Several years have passed
since Paul Harvey penned lines
you’ll read In this column to
day. Because of their ex
cellence, and continuing timely
nature, we offer them to you
for thoughtful perusal.
BY PAUL HARVEY
Youngster, let me tell you
what it was like in the Old
Country.
Once, milkin’ an old cow in
the back barnlot, I got tired
of her swatUn’ me in the face
with a tall full of cockleburrs.
So, with a piece of binder
twine I tied her tail to my leg.
I hadn’t gone around the barn
but about four times before I
realized my mistake.
We had fun in the Old Coun
try, though.
We played darts with a corn
cob. I had three chicken feath
ers in one end and a nail in
the other. But if I picked the
wrong target, like the sugar
sack draining cottage cheese
on the clothes line. Mom would
likely thump me on the head
with her thimble finger.
So we didn’t have much of
what you’d call juvenile crlmeln
the Old Country.
Oh, every farm boy had to try
smoldn’ corn silk or grape
vine once—imtil hegotamouth-
ful of toasted ants—or until he
got caught and got stropped.
And the grocer might fill the
apple basket with the best ones
on top.
But we didn’t concentrate on
teamin’ Qie tricks of a trade,
we learned the trade.
And stealing things or hurt
ing people was almost unheard
of In the Old Country.
Religion and education were
all so mixed up togettier when
I was a boy you couldn’t tell
where one left off and the other
began. Patriotism was tau{^t
In every school class every
day. Our national heroes were
honored, almost revered.
Political speeches and reli
gious sermons and civic cele
brations always rang with pa
triotic fervor.
Soldiers were somebody.
Civil servants were servants,
not masters.
Freeloading was a disgrace.
Ice cream was homemade.
And marriage wasforever...
in the Old Country.
A boy or girl could play alone
in a public park on a summer
night and nobody worried. Or
they could play together and no
body whispered.
A farmer could plant anything
he liked anyplace he wanted on
his own land. Polks who work
ed harder were rewarded for
it, so everybody worked hard
er.
Most everybody had one Idea
about life; to leave the wood-
pile a little higher than he found
It. And most everybody did.
We had no card-carrying
Communists; we hod Cross
carrying Christians... In the
Old Country.
We told dialect Jokes and
everybody lauded, because all
of us were "mostly something
else’’ in the Old Country.
You ask me why I don’t go
back. Seeing as how I liked It
so much, why don’t I go back
to the Old Country? I can’t.
It isn’t there anymore.
I am a displaced person,
thou^ I never left my home
land,
I am a native-born Ameri
can. I never left my country.
(Continued on Page 8)
NEW BERN CRAVtii vJijN'r/
PUBLIC LIBRARY
The NEW BERN
PUBLI9HID WIIKLY
r thi hiaiit op
*'* NORTH
VOLUME 10
NEW BERN, N. C., FRIDAY, APRIL 7, 1967
NUMBER 2
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LIKE GRANDPA—Don Blair, four-month-old son of
the W. E. Blairs of Gloucester, refused to keep quiet
for even a minute while Eunice Wray was snapping
his Mirror portrait. Thousands of coastal Carolinians
who know the young man’s grandfather, Ed Blair,
(Havelock school principal) as an orator extraordinary
won’t be surprised at little Don’s incessant loquacious
ness. Grandpa Ed, whose popularity as a humorist
has remained constant for several decades, has a
Quaker background, so naturally he speaks only when
the snirit move.s him. As best we can detect, silence
seldom plagues him. In a way, publishing Don’s picture
repays Ed for the two cigars he mailed us when a
talkative pelican, not the Stork, delivered the young
ster with great fanfare. For Ed’s Information, we
hope to return the favor when the month of June
rolls around. The brand of cigars will be better too