The Charlotte News

Thursday, November 3, 1938

FIVE EDITORIALS

Site Ed. Note: We should first comment that our little Halloween treat, which we hope it was and is, appears to have been temporarily hijacked. Whether it was because of our own mischance, from overworked and tired eyes, of which we have many, even in the back of our heads--so best not mess with all us editors, either--or whether it was someone who, hu, hoo, invaded our internet connection, we don't know. We do notice from time to time that such things occur, however, and we hear of others having the same problems occasionally, including great metropolitan newspapers. So, whether it was the latter or not, it would be better, if the latter, that you contribute to us directly with your thoughts. If publishable, we will be glad to do so, if you want them published. If not, we will read them and comment back to you. We always do. We enjoy the exchange.

But whatever you do, don't Dare hijack us. That's actually a Federal offense, now, and we won't take it lightly. The last time Big News came from a hijacking, it costs a lot of lives. It is no joke. It is not funny to try to hijack other people, whether their identities, their thoughts, their airplanes, their boats, their trains, or their automobiles.

We enjoy poets, musicians, singers, songwriters, teachers of all sort, including doctors, lawyers, professors, journalists, carpenters, masons, mechanics, truck drivers, cab drivers, farmers, tinkers and tailors, and all sorts of others, including the unemployed, and even a few highwaymen, now and again.

If that offends you, then we suggest that you change your living conditions to that of a cave somewhere, under a rock cliff, or turn off your computer, go rest some, and come back afresh and try it again. Or simply go to another site where you feel better and more at home. The net-net abounds with them.

Simply put, our credo is that we believe in civilization and in trying to improve it as best we can, when we spot some of its foibles, which we hope and trust are temporary ones, and to do so by our humble lights and means, whatever may be left of them. We don't always get it right, and what we do get right, may change for the better in time, to make us wrong. That we hope, in fact. (And if that begins to sound vaguely like something out of "Citizen Kane", you could be almost right, but hopefully not quite. We saw the movie a long, long time ago, and liked it. We've even been to Hearst Castle in San Simeon, CA., by the sea, two or three times, and we learned a lot there. We've read the San Francisco Chronicle and Examiner many times, and we learn a lot from those, too, and find them interesting newspapers. Not to mention the New York World from 1905 and many, many other publications.)

Probably, it was just Sunny Nash, Funky Looonie Fritz, or Norbeast, Norman. Shamblin' Flack Helliotte had a lot to do with it.

And if you didn't catch the choke, don't worry. Wasn't a big deal. What it was was that with which we have to contend every time we set out to put down these editorials, even if we're out at the Isle of Wight at the time. It was uncorrected machine-talk from the dictation software, from the next day, which bled into the previous day's note somehow, some of which probably suggested things which were plainly tricks of the machine age. We use dictation software, which is pretty good actually, on the editorials, but the dragon sometimes has a mind of its own nevertheless, and so it sometimes appears to mock us, fiercely at times, in fact. To write these notes, however, we type them the old-fashioned way, not by dictation.

And, when we occasionally fail slightly in our proof-reading of the editorials, sometimes we leave the little error, if innocent enough, to make a point, which only the reader may define, if at all. Occasionally, we don't catch them until years afterward, and so we don't usually go back and make the correction then. Sometimes the derived chuckle is better than the corrected print. If ever you wonder whether or not any of the editorials between the gold bars, however, which we attribute to The Charlotte News, are actually and truly from the Charlotte News of the date indicated, then by all means check for yourself. They are, invariably. The ones between the silver lines are our stuff, added, unless specifically indicated otherwise. We try to clue you, the attentive, if we are choking. For the inattentive, watch how you drive. But, as we said, try not to trick us in return for our treats. We don't trick you, not really, and so we expect likewise treatment, deary. Argue with us, shout at us, but don't trick us. Treats are sweet.

You see, W. J. Cash got tricked once down in Mexico--just as John F. Kennedy and Robert F. Kennedy and Martin Luther King and John W. Lennon, and a whole host of others still with us in spirit got tricked once--by some very, very confused people who could not see the difference between a joke and killing or harming someone. There is a grave and true difference. If you believe life and death are jokes, then play those tricks on yourself, not others. You may find it isn't so very funny. Also listen to "All Along the Watchtower".

As to the day's editorials, we don't know whether "Capitalizing Tragedy" was by Cash. Probably not, but we include it. We strongly disagree with the editorial in substance, though in spirit we agree with the notion of not capitalizing on tragedy. A driver must be responsible, however, in the particulars described, for the death of another, a passenger in his or her automobile or that of the other vehicle, if the driver is at fault in the accident, and a passenger, under present laws in most if not all states, does not assume the risk these days. Traffic laws and roads and cars have changed much in terms of safety and reliability and speed since 1938. The improvements in safety are largely the result of the superb work of one lawyer, Ralph Nader, and his team of researchers and lawyers, and their work against the fitful little Corvair, an example of a broader problem still, at times, with us.

One cannot, true enough, put a dollar value on human life. Every human life, we believe, is sacred and invaluable, even if corrupted by experience, and not passable as a dollar sign. But, we also believe that the family members or other chosen beneficiaries of the decedent are also sacred, too, and should not suffer for the loss of part of the load-bearers in their midst when the pall bearers must do their inevitable but disdained duty.

Cash's parents received $10,000 for the death of their son in Mexico. With it, they built a house in which they lived quietly, spiritually and comfortably, knitting, talking softly, teaching, much of the rest of their lives. We know that, for we visited them there a few times once upon a time. They were the sweetest of folks. We were in fact with each of them when each of them passed away. They were both country people, smart as whips, though with formal education scarcely beyond high school, yet humble and kind, one of them even walking a little child to their first days in school, sometimes, and always seeking to educate themselves further. If one trifled with them, however, they had their ways of teaching that individual not to do that, gently; not with guns or arrows or knives or screwdrivers, or false accusations of wrongdoing, or other such invasive harms. We know that, too.

Once, we trifled with Nannie Cash, just a teasin'. She teased us back, not intending to do so, actually. What it was was a skeleton key. We can still see that old skeleton key. We have a small scar on top of our crown from it which teases us whenever we want to call upon it to do so. We had locked a door on Nannie and pushing and pushing, she couldn't open it. We thought it hilarious, of the moment, that she was locked out of her own house in the middle of the afternoon. But, 'twas a bit frustratin' to her after a couple of minutes or so prob'ly. Then, not wishing to continue the tease too long, we reached up, a long way up there, and turned that little skeleton key from its center position to the right, to let her back into her house--and Bam, that old, brass skeleton key hit us right square on top of our noggin. We shall never forget that lesson, as it hurt a little at the teem. Nannie didn't mean to do that, just a coincidence of bad teeming, of the moment, but she got us first aid immediately, of course, and probably learned a little about us, too, maybe a mutual lesson about pushing too much on the locked doors, from either side--a mutual lesson, in fact. Though it hurt then, now it tickles, and has for many years, since about a month or so after the accident. And every time it does tickle, it reminds us of Nannie's gently smiling face. So, we hope you had or have a Nannie like her. If you do, don't tease her though too much, childe. She may tease you back, especially on Halloween.

Incidentally, we have been meaning to point this point out for some time, something you won't read in any published book anywhere, at least one of which we are aware. Nannie, in 1895, got a job at age 21, working for the Boiling Springs, N.C. newspaper, as a writer. Go figure...

Those are true stories (except that, occasionally we misspell Nan's name, me word, and have to look it up). (As we are lazy right now, we won't determine whether we got it right this time or net. If net, we hope, wherever she is, she understands the little tease on our noggin.)

Here are some more true stories.

A Relative Term

As every motorist knows, a speed that under certain conditions may be as safe for South Carolina for the Democrats, can, under other conditions, become wildly reckless. Nevertheless, North Carolina law lays down the overall limit of 45 miles an hour, day or night, rain or shine, crowded or clear road; and the result is that in the prevailing absence of highway patrolmen motorists simply ignore the law and drive according to their own notions.

Now, however, the State's Highway Safety Division is studying a new set of model rules compelled by a national body. As to speed, the maximum allowed is 50 miles an hour, except that in certain cases, where roads are built for speed and safety permits it, a higher rate may be permitted. But at night, 45 miles would be the limit, and in bad weather and dense traffic the legal rate would be lowered accordingly.

The whole subject of highway safety is of purely academic interest without sufficient control to enforce laws, but an even prior need is sensible laws to enforce. It looks at first glance, as though the State might be on the trail.

But Not Quite

Robert Rice Reynolds was candid last night at least--in confessing that he yearns more than anything else to spend 25 years more as a Senator in Congress from North Carolina. Nobody can blame Robert. Ourselves, we confess candidly, too, that we wouldn't mind 25 years at $10,000 per, with nice fat expense and traveling accounts and all the kowtows that automatically go to a Senator of the United States. And all for doing nothing but shaking hands and making speeches, and being generally a good fellow--save in relation to a few unfortunate aliens who would be shot or dumped into concentration camps, if Robert had his way and they were sent home willy-nilly.

But there, now; maybe we do Robert an injustice. The alien bill is, indeed, the only piece of legislation Robert has cooked up in his years in the Senate. But that is not really his only accomplishment. In those six years, he has hung up the record as the travelingest man who ever cooled his heels on a Capitol Hill desk. Tar Heel hearts have been thrilled by picture postcards from every part of the United States, and all around the earth, from the land of the Midnight Sun to Singapore and from Port Said to Port au Prince. And given 25 more years--ah, masters, what a boast to set aside "First at Bethel, Farthest at Gettysburg, Last at Appomattox" and "the Greatest Towel Mill on Earth"--to have produced the champion globe-trotter of all times. Almost, our pride in Tar Heel firsts, our delight before the dazzling prospect, persuades us--almost.

Man In A Box

Benito Mussolini is coming more and more clearly to be a man hoist by his own petard. The inventor, in Europe, of Fascism and the doctrine that only brute force has a right to rule, he was naturally delighted to see the rise of Adolf Hitler. Germany was definitely a sick and second-rate power, but power it still was, and that power would be very useful if rightly manipulated by Benito Mussolini.

But it has turned out to be quite otherwise. Since the beginning of this year, Hitler has emerged as the overwhelming master of the Rome-Berlin Axis. A colossal German Empire is shaping up around Mussolini's northern and eastern frontiers, and threatening presently to swing around him on three sides. Already he has less than a third of the military might of his nominal partner. And his desperate efforts to halt events have done that no good. Informed observers suggest that the attempt of Poland and Hungary to take over Ruthenia and so place a barrier across Hitler's march eastward, was really promoted by Il Duce. But it has come to nothing. It is Hitler's man, Ribbentrop, and not Mussolini's Ciano, who would take the settlement at Vienna. Worse, there are signs that it isn't going to be long until Hitler presents a demand for return of Trieste, the great port of the Adriatic, which was the chief jewel Italy tore away from Austria at the end of the last war.

Now To Begin

It's a fine thing and a notable thing, messires, when nine busy private citizens take time off to make, at the request to public official, an exhaustive report on so complex and many-sided a matter as housing conditions. How diligently the Mayor's Committee carried out its assignment is indicated by the fact that the members themselves, with no assistance, personally surveyed the town and came up with the statistic that there were at least 3,077 houses in the city "which were definitely questionable as to their fitness for habitation."

The difference of opinion developed among the committee members as to the preferable means of relieving the situation is easily understandable. If there were no differences of opinion, there would be no political parties, no lawsuits and no stock market. The important point is that the committee agreed unanimously that--something ought to be done.

If private capital should step up and do the job, so much the better. But private capital isn't going to. Private capital has no sense of public responsibility, as proven conclusively by the fact that it is private capital invested in shotgun houses which has produced the conditions from which we now seek escape. Indeed, private capital is so averse to any interference with its dollar return of a few little simple regulations about house construction and sanitary facilities and crowding have brought about almost complete cessation of new building (cf, Par. 3 in the committee's statement) in spite of the absence of vacancies (cf., Par. 2).

Whether or not it is entirely of public obligation to relieve these conditions, we are not sure. But it is up to somebody to make a start at relieving them. And even the private-capital advocates on the committee must concede that if the infection of the slums (disease, dependency, delinquency and crime) are public responsibilities--and they are, as shown by the provision of municipal agencies and courts to cope with them-- then it is shortsightedness indeed to deny that the source of the infection is not the public's lookout.

Capitalizing Tragedy*

There is always the risk in commenting on damage suits in behalf of persons killed or injured while guest passengers in automobiles, that some grieving relative will be further grieved. The collection of damages, of course, is of no consolation whatever. A judgment, no matter for what amount, cannot bring the dead to life or ameliorate the suffering of the injured.

At the same time, and with all sympathy, the habitual filing of such claims deserves comment and ought to have it. They are inconsistent with any traditional conception of justice or responsibility or the code of good sports. If he set out voluntarily, even gratefully, in some other's automobile, you assume the risks of the journey. Indeed, if he bung up his car or be pinched for speeding, the considerate companion will go halves on the bill. If the worst happens and the guest passenger is killed, the same principle should apply. It's a poor rule that won't work the same in the case of a few thousands of dollars as in a few dollars.

In reality, it doesn't work that way at all. Nearly all such mischances are dragged through the courts and as large a settlement as possible demanded on the tacit excuse that an insurance company will have to pay it. That still makes the claim no more equitable, especially since the cause of it is assessed back against the rest of us who are policyholders and who may disdain such capitalizing of tragedy.

Site Ed. Note: Here are three little fillers from the editorial page of this day's date, immediately below and to the side of the column. We had no idea it was here until today, not a day or so ago, when we posted the preceding. We rarely, if ever, read ahead to see what the editorials not yet added see. So interpret that little coincidence as you will. Gives us chills sometimes. Make of it what you will.

Amenities in Texas

(Toronto Star)

Texas has a State law prohibiting walking sticks. Canes are subversive. A Texan carrying one might poke another Texan in the eye before the second could draw his gun and shoot the argument out in an orderly manner.

The Extra Point

(Richmond Times-Dispatch)

Though he said he wished nothing more of France, Hitler confronts her with new demands. Maybe the Fuehrer is trying for that point after touchdown.

Progress

(Atlanta Constitution)

The new car models show wider windows--a much needed improvement, as so often the speed cop is lost in the blind spot in the left rear.

 


Framed Edition
[Return to Links-Page by Subject] [Return to Links-Page by Date] [Return to News--Framed Edition]
Links-Date -- Links-Subj.