The Charlotte News

Friday, December 26, 1941


Site Ed. Note: Today's front page and its continuation page feature the speech to a joint session of Congress this day by Winston Churchill, echoing some of the viral figure which Roosevelt had used in October, 1937 in his Chicago speech. Indeed, it was a disease in need of quarantine, this Nazi insanity, it being highly infectious and virulent to those who allowed themselves to come in contact with it and insinuate its ways and means into their dreams of Empire schemes. Indeed, sometimes, despite its having been thoroughly rendered moribund in the world over 63 years ago, we still on occasion see evidence of its attempting again to raise one of its Hydra heads. Recognizing it for what it is and observing its symptoms, one must then learn of its effective treatment before it becomes so rampant in the body that it possesses the whole of it--as it nearly did in 1939-41.

The editorial page is here. Dorothy Thompson sums up Hitler's goals for the preceding six months and how they had been frustrated. Is she correct in assuming that the attack on Pearl Harbor was timed to coincide with the defeat of Moscow? Or, wasn't it the case that the Japanese were biding their time on the issue of oil, to come from the Reich once it took over the Caucasus and started its move to the south through Turkey into Iran and Iraq by September or so? And with that being frustrated by October with the coming of an early winter and tough fighting from the Russians, made the move into the Sarawak in Borneo for the oil a necessity, the attack on Pearl to take out the American Fleet a fait accompli by late October, early November--unless by some miracle the United States had accepted Tokyo's ultimatum and acquiesced to the demand of renewed trade in oil for silk and the leaving of Japanese aggression in China and Indochina unchallenged by U.S. aid.

Some further first-hand accounts of Pearl Harbor are here and here. (We refrain from comment on Mamala Bay. But we kind of like that Gloria. She's got those nice cuddly toes, doesn't she?)

Happy second day of Christmas and we hope you got your two turtle-rings--or something like that.

Last evening, at about 7:00, we were out for a few miles on the interstate, over to our favorite park in which to run, and nearly got run over by a horde of traffic rushing like there was no tomorrow. We thought for a minute there might be an air raid on or something, that bombs were falling again--but it turned out that they were just rushing somewhere for no apparent reason, maybe having to get home to fire up those new video games and see whether and how they worked, so that they could return them today for something faster and even better, maybe a real NASCAR. Next Christmas, slow down. It's not going anywhere unless you speed it up.

Incidentally, the Bishop Saint Nicholas of Myra in Lycia, who lived in the 4th century, the patron saint of travelers, merchants, bakers, children, and sailors, after whom was modeled by the Dutch, Sinter Klaas, becoming the foundation for the tradition of our Santa Claus, died and consequently had his original Feast Day on December 6--that is, as celebrated in Switzerland, Belgium, the Netherlands, and Germany, even into modern times.

He knows when you are sleeping. He knows when you're awake. He knows when you've been bad or good, so be good for goodness' sake.

But perhaps Tojo and the Emperor and Hitler became a little confused in their thinking, and decided that, together, they formed the new Sinter Klaas, that is the Fat Man, and so...

And, come to think of it, if a gent came to your door looking as the one we showed you on Christmas, you'd call the cops to him, wouldn't ye? Be honest, now. You would. And you'd probably say something like: "There's some long-'aired 'ippie dude at the door begging. Quick, send a patrol car right 'way, officer, please. What? Jesus, it's not him. He's died long ago. No, it's not. Get away. What you mean he's in the neighborhood soliciting? I want you to come and arrest this transient creep, now. All that long 'air and stringy beard like that. He's probably a heavy metal drummer or some strange apple of that sort. It's enough to set you off your lunch. What do I pay my taxes for? There's no tellin' what he might do. He might 'ave a gun or a knife hidden on his person. He's a bleedin' lunatic, he is, all dressed up like that in that lady's gown and all. And he looks like he 'asn't even washed in a month. Invite him in? No such thing. Not on your life. You get that patrol car here now, or I'll 'ave a sharp round with your sergeant come Monday for sure." You know you would. Admit it, now.

And, for your continued edification, here is the last page of Cash's personal Bible, a map of Palestine, as it appeared in 1927:

Framed Edition
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