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Monday, November 26, 2018

Sleigh Ride: from the collection, "Letter to Jeannie."


What a beautiful Christmas Eve here in Vermont, as the last rays of twilight disappear over the horizon, there is a fresh blanket of snow covering the landscape, but the front has moved though, the skies are clear and the moon full.
I prepare the horses, Frank and Sport, with their finest Christmas harnesses, the ones with the bells. Frank is a fine animal, though stubborn to his core, he stands nineteen hands high, a red beast, with a black mane, tail, boots and eyes. He puts up a bit of a fight as I dress him out and ready him for the sleigh, and the steam from his breath rises up around me as I back him into position, and he lurches his head a bit and neighs in protest.
But Sport, she gives me no fuss, she’s not as big Frank, but smart, and Frank loves her, and will follow her anywhere she goes. Sport’s a palomino, bay with a golden mane and tail, with clear, soft brown eyes. She rests her head on my shoulder as I affix her harness to the draw-bar. Together they make a fine team, Frank to pull the load, and Sport to lead him where he needs to go.
The sleigh is small, green with gold and red trim, and I have polished the runners, so she glides through the snow, like a skater on ice. It has room for only two in the seat, which suits me fine, for I intend to take my best girl, the most beautiful creature in all of Vermont, for a sleigh ride.

Yes, the girl of my dreams is the sweetest girl, of all the girls I know, the gold of her hair, and the blue of her eyes, are a blend of the western skies, and the cream of her skin, and the rouge of her lips are known to have set my soul a fire. Yes, I am dressed in my best, with my beaver coat and felt hat, for tonight, I intend to steal a kiss, from this most lovely lass.
When I knock on her door, she opens it and I ask, “Miss Jeannie, would like to go for a sleigh ride?”
She looks at me sternly, and closing one eye, says, “I think not! You’re a bit old for me,” half kidding, and half wondering.
Yes ma’am, I know, but I cherish your company so, and it is enough… Please.”
Then turning her head away, she blushes a bit, and coyly holds out her hand, and I take this tiny hand in mine, kiss it, and squeeze it gently, and she turns back, looking me square in the eyes and smiling says, “I’d love too.”
Donning her finest rabbit coat and Russian beaver hat, we walk out to the sleigh where Frank and Sport await.




Still holding her hand, I help her into the sleigh, giving her bottom a little pop, looking back; she gives me a glare, and then a mischievous smile, and settles onto the seat.
As I climb up, she looks at me with her soft blue eyes and then looks down and says, “You are going to behave,” then again looking me in the eyes, continues,” are you not?”



Smiling with a wide grin, I reply, “Yes ma’am. I’ll behave.”
I pick up the reins, giving them a snap, and with a jing, jing jingle, and a yank, we are off into the beautiful Vermont countryside. It doesn’t take long and the horses settle into an even stride giving the sleigh a steady rock and the bells take up a rhythm.
As we glide down the lane in the cold, still, night air, the aroma of pine, mixed with the burning of oak and walnut linger in the air, as the smoke from the chimneys rise slowly into the sky. Each of the houses has the twinkling of a Christmas tree in the window, celebrating the birth of our Lord.




The hardwoods stand stark and bare against the snowy landscape, while the evergreens bravely stand against the winter, decked out in all their finery. The dark rocky hillsides contrast the white of the snow, and the river, frozen, runs like a ribbon of satin through the rolling countryside.
I bravely take the reins into my left hand and put my arm around this most lovely creature, and pull her to me, and she in turn snuggles close. A feeling of calm and completeness comes over me, and I have to marvel over the power of this simple girl and the joy and peace she brings to my soul. Surly a creature made by the hand of God, and my soul fills to overflowing, and I begin to laugh, and she looks strangely at me, smiling and giggles, her eyes gleaming in the moonlight with her golden hair bouncing to the rhythm of the bells.





Gliding along the lane, the joy of children’s voices rise over the sound of the bells, for they are gathered outside one of the houses singing carols.

So slowing the pace a bit, we listen.





And their voices fad as we continue down the snow covered lane, we approach Sonora creek, Jeannie shivers a bit and looks at me and as we enter the darkness of the covered bridge, her arms slide in around my waist and she hugs me as the blackness envelops us and sighs with relief, as we exit the other side.



Then with the moonlight bathing us again, she relaxes a bit and looks up at me and for a moment, I see the moon in her eyes and then she says, “I got a bit of a chill.”

Startled, because I was lost in her soft glowing eyes, I reply, “Yes ma’am,” and then winking, “a chill.” I smile.
She smiles softly, putting her head against my shoulder, and on down the lane we go. After a brief while, she begins to elbow me in side and says, “I want to hear those bells rattle!” and giving me a wide grin, “can’t this crate go any faster!”
With that, I give the reins a snap and holler, “Getty up Frank - Sport! Heeeuaaa!!” And with that we are off as the horses pick up their pace and come into a full trot, Jeannie is thrown back in her seat a bit, squealing with glee, her hair flies in the wind as the bells begin to sing.






After a good sprint down the ribbon of snow we come into town, which is a buzz with the sights and sounds of Christmas. All the gas lamps are lit, and many of the homes have candles burning in the windows for their guest. In the town square, there is a huge spruce, decorated for the season. The sidewalks are filled with people in their holiday finery looking in the shop windows and collecting what they need for the big day.




https://youtu.be/zlbSk82UJ6w 



Bringing Frank and Sport to the curb the sleigh comes to a stop. I help Jeannie from her perch, and taking her arm, we walk about the square among the twinkling lights, looking in the windows of the various shops.
As we walk along, I become aware of some children playing in the park, the boys are throwing snowballs at each other, and there are three young girls trying to roll up some snow. Then I see Jeannie taking notice, and I see the glow in her eyes, her hands come together before her and she rises on her toes, and her eyes twinkle, “Those girls are trying to build a snowman.” She says, as though they need help. (In my selfish thoughts, I had brought Jeannie here to walk the square with her, to be seen with her, for she is a beautiful girl, and though I love her, I long to be seen with her as well, but…. Alas, she is young, with much girl still stirring in her soul, and she knows not, she is being displayed, nor does she care…She longs to build a snowman…)
Then let’s give them some help.” I reply.
Yesss…!!!” she says sounding pleased, and like a shot, she is off to the park, with me in close pursuit….
Running up to the girls struggling with the big snowball, “What’re you girls doing?”
We’re making a snowman.” The girls answer.
Can I help?” she continues.
Yea… But he can’t…” they chime in pointing at me, “the boys are mean, tell him to go play with the boys.” The girls agree, with their rules.
Spinning around to me, “Go play with the boys Georgie.” Jeannie says with folded hands, “Pleassseee.”
Well Rats!” I reply a little disappointed, “Okay.” I say giving her a wink, what the hell, so I wonder off towards a bench there in the park. Brushing away the snow, I have a seat, and watch this wondrous creature of mine as she and her new found friends make a snowman. I notice, that Jeannie, being the oldest, gently took charge and in no time, they were rolling up their second ball of snow, and they were laughing and giggling, brief moments of throwing snow at one another, but otherwise working on their common goal.



Smack!!!! (?) I get nailed by a snowball??? I Look around and see a group of boys, grinning at me, each one with a snowball in their hand. I mumble….with increasing volume, ”You realize, this means war…!” and I hop over the back of the bench, as they pelt me with their ammo, but I’m fast and they miss. I quickly set to the task of making snowballs and defending myself. So the battle is on, I’d stand and set one to flying, and then duck the incoming. I was out numbered, but stood my ground, hitting my target far more often than they hitting me, thinking I was ahead bit, I started laughing… but laughing ain’t fighting, and they begin to close in on me, trying to cover my flanks, I’m steadying throwing, nailing one boy after the other, but laughing just the same… Soon they close in, nailing me with one snowball after the other, so ducking down, the incoming increasing numbers and soon I am sitting in a pile of snow, covered in snow, surrounded by my adversaries, being pummeled with snow … The boys are laughing and piling the snow on, as I sit quiet, letting the white drift pile up on me, letting them think they have won.
Soon, they have encircled me, just standing there, wondering what has become of me, who was laughing and fighting so nobility just moments ago and now quiet, and appearing to be no more than a drift. As I peek out thru the crystals, I can see the puzzle on their faces, as they ponder what has happened, and then beyond them, I see Jeannie and the girls have taken notice, and are closing in on the boys, now with their backs turned, each one armed with a big fat snowball.
Grrrrrrrrrrr………!!!!!!!!!” I call out in a loud angry tone as I rise up in a turning motion, like a great phoenix, setting snow flying in every direction, the boys in their surprize, turn to run and are pelted by balls of snow flying in from the rear, as the girls squeal in glee. When the commotion is over… The boys are gone, having fled in every direction, Jeannie and her friends were on their backs in the snow laughing, and I just stood there like a monolith.
But then beyond the girls I see a Snowman. Between the four of them, a fine snowman had been brought to life, to live briefly, but to live…just the same.


So…what’s his name?” I ask as I walk over to have a look. He was really quite handsome, made of three good size snowballs, neatly piled one on the other, his arms were made of sticks, and his coat buttons, eyes and mouth were made of coal, with a carrot for his nose. One of the girls, Veronica, had taken her orange stocking hat and scarf and put it on the man.

I don’t know? We haven’t named him yet.” They seem to chime in together… “What shall be his name?”
How do you know it’s a man?” Veronica speaks up.
We are four girls? Why would we build another girl? It’s a man.” Jeannie says…
Boys build snowmen?” Veronica agues, “So girls build..?? Snow-girls!”
Boys build armies, girls build families.” Jeannie replies…
Hummmm…..” Veronica is thinking, and she scratches her head, Jeannie notices that her hat is gone, on the snowman, and Veronica folds her arms with the cold.
Then Jeannie speaks up, “It’s Veronica hat and scarf on the snowman, it can be whatever she wants.”
He’s a man, and his name is ‘Lucky.’” Veronica announces, and they all smile and hug, I just have to smile…
Come on Jeannie, we got to get going.” Realizing how late it is getting to be. Jeannie turns and looks at Veronica, smiles, and takes the beaver skinned hat off her head, and puts it on Veronica, and then comes to me. “What about your hat, Jeannie?”
What hat?”
Yes ma’am, well let’s go.” And we climb into the sleigh behind Frank and Sport, and with a whistle, we are gliding on through town.





Then as we come to Farmers Gray’s home, there seems to be a bit of a commotion, and we pull in to see what’s up.


We pull up to the little country Church, and secure the horses and go in.





https://youtu.be/ldbvaX6VINo 




With services over we return to the sleigh, giving the reins a snap and shouting to the horses we head home at a brisk pace. Jeannie is laughing and squealing with glee as the bells once again sing out.


We arrive, and Jeannie invites me in to have a bit of hot coca and sit by the fire, she snuggles close and puts her head on my shoulder, and I am just lost there in her company, gazing into the fire, with thoughts of only her.

She turns to me and says, “Tell me a story, Georgie, you know the one.”


 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J-uNQ2oQACk&t=30s 

Your eyes grow wide and you mouth drops open as you exclaim!!! “Georgie!!! What the Hell!! That’s not it!!!”
Well, I thought you were old enough to hear the real version.” I reply, with my famous mischievous smile.




Your eyes narrow and I can see daggers in them, “You are so mean…you are…!!! I’m going to real version your ass!!!” and you pounce on me, tickling me, and we wiggle and squirm about a bit, just enjoying one another's presents.
Now tell it right!!!”
My lower lip comes out, and I wink at you… “Okay.”


Again, we snuggle by the fire.


I lightly grab the back of her hair, and turn her head to steal that kiss, and she struggles, stands, and says firmly, “I think you should be going, Mr. Nichols, it’s getting late,” and she walks me to the door, and there in the threshold hangs a prig of mistletoe.
Standing under it, I say, “Miss Jeannie, I had a wonderful evening, and…. Well…Ahhh… I love you.”
She looks me square in the eyes, and in the most discerning manner, declares, "Watch out, Mr. Nichols, the perv in you is beginning to show."  Then looking down a moment, and blushing, looks back at me, and her eyes soften in the moonlight, and studying my fallen face carefully, she continues, “Why…..? I do believe you do.” And then with a sigh, says, “Now kiss me, and go home.” And she reaches up to me, closing her eyes, offering her lips, as she slowly rises on her toes….I pick her up into my arms, and for a few moments, my life seems to be…where it is going… as I kissed her, and then… the moment gone.
She then closed the door on me, what a strange wondrous creature she is? I sprang to the sleigh, and to my team gave a whistle, and away we all flew, like the down of a thistle, my heart soaring high feeling much like:



Merry Christmas 
Sleep well.
Love
Wolfie



Wednesday, February 22, 2017

The Daffodils


The Daffodils

I wandered lonely as cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hill"
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the tree"
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the Milky Way,
They stretched in never ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in Sprightly dance.
The waves beside them danced; but they
Outdid the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed-and gazed-but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:
For oft. When on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude:
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

William Wordsworth

1770 - 1850

The Lane

The Lane


There is a lane, which has no turning
Just ahead of me always.

There is a lane, which has no turning,
I've searched for it for days and days.

I've walked along the path of life,
Looking for this lovely lane,

But all I've found are curves and turns
And walks across the lonely plain.

If I could find this lane,
They say that has no turning,

Then perhaps I could lay to rest,
This cold and fearful yearning.

They say that if down this lane,
With your love you take a stroll.

Then your life forever changes,
And never again shall you be cold.
©
George Henry Nichols

from the book
The Legend of Captain Outrageous’



Tuesday, February 21, 2017

Captain Red


From The Book
The Legend of Captain Outrageous
Captain Red, Captain Red, You’ve fallen cold and dead.
And your little Parakeet to me he said,
Oh where! Oh where is Captain Red!

The sea that night it came a thrashing,
And the rigging it came a crashing.
A yardarm came down upon your head,
And among your crew there fell a dread.
And your little parakeet to me he said,
Oh where! Oh where is Captain Red!

The sea it called you as a child,
And we know that call is wild,
For many a story has been told,
Of how piracy stole your soul.

You spent your life in search of treasure,
For this was truly your greatest pleasure.
But now you’re gone and the deck is red,
Where at last you laid your head.
And your little parakeet to me he said
Oh where! Oh where is Captain Red!

They will miss you, oh master, fallen cold and dead!
They will miss you, Oh Captain, Lord Benjamin Red!
But the moon tonight is very bright,
And the sea is shimmering with its light.

And Life again seems very sweet,
Except to one little parakeet,
Who sits on me with saddened eyes,
As if though he’d wish to cry.

And your little parakeet to me he says,
Oh where! Oh where is my Captain Red!
©



May 29, 1991
George Henry Nichols

Zena Zena


ZENA ZENA, behind the bar,
Fairest bar maid in this town by far!
Long blond silky hair,
And you just watch her toss it, here and there.

But let me warn you, yes beware.
OOOh her skin, is such, so fair.
But be for warned, there’s a thin line,
Ooh that smile, its so fine!

I’ve heard is said on the sly,
Zena Zena is an I R S spy!

She will smile at you and serve your drinks
While asking you, “Do your taxes stink?”
Perhaps your tax man is a fink?”
As the ice hits the glasses. Plink! Plink!

Be careful how you reply.
She makes notes of all the lies.
Asking you, “a drink do you will to buy?”
For the young lady sitting next to you, Oh my!

I’m warning you now, it could be a trap.
Perhaps your telephone she will tap,
As your demise she will map!
Just to put a feather in her hat.

So if you run across her sea green eyes,
And her smile makes your soul fly,
Chances are, Its ZENA! The I R S Spy’
With blond silky hair, ooh I can’t deny.

Z E N A is written right on her butt!
So if you See it! About your taxes, you’d better clam up!
And tell your friends to keep there mouth shut!
Or ZENA and the I R S just may kick your butt!

Fairest bar maid in the town by far,
Is ZENA ZENA – behind the bar! ©



March 10th, 1991
George Henry Nichols

Saturday, January 16, 2016

"The Forgotten Man"

 

By William Graham Sumner.
The type and formula of most schemes of philanthropy or humanitarianism is this: A and B put their heads together to decide what C shall be made to do for D. 

The radical vice of all these schemes, from a sociological point of view, is that C is not allowed a voice in the matter, and his position, character, and interests, as well as the ultimate effects on society through C's interests, are entirely overlooked. I call C the Forgotten Man. 

For once let us look him up and consider his case, for the characteristic of all social doctors is, that they fix their minds on some man or group of men whose case appeals to the sympathies and the imagination, and they plan remedies addressed to the particular trouble; they do not understand that all the parts of society hold together, and that forces which are set in action act and react throughout the whole organism, until an equilibrium is produced by a re-adjustment of all interests and rights. They therefore ignore entirely the source from which they must draw all the energy which they employ in their remedies, and they ignore all the effects on other members of society than the ones they have in view. They are always under the dominion of the superstition of government, and, forgetting that a government produces nothing at all, they leave out of sight the first fact to be remembered in all social discussion - that the State cannot get a cent for any man without taking it from some other man, and this latter must be a man who has produced and saved it. This latter is the Forgotten Man.

The friends of humanity start out with certain benevolent feelings toward "the poor," "the weak," "the laborers," and others of whom they make pets. 

They generalize these classes, and render them impersonal, and so constitute the classes into social pets. They turn to other classes and appeal to sympathy and generosity, and to all the other noble sentiments of the human heart. Action in the line proposed consists in a transfer of capital from the better off to the worse off.

 Capital, however, as we have seen, is the force by which civilization is maintained and carried on. The same piece of capital cannot be used in two ways. Every bit of capital, therefore, which is given to a shiftless and inefficient member of society, who makes no return for it, is diverted from a reproductive use; but if it was put into reproductive use, it would have to be granted in wages to an efficient and productive laborer. Hence the real sufferer by that kind of benevolence which consists in an expenditure of capital to protect the good-for-nothing is the industrious laborer. 

The latter, however, is never thought of in this connection. It is assumed that he is provided for and out of the account. Such a notion only shows how little true notions of political economy have as yet become popularized. There is an almost invincible prejudice that a man who gives a dollar to a beggar is generous and kind-hearted, but that a man who refuses the beggar and puts the dollar in a savings bank is stingy and mean. The former is putting capital where it is very sure to be wasted, and where it will be a kind of seed for a long succession of future dollars, which must be wasted to ward off a greater strain on the sympathies than would have been occasioned by a refusal in the first place. Inasmuch as the dollar might have been turned into capital and given to a laborer who, while earning it, would have reproduced it, it must be regarded as taken from the latter. 

When a millionaire gives a dollar to a beggar the gain of utility to the beggar is enormous, and the loss of utility to the millionaire is insignificant. Generally the discussion is allowed to rest there. But if the millionaire makes capital of the dollar, it must go upon the labor market, as a demand for productive services. Hence there is another party in interest - the person who supplies productive services. There always are two parties. The second one is always the Forgotten Man, and any one who wants to truly understand the matter in question must go and search for the Forgotten Man. 

He will be found to be worthy, industrious, independent, and self-supporting. He is not, technically, "poor" or "weak"; he minds his own business, and makes no complaint. Consequently the philanthropists never think of him, and trample on him.

We hear a great deal of schemes for "improving the condition of the working-man." In the United States the farther down we go in the grade of labor, the greater is the advantage which the laborer has over the higher classes. A hod-carrier or digger here can, by one day's labor, command many times more days' labor of a carpenter, surveyor, book-keeper, or doctor than an unskilled laborer in Europe could command by one day's labor. The same is true, in a less degree, of the carpenter, as compared with the book-keeper, surveyor, and doctor. This is why the United States is the great country for the unskilled laborer. The economic conditions all favor that class. 

There is a great continent to be subdued, and there is a fertile soil available to labor, with scarcely any need of capital. Hence the people who have the strong arms have what is most needed, and, if it were not for social consideration, higher education would not pay. Such being the case, the working-man needs no improvement in his condition except to be freed from the parasites who are living on him. 

All schemes for patronizing "the working classes" savor of condescension. They are impertinent and out of place in this free democracy. There is not, in fact, any such state of things or any such relation as would make projects of this kind appropriate. Such projects demoralize both parties, flattering the vanity of one and undermining the self-respect of the other.

For our present purpose it is most important to notice that if we lift any man up we must have a fulcrum, or point of reaction. In society that means that to lift one man up we push another down. The schemes for improving the condition of the working classes interfere in the competition of workmen with each other. The beneficiaries are selected by favoritism, and are apt to be those who have recommended themselves to the friends of humanity by language or conduct which does not betoken independence and energy. Those who suffer a corresponding depression by the interference are the independent and self-reliant, who once more are forgotten or passed over; and the friends of humanity once more appear, in their zeal to help somebody, to be trampling on those who are trying to help themselves.

Trades-unions adopt various devices for raising wages, and those who give their time to philanthropy are interested in these devices, and wish them success. They fix their minds entirely on the workmen for the time being in the trade, and do not take note of any other workmen as interested in the matter. It is supposed that the fight is between the workmen and their employers, and it is believed that one can give sympathy in that contest to the workmen without feeling responsibility for anything farther. It is soon seen, however, that the employer adds the trades-union and strike risk to the other risks of his business, and settles down to it philosophically. 

If, now, we go farther, we see that he takes it philosophically because he has passed the loss along on the public. It then appears that the public wealth has been diminished, and that the danger of a trade war, like the danger of a revolution, is a constant reduction of the well-being of all. So far, however, we have seen only things which could lower wages - nothing which could raise them. The employer is worried, but that does not raise wages. The public loses, but the loss goes to cover extra risk, and that does not raise wages.

A trades-union raises wages by restricting the number of apprentices who may be taken into the trade. This device acts directly on the supply of laborers, and that produces effects on wages. If, however, the number of apprentices is limited, some are kept out who want to get in. Those who are in have, therefore, made a monopoly, and constituted themselves a privileged class on a basis exactly analogous to that of the old privileged aristocracies. 

But whatever is gained by this arrangement for those who are in is won at a greater loss to those who are kept out. Hence it is not upon the masters nor upon the public that trades-unions exert the pressure by which they raise wages; it is upon other persons of the labor class who want to get into the trades, but, not being able to do so, are pushed down into the unskilled labor class. 

These persons, however, are passed by entirely without notice in all the discussions about trades-unions. They are the Forgotten Men. But, since they want to get into the trade and win their living in it, it is fair to suppose that they are fit for it, would succeed at it, would do well for themselves and society in it; that is to say, that, of all persons interested or concerned, they most deserve our sympathy and attention.

The cases already mentioned involve no legislation. Society, however, maintains police, sheriffs, and various institutions, the object of which is to protect people against themselves - that is, against their own vices. 

Almost all legislative effort to prevent vice is really protective of vice, because all such legislation saves the vicious man from the penalty of his vice. Nature's remedies against vice are terrible. She removes the victims without pity. A drunkard in the gutter is just where he ought to be, according to the fitness and tendency of things. Nature has set up on him the process of decline and dissolution by which she removes things which have survived their usefulness. 

Gambling and other less mention-able vices carry their own penalties with them.

Now, we never can annihilate a penalty. We can only divert it from the head of the man who has incurred it to the heads of others who have not incurred it. A vast amount of "social reform" consists in just this operation. 

The consequence is that those who have gone astray, being relieved from Nature's fierce discipline, go on to worse, and there is a constantly heavier burden for the others to bear. 

Who are the others? 

When we see a drunkard in the gutter we pity him. If a policeman picks him up, we say that society has interfered to save him from perishing. "Society" is a fine word, and it saves us the trouble of thinking. The industrious and sober workman, who is mulcted of a percentage of his day's wages to pay the policeman, is the one who bears the penalty. But he is the Forgotten Man. He passes by and is never noticed, because he has behaved himself, fulfilled his contracts, and asked for nothing.

The fallacy of all prohibitory, sumptuous, and moral legislation is the same. A and B determine to be teetotalers, which is often a wise determination, and sometimes a necessary one. If A and B are moved by considerations which seem to them good, that is enough. But A and B put their heads together to get a law passed which shall force C to be a teetotaler for the sake of D, who is in danger of drinking too much. 

There is no pressure on A and B. They are having their own way, and they like it. There is rarely any pressure on D. He does not like it, and evades it. 

The pressure all comes on C. The question then arises, Who is C? He is the man who wants alcoholic liquors for any honest purpose whatsoever, who would use his liberty without abusing it, who would occasion no public question, and trouble nobody at all. He is the Forgotten Man again, and as soon as he is drawn from his obscurity we see that he is just what each one of us ought to be.
_______________________________

NOTES:

1 William Graham Sumner (1840-1910) was a Professor of Political Economy and of Sociology at Yale. In the book in which I found this essay (Macmillan, 1916), the editors -- English Professors Berdan, Schultz and Joyce of Yale -- wrote a short introductory paragraph, as follows: "This brilliant essay by Professor Sumner illustrates the effective use of the deductive structure. In two paragraphs defining who is the Forgotten Man, the general principle is stated so fully that the reader unconsciously accepts it. But once the reader has accepted this principle, it is applied to the consideration of trades unions and temperance legislation, with startling results. The essay, then, consists in the statement of a general principle, followed by two illustrations. Just as the form resolves itself into a simple arrangement, so the style is simple. There is no attempt at rhetorical exaggeration, no appeal to the emotions. It does read, and it is intended to read, as an ordinary exercise of the logical faculty. This mathematical effect is gained by the device of using the A and B that are associated in the mind with school problems, And the brilliance of the essay lies in the apparent inevitability with which the author reaches conclusions widely differing from conventional views. Since the importance of the essay lies exactly in these applications, actually the structure approaches the deductive type.


Wednesday, December 24, 2014

Santa Claus



Well, once again Christmas is just around the corner, let’s see, this will be number Sixty-one for me. Funny, but Santa Claus doesn’t bring me anything anymore, and hasn’t in a long time.

Did you ever believe in Santa Claus?   What a lie, huh? And to tell little kids, and lead them to believe such things.… Ever wonder why we do that? I bet most people couldn’t tell ya today.

My daddy lied to me all the time, it was terrible… And every now and then, mama would tell a whopper! I use to wonder, why in the hell would they lie to me? I mean? I’m their kid!

Now don’t get me wrong. They loved me. There was never any doubt of it. I knew that. It showed. They took good care of me, put clothes on me, educated me, and for a big part, did so themselves. So, why would they lie to me so damn much?

It took me awhile, but I finally figured it out…  Santa Claus.

Santa Claus is the first Big Lie… And you as the child, using information you gather, are left to figure otherwise. They are simply teaching you to 'think for yourself.'  And the myth of Santa Claus is a good foundation for critical thinking.

Another important lesson, is teaching the ability to challenge authority (the parents) when the child draws a conclusion.

Notice there is no reward when the child figures it out, but nor is there a punishment. Thinking for yourself… is its own reward. ©




George Henry Nichols