The Mornin' Mail is published every weekday except major holidays
Tuesday, August 28, 2007 Volume XVI, Number 51

did ya know?

Did Ya Know?... The City of Carthage will be spraying for mosquitoes Monday, August 27th through Friday, August 31st. Areas will be sprayed in the evening of the day of regular trash pickup, between the hours of 8 p.m. and midnight. It is recommended that citizens turn off window and attic fans when the sprayer is in the immediate area.

Did Ya Know?... Magic Moments Riding Therapy will be holding New Volunteer Training on Tuesday, August 28th, starting at 5:30 pm. We are looking for individuals willing help others in the community that have special needs. Our volunteers should be at least 14 years of age, unafraid of horses, able to walk for at least 30 minutes at a time, and able to follow directions. The time commitment is one or two hours one late afternoon or evening per week. To learn more, call us at 417 325-4490. Horse experience helpful but not required. We are located just 7 minutes south of Carthage, close to JR’S Western Store.

today's laugh

I went to a tough school. Once I got hit by a spitball, and the doctor gave me a 50-50 chance to live.

Traffic was so slow I had to leave the car twice to make payments.

Sign in a restaurant: If you are over eighty years old and accompanied by your parents, we will cash your check.

A Chronological Record of Events as they have Transpired in the City and County since our last Issue.


Not More than 100 Cars this Year-General Conditions.

"The berry season is practically at an end," says Sarcoxie Tribune. "Up to and including Wednesday evening, the Horticultural association had shipped 82 cars and Gandy people 5, and with about 3 cars today makes a total of 90 cars of berries shipped in car lots. A few straggling car loads will continue to go out probably up to next Monday, but it is not likely that 100 cars will be shipped.

"Taking the season through, prices have undoubtedly ruled higher than last year, and many of the growers will doubtless make more money than last year.".

While Isaiah Eiting and family were in from their country home Sunday their team, which was hitched in Porter’s yard, broke loose and started for home at a 2:40 gait. They were caught by some boys before any damage was done, except a broken pole.


Today's Feature

Tax Levy Second Reading.

The Carthage City Council will meet this evening in a regular session at 7:30 p.m. in the Council Chambers of City Hall. Items on the agenda include the second reading of an ordinance levying general taxes upon real property in the City. This item was heard in its first reading in a special session held last week.

The Finance and Personnel Committee reported previously that there has been a delay in receiving from the County and State the final numbers on which the City bases its tax rate. This delay is caused in part due to property re-evaluation on the County level and a number of citizen protests. The first reading and public hearing for the levy was conducted using preliminary numbers which may need to be altered at this evening’s Council meeting.

Council is also scheduled to hear the first reading of an ordinance which would change the zoning for property at 1926 S. Garrison from "A" First Dwelling and "D" Local Business to "E" General Business. Owner Vince Scott is bringing a rezoning request before the Council with a recommendation to approve by the Planning, Zoning and Historic Preservation.

Just Jake Talkin'
How’s the weather?

Rain isn’t near as handy as winter. Ya get ready for cold weather. In these parts, ya always figure a day or two of wetness and the sun will reappear. Never have the umbrella in the right vehicle or it’s at work when it starts rainin’ at home. By the time ya leave work, it’s stopped rainin’.

Then there’s those weather predictors. Always promisin’ a glimpse of sunshine tomorrow, rain comin’ back on Thursday... it’s hard to get enough gear together to always be prepared.

I used ta have a pair of those rubber shoes ya wear over your regular shoes. Pretty handy unless ya get into one a those ankle deep puddles. Haven’t seen any a those around for a while. ‘Course hip boots are more appropriate sometimes.

This is some fact, but mostly,

Just Jake Talkin’.

Mornin' Mail

To Your Good Health
By Paul G. Donohue, M.D.

Can Vitamins Prevent Macular Degeneration?

DEAR DR. DONOHUE: In the last years of his life, my dad suffered from macular degeneration, and it made his life difficult. No one else in my family has had it. I hear vitamins can prevent it. If that is so, which ones, and how much? -- D.G.

ANSWER: Age-related macular degeneration happens later in life, usually well after 50. Family history and genes have a hand in its development, but having had one parent with it does not doom a person to coming down with it too. Smoking and a high-fat diet increase the risk of it. Eating lots of green, leafy vegetables and having fish twice a week appear to prevent it.

When the doctor looks into your eyes with a scope, he or she can tell you if there are signs that you might face macular degeneration in the future. Yellow deposits in the retina are warning signs that it could crop up. Those deposits are called drusens.

The macula is a small, circular area of the retina that contains visual cells necessary for reading and fine work. "Degeneration" means that those cells begin to wither and die. Advanced macular degeneration affects sight needed for central vision, but off-to-the-side vision remains.

The vitamin-mineral treatment you ask about doesn’t prevent macular degeneration nor does it prevent the progression of mild macular changes. It can slow the worsening of moderate or severe macular degeneration. The daily regimen is 500 mg of vitamin C, 400 IU of vitamin E, 15 mg of beta carotene, 80 mg of zinc and 2 mg of copper. This isn’t something that people should start taking on their own; it’s something that should come recommended by their doctor. These doses of vitamins and minerals are higher than the recommended daily allowance calls for.

to his SON.

by George Horace Lorimer
First published October, 1902

Being the Letters written by John Graham, Head of the House of Graham & Company, Pork-Packers in Chicago, familiarly known on ‘Change as "Old Gorgon Graham," to his Son, Pierrepont, facetiously known to his intimates as "Piggy."

FROM John Graham, at the Schweitzerkasenhof, Karlsbad, Austria, to his son, Pierrepont, at theUnion Stock Yards, Chicago. Mr. Pierrepont has shown mild symptoms of an attack of society fever, and his father is administering some simple remedies.


KARLSBAD, October 6, 189-

Dear Pierrepont: If you happen to run across Doc Titherington you’d better tell him to go into training, because I expect to be strong enough to lick him by the time I get back. Between that ten-day boat which he recommended and these Dutch doctors, I’m almost well and about broke. You don’t really have to take the baths here to get rid of your rheumatism--their bills scare it out of a fellow.

They tell me we had a pretty quiet trip across, and I’m not saying that we didn’t, because for the first three days I was so busy holding myself in my berth that I couldn’t get a chance to look out the porthole to see for myself. I reckon there isn’t anything alive that can beat me at being seasick, unless it’s a camel, and he’s got three stomachs.

When I did get around I was a good deal of a maverick--for all the old fellows were playing poker in the smoking-room and all the young ones were lallygagging under the boats--until I found that we were carrying a couple of hundred steers between decks. They looked mighty homesick, you bet, and I reckon they sort of sized me up as being a long ways from Chicago, for we cottoned to each other right from the start. Take ‘em as they ran, they were a mighty likely bunch of steers, and I got a heap of solid comfort out of them. There must have been good money in them, too, for they reached England in prime condition.

I wish you would tell our people at the Beef House to look into this export cattle business, and have all the facts and figures ready for me when I get back. There seems to be a good margin in it, and with our English house we are fixed up to handle it all right at this end. It makes me mighty sick to think that we’ve been sitting back on our hindlegs and letting the other fellow run away with this trade. We are packers, I know, but that’s no reason why we can’t be shippers, too. I want to milk the critter coming and going, twice a day, and milk her dry. Unless you do the whole thing you can’t do anything in business as it runs to-day. There’s still plenty of room at the top, but there isn’t much anywheres else.

There may be reasons why we haven’t been able to tackle this exporting of live cattle, but you can tell our people there that they have got to be mighty good reasons to wipe out the profit I see in it. Of course, I may have missed them, for I’ve only looked into the business a little by way of recreation, but it won’t do to say that it’s not in our line, because anything which carries a profit on four legs is in our line.

I dwell a little on the matter because, while this special case is out of your department, the general principle is in it. The way to think of a thing in business is to think of it first, and the way to get a share of the trade is to go for all of it. Half the battle’s in being on the hilltop first; and the other half’s in staying there. In speaking of these matters, and in writing you about your new job, I’ve run a little ahead of your present position, because I’m counting on you to catch up with me. But you want to get it clearly in mind that I’m writing to you not as the head of the house, but as the head of the family, and that I don’t propose to mix the two things.

Even as assistant manager of the lard department, you don’t occupy a very important position with us yet. But the great trouble with some fellows is that a little success goes to their heads. Instead of hiding their authority behind their backs and trying to get close to their men, they use it as a club to keep them off. And a boss with a case of big-head will fill an office full of sore heads.

I don’t know any one who has better opportunities for making himself unpopular than an assistant, for the clerks are apt to cuss him for all the manager’s meanness, and the manager is likely to find fault with him for all the clerks’ cussedness. But if he explains his orders to the clerks he loses his authority, and if he excuses himself to the manager he loses his usefulness. A manager needs an assistant to take trouble from him, not to bring it to him.

The one important thing for you to remember all the time is not to forget. It’s easier for a boss to do a thing himself than to tell some one twice to do it. Petty details take up just as much room in a manager’s head as big ideas; and the more of the first you store for him, the more warehouse room you leave him for the second. When a boss has to spend his days swearing at his assistant and the clerks have to sit up nights hating him, they haven’t much time left to swear by the house. Satisfaction is the oil of the business machine.

Some fellows can only see those above them, and others can only see those under them, but a good man is cross-eyed and can see both ends at once. An assistant who becomes his manager’s right hand is going to find the left hand helping him; and it’s not hard for a clerk to find good points in a boss who finds good ones in him. Pulling from above and boosting from below make climbing easy.

In handling men, your own feelings are the only ones that are of no importance. I don’t mean by this that you want to sacrifice your self-respect, but you must keep in mind that the bigger the position the broader the man must be to fill it. And a diet of courtesy and consideration gives girth to a boss.

Of course, all this is going to take so much time and thought that you won’t have a very wide margin left for golf--especially in the afternoons. I simply mention this in passing, because I see in the Chicago papers which have been sent me that you were among the players on the links one afternoon a fortnight ago. Golf’s a nice, foolish game, and there ain’t any harm in it so far as I know except for the balls--the stiff balls at the beginning, the lost balls in the middle, and the highballs at the end of the game. But a young fellow who wants to be a boss butcher hasn’t much daylight to waste on any kind of links except sausage links.

Of course, a man should have a certain amount of play, just as a boy is entitled to a piece of pie at the end of his dinner, but he don’t want to make a meal of it. Any one who lets sinkers take the place of bread and meat gets bilious pretty young; and these fellows who haven’t any job, except to blow the old man’s dollars, are a good deal like the little kids in the pie-eating contest at the County Fair--they’ve a-plenty of pastry and they’re attracting a heap of attention, but they’ve got a stomach-ache coming to them by and by.

I want to caution you right here against getting the society bug in your head. I’d sooner you’d smoke these Turkish cigarettes which smell like a fire in the fertilizer factory. You’re going to meet a good many stray fools in the course of business every day without going out to hunt up the main herd after dark.

Everybody over here in Europe thinks that we haven’t any society in America, and a power of people in New York think that we haven’t any society in Chicago. But so far as I can see there are just as many ninety-nine-cent men spending million-dollar incomes in one place as another; and the rules that govern the game seem to be the same in all three places--you’ve got to be a descendant to belong, and the farther you descend the harder you belong. The only difference is that, in Europe, the ancestor who made money enough so that his family could descend, has been dead so long that they have forgotten his shop; in New York he’s so recent that they can only pretend to have forgotten it; but in Chicago they can’t lose it because the ancestor is hustling on the Board of Trade or out at the Stock Yards. I want to say right here that I don’t propose to be an ancestor until after I’m dead. Then, if you want to have some fellow whose grandfather sold bad whiskey to the Indians sniff and smell pork when you come into the room, you can suit yourself.

Of course, I may be off in sizing this thing up, because it’s a little out of my line. But it’s been my experience that these people who think that they are all the choice cuts off the critter, and that the rest of us are only fit for sausage, are usually chuck steak when you get them under the knife. I’ve tried two or three of them, who had gone broke, in the office, but when you separate them from their money there’s nothing left, not even their friends.

I never see a fellow trying to crawl or to buy his way into society that I don’t think of my old friend Hank Smith and his wife Kate--Kate Botts she was before he married her--and how they tried to butt their way through the upper crust.

Hank and I were boys together in Missouri, and he stayed along in the old town after I left. I heard of him on and off as tending store a little, and farming a little, and loafing a good deal. Then I forgot all about him, until one day a few years ago when he turned up in the papers as Captain Henry Smith, the Klondike Gold King, just back from Circle City, with a million in dust and anything you please in claims. There’s never any limit to what a miner may be worth in those, except his imagination.

I was a little puzzled when, a week later, my office boy brought me a card reading Colonel Henry Augustus Bottes-Smythe, but I supposed it was some distinguished foreigner who had come to size me up so that he could round out his roast on Chicago in his new book, and I told the boy to show the General in.

I’ve got a pretty good memory for faces, and I’d bought too much store plug of Hank in my time not to know him, even with a clean shave and a plug hat. Some men dry up with success, but it was just spouting out of Hank. Told me he’d made his pile and that he was tired of living on the slag heap; that he’d spent his whole life where money hardly whispered, let alone talked, and he was going now where it would shout. Wanted to know what was the use of being a nob if a fellow wasn’t the nobbiest sort of a nob. Said he’d bought a house on Beacon Hill, in Boston, and that if I’d prick up my ears occasionally I’d hear something drop into the Back Bay. Handed me his new card four times and explained that it was the rawest sort of dog to carry a brace of names in your card holster; that it gave you the drop on the swells every time, and that they just had to throw up both hands and pass you the pot when you showed down. Said that Bottes was old English for Botts, and that Smythe was new American for Smith; the Augustus was just a fancy touch, a sort of high-card kicker.

I didn’t explain to Hank, because it was congratulations and not explanations that he wanted, and I make it a point to show a customer the line of goods that he’s looking for. And I never heard the full particulars of his experiences in the East, though, from what I learned afterward, Hank struck Boston with a bang, all right.

He located his claim on Beacon Hill, between a Mayflower descendant and a Declaration Signer’s great-grandson, breeds which believe that when the Lord made them He was through, and that the rest of us just happened. And he hadn’t been in town two hours before he started in to make improvements. There was a high wrought-iron railing in front of his house, and he had that gilded first thing, because, as he said, he wasn’t running a receiving vault and he didn’t want any mistakes. Then he bought a nice, open barouche, had the wheels painted red, hired a coachman and started out in style to be sociable and get acquainted. Left his card all the way down one side of Beacon Street, and then drove back leaving it on the other. Everywhere he stopped he found that the whole family was out. Kept it up a week, on and off, but didn’t seem to have any luck. Thought that the men must be hot sports and the women great gadders to keep on the jump so much. Allowed that they were the liveliest little lot of fleas that he had ever chased. Decided to quit trying to nail ‘em one at a time, and planned out something that he reckoned would round up the whole bunch.

Hank sent out a thousand invitations to his grand opening, as he called it; left one at every house within a mile. Had a brass band on the front steps and fireworks on the roof. Ordered forty kegs from the brewery and hired a fancy mixer to sling together mild snorts, as he called them, for the ladies. They tell me that, when the band got to going good on the steps and the fireworks on the roof, even Beacon Street looked out the windows to see what was doing. There must have been ten thousand people in the street and not a soul but Hank and his wife and the mixer in the house. Some one yelled speech, and then the whole crowd took it up, till Hank came out on the steps. He shut off the band with one hand and stopped the fireworks with the other. Said that speechmaking wasn’t his strangle-hold; that he’d been living on snowballs in the Klondike for so long that his gas-pipe was frozen; but that this welcome started the ice and he thought about three fingers of the plumber’s favorite prescription would cut out the frost. Would the crowd join him? He had invited a few friends in for the evening, but there seemed to be some misunderstanding about the date, and he hated to have good stuff curdle on his hands.

While this was going on, the Mayflower descendant was telephoning for the police from one side and the Signer’s great-grandson from the other, and just as the crowd yelled and broke for the house two patrol wagons full of policemen got there. But they had to turn in a riot call and bring out the reserves before they could break up Hank’s little Boston tea-party.

After all, Hank did what he started out to do with his party--rounded up all his neighbors in a bunch, though not exactly according to schedule. For next morning there were so many descendants and great-grandsons in the police court to prefer charges that it looked like a reunion of the Pilgrim Fathers. The Judge fined Hank on sixteen counts and bound him over to keep the peace for a hundred years. That afternoon he left for the West on a special, because the Limited didn’t get there quick enough. But before going he tacked on the front door of his house a sign which read:

"Neighbors paying their party calls will please not heave rocks through windows to attract attention. Not in and not going to be. Gone back to Circle City for a little quiet.

"Yours truly,


"N.B.--Too swift for your uncle."

Hank dropped by my office for a minute on his way to ‘Frisco. Said he liked things lively, but there was altogether too much rough-house on Beacon Hill for him. Judged that as the crowd which wasn’t invited was so blamed sociable, the one which was invited would have stayed a week if it hadn’t slipped up on the date. That might be the Boston idea, but he wanted a little more refinement in his. Said he was a pretty free spender, and would hold his end up, but he hated a hog. Of course I told Hank that Boston wasn’t all that it was cracked up to be in the school histories, and that Circle City wasn’t so tough as it read in the newspapers, for there was no way of making him understand that he might have lived in Boston for a hundred years without being invited to a strawberry sociable. Because a fellow cuts ice on the Arctic Circle, it doesn’t follow that he’s going to be worth beans on the Back Bay.

I simply mention Hank in a general way. His case may be a little different, but it isn’t any more extreme than lots of others all around you over there and me over here. Of course, I want you to enjoy good society, but any society is good society where congenial men and women meet together for wholesome amusement. But I want you to keep away from people who choose play for a profession. A man’s as good as he makes himself, but no man’s any good because his grandfather was.

Your affectionate father,


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