Sunday, August 23, 2009

BOBBED HAIR AND SHORT SKIRTS - - - - -a reading by Hilda


We, the old-fashioned long-haired, long skirted women of the modestly dressed school must confess there are times when we do admire and envy our beautifully marceled, well trimmed, brillianteened sisters of the bobbed hair and knee length skirt, and we do fight the temptation to "go and do likewise." And become one of the great masses. We assure you it does take a great deal of will power to say, "Get thou behind me Satan".

***

You will acknowledge it takes a more than ordinary strength to come before so many bobbed heads to tell you of your mistake and sins and to defend our long hair and skirts. But thanks to the teachings of our early innocent childhood when we were taught in school and in Sunday School a verse something like this, "Sin is a monster to be hated, needs to be seen, but seen too often, we first endure, then pity, then embrace.

***

Friends, we may well compare that sin, to the sins of the world, to the sins of the short skirt and the bobbed hair today, and are we not advised from the pulpit to "keep ourselves unspotted from the sins of the world?"

***

We have often heard the bobbed hairdo epidemic defended with the illusion that it makes one look younger. are we not taught to honor and respect old age? Is it honest to look like something you are not? Is it honest to deliberately act out a lie?

***

Only a short time ago, a certain Mt. Pleasant man; (you all know to whom I refer, but we shall call him Bob) was taken to a hospital in Salt Lake City, all on account of something that wasn't. He saw at a distance what he thought was a young chicken. He hopped into his automobile and when he overtook the object, he found that it was an old hen and that she was his mother-in-law at that. The result of the meeting was his trip to the hospital. One day while there, there was a knock at the door.

***

The lady sitting by his bedside, who by the way had her hair, bobbed the day before, stepped into the hall and there she saw a sweet young creature with a boyish bob and a short pantilooned skirt that asked to see Bob. Said the first lady to the younger, "May I ask who you are as we do not allow all visitors." "I am his sister." "Oh, said the other, I am glad to know you, I am his mother." Think of that, mother and daughter not knowing each other, not knowing the members of their own family, all on account of looking like what you are not, with bobbed hair and short skirts.

***

The bobbed hair is robbing the women of today of motherly love, of that sacrificing spirit that has made motherhood so hallowed. Compare the long hairdo mother of yesterday with the short hairdo mother of today, for instance. A few days ago a schoolboy asked his patient, red faced, perspiring father, who was busy preparing the midday meal, for some money with which to buy a belt. The poor father sadly replied: "Son, never before have I refused you any of the necessities of life, but since Ma bobbed her hair, it is all I can do to keep her on speaking terms with the barber and the marcellor and attend to the housework. And friends, that poor boy, that son and heir, that representative of the future generation, say perhaps the future mayor of Mt. Pleasant, was forced to go without a belt. And we all know how necessary a belt is to a pair of trousers. Think what might have happened.

***

Now there is an example of following the styles. There was a time when men were blessed with gallowses,then fashion said suspenders. Soon they discarded them and left only a belt. And, Oh what agony the men's belt has caused.

***

We ladies used to have petticoats, underwear and hose supporters. Gone are the petticoats, fast going is the underwear and we roll our hose. We used to wear sweeping long skirts, sometimes with a graceful train. Then they gave us the ankle length, then the eight inch from the ground, then knees and above. Ah, can you not see the inmodesty, the brazenness, and the trickery of it. i warn you. Stop your sinful style-following ways, or yhou, like the men, will only have a belt left.

***

Already a man who often occupies the pulpit, and whose wife is a Relief Society worker has written this verse: Mary had a little skirt, 'twas the latest styles no doubt. But every time Mary got outside, she was more than halfway out."

***

Recently I noticed an ad in a journal to the effect that with the short skirts now in vogue, the hose must match the complexion of the jewelry. And after reading that I stepped into J.C. Penney to see the effect it had had. And there, my friends, I saw old women, young women, grandmothers and stepmothers if you please, clambering to be waited on. One dear old lady was in tears, because they had told her the freckled hose had not arrived. A grandmother rushed in to match some purple beads. Had their skirts been long andmodest, like mine, they could have worn any kind of hose, and avoided that grief and worry.

***

A few days ago, I saw a North Ward Relief Society Teacher in tears. I asked her the cause and she replied, "Lost,yesterday, somewhere between Bart's and Slim's Barber Shops, two golden braids, each set with sixty golden hairs, now reward is offered for they are gone forever." She like so many poor bobbed hairdo women here today, was forced to wear her hat or stay at home. Oh, could they only have had a 10-day free trial, could they only have seen the effects of before and after.

***

The bible tells us, that in bible days, men wore long hair and flowing beards. What have they done? They have cut it off. They have shaved them off, until what do we have now? In Mt. Pleasant alone there are so many bald or almost bald headed men.

***

Oh, what is the world coming to when women, who's doting mothers gave them saint-like names will brazenly parade the streets with bobbed hair and short skirts and unblushingly show their shapely or unshapely calves, I mean limbs?

***

In last week's Pyramid there was the followning verse; Henry Snmith is dead, we loved him so, just what caused it, we did not know, until they cut him open, and there they found, short marcelled hairs, floating round and round. Reason tells us, had they been long hairs, they never would have gotten there, for Henry would have seen them, and taken them out of his gravy, pudding, or pie and saved his life before he died.

***

A short time ago, as I was walking through the cemetery, I saw a mound all heaped up with Job's Tears, Love in the mists, Bleeding hearts, and For-get-me-knots. And I thought there has been a great loss. I stepped nearer and read the inscription. "Here lies Randy Lee, the wife of Gus. She bobbed her hair and it ended thus." now think of it. She might have lived forever had she listened to the dictates or that still small voice and the advice of her husband. On a little father in the same cemetery, I heard a man weeping. I went near him to console him, he turned to me with a knowing light in his eye and said, and "Here lies the body of my bobbed-haired wife. Tears cannot bring her back to life. Therefore, I weep."

***

I was told that a husband, who had not kissed his wife for more than twenty years, did so, after she was bobbed. The examiners for mental trouble, pronounced him incurable.

***

One could go on and on and tell of the sins and sorrows that bobbed hair and the short skirs have caused on the earth. Hee the warning, we are all preparing to be angels bye and bye. Have you ever seen an angel or the picture of an agel with bobbed hair and short skirts? No, they all have flowing robes. Let me plead with you as you are as you shall be. As you sow, so shall you reap. With all the proofs we have offered, with all the sadness that has been caused and all the calamities now existing, how can you unblushingly accept the bobbed hair and the economical short skirt?

***

H.E.L.

Friday, August 21, 2009

Thursday, August 13, 2009

Monday, August 10, 2009

Passed Off the Stage - - - by James Buschanan

They say I have passed off the stage.
Oh well,it may be true,
I'm not as strong as when I stood six feet, at thirty two.
I know I am getting bent and old, my hair is silvery gray.
But, Oh, 'tis hard to hear it said, "The old man's had his day."
It was not very long ago, it scarcely seems a year,
When I was stronger than a yearling colt and fleeter than a deer.

My arms were like the sinewy root that thrust out from the oak.
And I was straight as the towering pine that tempts the woodsman stroke.
There wasn't one, in all the town, how sad the contrast now,
Could mow a steadier stroke than I, or drive a straighter plow.

And even when my hair turned gray,no whit my strength declined,
I used to race boys afield and leave them all behind.
But now they bring the cushioned chair, and put it in the sun,
And fetch me out my pipe and pouch, as soon as breakfast is done.

And bid me sit an hour or two..."the day'll be long and hot".
And then they go and leave me there, unheeded and forgot.
Sometimes I take my staff, and creep along the orchard wall.
But weary, set me down to rest, where grateful shadows fall.

Far off the meadows swim with heat---fresh smells thenew mowed hay.
But I can go no more afield, for I have had my day.
Oh God, it is a weary thing to live an out-worn life.
To have no further part in manly toil and strife.

To know that all one's active days have passed forever by
And all that now remains is just to rest and die.
I don't know why I dread it so, this passing off the stage.
Some folks think life is mighty hard, and long for smooth old age.

But I'd rather strive and toil, till all my bones are sore.
Than to be sitting useless here,m beside the farm house door.
Oh well, 'tis little use to cry, because the milk is spilt.
'Tis little use to swing the sword, with nothing left but the hilt.

I've done my duty, while I could, and now if needs must be,
That I have done for others, let others do for me.
It is the rule of life I know, and honest turn about.
We help our babies into life, and they in turn must help us out,

Their turn will come too, soon enough, like rolling wave on wave.
The generations pour their tide into a common grave.
One day a babe, the next a man, the next unnamed, unknown,
Save a moss-encrusted line upon a smoldering stone.

Our life is swifter than the take upon the fleeting page-
We've but to learn the play, and then pass off the stage.

Sunday, August 2, 2009