Opinion Page
THE BRUNSWICK&BEACON
Kduard M. Sweat! and Carolyn II. Swratl t'ntdishers
Kdward M. Sweatt Editor
Silvan i slier \eir.\ Editor
Halm \dains X Doim Hotter S/./// II riters
Johnnx (iraif! Sports Editor
Christine llallou Office Munum*r
Carol) ii II. Sweatt Utvertisinf,: Director
Cerrlia (hire ?X Susan llarefoot. . \dvcrtisitifs li eprcs en til tires
Tannine Callowa) ?K Dorotlix Hrennan typesetters
\\ illiam Manning I'res smart
Hrenda Clemmotis I'hoto Technician
Connie Sprinkle I ss is hint I'ressman
Clxde and Mattie Stout. IMioehe Clemmons ( imitation
Pane I-A Thursday. June 30, 1988
Who Would Do
Such A Thing?
The plant pilferers are at it again, literally digging up
landscape plants from the grounds of the Brunswick County
Government Center in Bolivia and stealing away with them.
Who would do such a thing? That is low. low behavior.
Unfortunately the perpetrators don't share that opinion.
In fact, one woman was greatly offended when caught by a
county employee while in the act of stowing some publiclyowned
azaleas in her car.
n seems the Harder the stall works to beautify the
grounds, the bolder become the thieves. They don't seem to
understand or care that the plants are intended to be enjoyed
by all of us. not just a few.
Earlier this year, according to Brunswick Veteran Service
Officer Jess Parker, the groundskeeping staff planted 40
azaleas as a backdrop to the county's Veterans Memorial and
framed them with camellias. The idea was to have a
showplace next spring. But the plants keep vanishing, and not
because of moles.
If those stealing the plants are so desperate for foliage and
flowers, Parker has a offer not to be refused.
"Would the ones who are stealing the plants please check
in at the Veteran Service Office," he suggests in a recent note.
Seems he ha.: some nice potted azaleas, and even a few
camellias to give away. But. take warning, his supply is
limited. Any rush on his office could result in a "Thief of the
Day" drawing, he says.
ivieanwnne, as parser suggests, all ot us need to be on the
lookout for those who are too bashful to "check in."
Let's make sure they get what's due them.
Let's Hear Some Cheers
For Commission Decision
The N.C. Marine Fisheries Commission should be commended
for its decision not to permit mechanical clam
harvesting in Brunswick County waters. Not only did the commissioners
make a lot of friends locally, they also did the right
thing.
But the commission's decision to allow clam dredging to
continue in areas to the north is also a practical one.
Supporters of hand clamming point to the harmful environmental
effects of mechanical harvesting, while dredge
boat operators claim their methods are no more damaging
than any other.
In fact, research on the effects of mechanical harvesting
is quite limited. And until it is known for certain what happens
to the marine habitat when dredge boats dig for clams, it is a
smart decision not to expand the area open to clam dredgers.
By the same token, however, it is logical to allow
mechanical harvesters to continue operating where they have
been for the past decade.
Cutting off their source of income would have been just as
wrong as opening the local gates to dredges and leaving clammers
standing on the shores with clean rakes and empt>
baskets.
Some people may believe the commissioners chickenec
out and made a decision that would pacify both groups
Whether or not that's the case, it turns out the commission':
ruling is a sound one.
Senator Sam Was h
Senator Sam has been on my mind
lately. I don't know why.
Maybe it's because the Fourth of Bp
liny?our clucf patriotic holiday?is D^kr-* HE^ &
right around the corner, and the late ??? ^ j
senator from Morganton is high on AdortlS &
my list of great Americans.
Or maybe I started thinking about
him after I noticed that several area
bookstores still carry one of his Jr
books. Whenever I browse through during the Watergate hearings t(
the "regional interest" shelves, I see make his position clear?his stance
his picture on the bookcover and feel being to preserve the rights anc
as though I'm visiting with an old freedoms we enjoy in America,
friend. In simplest terms, I remember hiir
Of course, Sam J. Ervin Jr. is best as the quiet neighbor who lived in a
remembered by the American public nice brick house down the street from
as the Watergate Committee's me. And while most other lawyers ir
homespun chairman. He even town sported European luxury cars,
described himself as "just a country he drove a Carolina blue Cadillac,
lawyer." I also remember him as the slightHut
when I think of Senator Sam, ly cranky, ailing old gent who
I'm reminded of more than just the granted me an interview, even
humorous, down-home tides he told though he was tired of talking to
-J ?
Defe
It figures. The other day we needed
a tick and couldn't find one. We
wanted to run its photo in the
newspaper, with a story on tickrelated
diseases.
All Don and I have to
do?usually?to find one or more
ticks is walk from our house through
the woods to an adjacent golf course,
or go over to the Shallotte Township
Park.
In fact, sometimes one has to
wonder if enjoying the great outdoors
is worth it. In our adventures we
sometimes bring back even more
than ticks, such as tiny little chiggers
or Ted bugs" with nasty, itchy bites.
And there are always, but always,
the mosquitoes, even though they
haven't been too bad at our house
lately. But wait until it rains. Boy. oh.
Boy! They'll be thicker than ever
when all those waiting eggs hatch.
- Tr il Fill ^
So V
I've been asked by a lot of people
recently (nearly everyone who has
taken a seat in my car, for that matter)
where I learned to drive.
And each time the question has
been posed, my reaction has been the
same. "Why do you want to know
that?" I ask suspiciously. "Is there
something wrong with the way I
drive?"
Almost always, the passenger wili
respond with the most insincere
"No" you can imagine and follow it
up with a question concerning the
number and severity of automobile
accidents in which I've been involved.
"One accident," I tell thern. "I hit
a parked car with the tank we used to
call a van. Never saw it coming.
There were no injuries."
At tliat point, my passenger usually
insinuates that I'm the biggest liar
since the Big Bad Wolf who took a liking
to Red Riding Hood, and promptly
reaches for the seat belt
i I learned to drive in Pennsylvania,
for crying out loud, where only the
strong and crazy survive life on the
' streets. In Philadelphia, law-abiding
drivers are chastized and literally
r run off the road by those who thrive
~l II.. ?U? ,.^n|| ?r f
Oil V. IVI.1t V.OUO, UIC .111 IVII Ul II V .11 111 c
1 rubber and the screeching of discbrakes.
\ By the way, for those who don't like
J tailgaters or horn blowers, and
possibly have a nervous condition to
Aore Than Ju:
reporters about the 10th anniversary
of President Nixon's resignation.
"I've given 20 interviews, and I'm
not giving any more," he declared,
then spent the next 15 minutes talking
to me about his role in the
Watergate hearings.
The man definitely holds a special
place in my heart, but partly because
he was indirectly responsible for
i scaring the living daylights out of me
i once.
I Several months before Senator
Sam's death, a local lawyer invited
i me to fly to Raleigh and cover an
I awards banquet honoring the former
i senator, who was unable to attend
i himself due to poor health.
I agreed to go, even though I had
serious reservations about riding in
the small, twin-engine aircraft that
i the lawyer rented. A double plane
crash that had occurred in Morganton
exactly one week earlier was still
ending The Ho
Susan
Usher i '
However, the real assault is taking
place on the ground, not in the air,
and in our semi-tamed yard, not in
the wilds across the street.
We've discussed the small, tunneling
critters in the front yard whose
breed 1 won't mention.
But that's not all. It's not safe
anvit'lmrn
Our gardening has been sporadic
this year, with a few tomatoes, peppers.
onions and herbs. But the other
day I decided to start some summer
>0? LORD, NUfAM-SW
\/here Did Yol
fir/ 1
start with, I don't recommend a drive i
through the City of Brotherly l.ove.
Suffice it to say that any place where (
taxi drivers cut over sidewalks and i
median slips just to gel to the airport
20 seconds early is no place for the
weak-hearted. !
Needless to say, growing up and
witnessing that style of driving had
its effect on me. Not that I make a
practice of hopping median strips or
jumping on my horn when someone
starts daydreaming in front of a
green traffic light, but my driving
tends to be more aggressive than
defensive.
Anyway, the habits of other
drivers, not me. are the foetus of this
column.
Like any person who is forced to
come up with an innovative column
each week, or at least one that a jury
wouldn't find to be plagiaristic, I
never waste time during my daily
drive to and from work. The gears
are always churning inside my head,
although sometimes they're stuck in
reverse.
st A Country L
fresh in my mind. And on top of that,
I had never ridden in an airplane
before.
My companions on the flight were
Keaerai Appeais -.ourt Judge Sam J.
Ervin III, the local newspaper editor
and two of the best lawyers in town,
one of whom was the senator's grandson,
Sam J. Ervin IV.
All the way to Raleigh, I kept telling
myself that if our plane crashed,
at least I'd die in a blaze of glory. Not
everyone gets the chance to bite the
big one in such good company.
As it turned out, the trip to RDU
that afternoon was a dream come
true, with smooth sailing the whole
way. But the journey home late that
night was nothing but a nightmare.
Without going into detail, we
somehow managed to survive a runway
accident; a replacement plane
whose cabin was so cramped that I
didn't have to worry about doing the
me Front, A<
r <
squash i in tubs i and also to set out a
few watermelon vines.
Wearing cheerful red Dr. Scholls
sandals left over from some healthy
foot kick of the past. 1 dug up some
dirt and made some "hills." then laid
black gardening cloth over the
works. So far. so good, 1 thought, wiping
away sweat with the tad of my
T-shirt. I cut a few slits in the covering.
planted and watered both plants
and myself.
There was just one thing left to
do?mulch. With no pretty, fresh
straw left, I turned to the pile of stuff
waiung lis lurn as compost and grabbed
an armful or two. No problem.
Then?out of nowhere, there they
were: small, red-brown ants scurrying
everywhere. Over my toes, between
my toes, up my legs and over
my ai ms, like the first wave of tanks
rolling onto Omaha Beach. They
\' Wm
I
(the -vw WAS iTHA
\ Learn To Di
For some time now, I've been
analyzing the way people drive and
determining, at least in my own
mind, the latent characteristics of
each person who takes the wheel.
Whether I'm behind a station
ivagon full of screaming, sunburned
kids and two tuckered out parents or
a silver luxury sedan with a retired
couple in the front seat slowing down
to admire every house on the beach,
I've been paying careful attention to
detail because I knew I would need
something to write about sooner or
later.
The net results of my informal
study place just about every driver in
the country into one of three
categories. Each category has
numerous subdivisions, but if you
want the lowdown on those, you'll
have to wait for my first book.
To begin with, there is the
POKESTER. While this style of driving
is most common in elderly people,
it can afflict young people at any
time, usually right after they receive
their first speeding ticket.
Commonly, the Pokester will drive
along at half the speed limit, which
I've found is sometimes more
dangerous than driving twice the
speed limit.
This creature will also be the one
who sits motionless at an intersection
even when he or she has the right-ofway.
They won't wave you through or
proceed until you wave them
.awyer
old head-between-the-knees routine
in the event of a more serious
mishap; and a replacement pilot who
needed four tries to land the plane
because he couldn't see the runway
lights through the thick fog.
But if I had it all to do over, I'd
jump right back on those planes and
take my chances again. Senator Sam
was worth the trouble.
When he died in April 1985,1 interviewed
leaders in the community and
asked them how the late senator's
mc iuiu uiiL-cieu our nomeiown, suite
and nation.
"Senator Sam carried the torch of
freedom and fought for our Constitutional
rights as Americans," one person
said. "Now that he's gone, the
question is: Who did he pass the torch
to?"
That was a good question then and
still is now.
I
gain
weren't just traveling, they were
biting, hard. Their mound must have
been under the pine straw, about the
only place in the yard that hadn't
already been treated for the little
monsters.
Don mounted a fierce counterattack
while I ran for homemade
relief, a paste of household ammonia
and meat tenderizer with a dose of
antihistimines.
Folks, it may not be entirely safe
outside, but what the heck. Life is
meant to be an adventure. Nothing
risked, nothing gained. And while our
watermelons and squash may be
kind of late, they'll certainly be appreciated.
And the next time a tick tries to
hitch a ride. I'm going to lay out the
bare facts: Brother, you have
already missed your ticket to
Hollywood and fame. Take a hike!
1?'
rive?
through. Often, the pokester won't
drift into the intersection until you
have frantically waved them on three
times and begun to move forward
yourself.
For some reason, many tourists
fall into this categoiy. Although they
may be perfectly competent drivers
under normal conditions, the tag of
tourist seems to hestnw nnnn them
the responsibility of holding up
everyone else who isn't fortunate
enough to waste the day driving to
the beach.
Another subhead of the Pokester is
the Sloth?a person who slowly pulls
out of their driveway or a side street
50 feet in front of you as you're cruising
55 m.p.h. or better down U.S. 17.
On a personal note, I can stand the
common tourist, but a Sloth is the
most aggravating driver 1 know.
The classification SPEEDSTER,
so named for his or her lack of
respect for the speed limit, includes a
rather large group of people.
Although he takes many forms, the
speedster is usually young, fearless,
rebellious and impatient. In many
cases, the speedster is someone vour
grandfather might have called a
whippersnapper.
Subclasses of this animal range
from the Barbarian to the Bozo to the
Brat, depending on the extent of their
aggressive driving. I would most
likely fall into the Bozo classification
because I'm sort ot a conservative
speedster.
In between these two extremes are
what I've termed the ROADSTERS.
Figuratively speaking, these folks,
which make up the largest classification.
are middle-of-the-road drivers.
They obey the laws and get from one
place to another without getting
anyone upset or giving anyone gray
hairs.
So there vou have it. Where tin vnu
fall in this spectrum of driverhood?
I'll just bet the answer would provide
some clue about the place where you
gyew up.
IN SUPPLY
BRING HOME
THE6BEAC0N
On Sola At
ANN'S COUNTRY STORE
BRUNSWICK COMMUNITY COLLEGE
KIRBY'S
THE BRUNSWICK HOSPITAL
I