Newspaper Page Text
Griffin Daily News
Miscellaneous
WANTED: Children to keep in
my home. Any age; any hours.
CaU 227-3582.
WANTED: 125 bushels ear corn.
227-4742.
WANTED: Puppy. Call 648-3661.
Turkey shoot Dec. 13th, 20th,
starts 11 a.m. 1 mile beyond city
limits on High Falls Road. Watch
for signs. The Wildlife Club of
Spalding County.
Open under new management,
Charlie’s Place, 215 S. 6th St.
Now owned and operated by
Winford Moore. Open 5 a.m. to
7 p.m.
Wanted To Buy: Used 1954 mo
del Ford Jubilee tractor for
, parts. 227-2411.
Want to do alterations, ladies
apparel. Mrs. W. R. Davis,
740 McLaurin Ave. Telephone
227-3349.
If your roof leaks or needs re
placing, call Mobley Roofing
Company, 228-8735. We install
Byrd Roofing. Up to 3 years to
pay-
Masonry — brick and blo ck
work. A. W. Stowell, 227-8847.
Bush mowing, fields cut. Phone
227- day or 228-1486 night.
Let me hem your coats, skirts
and dresses. AU work guaran
teed. 227-4148.
Light hauling to do. Phone 227-
6667.
WANTED: To do bush hog
work, cut weeds, bushes, and
clean off lots. Bush hog will cut
up to 3” trees. Remove trees
from lots. Haul gravel, scrape
driveways, spread gravel and
top soil. Also landscaping Phone
228-
WANTED: Tree work to do. 10
years experience. Call Henry
Rigsby, phone 228-2622.
WANTED TO BUY: Used furni
ture. Higgins Furniture Co.
Phone 227-1571.
Old post card views and letter*
to and from Griffin. Horace
Westb.ooks, 22; 0281. .15 W Sla
ton.
Expert sewing machine service,
any make, at Electro Sales and
Service, 113 W. Taylor St.
LEGAL 4044
Radio Station WKEU, Griffin,
Georgia, is a corporation whose
officers and directors are A. W.
Marshall, Jr., President, W. F.
•w estmoreland, Vice-President,
Allen W. Marshall, TH, Vice-
President, and Evelyn H.
Marshall, Secretary & Treasur
er. Radio Station WKEU oper
ates Radio Station WKEU-AM
on a frequency of 1450kHs, and
operates Radio Station WKEU
FM-STEREO on a frequency of
97.7 mHz, in Griffin, Georgia.
The application of these stations
for a renewal of their licenses
to operate in the public interest,
are required to be filed with
the Federal Communications
Commission no later then Janu
ary 2. 1970. Members of the
public who desire to bring to the
Commission’s attention facts
concerning the operation of
these stations, should write to
the Federal Communications
Commission, Washington, D. C„
20554, not later than February
2, 1970. Letters should set out in
detail the specific facts which
the writer wishes the Commis
sion to consider in passing on
the applications.
A copy of the license renewal
jpUUSTWHATU
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■ DURING ROB NEW 1969 INVENTORY CLEAR-
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■ RANDALL & BLAKELY, INC. Q
1000 West Taylor Street, Griffin Phone 227-7937 JAA
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11
Thursday, Dec. 11, 1969
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FORECAST FOR GRIFFIN
AREA—Fair and cool tonight.\
Tomorrow fair and warmer. MIAMI
Viet
Hospitals
Out of
Dark
Ages
What will they be like
when dedicated, over
worked American aides
like Sgt. Dennis
McCullough are gone?
By TOM TIEDE
NEA Staff Correspondent
PLEIKU, South Vietnam—
(NEA)—The child, less than
a year old, is laying on the
hospital bed sobbing desper
ately.
And no wonder.
He has been in an accident.
His scalp is split open. He
has had emergency treat
ment—but is now unattended.
The bandage has slipped
from his head. The flesh is
peeled back. And four square
inches of his skull are fully
exposed.
applications and related materi
al will, upon filing with the
Commission, be available for
public inspection at the offices
and studios of Radio Station
WKEU-AM and Radio Station
WKEU-FM-Stereo, on Memorial
Drive, Griffin, Georgia, between
the hours of 9 a.m. and 6 p.m.
FOX
MINI-BIKES
HAMILTON
GO CARTS
Sales A Service
M4B RENTALS
746 Meriwether St.
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ji|f
If someone doesn’t do
something, if someone
doesn’t help, the bone will
probably rot and the child
will probably die.
But incredible as it is,
there’s no absolute assur
ance anyone will do any
thing. For this is the Pleikt
province, Benh Vien. The
civilian hospital. It is some
thing out of the dark ages.
It is unlit, unclean and often
uncaring.
Ninety per cent of the pa
tients here are old men,
young kids and women—
civilian war victims. There’s
a child who was shot in the
leg outside his Home. There’s
a grandfather peppered with
fragments from a booby
trap. There’s a pregnant
woman who has stepped on a
menacing punji stake.
They are housed in hot,
buggy, deteriorating huts.
Sometimes two or three to a
bed. Their dressings are
dirty. They must cook their
own food. Blood and band
ages litter the floor. So do
other objects too repulsive to
list.
Flies feast on running
wounds. Lice creep through
mattresses. Spiders blacken
the ceilings. Lizards race
along the walls. And the
mosquitoes grow fat on the
patients’ blood.
Sickening? Yes. But not
unusual. Not in Vietnam
where civilian hospitals have
never been pleasant—and
where the demands of the
two-decade war have now
sucked health facilities al
most totally dry of the ability
to adequately heal.
The circumstances can be
blamed in large part on one
word: lack. Lack of struc
tures, lack of modernization,
lack of utensils and lack of
money to purchase these
things.
One serious and widely
damaging lack is physicians.
Presently, there are fewer
than 1,600 doctors in the na
tion. What’s more, almost
1,000 of them are exclusively
tied to war service, teaching
or staff duties. This leaves
only 600 physicians to treat
a civilian population of 16.4
million.
Another dispiriting lack is
nurses. There are only about
1,300 fully qualified and 1 600
fairly qualified ones around.
But perhaps the most
tragic lack of all in Vietnam
hospitals, and certainly the
most readily obvious to pa
tients and visitors, is that of
professionalism among the
staffs.
Bluntly, the lack of giving
a damn.
It is not so much apparent
among physicians as among
nurses. Excluding the truly
conscientious, of course, the
gals seem more motivated
by mercenary than merciful
reasons.
Here in Pleiku’s Benh
Vien, as example, a U.S.
Army male nurse (who is as
signed to supervise the
locals) says his nurses are
“mostly worthless when it
comes to hard work.”
Adds Sgt. Dennis McCul
lough:
“Take a look around. You
can trip over the dirt here.
Even the operating rooms
are covered with dried blood
and garbage. I can’t get the
nurses to do any kind of
scrubbing or cleaning up.
They consider it beneath
their dignity. They just re
fuse to have anything to do
with manual labor.”
They also refuse, says Mc-
Cullough, to have anything to
do with certain kinds of pa
tients. The child with the ex
posed skull bone, for in
stance, is a member of a
Montagnard tribe, the dark- v
skinned mountaineers whom
many nurses consider un
touchable.
U.S. MILITARY w?™
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Mu
Tea,
TV
And
Movies
personal finance
Now, Acreage Bargains
Abound at Land Auctions
By CARLTON SMITH and
RICHARD PUTNAM PRATT
If you’re the type that
dreams of owning a place in
the country for recreation
and retirement, your mouth
may water at the sight of an
ad like this:
108 acres, 3,000-ft. road
frontage, 5,000 Xmas
trees, several springs.
Minimum price, $3,900.
If so, you will have to join
hundreds of other bargain
hunters who have discovered
the excitement of bidding for
property at public auction.
So far, this particular
method of land purchase is
limited to those who can at
tend auctions staged in New
York City. Within six
months, however, similar
operations are expected to
begin in Los Angeles, Cleve
land, Dallas and Atlanta.
The New York auction is
the result of a simple idea—
to bring buyer and seller to
gether in a central market
place and allow the ancient
device of the auction to
establish prices.
Simple or not, the idea has
caught on to the point where
auctions are held once every
six weeks and have been
known to dispose of property
worth $500,000 in about five
hours.
Variety is the name of this
auction game. All property
to be sold is listed in a flyer
mailed in advance to those
interested. The most recent
version listed parcels as
small as one-quarter of an
acre and as large as 1,000
acres.
Minimum prices ranged
from SIOO to $25,000.
These minimum prices, by
the way, have two purposes.
They serve as a point from
which bidding can begin, and
they prevent the seller from
having to accept a ridicu
lously low bid. It is not un
usual for parcels to sell at
the minimum price or a few
By DICK KLEINER
Hollywood Correspondent
HOLLYWOOD—(N E A)—
Maybe it was the glaring
orange of the sodium lights
that made them all so chatty.
Or maybe it was just the
slowness of the day, the sit
ting around and waiting.
This was the cast of the
new Walt Disney production,
“The Boatniks.” It’s a nutty
(they hope) comedy about
the Coast Guard’s weekend
woes in worrying about the
amateur yachtsmen who
think they are admirals.
Most of it was filmed in and
around Newport Beach and
Balboa Island, two busy little
harbors just south of Los
Angeles.
But now they were back
in the studio, doing process
work—the actors in the fore
ground and make-believe
oceans in the background.
The Disney studio does this
work better than most be
cause of a special process
dollars more.
Operator of the New York
auctions is a firm known as
the Foreclosure Land
Bureau, a name of some
significance. FLB is an
agency that acquires a lot of
its stock in trade by buying
up land on which county gov
ernments have foreclosed
for nonpayment of taxes.
Other sources include banks
and lawyers forced to sell
land to liquidate estates.
Procedures at an auction
are simple. Bidding begins
at the minimum price and
continues in $25 jumps until
the property is sold. The suc
cessful bidder is then re
quired to make a deposit
equal to 25 per cent of the
purchase price.
He then has from 14 to 45
days—depending on the
price he paid—to inspect his
purchase. If he is dissatis
fied, his money is refunded
and he is charged only the
auctioneer’s fee.
The actual transfer of title
commonly takes place 30
days after the auction. The
remainder of the purchase
price is due then, or ar
rangements may be made
for a mortgage loan.
Property sold at the New
York auctions is located in
New York State, Vermont
and Maine. A typical parcel
would consist of 25 acres,
mostly wooded, with some
road frontage, and perhaps
a small pond or stream.
Minimum price: $1,200.
It’s probably safe to as
sume that most of the real
estate offered is not prime,
but then, neither are the
prices. And the sale does ap
pear to satisfy the near
universal longing for land.
The auction’s most-men
tioned client, in fact, is a
S9O-a-week dishwasher who
snapped up a S3OO plot,
thereby joining the ranks of
the landed gentry.
(Newspaper enterprise Assn.)
Morse and Powers —she's an
addict and he's interested.
Walt picked up in Germany
some years ago. It involves
using sodium lights, and
they are hard on the eyes.
Bobby Morse, Stefanie
Powers, Don Ameche,
Norman Fell and some others
sat on the set, carefully
keeping their backs (and
their eyes) away from the
sodium lights.
And they talked.
Bobby and Stefanie talked
about her diet. She has be
come an addict—or convert
—of something called macro
biotics (the art of prolonging
life). She has been on it for
six months, with her hus
band, Gary Lockwood, going
along. It isn’t for weight
loss, but for health.
She talks about Yin and
Yan foods. She talks about
Mu tea. It all sounds very
healthy. And dull. But Bobby
was interested. She’s going
to send him all the details.
Morse talked about his
late and modestly lamented
series of last season, That’s
Life. He thinks, as so many
others have thought before
him, that it’s just a question
of numbers on television,
and that there should be
room for original shows such
as his.
But now he’s thinking
ahead. He wants to be a di
rector—“and I will.” But
maybe not movies. Maybe
television.
They talked about whether
the new movies today are
truthful.
“There’s no truth in
films,” Bobby says. “That’s
not truth up there. Would
you say ‘Bob and Carol’ is
true? I loved it—but it’s not
true. None of them are. Not
even ‘Easy Rider.’ That’s
the phoniest of them all.”
Don Ameche tsk-tsked
when they talked about
these new movies.
■ri
Georgia’s last ferry located on the Flint River near ManhaUvffie.
(PRN)
TOUR
GEORGIA
MARSHALLVILLE,
Georgia (PRN) — Georgia’s
last ferry is baffling modern
transportation experts. Instead
of losing traffic, it’s generating
it.
Spanning the changeable
Hint River, this ferry provides
a link in the dusty road
officially known as Georgia
highway 127, running from
Marshallville to Garden Valley
in the heart of the Georgia
peach and pecan belt. The
ferry’s nostalgic lure is causing
more and more wandering
tourists to seek it, and
recapture a bit of the peace of
yesteryear.
So strong is this appeal that
the Georgia State Highway
Department has employed two
ferrymen to maintain a 24
hour schedule. For years one
man handled the traffic easily.
Then tourists began
discovering the ferry.
It’s not easy to find
Georgia’s last ferry. There are
no tub-thumpers urging you to
ride. No point. It’s free. It’s
not easily reached by today’s
interstate highway standards,
although it is not far from
Interstate 75 which slices
through the Peace State.
Marshallville is 11 miles via
GA. 127 from the nearest 1-75
interchange, and the eastern
ferry landing is five miles from
this little town, (four miles of
paved highway and a mile of
dusty country road). There are
four miles of dirt road leading
from the ferry’s landing on the
west bank to paved GA. 127
again. You can also reach the
ferry by following GA. 49
south from Fort Valley, or
north from Montezuma.
The ferry is not spectacular,
although the Flint River
scenery is different. The ferry
is a flat, steel barge drawn
across the river by means of a
cable. Approaching from the
east (Marshallville), you reach
a high, clay bluff before
descending to the paved, ferry
ramp. If you are coming from
the west (Garden Valley), you
meander across the river’s
flatlands for three miles, the
dirt road twisting and turning
through dense, second growth
“I’m not opposed to'
change,” he said. “But, tsk
tsk, I can’t go for this stuff.
I’d never been to one of
those risque films, so I went
to see ‘I Am Curious
(Yellow).’ I paid $52.80. And
you wouldn’t believe how
bad it was. It was so bad
well, tsk-tsk.”
Ameche made his first
movie in 1936. He says noth
ing has changed around
Hollywood studios since that
day. .
“This sodium thing,” he
said, turning around and
gesturing at the orange •
glare, “is the first new thing.
I’ve seen here in 33 years.”
He’s going to direct, too.
He said that he had never
thought about directing, but
Hal Kanter, who produces
Julia, called him up and
asked him to direct an epi-:
sode of that series.
“I’ll try it,” Ameche said..
“It might be fun.”
They started talking about
the supernatural, a very'
popular conversational sub
ject in Hollywood these days.
Stefanie, maybe because
of all that Mu tea, had a
good yarn. She told about a;
friend who had a table that
turned out to be psychic.,
When people got around it,
at night with the lights low,
it would answer questions.
One rap was yes, two raps
no. It spelled out answers to
questions, too, but I couldn’t
figure out exactly how they
got the table to spell things.
Anyhow, one night the
table started chatting. And
they asked who it was.
“Montgomery Clift,” the
table said, “and I have a
message.”
The message, please?
“Peace at any cost,” the
table said. Obviously an end
table.
(Newspaper Enterprise Assn.)
timber between high, dirt
embankments. It’s a bit like
traveling through the. English
countryside. The ferry is kept
docked on the eastern shore.
Calling for service is easy. Just
toot your horn, and soon one
of the ferrymen ambles down
the steep hill and putts across.
The motive power is
fascinating, an old, automobile
engine turning a large, steel
drum around which the lower
ferry cable runs. A second
cable, strung higher, keeps the
ferry on course by short cables
attached to moveable pulleys.
It takes less than two minutes
for the 50-foot ferry <-
capacity two passenger cars or
an empty logging truck - to
make the crossing. Quick as it
is, there is still enough time to
learn a bit of the ferry’s
history from the Cromer
brothers - Lester and Homer,
who share ferrying duties.
Lester held the job alone for
several years until traffic
increased to a point where two
men were needed. Then
Homer joined the operation.
The changeable Flint River,
which rises and falls rapidly,
according to the rainfall along
its watershed, creates
problems for the ferrymen.
Spring is the greatest problem
period, when flood waters rise
rapidly in the Flint, sometimes
requiring daily re-adjustmerit
of the ferry cables. If the
cables are not altered to match
the river’s height, the ferry
will sink. It did once. Snags
and other flood debris often
become entangled in the
ferry’s cables, causing the
Cromer brothers to get busy
with axes and saws.
There has been a ferry at
this Flint River crossing for
more than a century, dating
back to the Indian days.
Although ferries are outdated
for crossing rivers, generally it
appears the picturesque last
ferry in Georgia is good for
another century, particularly
if the tourist traffic continues
to increase. Odds are great
that it will. Don’t ever
underestimate the nostalgic
appeal of the past with an old
fcny -