is in accord with the Mosaic law and the code of all moral nations. The Oath continues, Iwill follow that system of regimen which according to my ability and judgment, I consider for the benefitof my patients, and abstain from whatever is deleterious and mischievous. When a physicianpronounces a patient beyond all medical aid, and other physicians agree, it would seem quite mischievousto keep the patient alive as an inanimate body of mere living cells. It would seem reasonable for him toalleviate the pain as best he could, and permit the patient, gently and quietly, to pass into either the longnight of dreamless sleep or into the unknown wonders of a heavenly hereafter.

September 20, 1959:

It is to be regretted that in the current Rush to the Rockies centennial, the philosophies and idealsof the Pioneers, and their fathers before them, have not been stressed more prominently, especially to theyounger generation. True Americanism should be taught to our children from the earliest grades. I wasso impressed by a talk about our early Western Pioneers recently given that I felt compelled to use thematerial freely and at random.

We marvel at the display of courage and steadfastness of our forebears who had established thiscountry; those pioneers, men and women who had turned their eyes toward the West, did not demand thatsome government take care of them when they were cold and hungry, nor demand maximum pay forminimum work, or pay for no work at all. In fact they demanded nothing but freedom as they looked atthe rolling plains stretching away to the tall green mountains and lifted their eyes to the bluest of skies,

and said, Thank you, God, we can take it from here.In those days the prevailing philosophy was that it was the duty of every citizen as the basic creed

of American life to attend to his own affairsto build his own home and business and churches andhospitals out of his own laborsto seek no extra favors from government but to be treated fairly andprotected in his rights. He did not expect nor demand any grants except for purely public facilities. Inthose days men set their own limitations. A man could climb as high as he could carry his weight, andwhatever he gained he gained by his dreams and by the application of his own effort. Then he wassecure.

It was common and natural to be self reliantto feel free to work, to earn, to build, toaccumulate, to spend or give awayman craved to work out his own destiny, but with due respect andrecognition of the rights of others. It was the American dream to achieve these worthwhile things as apeaceful, God-fearing, honorable people. We were not thought to be wards of the government. On thecontrary, we knew the government guaranteed certain rights and opportunities, but did not guarantee thesuccessful accomplishment of individual objectives. We built a people devoted to this idea, to this goal.Is this, then, our present philosophy? As Americans are we yet devoted to these same ideals establishedby the builders of this republic? Do we measure up to these basic premisesto the propagation of thisfundamental fabric of our system?

It cannot be emphasized too stronglyit cannot be said too sincerely, that true security in ourAmerican life goes hand in hand with full freedomfreedom to work, to earn, to save, to build, whetherit be on farm or in factory, on ranch or highway, in railroad or automobile ships, in office or store,


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whether preacher, teacher, lawyer, farmer, mechanic or doctor, whatever the job. Everyone is a laborerafter his own hire. He has the same idealsa right to the same hopes and aspirations to enjoy a way oflife under a system of government dedicated to the rights of individuals, the recognition of the personalityof man and the dignity of his soul.

I have the conviction that while conditions change, and benefits accrue, truths do not change; theyare unchangeable and fixed. It is as true today as when first proclaimed that, to be free, men must want tobe free; they must want the right to think and speak and act and worship as their conscience dictateswithout interference from a paternal or socialistic government. It is likewise true today that security forthe individual goes hand in hand with liberty. It is in the same manner true that diligent and honest effortis at once the price and the touchstone of all worthwhile things. This, them, is our challengeshall wekeep our freedomshall we maintain our free institutionsare we confused about moon shooting andguided missiles? Are we aiming straight? Are we missing the mark? Are we reenacting the scenes inancient Rome and Spain and China and Greece? Have we relegated real and spiritual values to the scrapheap and placed material things in the ascendancy? Are we failing in our duties as Americans?

I am indebted for these thoughts and these expressions to the Hon. Wright F. Morrow ofHouston, Texas. These philosophies were contained in a speech which he gave in Austin on the occasionof the celebration of the 75th anniversary of the founding of the Texas chapter of the Sigma Chi fraternity.

These teachings should be placed in a primer of true Americanism; should be taught to our children fromthe first grade so that we may remain free men and not slaves; working men and women, not drones;frugal and saving people, not spendthrifts; and so that we may always be on our guard against thetranquilizing influences of false ideologies.

November 4, 1959:

People like to be fooled, and I am inclined to think that they like it best when they thinkeverything is on the up and up.

Old P. T. Barnum made his living out of fooling people, and when he said that there was a suckerborn every minute he must have been referring to himself as well as other folks. Barnum came West back

in the boom days before the Panic of 1893 and he was quite enthusiastic about this mountain country ofours. Some hot-shot promoters of booming Denver Town took him out in their buggies and sold him atract of land that had a gorgeous view of the mountains. Barnum was enthralled with the whole situation,dug deeply down in his well-heeled jeans, and laid out P. T. Barnums Subdivision. And was he a sucker!He fell in love with the view and overlooked the obvious defects of the situation, the defects being thatthe tract was across the tracks and there were no viaducts, and old P. T. Barnum was stuck. Fifty yearslater he might have recovered a goodly part of his original investment, without interest. I imagine thatBarnum rather enjoyed being a real sucker for once in his life.

Certainly, folks all over the country enjoyed these quiz shows where other folks made fortunesovernight. Except for the fact that it makes good publicity for the politicians, and establishes poor publicrelations for some rather decent folks, there is no particular viciousness in the fact that certain quiz showswere rigged. There was gross deception practiced, but we are a people who seem to love being deceived.If we do not love it, we at least put up with it day after day. And when we find out that we have beenhornswoggled, we either swallow our pride and go about our business, or chuckle over the fact that wehave had a good one put over on us.

These politicians who are creating such a furor over rigged quiz shows, which involve at the mostonly a few hundred thousand dollars, really are doing nothing but creating a diversion to call attentionaway from their own follies. It is almost of daily occurrence when some military or reclamation or otherproject is presented to Congress upon the representation that it will cost, say, fifty million dollars.Invariably, it turns out that the project costs two or three times as much. The politicians are being fooled


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day in and day out by such false representations and the trouble with the situation is that the taxpayers allover the United States have to bear the brunt. The constituents are the suckers in these kind of cases, andthere are indications that the general run of people are getting weary of being such expensive suckers.We are all being fooled from day to day, and I doubt that we enjoy it, notwithstanding the philosophy ofP. T. Barnum. Possibly we all enjoy being fooled by a little foolishness but not by foolhardiness.

But to get back to the TV shows, or any other show, for that matter. We all enjoy the land ofmake believe. We are transported into the land of unrealities, making ourselves believe for the momentthat it is the land of truth.

The most notorious of all the unrealities are the wrestling matches. We know that they are fakedand that the eye gouging and screams of pain are staged, yet it makes an enjoyable show for many people.Those who put on these exhibitions make no pretensions as to their honesty and so there is no scandalconnected therewith. And with equal interest we watch the football and baseball contests with fullconfidence that they are honesty personified. To learn otherwise would be a shock to the Americanpublic, and to learn that any particular contest of that sort had been rigged would not be an enjoyableexperience.

Personally, I like the Westerns. I like their honesty. There is no faking about them. When MattDillon shoots the drunken outlaw from Texas, you see the gun fired, you hear the shot, you see the man

fall, and you just know that he is dead as a door nail. And you like it, not because you are blood-thirstybut because the fallen outlaw got just what he deserved and retributive justice has been served.

One gets so steeped in the make-believe world that for the moment one takes on a make-believeblood-thirstiness. Who among us has not at some time or other hoped that they would turn mild andinoffensive Chester loose with a six-gun and have him mow down a few rapscallions? I heard one hopeexpressed that some day Kitty might take a shot-gun and have a duel to the death with some other lady onthe streets of Dodge City.

All of this is enjoyable because we know that nobody is trying to fool anybody, that all of this ishonesty personified. And if perchance you transport yourself into an honest land of make-believe, youare only reverting to type. You are bestowing upon yourself a membership in the fraternal order ofSuckers and you are doing the very natural thing of belonging to that breed of cats, one of whom is born

every minute.

December 6, 1959:

Once in a while we hear someone make reference to the good old days and it makes one reflecton how good those days really were. The good old days to some of you were days not too long ago whenthe kid with a space helmet was a real curiosity, and that awesome thing he wore on his head was merelya toymakers dream of what might come in the future. To me, the good old days go back much fartherthan thatto the time when the home telephone hung on the wall and when cushion tires on a bicyclewere a rich mans luxury. My first bike had small hard rubber tires, and was known as a cheese-cutter,but it got me around until one day the back wheel had a hot box, and it never did cool off. I had to cut a

hundred lawns at twenty five cents each before I was able, some two years later, to afford a new secondhand bike. But this one had cushion tires!

Those were the days when swimming pools in the home or the school were entirely unknown.We could walk a few miles to City Park and wade around in the duck pond, or if we had the round tripcarfare amounting to ten cents, we could ride down to the Platte River and spend the afternoon luxuriatingin the clear waters of a stream that had not been polluted with the sewage of a big city. Having thatnecessary ten cents was a rare occasion so that visits to the river were few and far between. On hotsummer afternoons we were left to our own devices, and there being no YMCA or school pools, if wewanted to cool off with a good swim we had to invent our own ways and means. Frankly that was not


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hard to do. A nice full flowing irrigation ditch ran along 25th Avenue, and near Humboldt Street itwidened somewhat. It was not too much of a chore for the kids to gather fallen cottonwood boughs andother sticks and stones, build a stout dam and calk it with mud, and soon we had a swimming pool fit forthe Gods. Our mothers never worried about us, nobody supervised our wild splashings, and the summers

sport didnt cost the taxpayers one thin dime.

I am greatly in favor of Little League baseball teams, but do not forget that in the good old daysthe kids in our neighborhood also had a baseball team, with nine good men and true, and one littlesubstitute who usually carried the water bucket. If our pitcher was knocked out of the box, the left fieldercame in and pitched shutout ball for the rest of the game, and the pitcher played left field. One of the kidshad an old Louisville Slugger bat which was somewhat worse for wear and the handle had plenty ofsplinters. Most of our gloves were made out of discarded kid gloves of our motherswith the fingers cutoff. The catcher had to rely on a quick eye rather than a mask or tummy protector. But before we couldplay, we had to have a ball. That really was no problem at all. We could buy a solid rubber ball, the kindthe girls used for jacks, for one cent, and with that as a start all the kids of the team would start savingstring. How meticulously did we wind one piece of string after another around the rubber ball, and whenwe thought it was about the right size we would hunt in the byways until we found some old worn outhigh laced shoes. Cutting this into two dumbbell shaped pieces to fit the ball, we would sew this coverwith heavy black thread coated with bees wax from some mothers sewing basket, and we were inbusiness. We won the first game, I remember 30 to 10, down on the vacant lot where the whole team hadbeen clearing and levelling for a week.

And then of course we had to have uniforms. A bolt of red cotton flannel served the purposenicely. In order to buy the bolt we slaved at a couple of roadside lemonade stands, selling at a penny aglass. Our greatest source of income for this purpose, however, was a concert we gave, charging a nickelas admission fee. One kid played the zither, another sang a song, and I recited Paul Reveres Ride,getting stage fright at the most dramatic point. The uniforms were handsome things. They were redshirts, with M.A.C. across the frontstanding for Marion Athletic Club.

Time never did hand heavy on our hands, but when excitement seemed to pall we would pack upand camp overnight up in the wilds of Cherry Creek. Or in the winter time we would level off a space onthe north side of some house, flood it every night, and have our own private skating rink. When there was

snow we would belly bust down the slopes of Grasshopper Hill.We never had a dull moment. We never had an idle moment. Sometimes I think our parents

wished we would have. It would have saved so much in shoe leather and pants. Those were indeed thegood old days, and if my recollection serves me right, I may say that I never did hear a kid say, What isthere to do today?

December 21, 1959:

There ought to be a law! How often do we hear this phrase, and how often have you said thesame thing? And when you said it, you really meant it. As a matter of cold fact, however, we havealtogether too many laws on the statute books already, and our legislators might do well to have a specialsession for the purpose of doing nothing else but repealing useless or senseless laws, revising and

simplifying others, and generally clarifying our statutes so that laymen, lawyers and courts couldunderstand the language.

It is curious reading to go back to the old days of the Massachusetts Bay Colony, realizing thatthese people came to the new world to have freedom, and then learn that the first thing they did was totake freedom away from practically everyone by laws and regulations that now seem utterly silly. Andthe enforcements and punishments were drastic and strict. In Connecticut these regulations were markedwith such extreme severity that they have come down to us known as the Blue Laws.


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Severe punishments were meted out for the commission of acts, innocent in themselves, butdeclared to be high crimes or misdemeanors by man-made statutes. The women of the day were held todrab attire because it was forbidden to buy cloth with lace on it, or to be adorned with embroidery orsilver buckles, and silk ribbons were also beyond the pale.

The sufferings of the female sex were alleviated somewhat by the laws which forbade cooking,making beds, sweeping, and other similar drudgeries on the Sabbath Day. They at least had a completeday of rest for one day in the week.

The menfolk were not allowed to walk about town, except in a reverent manner to and frommeetingand it was absolutely forbidden for the men to shave or cut hair on Sunday. This must havebeen a great boon to the men because safety and electric razors had not been invented as yet, and shavingin cold water, which many hardy New Englanders still do, was a rugged adventure.

The punishments prescribed for these various high crimes and misdemeanors were varied andsundry and seem crude by present-day coddling standards. They consisted for the most part in the stocks,the public whipping post and the ducking pond. I think that these forms of punishment were invented bymen who themselves had a personal repugnance to such ordeals. There was a certain amount of physicalpain inflicted by the various instruments. Think of having your hands, feet and head inescapably encasedin heavy, rigid, wooden forms, where you were exposed either to the heat of the sun or the rigors of

wintry blasts.The whipping at a public post was somewhat more painful and severe, and probably more

effectual than the old-fashioned razor-strop. The ducking pond was a sort of simplified teeter-totter, along pole on a fulcrum, with a basket holding the victim at the lakeside end and a few husky men at theotheron dry land, of course. A few ducks in the pond, sometimes after the ice had been first broken forthe purpose, served to cure the criminal of all future evil intent and no doubt was a sure deterrent to therepetition of the offense.

In addition to the physical punishment involved, these forms of expiation for ones crimes had

another feature which was all to the good. The sinner was exposed to public view, he was subject topublic ridicule, and he suffered not only from his own thoughts, but from embarrassment and shame, andno doubt repentance was uppermost in his mind.

In modern times we have completely reversed the whole process, both in the definition of what isa crime and in the nature of the punishment. The misdemeanors of three hundred years ago are innocent,everyday acts today. The major crimes of long ago and today are much the same, but today we are alsodeeply concerned with what may be termed nuisance crimes, especially as increasingly committed dailyby those of the younger generation. These take the forms of strewing tacks on a village street. Stealinghub caps, breaking into private dwellings and stealing nothing of particular value but above all is the uttervandalism of breaking into schools and churches, defacing the walls and destroying valuable records.

The cure for such things seems to have escaped us. Police are helpless. Courts hesitate to send aboy to the reformatory because he comes out as an educated criminal. Psychiatrists and parole officersadmit their inability to cope with these young devils successfully. When a sentence is meted out and then,suspended, the culprit merely assures himself that he got away with it.

We might all seriously consider taking a three century step backward and try out the punishmentsof the puritanical days. Our present-day methods of treatment of the problem having failed, why not tryout some of the methods of our ancestors? A set of stocks on the courthouse grounds, a ducking pondgadget at Prospect lake and a whipping post at the police building entrance, in cases of last resort, mightall have salutary effects. And I could name a few vicious little vandals whom I would like to see in thestocksand they wouldnt like to be there more than once.


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March 9, 1962:

In the not too distant past the word would get around out of some mysterious somewhere that LouDockstaders Minstrels were playing at the old Tabor Grand, and that the band and cast would parade upSeventeenth Street promptly at 12:30 p.m. The teenage students of old East Denver High School did notneed a specific invitation. All they needed was a tip, and as that was their lunch hour, five or six hundredof us would gather to see the spectacle and join in the fun. Those were the days before a horde of highschool and college students could be gathered up into organized demonstrations. We were just in it forthe excitement. Like teenagers of today, some of us had a little common sense and used it in a modestsort of way; some of us didnt have any common sense, but would acquire some in after life; many of ushad good sense but were at the age when it was too much of a chore to use it; and some of us didnt haveany common sense at all and never would have. This might be a cross-section of the high school andcollege kids who recently picketed the White House.

In those days the demonstration was spontaneous and unorganized. The marching consisted ofparading alongside the band for a block or two. Our chanting was sporadic yells of Hi Lou, Hi Sambo,and Hi Bones. Of course there was some rough stuff, but it was merely when a stray apple core from alunch box sailed thru the air and, finding its mark, knocked a top hat on to the pavement. The wonder ofit is that Peter McCourt, who was manager of the Broadway Theatre, did not get wise to himself,

especially as Othello was playing at the Broadway. He could very well have taught us the chant,Dockstader, Go Home, or better still, Dockstader, No, Shakespeare, Yes. With a few well preparedsigns to the same effect, he could have made it rather annoying for Mr. Dockstader. But altho theteenagers yearning for any old excitement were the same then as now, theatre managers and other leadersof the community were not at all modern. The progress of the technique in such matters has beenperfected in the last half century, and is about on a par with progress made by the rest of civilizationduring the same period. Of course, the thing that put an end to our shenanigans was the fact that theschool bell for classes rang promptly at one oclock and we had to race for it, or else.

The reports say that anywhere from 1,000 to 3,000 high school and college students picketed theWhite House grounds, demonstrating against the further testing of nuclear bombs in the atmosphere. Ithink there might be many oldsters who would gladly join in, especially after the weather that this ruggedold earth has gone thru recently. But if these youngsters were not using their innate common sense, how

does it come that that someone of the older generation didnt use a little? Kids are pretty good folks, afterall, and most of them would be glad to listen to reason. Serving them coffee on the White House groundsonly added to their fun and enjoyment, and soft-pedalled the serious issue which was at stake. Theirleaders should have been called up for a little serious talk, with microphones so that all might hear. Just afew questions might have been propounded, and when these had been asked and answered, the bottomwould have dropped out of the whole affair. The questions might have been as follows:

Did you know that a moratorium on the testing of nuclear bombs had been solemnly agreed uponbetween Russia and the United States?

Did you know that Russia broke that solemn agreement by the explosions of the largest bombs inhistory?

Have you picketed the Russian embassy with the same demands you are making here?

If not, why not?

Is your group picketing the Kremlin with these demands, and if not, why not?

If we accede to your demands and cease further testing, will Russia agree, also?

If she does agree, what assurance do you have that she will keep any new agreement, when shehas failed to keep her past agreements?

Most of those kids are all right. Most of them have some real underlying common sense. Someof them with dirty necks and wild bloodshot eyes, will never be anything but what they are now. But the


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bulk of our younger generation would see the light if the true light were presented to them. Perhaps thereare too many folks in Washington, and elsewhere in these United States, who do not want our youngergeneration to see the light or know the truth. These are the snakes in the grass who should be rooted outand exiled to the land of their loyalties.

And let us never forget that these kids like to have their fun and excitement even as you and I.There is just so much exuberance within them at their age, that they have to let off steam in some fashion.The next such mob that gathers with their hands and heads full of baloney, let us hand each one anAmerican flag, and some ready-made signs reading, America first, last and always, and then watch thefun as the trained chanters of communism vaporize into absolute nothingness.

March 14, 1962:

A woman stood amid the rocks of our gigantic peak, and inspired by the almost limitless vistawhich she saw, Katharine wrote her immortal America the Beautiful. To the far north were theglittering pinnacles of the Medicine Bow, and Longs with its cross of snow. The skies in the southlandwere pierced by the twin points of the Spanish Peaks, and the Sangre de Cristo glistened in distant beauty

against the turquoise of the mountain sky. In all majesty and touching the heavens, the crest of thecontinental divide beaded its string of snowwhite pearls along the western horizon, as the setting suntinged fragile, fleecy clouds with pure gold. Below and beyond, and to the place where she would soondescend, rolled the forest, and thread-like streams wended their way to give lifeblood to the fields ofwaving grain. The city below, and thriving villages scattered over the distant plains testified to thecontentment of a contented land. Indeed, all that Katharine saw below was beautiful, but when her spiritbecame inspired with it all, the vistas of her mind envisioned all of this land of oursall of America theBeautiful.

To be sure, in the inspired mind of Katharine Lee Bates, the picture became enlarged. She sawfrom the rock-bound New England coast to the surf-whitened swirls of the Pacific under the La Jollacliffs. She could follow the great, three-forked river of the Ohio, the Missouri and the Mississippi fromthe dells where their first rivulets flowed, down through the lush valleys of the midlands to the great delta

below the levees. Her thoughts took her from the great inland sea, guarded by the nebulous might ofRainier, across the wheatlands, the wastelands and pinelands to the golden, citrus-ladened groves thatabound close to Miamis shores. The awe-inspiring roar and mists of Niagara, the magnificent colorfuldepths of the great canon, and the handiwork of nature in the caverns of New Mexico, each surpassing inbeauty any work of architecture which the hand of man might conceiveall of these make up our landwhich is truly America the Beautiful.

I am sure that the great inspired heart of the poet knew that far greater beauties existed in thisland, beauties surpassing mere physical and material landscapes. She knew that this land was where thesouls of men could reach out and enjoy the open air of freedom. When she wrote, she knew that from seato shining sea, for the first time in the history of man, men could come and they could go beyond theoppression of any tyrants hand. The wide open spaces which are ours are wide and free and open for theminds and spirits of men to take or leave as they choose. The peace and security of this sanctuary of

freedom was not bestowed upon us gratuitously, but its beauties had to be gained by the very struggle ofovercoming the physical beauties of the wilderness.

April 9, 1962:

Dog haters need not read this column. As a matter of fact, they need not read any furthercolumns of mine because I am a dog lover, and our philosophies of life are entirely different. I am a lover


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of animals, my parents were before me, and my children inherit the trait. There are many varied values inlife and the love of our domesticated companions as well as the creatures of the wild is a value to becherished. We hope that we have been sensible enough to distinguish between human relationships witheach other, and that between human and animal. Such relationships are akin, but not the same. The loveof a human for an animal need in nowise detract from the love humans bear for each other. In fact, suchlove may be a strong cementing bond between humans.

In the San Juan mountains is a lovely valley, surrounded by jagged peaks rising to the heavens.The early morning sun tinges the topmost peaks with saffron and rose and pink, and they glitter inmajesty against the lightening morning sky. In the evening the cliffs cast purpling shadows that flaredown into the valley in awesome sublimity. After a storm, the mists hang low and billow up the canyonin rolling mystery.

I love these majestic hills, the great caverns of nature which they cause and the exhilaration andtonic of the rarified atmosphere in which they are bathed. Our great Colorado artist, Charles PartridgeAdams, caught these various moods and placed them on canvas as an inspired artist might, so that thebeauty of it all might be brought into the gallery or the living room. I love the one of the sunrise thathangs in our home, but this love of a painting does not detract one whit from my love of the actual sceneitself. The different values of the different loves can and should be distinguished, but both, in their own

way, add to the richness of human experience.In a recent local column of this area, sympathy was extended to us in the loss of our constant

companion of fifteen years. He was a Mexican shepherd named Toasti, of whom I have written duringhis lifetime. In this little personal item it was said, Toasti was one of those animals who thought he was

people. How true that is. I am sure he never thought of himself as other than a full and completemember of our family. I am also sure that we never thought of him otherwise. He was the little fellowwho came to us as a dusty, weary wanderer from a mesa in New Mexico, and he immediately assumeddominion over our hearts, our home and our family. As king of his new domain, his absolute autocracywas wielded with the sceptre of love. Not once in all the fifteen years of his reign did a snarl of hatredemit from his lips, nor did the savagery of human cruelty appear in his demeanor. He taught us manyvalues of lifethe values of patience, affection, love, loyalty, devotion to duty, self-effacement andmodest courtesy. From him we learned the many characteristics which we human should acquire and use

in our daily lives, and from him we learned that true companionship is a virtue to be attained.With the passing of a loved one, whether human or animal, as time goes on memories of

pleasant hours often recur. A void comes in daily life, a void which is there because someone is missing.And this continues until nature inevitably adjusts our hearts and minds, and we continue to live as it wasintended we should live. We cherish our memories and indulge in the dreaminess of lotus flowercontemplation. As all people of the past have done, and as they will do in the future, we thinkthink ofthat which may lie beyond in the great infinity of the unknown.

April 14, 1962:

Did your ever have the entirely natural impulse to sit down and write a letter? The favorite is towrite a letter to the editor. These letters take two forms. You either thank him for the nice publicity hehas given to a campaign in which you are interested, or condemn him for some editorial he has writtenand with which you do not agree. A similar impulse leads you to want to write to the sponsors of someTV or radio program telling them how horrible their latest commercial is. A favorite target is the discjockey who plays tom-tom discordance hour after hour, and you want to ask him why he doesnt playsomething that the folks with the purchasing power might enjoy. Sometimes we feel inclined to write tosome prominent politician or athlete and praise or criticize him. If you do finally give way to yourimpulse, it is purely for the purpose of getting the thing out of your system, and then you feel better.


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There is one letter I wanted to write, and wish I had. The great Christy Mathewson was strickenwith tuberculosis, and it was in the days when they had not conquered the dread disease. I wanted towrite him to come to Colorado where I am sure, with the living of a normal life, he would have regainedhis health. I never did write the letter and I have regretted it ever since. I now have a strong urge to writethree lettersto Roger Maris, Quigg Newton and President Kennedynone of which is too important,but here goes.

To Roger Maris

Care New York Yankees

Dear Roger:

Pay no attention to this horde of reporters and photographers who are trying to make your lifemiserable. This seems to be a trait of theirs to invade the privacy of public figures, warp the normal intothe abnormal, exaggerate the small mistakes, and to hurt and harm you rather than be of help. You are agreat ball player and they know it, and if you were mediocre they would leave you strictly alone. Theywould love to crucify you as they did the great Ted Williams. Just take it all in stride, consider it an assetand testimony to your true greatness. I have had the pleasure of seeing you in action. You are agentleman on and off the field. You have ten thousands of unknown friends who recognize and admireyour ability. I am one of them. Best regards.

To Dr. Quigg Newton, president

University of Colorado

Dear Quigg:

Some neighbors, all of whom are taxpayers who support the University of Colorado, have beenasking questions, some of which I have also had in mind. As head of the institution, you should knowand perhaps can give the answers. You say you wrote a letter some two years ago to the coaches urgingthem to observe the highest ethical conduct and to keep within the rules of the NCAA. Do you write sucha letter annually, and if not, what was the occasion for that particular letter? Did you follow up the letter,and if so how does it come that there have been such flagrant violations by the coach who has now been

dismissed? Why did you await NCAA charges before taking action? Certainly you must have beenaware that there was wrongdoing.

The great puzzle is that as the record now stands, Coach Grandelius was the sole and onlyculprit. How nave do you expect ordinary citizens to be?

And now, Mr. Davis, a fine young man has been hired. He has been the secretary of your alumni.Would you have us believe that he knew nothing of slush funds that were misused in an unethical manner,and if he did know, why has the matter been concealed? Of course the fruit of this wrongdoing has been awinning football team, many members of which must have been parties to the unethical conduct. Do youand the new coach intend to retain the fruits of victorythe fruits of the wrongdoing which has beencharged and admitted? As an old friend, I sympathize with you, but these and many other questions mustbe answered, and you are the one who will have to give the answers. With best personal regards.

To J. F. Kennedy

President

Dear Mr. President

I see where your nice little wife, Jackie, was taken for a ride on an elephant. After reading thearticle my distinct impression was that it was the taxpayers who were being taken for a ride.


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This impression was heightened when Ed Murrow announced that accompanying her, at publicexpense, was a camera man at $1050 a week, and a director at $1000 a week.

I wonder how much was charged to public expense for the peanuts Jackie fed to the babyelephantthree days in succession according to publicized reports. Jackie, of course, was on a good willtour and in that connection had an official private interview with Mr. Nehru, and also a privateofficial visit with the Pope for another half hour in his library. In this latter private siesta, was sherepresenting our nation or your church? I dont know. I was just asking. Her total mileage to date is now39,459 miles, and by the way, yours is a shoddy total of only 19,060 miles. You two like to travel aroundaloneseparate, apart and alone.

Thats one thing we must hand to brother Bobby. He took along his wife, and his travelspeedometer now is a record for the Kennedy family, a total of 46,883 miles. Think of it, Bobby, theattorney general who should be at home prosecuting Jimmy Hoffa and the Communists, travelling twicearound the world. His check alone for his trip to Poland cost the State Department $15,000! Eddie added39,030 miles, making a grand total for the Kennedy dynasty since last May of 144,432 miles! Hope youall take your carpet bags with you when you all go to Massachusetts next fall. Respectfully yours.

May 2, 1962:

There are two words, used in the common jargon of the day as applying to human beings, that Ido not find in the dictionary. One is oddball, and the other is square. It used to be that when we said aman was square, it was meant that he dealt squarely and fairly with other men and that he had a highdegree of integrity. That meaning seems to have gone out of use, and when the beatnik of today refers toa man as a square the meaning is that he is somewhat akin to an oddball. Many various meanings couldbe attached to these two words, but in this column I shall deal with a single definition for each word. Itmust be that all right-wing extremists are either oddballs or squares, or perhaps both. Having studied theearly history of the founding of our country, and being imbued with quite a little of the spirit that movedthe founding fathers, I am compelled to admit that I am rather super extreme in my thinking. In addition,I am naturally left handed and I approach things from the port side. I also get aroused and a little wild attimes, as southpaws are inclined to do. Therefore, in trying to reach a definition for these words I have to

back into the subject, so to speak, and reach conclusions in a roundabout sort of way.There must be at least one very definite description of a man who is an oddball. I should say that

a man who pays his debts is an oddball. I have rather definite reasons for saying this. Let us step to theWashington scene and see what we find. With very rare exception, not a voice is raised in favor ofpaying off the astronomical debt of our nation. Congress continues to extend the debt limit and to voteappropriations beyond our means. Heads of departments continue to plan greater and greaterexpenditures without a thought as to where the money is coming from. The President speaks not oneword about paying a single dollar of the nations debts, but on the other hand talks about spending fifty

billion dollars to go to the moon and the planets. Of course we cannot blame the President for his attitudebecause he never had any debts, so he knows nothing about paying them. If he did have even large

personal debts, Papa Kennedys trust fund would have taken care of them. So on all sides we hearscarcely a voice crying in the Washington wilderness and insisting that we pay our debts. The thoughts

and actions to the contrary are so overwhelming that it leads to the inevitable conclusion that the oneswho want more debt and who do not consider paying the present ones, constitute the normal persons ofthe day and age. Anyone who is not normal is an oddball. Therefore, the conclusion is inescapable thatanyone who pays his personal debts, or desires that the nation pay its debts, is rather in the super oddballclass.

It may surprise you to learn the fact, but the first and foremost oddball in this country was noneother but George Washington. Our countrys father believed that for certain purposes it might benecessary to go into debt. But he very seriously warned that we should first pay off existing debts beforeincurring new ones. In the city which bears his honored name, he would today be laughed to scorn for his


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old-fashioned ideas. He would be denounced openly as an extremist, and the spewing propagandists whobreathe their venom under Muscovite orders, would damn him as an oddball who was undermining ourfriendship with Russia. I may be all wrong, but I firmly believe that at the next election, the candidatewho rises in his might and stands for payment of present debts before new obligations are incurred, wouldbe overwhelmingly elected. It might be well to find out whether the debt-paying oddball or thethoughtless spendthrift is the more powerful.

A square is akin to an oddball, but actually a square is a man who gives an honest days work foran honest days pay. The normal of today is the man who, under organization rules, produces as little aspossible for the highest wage he can get. This is placing him into a seeming delightful Utopia of

prosperous grand living, but actually is leading him to the brink of starvation and disaster. Lets admit it.The man who today has the integrity to give an honest days work for a reasonable compensation is asquare. The fellow who does not do that is a thiefstealing from himself and stealing from hiscommunity.

And now comes a lonely voice crying from the Utah wilderness. By the new dealers, the fairdealers, faro dealers and fake frontiersmen he was branded in effect as an oddball and square because hewas a practical man. Listen carefully to his crying voice. Nations may, and usually do, sow the seeds oftheir own destruction, while enjoying unprecedented prosperity we are the base of the Lords

operations We must protect this base from every threat. From idleness, subsidies, doles and softgovernment paternalism which weakens initiative, discourages industry, destroys character anddemoralizes people We must as a nation live within our means, balance our budgets, and PAY OURDEBTS. We must establish sound monetary policies and take needed steps to compete in worldmarkets. This is the warning of Ezra Taft Benson, a true oddball and square, who is so abnormal as to beguilty of sound thinking.

It seems to be the normal today to indulge in unsound financial practices; to substitutespendthriftism for frugality; to featherbed instead of work; to pass on to our childrens children thepayment of our honest obligations; and to have absolutely no thought for the morrow. If this be thenormal of the day, those of us who think otherwise are oddballs and squares.

May 30, 1962:

The great war between the northern and southern sections of our nation was a highly emotionalconflict, and as the casualties grew from month to month and from year to year, our American peoplebecame shocked in their minds and utterly weary in their bodies. Neither side anticipated anything but ashort, decisive and victorious encounter, and with true American spirit each looked upon their men as anunconquerable host. With the final drama coming at Appomattox, the total casualties shook the nationand the world. Weary and undernourished men returned to their firesides, untold thousands maimed andcrippled, others stunned to their souls in contemplation of the catastrophe of which they were a part.

In the following years, an awakening nation, with recollection fading into the distance of time, ina resurgence of emotion, felt that a day should be set aside to honor those who had given the last fullmeasure of devotion. The thirtieth day of May was set aside as Decoration Day, and by reasons of theearlier seasons April dates are observed in the South. With the coming of other wars and other deaths,and the broadening of the thought beyond the mere decoration of graves, the day became a time to honorall dead in the memory of grateful citizens, and so Memorial Day brings back grateful and lovingthoughts of those who have passed into infinity whether in conflict or in peace. It is altogether fitting thatwe observe this day, and that we think upon the immutable law that inevitably takes all living things.

I honor these dead with all the depths of feeling and memory, but as the thoughts come I have thefeeling that something is terribly wrong with the society in which we live. My memory goes back to ascene at Waterloo Station, London, during the first world war. A Welch regiment was entraining on their


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way to France. These were no menthey were boys, boys of tender age hardly big enough to carry theirrifles and rollups. Some of these boys would soon lose their lives, some would return home maimed forlife, and others would be scarred in a memory of horrors. The ones who did not return were now thehonored dead, but how much more glorious might it have been had they been allowed to live to roam theirgreen valleys of Wales and to sing their hearts out as only the Welch can do.

Standing at the grave of a man named Smithand that actually was his name, I honored himfrom the depths of the real grief which was in my heart because he had been my friend. I last saw EbenSmith at the officers training camp at Camp Funston. He was a smiling example of a hale and heartyAmerican young man who, as a boy, had climbed over these same mountains upon which we lived. Hehad inherited a competence from his father, and used it modestly and wisely. He loved life and wasexuberant in the living. He was a gentleman and became a well trained and efficient officer in the 89thDivision. Eben had everything to live for and yet he was willing to risk the supreme sacrifice for hiscountry. He served with bravery and distinction at St. Mihiel and into the Argonne. And then just oneweek before the armistice, while leading his platoon before Sedan, an enemys bullet pierced hisforehead, his eyes were closed forever, and in his instant death his country lost a value of manhood thatwas irreplaceable. The loss to Eben was total, the loss to his country equally as great. We honor him as adead hero; we should have gained much had we honored him as a good citizen who still lived and couldserve his country in better ways.

On a recent Memorial Day we stood in the rain to honor the ones who slept beneath the sod inrow upon row. The tiny flags, sogging in the rain, denoted their countrys gratitude, and flowers here andwreaths there pinpointed the sorrow of a loved one. In the mist of the day, memory went back across thegreat sea to the base of a lonely hillside in France. The fog of the valley beclouded our sight; the drizzleof constant rain mingled with the tears which we could not hide. The shots of the death salute seemedmuffled in the dreariness of the scene. And then taps, and taps in rather hesitant and rasping tones,signified the final end to those whose mangled bodies we had just laid to rest. We at graveside respectedthem then, we honor them now. They have since come home, perhaps to Alabama, perhaps to our ownColorado. With all honor to their names, and all admiration for their brave deeds, on the day of memoriesI cannot help but feel the tinge of real bitterness against a society which would permit such things.

Are we as humans, forever condemned to send out our strongest to be killed, and to kill others?

Is legalized murder in battle to be our lot forever and a day? I do not see the worthwhileness of it all, nordo I see any accomplishments that have come down thru the ages. We seem destined to continue on andon in this senseless way, and if we are so predestined perhaps Armageddon is at hand. The tools ofArmageddon are with us thru our own inventive genius, and who knows, the day may be here now, orperhaps tomorrow.

Our still living hero, Lt. Col. John H. Glenn, Jr., has said, I feel we are on the brink of an era of

expansion of knowledge about ourselves and our surroundings that is beyond description orcomprehension at this time. Let us hope that Col. Glenn is right, and as we gain the knowledge towardan ultimate goal, we shall learn to honor the living and to keep them alive.

In the meantime, on Memorial Day we honor the dead whom we have sacrificed thru age-longignorance.

June 26, 1962:

The flag of our nation represents the idealism of thoughtful men. The focal point of their mindswas that the individual was entitled to absolute freedom of thought and action. The only boundary to thisfreedom was that each individual should so exercise his liberty that his neighbor be not harmed by hisconduct. With that in view, they bound themselves so that moderate and reasonable laws could beformulated for the orderly management of the affairs of the Nation. At no time did they contemplate that


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a super state should come into being which would become tyrannical and oppressive, because it wasexactly that sort of oppression against which they had rebelled.

When we speak of the minds of men I am sure that we all must realize that this idealism was asstrong in the hearts of the colonial women. There were many heroines during the revolution includingthose who continued to swab the cannon as their husbands fell in battle. A particular shrine at which wemay all worship and gain inspiration is the home of Betsy Ross in Philadelphia. This is in aneighborhood where it seems that each dwelling is trying to squeeze its neighbors into almostunbelievable narrowness. The Ross house cannot be more than twenty feet in width, and they must havecarried the furniture to the upper floors piecemeal up the narrow winding stairways. How quaint Betsymust have been, and yet how practical and clean. Before going up to the bedroom shrine where our flagcame into being, one is arrested for all too long by the cooking roomkitchen if you please. Copperkettles and iron pots, and irons and grates, tongs and bellows, all testify to the simple practicality of theday. Betsy laid out the flag on a large bed which occupies almost the entire room on an upper story.There must have been beauty in the soul of that little woman, fierce love of country in her heart, and aflame of patriotism in her being. The tenderness of love must have guided her fingers as the lovelybanner assembled into a thing of deep beauty and meaning. The cloth she used was of ordinary material.The colors put together were the simple primary ones of red and blue, with the purity of unblemishedwhiteness intermingled. One stands in awe and reverence in that little room, and emotion wells up intoones throat when it is remembered that in this very place was born the symbol which was to lead theworld in the battle cry of freedom.

We should observe Flag Day not only in sentimental admiration for the beauty and artistry of ournational emblem, but with a full understanding in our hearts of the symbolic meanings of the strips andthe galaxy of stars in the deep blue of a night sky. These thoughtful men of the thirteen colonies had fullrealization that the customs, habits and temperament of the people of Vermont were different from thosewho lived in Georgia, and for that reason each state retained its own sovereignty and the independence ofits own people. It was never contemplated that uniform rules of conduct should be promulgated andenforced from a central point in the nation. Indeed, they were taught that when they were told when tosow and when to reap by a central power, their sovereignty of their state and the freedom of the individualwould be lost, perhaps forever. The alternate bands of red and white stripes in our flag are representative

of the banding together of sovereign states in the thought that in the union of freedom-loving people therewould be strength in the common defense.

The ones who designed our flag knew that to the westward lay fertile fields to which they mightmove and live in freedom. They knew that those who might so move would have in their hearts the samespirit of freedom and liberty and that they would form their own sovereign, independent units ofgovernment. Each star in a growing galaxy was placed on an exact equality with all other stars whichwere to come in future days. Each star shone out from a field of deep blue so that purity of the whitenessof its freedoms should gleam out to all the world. The freedom of the star which represents your stateshould never be sullied by any action of the other stars or by the action of the galaxy as a whole.

Our flag is emblematic of these basic principles. As we salute the flag, let us not forget all ofthose freedoms for which it stands. We are apt to be perfunctory in reciting the pledge of allegiance. Weare apt to be unthinking as flags are raised daily on school grounds and post offices, and to take the

procedure as a matter of rote. When we lose reverence for its presence, when we become thoughtless ofits deeper meaning, and when we fail to admire its true beauty, each such moment we are placingourselves one step further away from the freedoms and liberties for which it stands.

July 2, 1962:


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According to the authorities we are fighting a losing battle against juvenile delinquency. Studentsof crime, the welfare workers and the psychiatrists all admit that the solution is farther away than ever.We humans, supposedly the supreme beings of the animate world are unable to solve the puzzle. Perhapsother creatures, and especially those of the wild are wiser than we, and we might do well to try to learnsome lessons from them.

The robins are now bringing their new broods into the world of living things. Keep in mind thatthese faithful parents have for some time anticipated the cycle of nature which replenishes their species.They have worked thoughtfully and hard to prepare a suitable nest for the coming little ones. This mustbe a strong and hardy thing, yet comfortable, and must be sheltered from the elements and from predators.The structure and architecture must be strong and perfect in design, otherwise there would be failure.Long days of patience and devotion to duty follow, and nature urges the coming parents to the utmostsacrifices. When the ugly birdlings are eventually hatched, there follows a period of sheltering the youngand providing their subsistence. But finally there comes a day when the facts of life must be taught thefledglings. The day of reckoning approaches, and unlike the human species, stern and sometimes harshmeasures are invoked to teach the youngster that which we all should learn.

Early this morning we witnessed the second step in the preparation of a youngster for the properconduct of his future life. The first step, of course, had been nudging the gawking, fleck-breasted

youngster out of the comfort and warmth of the nest. This child of nature must exert his self-reliance andspread his wings or he would plummet to the ground like a leaden thing.

The second step which we witnessed was when the mother bird coaxed the fledgling to spread hiswings in upward flight, and he was coaxed to the limb of a scrub oak, high off the ground. The goodprovider soon returned with a sumptuous meal of worms and it was welcomed with wide-open beak. Inbird language which we neither heard nor understood the youngster was undoubtedly told to stay exactlywhere he was and that the mother would return in due course. Thus he was taught the lesson ofobedience. And he obeyed. He obeyed thru long weary hours when his own little desires must havecalled him to disobey. At first he stayed as a frozen statue of marble, immovable and in perfectobedience. But he was also learning another fundamental of life and that was none other than patience.As the hours passed and the mother did not return, the little one would stretch his neck and yawn. A nestmite caused him to scratch under a wing. He would transfer his weight from one leg to another. After

four hours of waiting he began to call with a plaintive cry, and his patience was becoming exhausted, buthe was learning its lesson. And he was learning the greater lesson of obedience.

After long hours the mother bird called to him and he was quick to fly from his perch. He wastold to hide in the underbrush, where his speckled breast would provide protective coloration from unseenenemies. And there he was fed a luscious conglomerate of angle worms and wild strawberries.

But from there on, he was on his own. He had been taught how to protect himself and where andhow to feed himself. This was the hour when he must assume responsibility for his own well-being. Allcoddling had ceased. I am sure that in the early clap of his novitiate his parents would not let him starve,but inevitably the hour and the day came when there was no one else to bear his burdens. When helearned that responsibility was his and his alone and that his true security was in hard work on his ownbehalf, then he became a self-sufficient citizen of the bird world, and security was his, indeed.

When in the days of his youthful helplessness a roguish predator magpie sought to make easyprey of him, then the members of his family called to members of other families, and in screamingdefiance, they all joined in protective attack against the criminal. But all in all he must learn to sodiscipline himself that he might adjust to the vicissitudes that might beset him. He learned that strictobedience to the laws of nature was his greatest asset for survival. He had learned the hard way that tolive he must work, and in working he would find his reward of happiness. No super-government wouldbe there to shield him. No unseen hand would be there to feed his hunger. He must provide his ownshelter against the ways of the world. And in the doing of this he must observe the strict self-discipline


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which he had been taught, he must exercise the patience which he had learned, he must obey theinexorable laws of the world for survival, and over all he must assume entire responsibility.

The last I saw of young Mr. Robin was when he was in the garden. He had no time fordelinquent antics. He was pulling a long worm from the ground in order to provide his daily bread.

July 11, 1962:

July is the month of independence, the month when the thoughts of men came to fruition, themonth when men freed themselves from tyranny. It is also the month of victory, the month of Gettysburgand Vicksburg, the month which marked the turning point in the great struggle which freed a whole raceof men from enslavement. It is the month when the greatest steps were taken and accomplished to releasemen from the control of other men, and to release their acquired properties from confiscation byoppressive taxation.

This is the month of midsummer when the people of the nation go into the freedom andexhilaration of the great outdoors. With summer skies overhead our people breathe the clear air of themountains or feel the tang of the winds coming inshore from the infinity of the sea. This is the time when

we feel sudden freedom from restraint, we realize the freedom from the controls of our mode of life, andagain we are back to all the refreshing simplicity of being back to nature. This summer month of July, or,perhaps to many, the month of June or August, is the time of year when momentarily, at least, we are free.

Soon we must go back to the seeming drag of earning a living, that being mans lot if he is tosurvive. The winter time of confinement and hard work can also be a time of joy if we will let it be,because there is more joy in labor than there is in idleness. But there will be no joy as we return to ournecessary routines unless we have taken back with us the spirit of freedom which we have gained fromour vacation days. The very simplicity of the outdoor life is one of the clear foundation stones of theliberties which we enjoy. If we seek to temper the winter days to come by soft and luxurious living andbind ourselves with the strings of social conformity, we find that we have lost much of the freedom whichwe enjoyed so much when we were truly free. We try to substitute luxury for simplicity, conformity forpersonal freedom, and debauchery for clear thinking. These are mistakes in life which we are all prone to

make in varying degrees and they become increasingly injurious as the years roll by. We may all bephysically weary after the vacation days, but we certainly should be clear-headed thinking about manythings.

A nation is made up of a multitude of individuals, and the course of life which the individualspursue often determines the pathway in which the nation follows. Tough and hardy citizens make a toughand hardy nation. The history of France follows this pattern to a great extent altho in the days of itsgreatest luxury a large portion of the people were starving. The struggling militancy of medieval daysbred patriotism and love of the homeland. Great leaders such as Joan of Arc sprang from the peasantry toarouse the national spirit for freedom, and she paid with her life for her effrontery. Henry of Navarre ledthe good fight for religious freedom. Lafayette came to America to help men gain their birthright. ButFrance thru the years went from militant hardihood to soft luxurious living and thence to ruin.Uncontrolled luxury and debauchery at the top, and absolutely controlled individual action at the bottom,told the historic story of national failure and decadence. And so with Rome and Spain and the Hapsburgdynasty.

As those of Islam make the pilgrimage to Mecca, the birthplace of Mohammed, to renew theirfaith, so we in America should make the pilgrimage to Philadelphia and worship at the shrine whereliberty was born. As one stands at the entrance to the sacred room where the great men gathered to signand where the self-evident facts of the liberties of men were proclaimed, any feeling of subserviencewhich may have come into your soul of late years disappears. Once more you stand as the ruler ofyourselfa sovereign among other sovereigns. This place is the base, the foundation which upholds the


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keystone of the arch of human liberties. You do not stand in awe, you stand with respect and admirationfor those men who, in quaint costumes of the day, gathered here to pledge to each other their lives, theirfortunes and their sacred honor to uphold the liberties they had proclaimed. That pledge was not made bythose men just to each other, but to you and to me and to those who come in the future. We should renewthat pledge to each other and to our posterity.

The place where our liberties were spawned is a hall of utmost simplicity and plainness. Thechairs were sturdy, utilitarian things; the tables were covered with green cloth; the floors were quitebarren; the walls had little to detract from colonial simplicity. Here, without ostentation, freedom came tomen.

In the rococo lavishness of the Tuilleries, amidst overtones of wealth and luxury, the liberties ofmen were lost.

The world has progressed and we can hardly go all the way back on the road to homelysurroundings, but neither should we so advance in pretention that we forget the lowly surroundings of ourbirthplace as a nation. The men who gathered here were architects of basic thoughts, molders of simplelanguage with which to couch expressions of their dreams, and they gave to us in simplicity that whichwe may lose in the overdrawn ostentation which is becoming so prevalent today.

July 18, 1962:

It is hoped that the recent visit of President and Mrs. Kennedy to Mexico will cement the bondsof friendship between our two countries. They will have met the suave crust of the upper level of Latinsociety, and these folks can indeed be charming. They will have seen hundreds of thousands of ordinarypeople lined along the streets and highways, but they will not get to know them. It must be rememberedthat these friends of our south of the border love a fiesta or celebration of any sort. No excuse is tooflimsy for them to drop all labors, tramp for miles on end to meet and mingle with other folks, and toenjoy themselves just being part of a colorful crowd. No doubt these folks enjoyed the panoply of a visitfrom a foreign potentate and his attractive lady, and then they will return to their home grounds and awaitwith anticipation the coming of the next fiesta in the course of the next week or ten days.

There are three ways to visit this land of manana. One is to skim along the highways at a speedcompetitive with the recklessness of the Mexican drivers. In this way one sees glimpses of the color andbeauty which is Mexico, but their travels and the knowledge gained will have been quite superficial. Apleasant method for a visit is to follow the main trails to the show places and lavish hotels of MexicoCity, Acapulco and Mazatlan, but Mexico is not learned by this method. The same result could beobtained by a tour of lush resort hotels in our own America, where the same drinks are served, the samenight club froth is furnished, and the same white tie social status is sought.

The true way to see and learn Mexico is to lend oneself to it. When once the great river iscrossed, a different world is entered. Our own drab is replaced by color, the color of purples, blues, redsand orange. The white or gray of stuccoed adobe becomes tempered from monotony by splashes andtrims of color which give warmth and beauty to the scene. The plainest of our homes and streets are

replaced by the natural artistry of an artistic people. Our barren utilitarian aspect cannot compete with thewinding roads, the narrow sidewalks, and the glimpses thru arched doorways of shaded and flower-ladened patios. A tiny carefully tended patch of green may be the world domain of its indolent owner.

This is truly a different world, and the farther one travels south from the border, the moreapparent it all becomes. Mexico is not Tia Juana, nor Juarez, nor Nuevo Laredo. It is Irapuato, Moreliaand Chapala. Across the tracks from the modern city of Torreon may be seen the dug-out abodes of theHoly Land at the time of Christ. As one travels the rim of an extinct volcano, one may look down uponthe thriving city of Zacatecas lying in the sun warmth of the old crater. The cobalt blue of a living streamthreads its way thru Uruapan on into the bordering tropical jungle. There are secrets of beauty and


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artistry in Mexico to be unlocked by our people of the north, if we do so with proper friendliness andunderstanding.

The people of our southern neighbor are as varied as the physical changes one sees with the eye.Perhaps we do not understand them, and certainly they cannot understand some of our antics. We canlearn much from them, and they in turn can learn much from us. The people of the higher strains arefolks of great charm and culture, and tho rather aloof to strangers can be delightful friends.

In Jalisco you will be startled to see fair skins and red hair. In Morelia the early strain hasremained quite pure and these folks are artists and musicians of the highest order.

The great lake of Chapala with its tide has its picturesque fishermen; and the other great lake ofPatsquaro boasts the fairy-like boats with dragon-fly gossamer sails, and the dance of the old men withbent backs, false noses and canes that help them wend their way down the street is atmosphere to be longremembered. But in a thousand towns and small villages are the peons of mixed bloodIndian, Spanishand perhaps original Aztec. These are the sodden ones who will not do today what they may perhapsdecide to do tomorrow; where any intelligence is hidden behind a bovine demeanor; where satisfaction inlife seems to be gained by a place to sleep upon some sidewalk at night and a place to doze in the sun byday.

In the towns are the markets, as large as any of our supermarkets. But the aisles will be banked

with a thousand flowers; colorful cloths hang from above; there are booths where all things are soldclever wooden toys and horn carvings; silver beads are displayed and the fine filigree of silver braceletsand rings and medallions are the work of true artists; fruits and vegetables are displayed next to thecarcass of a newly slit goat with muscles still pulsating in reflex. The stenches of the meat booths minglewith the perfume of the flowers, and this is Mexico.

To us, Mexico is an enigma but that is because we fail to recognize the influence of climate andrace. When Mexico gets sanitation, refrigeration and education it will be one of the great countries of theearth.

The President will hear of its ills and necessities. We hope he does not come home with his usualcure all in mindthe expenditure of money. Mere money will go down the drain of political pathwaysthat are devious, to say the least. The building of sixteen-story apartments will take them out of their

housing sphere. Welfare do-gooders will stir resentment. The job must be done by enlightened Mexicansfor their own people, and they can do it with our sympathy, help and friendlinessnot with our money.

October 7, 1962:

We think of autumn as a time of beauty, but rarely do we think of it as a season of friendliness.The vivid colors creep slowly into Natures garb and slowly but surely we are surrounded with a glorythat is all too short in point of time. We mountain dwellers have the advantage over city folks in that asthe leaves color and then fall they remain as a tapestried carpet upon our pathways until the early windsand then the snows of winter sweep into the underbrush to act in enriching the soil for the growth that issure to come when winter finally departs.

Men have tried to describe the beauties and artistry of autumn with but little success. Its truth isthat which must be seen with the eye and then repose in the soul and the memory. After the first briefbrush with equinoctial temperament, Nature cools the nights to crisp healthiness, but turns a warm andsunny face to smile at men during the lazy days of fabled Indian Summer. Perfect days may come theneven as in June, but the tuning fork of Nature sounds delicate warnings of frigid winds soon to come fromtheir Norways and blankets of white to shroud the sleeping earth. During the season of transition, we ofthe mountains see the hillside maples burst into sudden flame of red, the aspen in the canyons and arroyos


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wave their quaking banners with yellows and russets and golds, and the scrub oaks protectively curlingtheir leaves against the coming storms and bathing themselves in copper and bronze.

All of these things are the beauties of autumn, but all too many of these signs forebode theunfriendliness of the winter to come. It is a period of unconscious human tension against unknownvicissitudes.

And yet we of the mountains enjoy a friendliness from the wild ones which is not the privilege ofurban dwellers. During this time the migrant, feathered friends stop at our pools and sanctuaries. Theyvisit in friendliness, eat a few meals with us, and then depart to southern climes, to revisit us in the spring.These migrants add much beauty to the autumn time because the colors of so many blend into thecoloring of the leaves and we know that Nature is protecting them in this protective coloration. Thesquirrels, who have been wild and free and silent during the warm days, now seek the higher reaches ofthe pines and scamper from limb to limb in wild abandon, pausing now and then to chatter a happygreeting between their munching of the fruits of the pine cones.

The larger animals come down from the high places because here the browse is better and morelasting and there is still water in the pools of the fast-drying creeks. The deer are friendly only in a distantsort of way. They come to visit in the early morning or the late evening. They come to our garden, not todestroy, but perhaps to enjoy the peace that is there and with full awareness that their enemies do not live

here. I love to see them at the top of our little hill, still and motionless against the evening twilight sky,immobile as the men of Taos as they stand on their parapets while the sunset fades.

An unwelcome visitor is the porcupine who is armed for defense against the world. When he islumbering down the road, we lumber along the other side as did the Levite on the road to Jericho. He isan enemy to trees and to other living things, and we do not consider him among our friends.

There are others in the wild with whom we live in amity. Perhaps we have gone to too greatlengths in seeking their friendship. The rinds of our melons provide feasts at our door for the bears whohave now come for the choke cherries, the hazel nuts and the acorns. The cubs delight in the hard candieswhich we place upon the dinette window sill, and they chomp it with abandon as children who have not asyet learned proper table etiquette. The mother bear may be hiding with watchful eye in the nearbybushes, but we do not seek her friendship nor does she seek ours.

Except for a spare carrot now and then, we do not feed the jumpy high-kicking rabbit whichfeasts in early morning upon the blooming clover. We do, however, invite the coming of a nocturnalvisitor, the raccoon who comes to visit at our front doorstep every night with almost clocklike precision.There she finds the spare chunks of bread and cake which we scatter in early evening. She eats withpoliteness and delicacy, and the beautiful little face seems to look up at us with appreciation. Her facewould qualify her in any animal Miss America contest, and the bushy-ringed tail would catch the eye ofthe judges. The other night a strange interloper invaded her domain and gobbled her snacks as tho he hadthe guilty conscience of a thief. It was an opossum, whose skinny tail makes him look like an invertedant eater. She would not qualify in any beauty contest because from front to rear her measurementsranged 22-36-48.

When we say that last night we saw the most beautiful animal we have ever seen, we have notgrown maudlin, senile nor have we fallen out of our presidential rocker. But there she was on our

doorstep, a perfection of Gods artistry. Black as the waters of the river Styx; white stripes as pure as astrip of polar snow; as perfectly shaped as Miss Universe; the gorgeous tail is fringed with flecks of silverfiligree. This beautiful innocent-looking beast is named Mephitis, but it has defensive weapons beyondthe power of man to overcome and no deodorant will suff

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