Opinion Page
THE BRUNSWICKfiBEACON
Kdward IM. S\v«>nlt und Carolyn il.SwcntI riihlishrrx
Kdwnrd.M. Swenlt t'ditor
Susan UsluT V."v,r.v' Editor
Kalin Adams & Doug Kuttor Stuff lEriUT.'t
Johnny Craig Sporls Editor
Christim* Hallou Office Munuficr
Cocolia (>oro & Susan Itarcfoot. ..■idccrtisinf' Itcprcucntutivcs
Tanimit* Galloway & Dorothy Kronnan TYpi’scttcm
rrcxsinun
Un nda Ck-mnions Pf,oto Tcchniciun
Lonnie Sprinkle -issistunt l*rrssrnim
(•lyde und IVfatlii* Stout. Phnelie (Jeninuni** ('Arrithttion
'rix
1^1 iv^DlQ
\A/:il
V V III
Page 4-A
Thursday. Octobers, 1987
Don't Blow It Now
It s been a long time coming, but a potential long-term
solution to the “Cawcaw” problem appears to be within
Brunswick County’s grasp.
All the main figures involved are suggesting the drainage
district be re-established as the first step to a more permanent
solution. That "final solution” could include county aid in in
itially restoring the canals, realignment of the district’s boun
daries and/or changes in how maintenance of the system is
financed.
What happens next is up to residents of the area, who have
said they desperately need the canals restored and maintain
ed. They’ll get to speak their piece Thursday, Nov. 5, at 6:30
p.m._during a public hearing at the Calabash Fire Station.
1 ne i.awc*aw uiainage District, designed to serve the
southwestern agricultural area of the county, was dissolved
nearly 12 years ago; for almost that long politicians have been
feuding over who should be maintaining its 16 miles of
neglected canals.
Even when the district existed, it had trouble caring for
the canals because many residents wouldn’t pay their annual
assessments. The county paid off the more than $5,000 in debt
left behind by the now-defunct district.
County commissioners have said repeatedly that while
some help might be available from county coffers, the main
responsibility for maintaining the drainage district should lie
with its residents, the people who directly benefit from the
canals.
It is difficult to disagree with that logic. There are
arguments that growth in the area contributes to the overall
welfare of the county. However, these benefits are negligible
w'hen compared to those shared only by residents of the
district.
Reforming the di.strict has to be the first step in anv
cooperative effort to salvage what began as a worthwhile self-
help project and has since become an embarrassment to all
concerned.
Armchair Quarterback
Bites The Dust
My wife mu.st be a patient woman,
hecan.se it isn’t very often that .she
gets her way on Sunday afternoons in
the fall.
Until two Sundays ago, she knew
better than to .suggest a leisurely
stroll or friendly game of croquet.
She knew I’d tell her to “leave me
alone and go make me some more
popcorn iMjfore halftime”
I've always denied that I’m a foot
ball junkie. It’s ju.st that I like to take
in a game or two on Sunday . . . and
on .Monday night . . . and on any
other day National Football I.eague
teams uiKC the field.
Still, 1 thought I could give it up in a
heartbeat-I really thought I could.
But on the afternoon of Sept. 27. my
worst fears were realized; NfI,
players were on strike, my hot-air
popper was on the fritz, and I hiid
nothing better to do than go for a
walk. Thank goodness, we’d already
loaned out the croquet .set.
Before 1 jigreed to the stroll,
though, I tried to remember how I'd
coped with the football strike a few
years ;igo and 52 .straight days
without a pro football fix.
But it must have been one of those
traumatic experiences a person
blocks from his memory, becau.se I
don’t even remember Sunday after
noons existing that year-just church
on Sunday morning, then work on
Monday.
Two Sundays ago it was different.
The prospect of an afternoon without
pro football was staring me .straight
in the face—as was my gloating wife,
who knew she had me backed into a
corner.
"Okay, okay,' ! .saul. "We’l! go for
a quick walk down the street, but we
have to«top by a newspaper rack.
The players and owners might hax’e
worked .something out last night, and
they might have decided to play to
day after all.”
Still confident she would have her
way, my wife decided to humor me.
I.iiter, after I had shredded ihe.sporis
section in frustration, .she ju.st laugh
ed and pointed toward our intended
destination farther down the street.
Even though I had the disposition
of a grizzly bear at first, I gradually
calmed down aiid began to take in the
Rohn
Adams
There’s been a lot of talk recently
about .some annual event down in
these parts called the North Carolina
Oyster Festival.
It seenus folks come from all over
the state for two days of eating,
drinking and sleeping oysters. .Some
even come to shuck a few.
God only knows I’ve written and
asked enough about the festival late
ly to tell you off the top of my head
what will happen when and where
with whom in charge.
But that’s onlv jiart of the story.
The real story happens this weekend
when mountains of work by the South
Hninswick Islands CIuimlH-r of Com
merce come together and the .show
gets rolling.
.As a relativelx new resident of
Brunswick County, and one experien
cing his first fall. I really don’t know
what to expect this weekend.
I've eaten exactly one oyster in my
21 yetirs of living. It was fresh and
raw. right from the Che.sapeake Bay.
e Cured Saturday
Doug
Rutter
So I gue.ss that makes it one of tho.se
Maryland oysters they use at the Na
tional Oyster Shucking Champion
ship each year.
Whatever kind it was matters not
to me. because it was a downright
bad experience followed by a solemn
vow never to eat another oyster as
long as I lived.
I can still remember the ex
perience vividly— like when I fell and
broke my collar bone at age three.
Dad popped open the shell and I
saw the oyster sitting there in a pool
of its own boly fluids, covered with
some unidentifiable black gritty
substance you might expect to find
clinging to the bottom of a trash
dumpster.
I stepped back and said “NO
WAY!”
I stood my ground for about 15
seconds. When everybody else
started eating them (even my little
three-year-old cousin) I had to try.
I stepped up bravely, coolly popped
one open and let it slide down the
back of my throat.
The queasy feeling remained in my
stomach for about a month, bu
least I wasn’t a chicken about it.
At IhBt tinic, I never thought I
would be even remotely forced into a
situation where I would have to look
at, let alone consume, another
oyster.
So 10 years later the family moves
to an area which just happens to hold
the state’s annual oyster festival, and
my back is immediately up against a
wall.
I read “Oedipus Bex” in school. I
know you cannot escape your own
fate. But I never expected this to hap
pen. I have to ask myself if I was not
destined to become a fugitive—runn
ing from the wrath of oysters for the
rest of my time on Earth.
Well, this man fears nothing. I am
taking another vow right now. in fact,
that I will eat at least one oyster this
Saturday if it kills me. Hopefully I
will enjoy it, but not necessarily.
I’m not .saying it will be raw, but a
fried oyster or oyster sandwich may
‘ do the- trick.
An Oyster Festival T-shirt or visor
may come next year, when I’m more
at case with the whole idea of
oysters.
In a few year’s time, I can even see
myself buying oysters by the peck.
Anyhow. I figure if I can get this
out of the way, I may soon try eating
zucchini again. On .second thought,
that may be rushing things a bit.
Ytpj ITS TWiT time. CF TME TCA.12.
-etuiKis To .
LETTERS TO THE EDITOR
Samplings Indicate Canal Waters Not Polluted
sights and .sounds of Sunday after
noon.
We walked and walked until we
reached the waterfront. There, we
saw weekend boaters zipping here
and there, fishermen of all ages wat
ching their floats bob on the surface,
and all types of birds dipping into the
water for Sunday lunch.
And as I took in those sights, I
began to wonder what it was that
makes people so crazy about wat
ching ‘22 men in padding fight over an
oblong leather ball. Right then, I
couldn’t come up with an answer.
But back at home about an hour
later, the gho.st of Vince Iximbardi
returned to haunt me.
"When the going gets tough,” he
w hispered in my ear, w ith a glance at
my wife across the room, "the tough
get going.”
That was all it took. Jumping off
the couch, 1 dove for the video-
ca.ssette box on the 'IW .stand. And,
sure enough, there it was; a complete
copy of last year’s Cowboy.s-Giants
game, taped in living color.
Much to my wife’s chagrin, I sla|v
ped the tape in the VCR, changed the
channel away from the vintage IfMOs
movie she’d l)ceii watching, and
ordered her to see if she could fix the
corn popper.
And for the next couple hours, I
thought I was content, as my
adrenalin again flowed with the ex
citement of the game.
But it was only a temporary fix,
becau.se deep down I knew that the
blue-green football field I’d been
.siui mg cit really did.n’t compare with
the other more lieaiitifiil, natural
sights and sound;; I’d enjoyed with
my wife that day on the waterfront.
And who knows? This .Sunday
afternoon I may even take u|) cro-
()uet.
To the editor:
Apparently you know something
we don’t know about the Holden
Beach wastewater analysis
presented .Sept. 14 to the town by
McKim and Creed Engineers.
I.ast week's Beacon (page 11-Ci
reported my presentation at the mon
thly Community Watch meeting. In
reviewing the data presented by the
engineers, we di.scussed how surpris
ed we were to learn that apparently
the canals are not "polluted,” as so
many of us had a.ssiimed.
It is our understanding that an
Escherichia coliform count
(MPN/lOOmli of 14 or less is
characteristic of SA waters. SB
waters are those with up to 100 E.
coli. Such waters arc suitable for
swinuiiiiig, but are posted by the
N.C. .Marine Fisheries to forbid
shellfi.shing.
As reported in Table 3 of the
engineers’ draft [iresented to the
town, a total of 22 .samplings were
taken on six test dates from eight
canals. Of thase 22 .samplings. 17 had
an FI. coli count of two or le.ss; there
were two 8's, one each of 14, 22 and
110. That is, ‘20 of the 22 samplings
taken from May 20 to July 25 in
dicated that the canal waters were
not polluted.
But you skipped over any reference
to what we had in the lead paragraph
of the Community Watch news
relea.se. We had been relieved to
learn that the canals are presently in
relatively good shape as far as E. coli
are concerned. Apparently we have
ample opportunity to define our pro
blem areas and protect our canals
from becoming polluted by E. coli.
Community Watch is now enlisting
year-round Holden Beach residents
to participate in monitoring the
canals and test wells to provide a
more detailed profile of pollution on
this barrier island. Anyone willing to
help is invitcil to "sign in” at the
Town Hall (H42-()080), or contact me.
Robert Rohde
Holden Beach, 842-9942
There Are
Bigots In
Each Race
To the editor:
I’ve had all I can take from Jesse
Bryant and his attacks on any white
he can find. I’ve attended many
NAACP meetings for adults and
youngsters. At every one I attended,
Jesse gave the same essential
speech, dragging out every sin in the
history of Brunswick County that was
committed against blacks.
For a man who pretends to be a
Christian, he spends more time
fomenting hatred of whites. The only
way to develop mututal respect is for
each race to dwell on the positive e.\-
periences and not on every little
negative one can conjure up. There
are bigots in each race.
I was shocked, when I first started
That Special Season Is Here
F'all has arrived, stirring to new
vigor blooii slowed to a .syrupy crawl
by summer’s heal.
It feels good, real gcMid. .And just
maybe it will hang around more than
a week or two.
Don't get me wrong—summer’s
great. But life in the .South Brunswick
Islands moves too fast these d.iys few
the level of our particular discom
fort. In autumn, however, the pace
and the weather are a perfect fit.
And face it, we don’t gel enough of
autumn around here. The last
.several years we’ve gone directly
from summer to winter, do not pa.ss
GO, do not collect $200.
But right now it is definitely f.ill.
People on llu" sidewalks seem to have
more pep to their step. .Shirts don’t cl
ing to their spines and their faces
don’t sag from the heat
At the piers the fish lute; anglers
smile as they ice their (ateh and head
for home. Back in summer, it was
mainly a goinl place to catch a lazy
afternoon nap. warmed by the sun
w.
your back.
(live me the fall of Uie year
anytime. It’s;i .sea.son iiuirked for me
by special times s|)ent with jieople I
care about deeply. This time of year I
lend to find or make—more time for
Susan
Usher
the people in my life. Perhaps it’s in-
.stinct, a native urgency. Winter
looms ahead, damp, chilling, distanc
ing.
One of Don and mine’s favorite
moments together was u long w alk on
the Iteach last (Jclober as we played
’.viU'. miniature deltas and Mississip
pi Rivers in the shallow.s.
It was a day much like tiKlay.
Crisp, fre.sh, though the sap no
longer runs and the hummingbirds
are on wing to .South America. Even
as the leaves .sUirt to fall from the
trees, there’s still a promise of .spr
ing. We can .see it in the butterflies
iiiai iingei on die moniing glories
and in the insistent colors of the
wildflowers. Ttiey do not go gently.
It was on another d;iy like (txlay
when Sweetpea and I visited the
Grandfather .Mountain Viaduct on
the Blue Ridge Parkway.
We had gone up to l.inville to see
Orton Road residents Claire and
Henry Goodwin at their mountain
home. We drove out to the viaduct,
which wasn’t yet open. Though hazyi
the view was still magnificent, the
turning leaves near-brilliant.
With the scent of woodchucks in the
air. Sweetpea was feisty, .straining on
her leash. In a burst of enthusiasm
she headed down the side of the
rnounUiin. Losing the .scent, she
started back up to rejoin us, only to
slide a little farther back each time
.she .stepped up.
We watched tensely from the top as
she very slowly picked her wjiy back
to us following an almost horizonUd
path.
.Sulxlued and panting in fear and
exhaustion, .she was content to .stay
on the leash as we walked on in
(KMce, Henry and 1 photographing
wildflowers as Claire peered into the
trees altove for glimp.ses of favorite
or .seldom-seen birds and inspected
the flowers we found in niches and
> ••Xk. ••
seemed far away; its problems were
again in proper perspective.
These days typify my choice of how-
one should .spend such a gorgeous fall
day: communing with nature and
with those we love.
teaching black children in Peoria, Il
linois, to discover when one got angry
the other child was called a
“nigger.” But let a white use that
word and Jesse would shout it from
the housetops.
When 1 was growing up in the
South, the blacks were called "col
ored.” That to me is a much more ac
curate term than black. I’ve seen
very few people who were dark
enough to be called black.
I've also heard many jokes told by
black friends which, if told by a white
person, would bo considered worse
than the one ,le.s.sc wrote about.
Teddi Neal
Bolvia
Former Editor
Praises Beacon
To the editor:
Enclosed is my renewal applica-
iiiiii for another year's subscription.
As a retired newspaper editor (47
years), I naturally have been obser
vant of your publication. I liave found
it a high-class, A-1 publication we all
should be proud of.
Congratulations to a fine staff.
Douglas R. Wildey
Shallotto
Write Us
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the editor. All letters must be signed
and include the writer's addrc.ss.
Under no circumstances will unsign
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be legible. The Beacon reserves the
right to edit libelous comments. Ad-
dre.ss letters to The Bruiuswick
Beacon, P.O. Box 470, Shallotte,
N.C. 28459.
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