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The Houston Home Journal
"Georgia’s Number One Weekly Newspaper"
/l
THE fir PAGE
BOBBY BRANCH
PRESIDENT - EDITOR - PUBLISHER
PHIL BYRD Production Director
JOEL FERGUSON News Editor
JANICE COLWELL Office Manager
JANET McELMURRAY Advertising
DONNA BRYAN Computer Operator
HOUSTON HOME JOURNAL THURS., APR 13, I*7l,
Emergency Room Closes
Perry Loses Out To
Warner Robins Again!
The Perry Hospital emergency
room, as you have known it for the
past nine years, is no longer
operational. If you have an
emergency, call your family
physician. If you cannot reach your
physician right away and you have
a real emergency, then as a citizen
of Houston County, you are
guaranteed full emergency
treatment at the Houston County
Hospital E.R. If you do not have a
family physician in Perry, and you
have a medical emergency, go
directly to the Robins E.R. You
must do that because there will be
no physician on call at the E.R.
here to assist you. Emergency
ambulance calls will be taken
directly to the Robins E.R., unless
a family physician is notified in
advance the ambulance is bringing
in one of his patients.
Why has this come about? Why
does the Perry Hospital no longer
have fulltime, on-call physician
emergency room service? The
Perry medical staff says they are
not able to continue to staff the
E.R. here as in the past. The
Houston Hospital Authority, that is
the Warner Robins members, say it
is not feasible to offer the medical
staff weekend physician help to
staff the E.R. The County Com
missioners may be willing to ap
propriate some additional funds to
the Perry E.R. but they haven’t
been asked by the Warner Robins
members of the Hospital Authority
and we doubt that they ever will be.
We agree whole-heartily with a
statement made by a long-time
Perry member of the Hospital
Authority, Billy Beckham, when he
said Monday night that the closing
Don’t Call IRS
It seems almost cruel to make
jokes about federal agencies when
those agencies do such a good job of
creating their own jokes. This time,
every taxpayer's favorite agency,
the Internal Revenue Service, has
captured the spotlight.
In a frustrating example of a
Catch-22, the General Accounting
Office has announced the results of
a clandestine survey it sponsored
to test the accuracy of the IRS
assistance to taxpayers program.
The survey revealed that IRS
answers to taxpayers’ questions
are about 87 percent accurate,
although this figure varies from
office to office (in Jackson, Miss.,
replies are only 74 percent ac
curate) and declines as the
questions become mpre difficult.
“Quaint Quotes”
An engagement is a period of urge
on the verge of merge.
The best place to keep diet books
is in the refrigerator.
What this country really needs is
tax brakes.
Every girl waits for the right
man to come along but in the
meantime she gets married.
of the Perry E.R. is another case of
the services of the county moving
from Perry to Warner Robins. It
has been gradually going on for
many years and the E.R. incident
is a classic example.
We strongly feel the people of
Perry and south Houston County
should have full-time emergency
service available to them at the
Perry Hospital, regardless of
whether they can or cannot contact
their physician prior to arriving at
the E.R. The taxpayers of southern
Houston County have paid more
than their fair share of taxes for
medical services here and in
Warner Robins.
It is amazing that citizens in
south Houston County who pay
around 55 percent of the total ad
valorem taxes on the books must
continue to live with a taking away
of county services piece by piece.
We wonder what will be next.
The Home Journal is deeply
disappointed in the action taken by
the Warner Robins members of the
Hospital Authority. We go on
record as opposing the closing of
the on-call service in the
emergency room and call on the
Authority and the County Com
missioners to take another long
look at the Perry E.R. compared to
the Robins E.R. and the Perry
Hospital profit picture compared to
the Robins Hospital profit outlook.
But mostof all, we ask them to take
a look at the citizens of south
Houston County. We deserve better
treatment and one way or another
we shall have better, more un
derstanding treatment from the
powers of office.
—B.B.
A taxpayer having a question
concerning one of the more difficult
changes in tax laws this year can
expect the IRS response to be about
59 percent accurate.
The Catch-22 to this situation is
that the IRS will not stand behind
its answers, and any taxpayer who
believes an IRS answer will be held
at fault in the event that answer
was wrong and the auditors go to
work on the return.
Because of this ludicrous
situation it is difficult to comment
seriously on the obvious problems
presented by the IRS. We can only
say that we expected no less from
the long arm of bureaucracy, and
suggest that persons with tax
questions ask the General Ac
counting Office for the answers.
Both sexes have hair problems ...
with the women it’s tint and with
the men it’s taint.
You begin to feel your age when
the beautiful blonde looking your
way is giving your son the once
over.
i
A fool and his money seldom
meet in the first place. i
PAGE 4-A
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"You'reMy Kinda Guy, Chief WISHY-WASHY."
HHJ NEWS EDITOR
There was a sense of urgency as
the young couple left their modest
frame home on a hilltop
overlooking a small pond in Jasper
County.
The young man stashed her
suitcase in the back seat of their
car and held the door open long
enough for her to be seated. As he
circled the 1969 Torino, he paused
briefly to slap the hood gently with
his hand.
It was the same car they had
used to go on their honeymoon
more than three years ago.
Generally, the car had performed
well, but in recent months it had
been in the shop a few times for
repairs.
“Torino,” the young man said as
he slapped the hood, “if you’re ever
going to perform well, do it now.”
And it did. Soon they were tooling
through the Oconee National
Forest under the bright and
faraway stars of a clear spring
night. They were headed for the
Maternity Ward at Coliseum Park
Hospital in Macon.
“You alright?” he asked the girl
with the cornsilk hair as they ap
proached the city.
"Yes, I’m fine,” she replied.
“Everything is going to be
alright.”
There was a time about 12 years
ago when the girl with the cornsilk
hair was standing with her
brothers and sisters in the lobby of
the Ramada Inn Restaurant in
Biloxi, Mississippi. The mother and
father had instructed the girl and
their other children to remain there
until they made arrangements for
them to eat.
Their father had been tran
sferred from the Naval Air Station
in Jacksonville, Fla., to the Marine
Corps Base at Camp Pendleton,
Calif., and they were enroute to the
new duty station.
Since the girl with the cornsilk
hair was the oldest of the children,
she had been given the respon
sibility to see that they did not
misbehave or stray from the place
they had been told to stay.
When the father returned to tell
the kids he had found them a table,
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he paused behind a phone booth
when he observed that middle-aged
woman was talking to the children.
“Children,” she was saying,
“your parents ought to know better
than to bring so many children into
this old world.” (There were five at
that time and another came later.)
“This is a cruel old world, and
your parents are going to find that
out,” the woman continued. “It is a
hateful old world full of all kinds of
pain and woe and trouble.
“How are your parents going to
pay for all those braces for your
teeth, for all of your clothes, and
for your college educations? How
are they going to do that?”
“There’s so much evil in this
world. There’s dope, and crime and
all kinds of wars going on. The old
devil is just carrying on every
place you look.”
“Mam,” the girl with the corn
silk hair replied, “our father never
tells us stuff like that.”
The father of the children ex
plained to the woman that he and
his wife did not bring the children
into the world to make it worse, but
to do the best they could to improve
it.’
“Oh my, ” she said, “I really
didn’t mean to carry on so much.”
But that was long ago, and now
the girl with the cornsilk hair and
the young man who has more
strength in him than he realizes
arrived at the hospital.
Less than three hours after they
arrived, she gave birth to a six
pound, 14-ounce girl.
And so it was at 12:30 a.m. last
Friday that my daughter, Sheri,
and her husband, Loyd Burrell,
became parents for the first time,
and presented my wife and me with
our first grandchild.
Welcome to this world little
princess with your mother’s corn
silk hair and your father’s cobalt
eyes. Hear me, fragile little girl in
a cozy crib, breathing softly
against your pillow.
Listen to me cherub with skin
like milk and honey. I have a
message for you about this world of
pain and woe:
Make it better.
y aft
OUT ON A %/
BRANCH
This time of year, when the pollen is blowing in
the wind and the sunshine is warm, some
teenagers forget the dangers involved in driving
a car. Some, right here in Perry, drive
wrecklessly to show off for others or for their
own amusement. The following is a stark piece
that tells it all. Read it parents. Read it
teenagers.
The day I died was an ordinary school day.
How I wish I had taken the bus! But I was too
cool for the bus. I remembered how I wheedled
the car out of Mom. “Special favor," I pleaded,
“all the kids drive."
When the 2:50 bell rang, I threw all my books
in the locker. I was free until 8:40 tomorrow
morning! I ran to the parking lot, excited at the
thought of driving a car and being my own boss.
FREE!
It doesn’t matter how the accident happened. I
was goofing off going too fast. Taking crazy
chances. But I was enjoying my freedom and
having fun. The last thing I remember was
passing an old lady who seemed to be going
awfully slow. I heard the deafening crash and
felt a terrific jolt. Glass and steel flew
everywhere. My whole body seemed to be tur
ning inside out. I heard myself scream.
Suddenly, I awakened: it was very quiet. A
police officer was standing over me. Then I saw
a doctor. My body was mangled, I was saturated
with blood. Pieces of jagged glass were sticking
out all over. Strange that I couldn’t feel
anything.
Hey, don’t pull that sheet over my head. I can’t
be dead. I’m only 17, I’ve got a date tonight. lam
supposed to grow up and have a wonderful life. I
haven’t lived yet. I can’t be dead.
Later I was placed in a drawer. My folks had to
identify me. Why did they have to see me like
this? Why did I have to look at Mom’s face when
she faced the most terrible ordeal of her life?
Dad suddenly looked like an old man. He told the
man in charge, "Yes, he is my son."
The funeral wqs a weird experience. I saw all
my relatives and friends walk toward the casket.
They passed by, one by one, and looked at me
with the saddest eyes I’ve ever seen. Some of my
buddies were crying. A few of the girls touched
my hand and sobbed as they walked away.
Please ... somebody ... wake me up! Get me
out of here. I can’t bear to see my Mom and Dad
so broken up. My grandparents are so racked
with grief they can barely walk. My brother and
sister are like zombies. They move like robots. In
a daze, everybody! No one can believe this. And I
can’t believe it either.
Please don’t bury me! I’m not dead! I have a
lot of living to do! I want to laugh and run again,
I want to sing and dance. Please don’t put me in
the ground. I promise if you give me just one
more chance, God, I’ll be the most careful driver
in the whole world. All I want is one more
chance.
Please God, I’m only seventeen.
When Spring arrives each year, I feel like I
come alive after the long, hard winter. Spring
means a lot of things to me but I guess most of
all, Spring means:
Dogwoods and azaleas bursting forth in bloom
... Working up a good sweat while cutting the
grass for the first time since last summer ...
Hooking a bluegill bream and feeling the blood
rush to your head with almost overwhelming
excitement ... Swatting mosquitoes and
‘blowing” gnats ... Cooking outdoors on the
barbecue grill on a late, lazy Saturday afternoon
... Sleeping at night with the windows up ...
Hearing the crickets and frogs singing their
songs when the sun goes down ... Getting up at
dawn and walking in the yard with a big cup of
coffee before going to the office ... Taking the
kids to Six Flags ... Starting the annual Spring
jogging sessions and regretting the sore muscles
two days later ... An ice-cold Pabst Light after
jogging ...Going on a diet so you can get into
those Bermuda shorts and swim suit from last
summer ... But most of all, the realization and
appreciation that all the glorious things of Spring
are a creation of God.
Have a happy Spring.
As you read this, I will be in New Orleans, as
an invited guest, judging Texas weekly
newspapers. At the same time, a group of Texas
editors will be analyzing Georgia newspapers,
The Home Journal, included.
Needless to say, I will be so busy that I will not
ave a chance to visit Bourbon Street or any of
the other places in New Orleans. I am sure I will
work around the clock pouring over the content
of the Texas papers. Please feel sorry for me in
this great time of hardship for your editor.
We’re Fighting
for Your Life
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