The Charlotte News

Saturday, April 27, 1940


Site Ed. Note: "Babies Next?" provides the accurate assessment that it would not be long, another four months in fact, until Hitler would order his bombers against England; it miscalculates, however, the will of the old men of France to stand fast against Hitler's invasion from the north, less than two weeks away. The vendez-dehors of the greater part of France by its leaders would provide the Calais nest from which Hitler could conduct his bombing raids, ultimately to be his launching pads for the V-1 rockets, to hurl fire and death over Dover, to the streets of London itself.

For more on Mr. Satko and his Ark, as set forth in "Vessel", and its eventual happy docking, having found his hands and heads sufficient to admit his pea green boat, in Juneau, see "Fabulous Man", July 30, 1940. (See also "Passage by the Tracks", January 30, 1939) It was, after all, all a part of the novel, you see. Just as with the discovery of the Newfoundland Time's Dog between the acts in Bee major. All of those discoverers were Reds, anyway. Stick to the strait and the narrow, the narrow and the straight.

Incidentally, what is a french fry with antlers on top?

Why, that would be a hatrack, of course, parked next to a chair by Hepplewhite--with a sigle embossed on its back from the rabble, whose ears were stopped when they bewavit as Verrazano between Scylla and Charybdis beworeóall of the Granjean school, with diamond-studded, bi-focaled tomatoes from Pocatello hanging off the sides, and not a solitary tear shed when they sent her up for an indeterminate stretch of 6 to 99 around the loop, once they kicked her out the doe, that is. O sho, a few restless nights maybeóbut what is that, after all, when balanced with the fact that she killed your partner, your partner after all, in that alley in the shadows off Bush Street? Forget it, Jake.

Toujours, Arché.

Creamy Jest

Showing That It Still Depends Whose Ox Is Gored

Junius Rose, Commander of the North Carolina Department of the American Legion, spoke out nicely yesterday when he said, in connection with Dave Clark's proposed Red-hunt for the Dies Committee at the University--

"We can make any kind of investigation that is needed, on our own."

This statement brings out a truly comical aspect of the situation which we had not thought of before. As a defender of the South, suh, against the multifarious menaces of Yankee interference, Dave Clark knows no peer.

Let a "foreign" labor organizer come to Dixie to ply his trade, and Dave cries, "Throw him out!"

Let the New Deal cock an eye at the low level of Southern wages, and Dave sniffs collusion between the Yankee mill owners and their Yankee Government.

Let anybody bring into question the South's eternal right to do as it danged pleases, without let or hindrance from outside, and Dave lowers, "Don't tread on us!"

When one so steeped in sectional self-sufficiency calls for Washington's help in a matter that comes strictly under Raleigh's jurisdiction, it goes to show that circumstances still have the effect of altering cases, depending on whose ox is gored.

Babies Next?

Hitler May Not Find This All Pleasure

Adolf Hitler is apparently playing with the idea of the wholesale bombing of Allied civilian centers--probably London to begin with. So much was apparent several days ago when the kept Nazi press began to squawk about the alleged bombing by British airmen of a railroad station in Denmark. It became plainer Wednesday when the same press wept crocodile tears over "the murder of a woman and child" at the airdrome at Aalborg, Denmark. And it burst clearly into the open yesterday with the claim that the British had bombed "resort villages" on the island of Sylt and with A. P. Man Lochner's stories intimating that "retaliation" was probable--stories certainly not sent without Nazi consent.

And this is one of the weakest cases the Nazis have yet put up, of course. And there is not an iota of evidence that the British have bombed civilians deliberately, and the probabilities are overwhelmingly against it. Railroad stations are military objectives, so are airdromes. And the whole island of Sylt--a mere sandspit--is an air base. Nor is it credible that a woman and child were present in the vicinity of the Danish airdrome, unless the Nazis had put them there with deliberate purpose of getting them killed--a thing quite credible in view of many past performances on their part.

In any case, it will be the most fateful decision Hitler has yet made. Even the "isolationists" in neutral lands who have so far apologized for his murders and crimes in Poland, Czechoslovakia, Spain, etc., are going to be hard put to it to excuse this new crime, should it come. And moreover, it promises to bring the war dreadfully home to the German people as well as the English and French. Nazi planes appear to be having the best of it in Norway just now, but that is due to the fact that the Allies have no bases there. They have plenty of bases in France, almost directly upon the German border and within a few minutes of the whole Rhine Valley, teeming with great cities. And the British and the French are plainly in no mood to take it lying down.

The result of that may not be altogether happy for Hitler. The English and the French have long been prepared for the worst. The Germans haven't.

The sea is calm to-night.
The tide is full, the moon lies fair
Upon the straits;óon the French coast the light
Gleams and is gone; the cliffs of England stand,
Glimmering and vast, out in the tranquil bay.
Come to the window, sweet is the night-air!
Only, from the long line of spray
Where the sea meets the moon-blanch'd land,
Listen! you hear the grating roar
Of pebbles which the waves draw back, and fling,
At their return, up the high strand,
Begin, and cease, and then again begin,
With tremulous cadence slow, and bring
The eternal note of sadness in.

Sophocles long ago
Heard it on the Ægæan, and it brought
Into his mind the turbid ebb and flow
Of human misery; we
Find also in the sound a thought,
Hearing it by this distant northern sea.

The Sea of Faith
Was once, too, at the full, and round earth's shore
Lay like the folds of a bright girdle furl'd.
But now I only hear
Its melancholy, long, withdrawing roar,
Retreating, to the breath
Of the night-wind, down the vast edges drear
And naked shingles of the world.
Ah, love, let us be true
To one another! for the world, which seems
To lie before us like a land of dreams,
So various, so beautiful, so new,
Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light,
Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain;

And we are here as on a darkling plain
Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight,
Where ignorant armies clash by night.

Naval Expert

Ironpants Puts The Mere Admirals In Their Place

In his column on this page today General Hugh Johnson informs us that what Admiral Taussig wants is to establish an "impregnable" naval base in the Philippines and to fortify Guam so that it will be "impossible" for any power to seize that island. He proceeds then to tell us that that is exactly what the Navy, in its official capacity generally, wants also.

But telling us that, he tells us also, plainly and dogmatically, that those schemes are "impossible" and "mad." That is to say, Ironpants knows more about what makes a feasible naval base than a former assistant chief of naval operations and the whole crew of the admirals themselves.

We knew the General was an expert on military affairs. He qualified for that status by serving as an Army lawyer and politician in Washington for some years. But it is a little startling to discover that he is also such an astounding naval authority that he knows the admirals are all tools. However, when you think about it, there is really no mystery in the matter. After all the General has not only traveled on ships now and then, he is also a columnist--which means of course he is automatically gifted with omniscience on all subjects whatever.

Site Ed. Notation:

We once had a listen on a Friday to Tobey;
"Atherback Righcher" came suddenly, hoo woe be?
When dutch did then flip it to hear but niar and enihs;
Blessèd if they didnít come off it as other than ninnies--
"Vah," said the scroger, "Alow! íTis but a soe to be a coger to finnies!"

And if you long to be further from Juneau
To Washington city in columns re you know,
Where reading in images today seems the colorable way--
Je m'excuse des habits of yore which only this generation can say:
Hostery, pastery, ghostery, boastery maze; who, then, of the 6, or 3, should be willing to pay?


For Sieve Navigation The Satkos Lacked Something

They went to sea in a sieve, they did;
In a sieve they went to sea;
In spite of all their friends could say.

Which, in a pretty close manner of speaking, is what Mr. Paul Satko, of Richmond in Virginia, his wife, and seven little Satkos, ranging from diapers up, did also. In an odd top-heavy vessel which he built--with his own hands, named the Ark, towed to the Pacific Coast as a trailer behind his jalopy, and powered with the jalopy engine, Mr. Satko, an unemployed mechanic, set sail a few days ago from Tacoma, Wash., for Alaska--without knowledge of navigation. Short of Seattle he piled up on a sand bank, but an obliging Coast Guard cutter pulled him off, and he proceeded to Seattle with the strange vessel rolling and heaving.

But the Satkos lacked one prime qualification of the Jumblies, who, according to Edward Lear, performed that feat of navigating in a sieve: their hands were not blue and their heads were not green. Well, not very anyhow. Not enough, at least, to satisfy Captain John M. Fox, Secretary of the Masters, Mates, and Pilot's Association at Seattle, who went to court, got an order, and proceeded to take the Satko kids off the boat on the ground that it was unseaworthy and that it would be murder to risk them on it in rough weather.

Mr. Satko is currently chewing his nails and delivering orations concerning the rights of parents, and a goodly part of the Seattle population seems inclined to back him up. But from the universal verdict on his boat by those competent to judge, it looks as if, in the absence of sufficiently blue hands and green heads, the Satkos are going to have to proceed to Alaska by some other means than the Ark.

A Bit Mote Nore: After reading the above, then writing the note attached to it above that, we discovered, never having seen it 'fore, for we not did age-up grow in England, love--well, maybe but not a wee litel, anyway, it being actually where we were, that within the Sea of Verrazzano, that is--this Bee hootenanny, circa 1964, we reckon.

Vah! Well. What to say? 'Tis, gets a bit eery, sometimes here, on the rolling tranquil sea, you know.


Hitler Now Seeks To Set Up Legal Case For Deeds

Adolf Hitler must have become uneasy over the reaction to his deeds in neutral countries, and particularly the United States. The declaration that war exists with Norway is an attempt to lend the color of legality, which he has hitherto regarded with open contempt, to his deeds in that country.

His pretense that all poor little Germany wants is "living space," subsistence, a fair chance--blah-blah-blah--has been exposed. His growing concern to find "legal" justification for his crimes is also testified to by the "discovery" in "the archives of the Norwegian Foreign Office" of "the Stratford Plan"--an alleged agreement between Britain and Norway under which Britain was to occupy Norway with the latter entering only nominal protest.

There is a strong probability that this is a forgery of the whole cloth, put forward on the famous lie theory set forth in "Mein Kampf." Norway has given every indication of having foolishly believed to the end that she can preserve her neutrality. But supposing it to be so, it still proves nothing for the Nazis.

There is overwhelming evidence that Germany has been preparing to invade the little Scandinavian country ever since the first of the year, and the Nazi demands upon her have grown constantly more ferocious since the first day of the war, at the same time the Nazis were busily engaged in sinking her ships without warning and drowning her helpless sailors and citizens.

Site Ed. Note:

And if Marat was stabbed by Charlotte,
Being thought by many to be but a contemner's varlet,
For his Reign of Terror and enemies list
Be it known: here was a man contra Richelieu's fist

And if Norwegians would,
Be as like as they could to Brits on the waves that are Sadean,
Still no Nazi hood with fleur-de-legions in mit-rud saves,
On pain of death, the bit-clud knaves in gladen.

Site Ed. Addendum: And, yesterday, to top it all, though you likely might not give credit where credit's due to fall, 'tis true anyway, as we perambulated through the slab-stone ground nearby where we live, an echo of the past, we spotted near our path of perambulation a bird of story crowned back to you to give--a large, beautiful bird, peregrine falcon 'twas, truly, though not a black one, rather grey. Had to us much to say. We stood for a time peering into its stately beak, its long back of feathery fur so sleek, so sublime, as the bird in ruffled down peered back at us peripherally, yet not weak, this bird, the peregrine. O stately bird, as you perch upon the stone of someone's last dust to earth, so sleek, what have you upon your mind today as you stare back at the stare provided you by one not in prey to seek? Well, providing plentiful answer to our stealthy query, in terse expression not so meek, just about then, up the bird spread its wings, freed itself from the stone and earthly things, and, lo and behold, gracefully then flew away. True story that, deary. Not much else on this day's to say.

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