The chairman of the Arbor Day celebration has his work cut out for him.
Roy Tucker was appointed by the Chamber to take over as chairman of the annual celebration . . . just a couple of weeks ago.
That really isn't enough time to get the ball rolling, Roy admits, but he's determined to give Nebraska City and the visitors, a parade and program to make their day a pleasant experience.
Roy is getting help from many residents and if you'd like to join the Arbor Day committee all it takes is a call to Dorothy Melchert at 873-6654.
We were going to suggest that Larry Parker be the master of ceremonies. Remember Larry's mellow laugh? "Ha, Ha, Ha."
He's retired, but he's still around town (he may leave after reading this) and we wondered if he might accept if given the opportunity. Ha, Ha, Ha.
I just about had Larry talked into taking over the announcing chores at the speedway one year. Wouldn't he have done a fine job?
Know what stopped it?
Jerry Hall.
Yup . . . we just about had the deal made when it was brought to our attention that Jerry Hall not only has a good clear voice for announcing chores, but he's got a special kind of laugh (Sorry, can't describe it).
Well, anyway, the idea flopped when it was pointed out that if Jerry popped a funny, Larry would let loose with a "ha, ha, ha" and that would be followed by Jerry's laugh.
You know the result of course . . . they'd have to stop the races.
One of our favorite suggestions for microphone duties is Bob McKissick. He knows the country, the people and he's got a good clear voice and commands attention.
That got nixed when it was suggested that Bob might be at a loss for words in a given situation and blare off with "awww . . . right now . . . who'll give me 25 dollars . . . hep! . . . now 30 . . . hep! hep!"
Well, as you can see, we do have suggestions.
Mr. Morton's journal.
Craig Bergman, superintendent of Arbor Lodge State park, came across some items in J. Sterling Morton's farm journal for the year 1874.
Mr. Morton's records showed $3.50 paid for a year of post office box rent, 25 cents for a haircut, $1.75 for a pocketknife, a nickel for a loaf of bread, $1.50 for a buggy whip, $3.50 for pair of boy's boots, 50 cents to shod a horse, 30 cents for a dozen eggs and 40 cents for an axe handle.
Other items Mr. Bergman noted in the log included $9 for six bushels of apples, $200 for a double seated carriage, 10 cents each for cigars, $6 for a ton of ice, $1.80 for six pounds of butter, 40 cents a bushel for oats, $4.40 for 22 chickens, 50 cents for two and a half pounds of lard, $1.40 for seven pounds of cheese and carpeting which cost $6.50 a yard.
These are a few of the prices "they used to pay in the good old days," Mr. Bergman observed.
The doctor's column.
Dr. D. D. Stonecypher, Jr., has not made me feel any better. I was enjoying his book immensely (probably because it concerned "old" people and not me) when I came upon that blamed chapter on food.
Doctor Stonecypher's book, Growing Older and Staying Young, puts my usual meals on the chopping block . . . my sour cream chocolate cake went into the . . . tch . . . tch . . . column and when it comes to fats, my breakfasts are blubbery with bacon and eggs.
I even rupture the too-many-fats meal by using "country" cream in my coffee and that's a no-no if you want to keep your blood pipelines open and the flow smooth.
Well, despite my poor habits, you should check yourself. Copies of the book are available at the News-Press for $9.17 tax included or you can check one out at the Morton-James library. The doctor points out many good foods and the calories. It's good reading and could be healthful reading.
The doctor has another chapter on older people remarrying.
He scoffs at the idea that marriage is not compatible because of age. In fact, he points out the divorce rate among the young and says that surely an older person's wisdom ought to have some value in marriage judgment.
We don't intend to make a judgment in this area, but we do have one experience to share.
My grandmother was struck by a car and lived for 10 years as an invalid. She was in her 60s at the time of the accident.
My widowed grandfather was in his 70s when he remarried. And just as Doctor Stonecypher said in his book, the children of the newlyweds objected. However, granddad Ellsworth Liston seemed content. He was approaching 80 when he died.
Thanks, Bill Jenkins.
I wasn't too excited about going to the Junior High spring band concert the other night at Senior High, but as you parents know, when one of the youngsters from the family is involved, we try to be faithful in attendance.
Benny Goodman has a special on TV and I kinda wanted to stay home and watch that show. But with the usual "rat race" of night activities with a growing family, I was sorta left stranded.
We don't have a Tommy Dorsey in the trombone section, but we've got a young man who huffs and puffs and does his best. As it turned out, Director Bill Jenkins' bandsmen provided a pleasant evening.
In fact the evening turned out to be super pleasant — we got home in time to see the last minutes of the Goodman show.
Mildred refuses to ride with me on a motorcycle to the Black Hills this summer.
It's sure good to know, however, that there is support out there in reader-land. Your support hasn't done much on the home front, but at least it is appreciated.
Don't you ever get the yen to kick your heels or do something foolish . . . just once?
I've envisioned other great excitements in life, but so far my greatest ambition has been confined to a Sunday tradition — riding off into the forests with Price Valiant.
The Sunday comic (?) story has been a favorite for years. I marvel at the strength of Sir Gawain, the aging knight, and the cleverness and shield given to him by the young Prince Arn who someday will sheath the famous Singing Sword now in the hand of his father, Prince Valiant.
There's a lot to the story I never understand. The knights always seem so strong, eat so irregular on crusades, get wet and cold, but never seem to get the flu, have corns or ingrown toenails.
Oh, well. I'll just mount by black stallion, hold my lance under my arm and charge into the brush . . . Sunday morning, that is.