To:
My Dear Democratic Friends,
You may note a letter to
the editor in the Daily Citizen today
(7-16-2010) titled “Progressive
viewpoints not well represented”;
This is the first letter I have had
published in a long time. I have been assured by
the new editor, Jacob Brower, that in the future
all letters, even those with progressive ideas,
will be published without regard to the
political ideas presented. I consider this an
important commitment considering the challenge
Democrats face in November.
He asked me to tell my friends of his commitment
to editorial fairness and to encourage you to
send letters to the editor. (It is important to
abide by the 250 word limit.)
Please take a moment to call or email Mr. Brower
thanking him for publishing my letter and for
his commitment to fairness going forward. We
would do well to hold him to his word.
You can call him at (501) 268-8621 or email him
at
jbrower@thedailycitizen.com
In case you missed my letter you can see it on
my Blog at
www.PrierNet.WordPress.com
Thank you,
Charles
Please Notice Site Changes
Since I have added a Blog to the website I find
that changes are needed. This space was normally
used for articles and has become redundant. The
Blog is hosted by WordPress and linked from
here. WordPress is much easier to use both for
writing/editing as well as for leaving comments.
It has the added advantage of allowing everyone
to see the comments of others and even permits
commenting on the comments.
You can go directly to the Blog with the link
http://priernet.wordpress.com/
or just come by here first. Your comments
on Blog entries will be greatly appreciated – I
promise to approve all comments for publication
(less profanity and really, really ugly stuff).
I’m not sure yet what I will put in this space.
If you have any suggestions please pass them
along (email:
Charles@PrierNet.com .)Thank you for
stopping by.
Charles Prier
Featured Articles
The Peddlers
Pots and Pans, vanilla extract, aspirin,
cough syrup… Magazines, Cloverine Salve, and
even a subscription to the Kansas City Star
could be had from the peddlers of days gone
by.
They came
with their wares over unpaved roads in the
heat of summer and were as welcome as a cool
rain shower; probably more for the stories
of happenings in the cities, towns and
communities along his route than for his
wares.
Even if
they didn’t have much money, folks would
usually scrape up a few pennies to have the
scissors sharpened, buy some needles or some
other “little-ol-somethin” just to spend
some time with the well-traveled and glib
speaking peddler. If they needed something
substantial, more often than not they would
pay for it with eggs, a chicken, or maybe a
bushel of sweet potatoes.
I remember
those simpler days when Mom tied my pennies
and nickels tightly in the coroner of my
handkerchief and the peddler’s visit brought
a sense of excitement about the world and
the wonders to be found beyond the hills
that marked our horizon. --CP
Gates, doors,
and beginnings
The New Year is a time for looking back
in time and, more importantly, forward
to the coming year. January is the month
for resolutions; it is named for Janus
the Roman god of gates, doors, and
beginnings. Janus had two faces; one
regarding what is behind and the other
looking toward what lies ahead.
It's a time of contemplation on the
happenings of an old year while looking
forward to the new; a time to reflect on
accomplishments and failures and
consider what’s needed to make our world
worthy of our dreams. New Year’s
resolutions help us renew our
commitments and to look forward with
hope and determination no matter what we
experienced the past year.
Someone passed along this New Year
greeting: “May your problems in the
New Year last as long as you keep your
resolutions.” It’s true that
many New Year’s Resolutions are recycled
year after year and quickly slip into
oblivion with only minor regret. It took
many Januarys and lung cancer for my
resolution to quit smoking to take – I’m
still working on others (lose weight,
get in shape, get organized, etc. with
somewhat limited success).
In addition to these old favorites, this
year I resolve to post a Blog regularly
for everyone to see and to make longhand
entries into my blank, beautifully bound
journals and not worry about cross outs,
spelling errors, or embarrassing
grammar. –CP
Happy New Year
“Be always at war with your vices, at
peace with your neighbors, and let each
New Year find you a better man.” –Benjamin
Franklin
Mr.
Daniels’
Store
When
I was a boy I never thought I would grow up and
become an old man who is a lot like Mr. Daniels.
Mr. Daniels ran the neighborhood store. It was a
small store but had all of fascinating things
stores had in those days including a hand
cranked bologna slicer, a glass case filled with
candy and double bubble gum, and a cooler full
of RC colas and NEHI orange drinks.
Sitting high on a case near the back of
the store was a most interesting novelty; it was
a duck that continuously dipped his beak into a
cup of water then lifted his head as if to
swallow a sip. We couldn’t touch and were not
allowed a close look. “It’s not a toy,” insisted
Mr. Daniels “but a scientific demonstration of
thermodynamics.”
None of us knew what thermodynamics meant
but it delivered a definite Gee Whiz factor to
our imaginations. One kid suggested that someday
it would surely lead to the invention of a
perpetual motion machine.
Beside and a little farther off the street than
the store was Mr. Daniels’ shop. He made things
from wood and repaired items around the house.
Sometimes he worked in the shop during store
hours. He closed up and hung out a scribbled
sign that said “In the Shop.” Everyone knew that
during those times he would open the store to
fill important needs, and then return to his
shop tasks afterwards. I learned the hard way
one day that nine-year-old youngsters never
have important needs.
From my quick looks inside I saw many objects in
the shop that I couldn’t imagine him ever using;
these were no doubt remnants of his past life
that he stored away hoping to get back to them
someday.
One very different piece captured my complete
attention, his tombstone - complete except for
an inscription to show his date of death. I
often wondered who would take care of that when
the time came. I mused that perhaps he already
knew, that somehow old people were told the date
of their passing but were required to keep it a
secret; maybe he planned to complete the
inscription himself, just in time.
At times Mrs. Daniels would sit in the back of
the store. She was very quiet and I never saw
her walk. I think she was in a wheelchair. One
day she died and the store was closed for
several days. It’s awkward now to realize that
my sadness was because the store was closed –
not because of her passing.
Mr. Daniels and his store are long gone now; all
that remains are imperfect recollections from a
time before my dreams and ambitions were either
realized or finally abandoned – leftover
treasures from days gone by, stored away with no
hope of someday getting back to them. –CP
©
Copyright 2009
Charles Prier
Ole Rex
It was early autumn 1950, the first week of the
school year. My world was full of things to
worry about. A bicycle accident left me with a
badly skinned knee and minor but ugly gravel
scrapes on the left side of my face; these had
been spotlighted with bright red mercurochrome
stains destined to remain for weeks. Everyone
stared - I looked awful; girls shrieked the boys
made fun while my self esteem drooped.
My one joy was the tail wagging greeting of Ole
Rex when I stepped off the school bus. He was my
partner in crime; my exploring companion; he ran
alongside during my bicycle outings. Rex didn’t
know any tricks. Not because he wasn’t smart but
because I wasn’t smart or patient enough to
teach him. He looked puzzled by my instructions
when I tried, but he wanted to learn, I just
knew it. I vowed that someday I would learn to
teach him.
He wasn’t there one day. For a moment I thought
I got off the bus at the wrong house. Suddenly
it didn’t matter that I didn’t have a girlfriend
or that my clothes looked funny and my face was
painted up like Frankenstein. Ole Rex wasn’t
there, I wasn’t a whole person, something was
dreadfully wrong.
It didn’t take long to learn what happened. Mom
told me that Rex had been shot by old man Staggs
who lived three houses down the road. Everyone
said he was Bible Crazy. After the summer
revival, he never laughed or even smiled; his
eyes were glassy and seemed to be looking at
something faraway. And he quoted scary verses
from the bible when he talked.
“Oh no, where is he?” Salty tears were rolling
down my face.
“I don’t know - he ran limping and yelping into
the woods when he was shot. I gave the old man a
piece of my mind and told him that he had to
find the poor dog and end his suffering.” Her
voice breaking slightly as she spoke.
It turns out that the old man didn’t find Rex
dead or alive.
For the next two days, after making sure Old Man
Staggs was not outside with his twenty-two
rifle, we searched the woods and fields for
Rex’s body; there was little doubt in my mind
that he was dead. Then someone reported hearing
a slight whimper coming from under the floor in
the kitchen. Could it be Rex?
With my Roy Rogers flashlight I explored the
area through a small vent hole in the
underpinning. I spotted something; with his back
to the hole I couldn’t tell for sure if it was
Rex. Rex had a beautiful black coat trimmed
in snowy white on his chest and face. No white was
visible.
I had to get to him. This meant clearing part of
the underpinning to gain access to the
crawlspace. The crawlspace was too low even for
my small body; I had to dig a path to what I
prayed was Ole Rex still alive. As I progressed
I could see signs of him breathing but not a
single whimper did I hear. By the time I reached
him it was clear it was Ole Rex and he was
alive. I scooted him on to the throw rug I used
to keep my face out of the dirt while digging
and slid him out.
Although he was barely responsive we were
thrilled. We made a bed for him from a cardboard
box and some old rags and placed it in the
kitchen floor. The gunshot wounds indicated that
the bullet had gone in on one side of his
midsection and out the other. In a few days he
became more responsive and began to drink water
and eat a little.
With Ole Rex on the mend my world was different,
even from before Old Man Staggs shot Rex. I was
still repulsive to the girls at school; my
clothes were still not as good as my classmates
and the boys still made fun, but my injuries
were healing and the mercurochrome stains were
fading. Somehow I knew that I could overcome all
these problems and even if not, it didn’t
matter; Ole Rex would greet me after school and
we would ride, romp, and play in a world of
optimism only a ten year old can understand.
©
Copyright 2009
Charles Prier
