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Vol. XIV.
! . t
Boomer, North Carolina, April, 1929.
No. 11.
Gee-Whillikins
What a Fine
Remedy!
Whoop and hooray!
Run here quick!
Prop open your best ear and
listen I've got some great news.
The long-standing and trouble
some "farm problem" has been
suddenly solved at one powerful
swipe, so they do say.
And how ?
Well, bless your mortal giz
zard, here's how: The Bureau
of Economics of the Department
of Agriculture has been inspired
with the divine idea of persuad
ing the dear old farmers to cur
tail their output. In other words,
they are asked to pjant fewer
acres and produce smaller crops,
so that there will not be an un
consumed surplus to glut the
market and keep prices down.
The farmer must find out just
how much the nation can eat,
wijth a f ewold biscuits left over
for the dog, and then limit his
output to that figure. Thus he
will sell his little crop at a high
price and make more proljt than
he would on a bigger crop at a
lower price. Oh, such wisdom!
Don't you wish we .were all
smart like that?
But the Bureau and Wash-
stand of the Department of
Tater-Bugs seems to forget that
the Secretary of Elbow Grease,
Mister Jim Jam Davis, has let
it become officially known that
' 86 per cent of the people are
poor,x and that the average work
er's wage does not allow him to
buy, even at a low price, enough
of the farm products to keep his
family decently fed and clothed.
The aforesaid Bureau will
primp up its mouth like kissing
a grass widder and tell you that
there has heretofore been a sur
plus of farm products that had
to be sold to Europe or Hepsi
dam at a reduced price. But it
is mighty dbggon careful not to
tell you that there still remains
a great number of hungry peo
ple here in the home country
who would have been migthy
srlad to sret that surplus" if
they could have paid for it, and
after they all got their bellies
full and a few clothes on their
backs there would not have been
much "surplus' left oyer for
Europe and Hepsidam.
But our mondy-masters would
rather almost give away the
farm "surplus" to outsiders than
to sell it at a reasonable price to
the needy people here in our
own land. That's "patriotism"
to beat Bobtail.
The dickens of it is that while
the farmer's selling price is too
low, the consumer's buying price
is already too high. After the
stuff gets out of the farmer's
hands, then speculator sharks go
and double up the price and
gouge the, poor devils who have
to eat and wear. If there was
some way of getting the pro
ducer and consumer together
without so blamed many middle
men in between, that would
solve the problem.
But the remedy is for Farmer
Corntossel to produce less, eh?
Gosh! Why don't they tell
Ford and Chrysler and General
Motors to produce fewer cars?
Why don't they tell the oil
companies to produce less oil and
gas (
Why don't they persuade the
coal mine 'operators to dig less
coal ?
Why don't they convince the
steel trust that it should not
make so much steel?
Why don't they make the daily
papers cut down the number of
pages, take fewer advertise
ments and get fewer subscrib
ers?
Why don't they tell the rail
roads to run fewer trains?
Why don't they tell the poli
ticians to make out with a small
er number of of rices ?
Why don't they tell the mer
chants to sell fewer goods ?
Why don't they tell the birds
to not sirig so much I
Why don't they notify God
that He mustn't hang out quite
soiiiany stars in the sky? -
It seems that everything ex
cept the farmer must go at full
tilt and do as much business as
possible. They tell us that "bus
iness" is good when the rest of
them make all they can, but
when the farmer makes all he
can, then "business" is bad.
That's kuris to me. And so the
farmer must hang up his hoe
and go to sleep under a shade
tree so that he will not produce
an over-supply of something to
eat and wear. Say, Mister One
Gallus Laboring Man, are you
losing any sleep for fear your
family, will, get too much to eat
and wear ?
They Smell Blood!
Anyone who reads the current
weekly and monthly book re
views and takes note of all the
popular hew books as they come
out, can hardly have failed to
notice the present vogue of the
"murder" story. Well, that
doesn't quite make my meaning
plain either. What I mean is that
there seems just now to be a
great fad for having the worfl
"Murder" in the titles of books,
just as if the word itself must
be very attractive and appealing
to the general reader. Can that
be possible ? v
Hardly a week passes rwithout
a new book being announced
witlx the word "Murder" in ifs
title, which would seem to indi
cate that the reading public is
beginning to crave a few more
buckets of blood. In scanning the
ads in just one issue of The New
York Times Book rteview I find
no ' less than seven new' books
playing up the word "Murder"
in the title. Most of them seem
to be "best sellers," too, if we
may believe the ads. Big black
type screams "Murder" at me
from nearly every page, but I
don't want me nary, bucket oi;
bloocl just now, and so I shall
not buy me nary murder story
at present.
One man who calls himself S.
S. Vn Dine has built himself a
great reputation purely on mUr
der stories,, and he is now turn
ing them out as fast as time can
roll. And here's the limit a
a "book club" has been organ
ized calling itself the "Crime
jClub," and its object is-to spe
cialize in the literature of crime
and to push the murder stories.
Here's what I've got to say
about it: Both the authors and
the publishers of such reeking
red-handed rot-ought to be tak
en to some big butcher yard and
forced to wade in cqw blood and
cow guts up to their hip pockets
for the next five years.
HEAVEN
A thousand times I have been told
That heaven's streets are paved with
gold,
And every gate that guards the throne
Is one great glittering precious stone.
The saints, through all the endless
days,
Just march around and sing God's
praise,
And play one never-ending song
On golden harps they tote along.
But, strangely, there is nothing said
About a springtime flower-bed,
And preachers fiever say a word
To tell that heaven has a nird.
I think one thing that heaven needs
Is several packs of flowe seeds,
And some good angel that would know
Just how to use a golden hoe.
James Larkin Pearson.
A JACKASS FOR OFFICE
' It is related that a man once
called on President Lincoln and
asked to be appointed to some
office. Lincoln's keen judgment
told him that the man was not
Qualified for any office, so he
said: My friend, I cannot give
you an office, but I will tell you
a story: "
"There was once a king who
was very fond of hunting. This
king stopped at a mountain cot
tage one summer day and asked
for some refreshments. When
the king started out in the after
noon, the mountaineer who had
entertained him begged him not
to go out as there would be a
severe storm in a few hours. But
the king would not listen to his
advice, and set off for game. In
a short time, however, he came
galloping back in the midst of a
terrific storm. When the storm
had passed over the king said to
the mountaineer: 'You are a
wise man and I will give you an
office.'
"But the mountaineer replied,
'It was not by my wisdom that I
was able to forecast the weather,
but I could tell by the way the
jackass you were riding worked
his ears that there was going ito
be a storm.'
"Then the king said, 'If you
will not accept the office I will
give it to the jackass.'
"And thus," said Lincoln, "ever
since then every jackass has
It
i
been wanting an office.'
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