The Mornin' Mail is published every weekday except major holidays
Tuesday, September 25, 2007 Volume XVI, Number 70

did ya know?

Did Ya Know?... The Teen Library at the Carthage Public Library contains music CDs, laptops, graphic novels and the gateway nominees for 2007-2008. Try out the new X-Box 360 and Nintendo gaming stations and games from 3:30 to 5:20 p.m. on Fridays and Saturday mornings, 9:30 to Noon, during September. Funding for the new equipment and collections made possible by the Teen Spaces Grant through the Federal Grant Program, Missouri State Library and the Carthage Public Library.

Did Ya Know?... The McCune-Brooks Hospital Blood Pressure clinic is open M-W-F from 11 a.m. to 1 p.m. at 2040 S. Garrison in the Katheryn Collier Wellness Center. Call 359-2432 or 358-0670 MWF.

today's laugh

I found a swell place to go fishing.


Well, you know that old farm just outside the city limits?


Well, about five miles down the road, there’s a place marked "Private." You go through the gate - it has a sign on it: "Keep out - Trespassers will be prosecuted." Then east of that there’s a sign that says: "Positively no fishing."

What about it?

That’s the place.

Polo is golf with fertilizer.

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

Reckless With His Revolver.

It is reported last night that there was an attempted suicide at a local hotel. The facts were these: W.T. Read, claiming to be an officer from Pawnee, Okla., registered at the hotel in the evening and was assigned to a room on the third floor. Between 10 and 11 o’clock the hotel people were startled by a loud pistol shot; which was traced to his room. Read claimed the pistol had gone off by accident, but his actions and conduct were not considered satisfactory and an officer was sent for at whose suggestion Read left the hotel. A hole as large as a man’s thumb was found in the wall where the bullet had torn its way through. The bullet badly mashed was found in the adjoining room, which fortunately was not occupied. It had hit a chair and fallen on the carpet.

Miss Hilma Martin arrived last night on the Missouri Pacific for an extended visit with her sister, Mrs. M. Edstrom.


Today's Feature

Enterprise Zone Abatement Matrix.

The Carthage City Council will meet this evening at 7:30 p.m. in the Council Chambers of City Hall. The agenda includes a resolution which would authorize supplemental tax abatement on improvements to real property, as an incentive for the creation of quality jobs within the City’s enhanced enterprise zone.

Inside an enhanced enterprise zone a city government may offer incentives for the creation of new industry and the expansion of existing industry. These incentives may include tax credits or tax abatement.

This resolution would adopt a tax abatement matrix ranging from the base level of a 10 year, 50% abatement for companies that create two jobs and have $100,000 in capital investment. The matrix offers additional incentives for the creation of 10 to 500 jobs whose payscales must be equal to or higher than the Jasper County Average Wage.

Council is also scheduled to discuss an ordinance exercising limited authority relating to the operation of video service providers. The ordinance would allow for supplemental regulations from the City concerning the placement of facilities by video service providers.

Just Jake Talkin'
I suppose on average ever’one has about the same kinda luck. Some good days, some not so good. I suppose most ‘member the bad luck more than those times when ever’ thing went wrong.

My folks always advised givin' plenty of time for travel, just in case ya had a flat tire. I figure its good advice, even though I can count on one hand the times a tire went down durin’ a trip. Considerin’ the amount a miles driven, the chances are pretty slim.

Some I know are always pessimistic. "It’d be just my luck," they are fond of sayin’. I suppose that kind a thinkin’ keeps ‘em outa trouble in a lota cases, but it seems a lota opportunities are also eliminated. The best advice I’ve heard is to play your game and hope for a little luck. Pay your money and take your chances.

This is some fact, but mostly,

Just Jake Talkin’.

Mornin' Mail

To Your Good Health

Older Bones Take Longer to Heal

DEAR DR. DONOHUE: I am 82. I fell off a ladder while painting my shutters. I broke my right leg, the tibia bone. This happened six weeks ago. The doctor just examined me, and I had an X-ray. He said it looks like the bone isn’t healing, and he wants me to return in another month. Aren’t most bones healed in six weeks? What happens if mine doesn’t heal? -- L.N.

ANSWER: The tibia is the larger of the two lower-leg bones. You can feel it if your run your hand down the inside part of the leg between the knee and ankle. It’s the shin bone.

Healing time for a broken bone depends on a lot of considerations: the severity of the break; its location in the bone; whether broken bone has pierced the skin; the quality of a person’s circulation; and on and on.

In the best of circumstances, it takes most bones about six weeks to heal. In older people, partly because of inadequate circulation and partly because of diminished bone quality, it takes longer for bones to heal. It can take months and months.

If healing doesn’t take place, orthopedic surgeons have a number of tricks up their sleeves. They can take a piece of good bone from another bone and use it as a bridge between the two nonhealing ends of the broken bone. Or they can joint the two bone ends with metallic hardware.

You’re not far off schedule for healing. It’s not time to lose hope of nature taking its course.

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."

No. 20

FROM John Graham, at the Boston House of Graham & Co., to his son, Pierrepont, at the Union Stock Yards in Chicago. Mr. Pierrepont has told the old man "what’s what" and received a limited blessing.


BOSTON, November 11, 189-

Dear Pierrepont: If that’s what, it’s all right. And you can’t get married too quick to suit the old man. I believe in short engagements and long marriages. I don’t see any sense in a fellow’s sitting around on the mourner’s bench with the sinners, after he’s really got religion. The time to size up the other side’s strength is before the engagement.

Some fellows propose to a girl before they know whether her front and her back hair match, and then holler that they’re stuck when they find that she’s got a cork leg and a glass eye as well. I haven’t any sympathy with them. They start out on the principle that married people have only one meal a day, and that of fried oysters and tutti-frutti ice-cream after the theatre. Naturally, a girl’s got her better nature and her best complexion along under those circumstances; but the really valuable thing to know is how she approaches ham and eggs at seven A.M., and whether she brings her complexion with her to the breakfast table. And these fellows make a girl believe that they’re going to spend all the time between eight and eleven P.M., for the rest of their lives, holding a hundred and forty pounds, live weight, in their lap, and saying that it feels like a feather. The thing to find out is whether, when one of them gets up to holding a ten pound baby in his arms, for five minutes, he’s going to carry on as if it weighed a ton.

A girl can usually catch a whisper to the effect that she’s the showiest goods on the shelf, but the vital thing for a fellow to know is whether her ears are sharp enough to hear him when he shouts that she’s spending too much money and that she must reduce expenses. Of course, when you’re patting and petting and feeding a woman she’s going to purr, but there’s nothing like stirring her up a little now and then to see if she spits fire and heaves things when she’s mad.

I want to say right here that there’s only one thing more aggravating in this world than a woman who gets noisy when she’s mad, and that’s one who gets quiet. The first breaks her spell of temper with the crockery, but the second simmers along like a freight engine on the track beside your berth--keeps you scared and ready to jump for fear she’s going to blow off any minute; but she never does and gets it over with--just drizzles it out.

You can punch your brother when he plays the martyr, but you’ve got to love your wife. A violent woman drives a fellow to drink, but a nagging one drives him crazy. She takes his faults and ties them to him like a tin can to a yellow dog’s tail, and the harder he runs to get away from them the more he hears of them.

I simply mention these things in a general way, and in the spirit of the preacher at the funeral of the man who wasn’t "a professor"--because it’s customary to make a few appropriate remarks on these occasions. From what I saw of Helen Heath, I reckon she’s not getting any the best of it. She’s what I call a mighty eligible young woman--pretty, bright, sensible, and without any fortune to make her foolish and you a fool. In fact, you’d have to sit up nights to make yourself good enough for her, even if you brought her a million, instead of fifty a week.

I’m a great believer in women in the home, but I don’t take much stock in them in the office, though I reckon I’m prejudiced and they’ve come to stay. I never do business with a woman that I don’t think of a little incident which happened when I was first married to your Ma. We set up housekeeping in one of those cottages that you read about in the story books, but that you want to shy away from, when it’s put up to you to live in one of them. There were nice climbing roses on the front porch, but no running water in the kitchen; there were a-plenty of old fashioned posies in the front yard, and a-plenty of rats in the cellar; there was half an acre of ground out back, but so little room inside that I had to sit with my feet out a window. It was just the place to go for a picnic, but it’s been my experience that a fellow does most of his picnicking before he’s married.

Your Ma did the cooking, and I hustled for things to cook, though I would take a shy at it myself once in a while and get up my muscle tossing flapjacks. It was pretty rough sailing, you bet, but one way and another we managed to get a good deal of satisfaction out of it, because we had made up our minds to take our fun as we went along. With most people happiness is something that is always just a day off. But I have made it a rule never to put off being happy till to-morrow. Don’t accept notes for happiness, because you’ll find that when they’re due they’re never paid, but just renewed for another thirty days.

I was clerking in a general store at that time, but I had a little weakness for livestock, even then; and while I couldn’t afford to plunge in it exactly, I managed to buy a likely little shoat that I reckoned on carrying through the Summer on credit and presenting with a bill for board in the Fall. He was just a plain pig when he came to us, and we kept him in a little sty, but we weren’t long in finding out that he wasn’t any ordinary root-and-grunt pig. The first I knew your Ma was calling him Toby, and had turned him loose. Answered to his name like a dog. Never saw such a sociable pig. Wanted to sit on the porch with us. Tried to come into the house evenings. Used to run down the road squealing for joy when he saw me coming home from work.

Well, it got on towards November and Toby had been making the most of his opportunities. I never saw a pig that turned corn into fat so fast, and the stouter he got the better his disposition grew. I reckon I was attached to him myself, in a sort of a sneaking way, but I was mighty fond of hog meat, too, and we needed Toby in the kitchen. So I sent around and had him butchered.

When I got home to dinner next day, I noticed that your Ma looked mighty solemn as she set the roast of pork down in front of me, but I strayed off, thinking of something else, as I carved, and my wits were off wool gathering sure enough when I said:

"Will you have a piece of Toby, my dear?"

Well sir, she just looked at me for a moment, and then she burst out crying and ran away from the table. But when I went after her and asked her what was the matter, she stopped crying and was mad in a minute all the way through. Called me a heartless, cruel cannibal. That seemed to relieve her so that she got over her mad and began to cry again. Begged me to take Toby out of pickle and to bury him in the garden. I reasoned with her, and in the end I made her see that any obsequies for Toby, with pork at eight cents a pound, would be a pretty expensive funeral for us. But first and last she had managed to take my appetite away so that I didn’t want any roast pork for dinner or cold pork for supper. That night I took what was left of Toby to a store keeper at the Crossing, who I knew would be able to gaze on his hams without bursting into tears, and got a pretty fair price for him.

I simply mention Toby in passing, as an example of why I believe women weren’t cut out for business--at least for the pork-packing business. I’ve had dealings with a good many of them, first and last, and it’s been my experience that when they’ve got a weak case they add their sex to it and win, and that when they’ve got a strong case they subtract their sex from it and deal with you harder than a man. They’re simply bound to win either way, and I don’t like to play a game where I haven’t any show. When a clerk makes a fool break, I don’t want to beg his pardon for calling his attention to it, and I don’t want him to blush and tremble and leak a little brine into a fancy pocket handkerchief.

A little change is a mighty soothing thing, and I like a woman’s ways too much at home to care very much for them at the office. Instead of hiring women, I try to hire their husbands, and then I usually have them both working for me. There’s nothing like a woman at home to spur on a man at the office.

A married man is worth more salary than a single one, because his wife makes him worth more. He’s apt to go to bed a little sooner and to get up a little earlier; to go a little steadier and to work a little harder than the fellow who’s got to amuse a different girl every night, and can’t stay at home to do it. That’s why I’m going to raise your salary to seventy-five dollars a week the day you marry Helen, and that’s why I’m going to quit writing these letters--I’m simply going to turn you over to her and let her keep you in order. I bet she’ll do a better job than I have.

Your affectionate father,


The End

NOTE: Next Tuesday’s Mornin’ Mail will begin a new series, "More Letters from a Self-Made Merchant to His Son," originally published 1903.

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