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Archiver > PADUTCH-LIFE > 1998-08 > 0902326940


From: "Vee L. Housman" <>
Subject: 10-Becoming an Editor
Date: Wed, 05 Aug 1998 10:22:20 -0400


BECOMING AN EDITOR

Since your newspaper wasn't delivered last week, I decided to take
a train from Rabbit Mountain to pick it up in town. By the time the
train was ready to return to Rabbit Mountain I had already stepped
into your office. Your assistants told me you had gone out rabbit
hunting, so I made myself right at home.

With my feet on your desk and one of your Weidemoyer cigars in
my mouth, I began to read your letters. The first one was from a
politician. He took you for the printer of a political newspaper.
"Make them red hot. Give the Democrats hell. They don't deserve
anything better," he said. The next letter was from a man who used
to peddle Huffman's gum drops. When he could no longer make a
living from it, he turned to gospel preaching. His letter said, "Your
newspaper is too Godless for children to read. Stop printing it." I
checked, and he owed three years of back dues on his subscription.
In another letter someone criticized your lack of cooperation for
not printing a letter condemning a neighbor. Another letter said:
"We will draw on you in ten days if this bill is not paid." I guess you
owe someone money. One letter said your newspaper was good for
nothing better than wrapping apple butter jars. It was worthless for
reading, but he figured you couldn't be blamed for publishing what
you thought was worthwhile. And so I read on. I had just gotten
well into my reading when the door opened and an old man stepped
inside, leading a small boy by the hand.

"Good morning," he said. "Are you Colonel Harter?"

"Yaw," I said.

"Well, I just brought in my boy. My family has been stricken with
misfortunes, and we have to let him fend for himself. Mose and
Mike are hard to pin down for doing any work. Pete is an inventor,
but whatever it is he's inventing I really couldn't say. Bill broke his
nose at a shootinmatch. and Joe studies medicine and boards at
home. Abe and Sam are married and run my farm for themselves,
and the others are taking care of themselves except for this kid. Jim
and I thought we'd make a printer out of him. He's too weak and
lazy to work. All he does is eat, and since anyone worth a dime can
run a newspaper, I thought the printing business would suit him.
What do you think about it?"

"Yaw," I said, "let him stay. We'll try to use him in the office. We
can fry the fat out of him to grease the printer and use the meat for
feeding the chickens. They say that meat really makes good layers
out of chickens, and the eggs . . .”

But the old fellow didn't wait for me to finish and rushed out in a
hurry. From outside I heard him ask someone, "Since when did
Colonel Harter lose his mind?"

I sat awhile longer until another fellow entered, took off his coat,
rolled up his shirtsleeves, pointed his finger at an article, and asked
if I were the editor and if I wrote that article. I knew he meant
business, and I was tired of playing editor.

"No, no!" I shouted "I'm not the editor. Everyone knows that I am
Gottlieb Boonastiel, and if dear God would just let me out of this
hole I'd never try to fill Colonel Harter's shoes again--ever.”

He let me go, and then he took your chair and said for the time
being he was taking over the newspaper. If this week's paper comes
out with the editorials looking like a black eye I'll know you two
ran into each other.

* * *

Note: This collection of Boonastiel stories was written by H. A.
Harter in the original Penna-Dutch dialect and were published in the
Keystone Gazette, Bellefonte, PA, between 1894 and 1904. They
were translated and transcribed by Bob James of Alaska and they
are being posted to this PADUTCH-LIFE mailing list with his
permission.

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