Jasper County Democrat, Volume 23, Number 8, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 24 April 1920 — The WEEK'S DOINGS [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

The WEEK'S DOINGS

JACKSON TP., NEWTON COUNTY ’ Jay Makeever went to Goodland

again last Sunday. “Poets are born” we are told. Uh-hu, that’s the trouble. With the present scarcity of straw, this is no time for straw ballots. And then, too, it lopks like some one had knocked the 'g' out of gentle spring. In spite of adverse conditions oats appear to be sprouting fairly well, with indications of a reasonably good stand. ..

There may be handsomer men than the candidate, but a lovener man don’t breathe. With apoJoglee, of to Will Carleton. A. B. Tolan of Colfax townsnip is a candidate for joint-representative for Jasper, Newton and Benton counties, subject to the will of the Republican voters. To the man with Llmburger In his whiskers the whole world stinks. The Republican press, we note, is accusing the Democrats of raising an unusually large campaign fund. William Schanlaub of north Jackson township is figuring on letting dad do the farirfing this year while he goes to Detroit and delves into the mysteries of engineering and automobile repairing. Speaking of honor, now, how about Tom Watson? Not Jim, but Tom. A watermelon has been named for Tom, and th? catalog® say it is large, red cored and sugary. Could angels desire greater honor?

James Fortine, who was circulating in the interest of the proposes farmers’ elevator at Mt. Ayr, reported good success, and by the time this is in print the requisite amount of stock probably will have been taken. The country schools generally will close next week. Unusual success has attended the Jackson township schools from start to finish, we are told, no epidemics or petty misunderstandings to mar the serenity of the occasion. If some gent will kindly provide us with a dead 3-year-old garter snake, killed In the light of the moon, on the seventh day of the month, while crossing the public highway, we’ll see what we can do about stopping these rains. After all, when the fact Is taken into consideration that Indiana’s next governor is sure to be a Democrat, all of this hair-pulling and bitterness on the part of the g. o. p. gubernatorial candidates strikes us as being a sinful waste of time and energy. It may be just a coincidence, but Indiana county seat newspapers of the Republican persuasion, as you may have noticed, are not quoting largely from those two good old Republican mouthpieces, the Indianapolis News and the Indianapolis Star, this spring. In spite of the lateness of the season the discordant, querulous voice of the oats seeder was heard in this vicinity up to the time of mailing these jewels of thought. No little breathing spell this year between oats planting and plowing for corn, as is usually the case. We dropped into Morocco the other day to get a collar pad and some of those nice six-dollar potatoes. Morocco is talking new school house and some of the arguments for and against the proposition involved personalities, we were pained to note, that actually verged on the brutal.

Be of good cheer, Mr. Farmer. It is true the weather is cold and wet, oats planting is late, rough feed scarce and grass backward, but the outlook is going to improve now right shortly, and old Newton and Jasper will raise the biggest crops ever. Don’t be a quitter at this stage of the game. Hark, from old Moscow comes a doleful sound. The soviet government has ordered everybody in that city to take a bath. We have all read or heard of the old gold miner who enjoyed the luxury of a Turkish bath and who, by some unfortunate chance, died the next day. A coroner’s jury returned the verdict: “He hadn’t ort to of got so much dirt offen him to onct.” We claim no unusual ability as a prophet, but we’ll venture the guess that within the next three years many a day laborer, who now is striking for higher pay, will work for less than half of his present wages and will be mighty thankful to get the work even at that. Business in this country has gone stark, raving crazy, and it is going to require a jolt of considerable violence to get the people back to their normal senses.

With all thia noise about throwing and hog-tying the profiteer, the old game of pulling the consumer’s leg .goes merrily on. Farmers this spring are paying all the way from $5 to $7 a bushel for seed potatoes and 'why? Not because of any particular scarcity of potatoes, but because a bunch of Jiuman hogs have succeeded in cornering thq, potato crop and the consumer, of course, is made to act the part of the goat. The sugar supply is already being rounded up by this same crowd, and the good housewife more than likely will pay 25 cents a pound for her canning sugar this season or go without said sweetnin’. Oh, yes, indeed, Uncle Sam is treating the profiteer real harsh. If these freezes and vagrant snowstorms don’t let up we may read in this year’s Fourth of July news such items as these: “While the Hon. Mehegia Mud of Mudville was in the midst of an eloquent peroration Hank Fullenwater, slightly intoxicated and a man of socialistic proclivities, sent a large, soggy snowball crashing into the speaker’s stomach, bringing the exercises to an abrupt close.” “The Fourth of July celebration at Punkenvine was a Jimdinger. Ice had formed on our fine skating pond to a depth of eight inches and everybody went home feeling that they had had a good time.” - “The Fourth at Mosqueto Vale was marred somewhat

by Slim Jones, in a spirit of fun, dropping a two-foot icicle down the back of Rinda Doolittle, the Goddess of Liberty, causing Rinda to throw a series of fits, and making it necessary to utilize a new and Inexperienced goddess.” Etc. and so on. The other evening, after we had got our corn cob pipe to going good and strong, we fell to meditating as to what station of life was the best, the most free from , care ahd worry. After we had given the

subject the once over we concluded that the elder Crusoe had the right idea of the matter when he recom-, mended to his son the middle state,' or what might be called the upper station of low life. This station the old gentleman had found by long experience to be the best state in the world, not exposed to the nii series and hardships of the very poor and not embarrassed with the pride, luxury, ambition and envx of the upper class, that station which the wise man doubtless had in view when he prayed to have neither poverty nor riches- A writer compares the world to an apple pie. In this case, as we view it, the rich would represent the upper crust, the poor the lower crust, while the middle class would represent the apple. Take away tne apple and what becomes of your old pie? Not long ago we picked up a Republican paper and were not a little surprised to observe that among the things the Democrats will have to explain this year is why Wilson did not keep us out of war. Talk about political sportsmanship, wilt you! Wilson did keep us out of war as long as he could do so consistent with the honor of this country, and while he was trying to maintain peace who howled for the blood of the kaiser so vehemently and so persistently as the Republican lead-, ers, who so ready to deplore and to view with alarm the unparalleled patience which the president exercised towards Germany at that time. But, behold, now, the depth to which the party of Lincoln has descended in its greed for political power. After all peaceful means had failed and this country was forced to resort to arms in order to defend its honor, and after helping to win the most glorious victory in history, Republican spellbinders dare hold up their heads in this compaign and sqeeringly ask the Democrats to explain why “Wilson did not keep us out of war.” God! If we were handing out medals we sure would slip one to John Mehary and one to Abraham BrinSe. Why? Well, now, Johnny is e most faithful, conscientious school hack driver in four states. Always right on deck, always kind to the school children under his care and thoughtful of their morning and evening robbed the

past winter of much of it* rigor. And Abraham? Well, Abe has carried the U. S. mail now for about 18 years, has traveled more than 25 miles daily over a dreary road, through etorm and shine, through cold and rain and heat, and during all these years he has always been found acting the part of an honest, faithful public servant. Yes, sti, send on your medals and we’ll see that they reach the right parties. It pays to learn a trade even it one has no Intention of making use of it. When we learned to set type in a printing office we hadn’t the least idea at the time that the knowledge would ever benefit us, but now when we go forth to set onion sets the old type setting habit helps wonderfully. It is a source of considerable pride also to see the natives chinning the garden fiance and to hear them remark in awed tones upon our amazing speed as an onion set setter. The Pyramids of Egypt, Pharos of Egypt, Hanging Gardens of Babylon, Temple of Diana of Ephesus, Statute of Jupiter by Phidias, Mausoleum of Artemisia and the Colossus of Rhodes were considered the seven wonders of the ancient world, but how insignificant do they appear compared with the- volume of noise an ambitious Bull Mooser will minke previous to an election and his profound silence subsequently.

Along about the time of the last Cleveland administration, when we made weekly trips to Goodland In the interest of the only strictly religious paper in Newton county, the boys in that town used to feed us up on dope of the early-day ’ brand, and, believe me, some of those narratives were fearfully and wonderfully constructed. For instance, one day a stranger with a new kind of fire extinguisher, a concoction put up in quart bottles, hit the burg. Later on, with the help of some small boys, the stranger collected and piled all of the available boxes, with a view to giving an exhibition at night. Everything being ready, the “fire destroyer” placed his two bottles alongside the boxes and proceeded to the nearest saloon, where he nominated his “family disturbance" at brief and regular intervals during the rest of the day. While this was going on a couple of Goodland’s citizens —Al Kitt and Dwight Babcock, If we remember correctly —emptied the "extinguisher” out on the ground, refilling the bottles with coal oil, after which they drifted down the street and continued to pose as shining lights in the local universe. Darkness came and so did The saloon belched forth the fire man a few minutes later, who, after explaining the merits of his liquid extinguisher, at length and with a wealth of detail, pitched one of the bottles into the fire, which was now going strong. The result needs no explanation. The man gave a sort of frightened glance about him and then pitched in another bottle. Result, more fire, while the crowd cheered mightily. At this stage the stranger seemed to lose his head completely, and, after pitching in several more of the bottles, he let lose of a smothered howl of fright, turned and fled fare, while his heavenly singing

wildly from the biggest fire Goodland had had in a coon’s age. No, the man never came back.