Worcester Democrat And The Ledger Enterprise

from the
Democrat's Pen

Well, Sir, on Saturday of last week, I received my usual bunch of exchanges from my "esteemed" contemporaries, and, I must say, I was somewhat intrigued by what I saw emblazoned on the front pages of a goodly number of them, and, indeed parts of other pages were devoted to what I should say an untimely feature.

What I refer to is, that some of the Shore newspapers had a full-wide strip spread across the sheet carrying the legend "Merry Christmas."

Underneath this appeared a life-sized facial reproduction of Santa Claus himself; and on inside pages were letters from the little tots, begging their holiday patron saint to bring them this, that, and the other thing, because they had been good children all the year and intended to be nothing else for all time to come.

Well! I thought; what have I gone and done? Have I taken time by the forelock, and gotten out the Pocomoke Bladder a week ahead of the correct date? I had a few very uncomfortable moments for a second or two, if such a thing can be possible, until I found out that I was holding my own-no more, no less-with the old man and his scythe, and that the other fellows were on the bum, using, maybe, last year's calendar, and I don't know how many "last years" at that.

Then, again, I thought perhaps the ink slingers of those publications had been taking too much Christmas; that they had fallen into a sort of Rip Van Winkle sleep; had been aroused by some noise they mistook for an air raid; had bounced, rubberlike, on their feet, and yelled "Merry Christmas!" not knowing what time it was nor where they were at.

Also, and some more, it occurred to me that those editors who were advertising the Christmas festival as aforesaid, may have been let into something concerning which we poor devils in lower Eastern Shore knew nothing. And that was the possibility Franklin Delano had proclaimed two Christmases even as he had done in connection with Thanksgiving Days. He had, maybe, kept such entrancing news away from us who were not included in the list of "My Friends!" and another delectable, joyous, celebration was in the offing.

But it all petered out finally. This old year could not prolong its life. It is even now heard with the rale in its throat, and in a few short hours its sun will go down and tomorrow's dawn will herald the birth of another cycle of time. There was only one Christmas, my fellow scribes, and I am wondering what you are going to do about greeting the New Year. I just want to tell you Saturday will be no second New Year's day, and you'd better "lay low and say nuffin'"

How-some-ever, I do think some apology is due those little tots whose letters revealed intense excitement over another advent of Old Kris. Do you suppose they hung up another stocking? What a catastrophe if they found it empty next morning.

Look up these kids, you editors, and spend some of the cash I know you didn't get, and ease the pain in the childish heart, caused by the forlorn hope of a double visitation from the driver of a reindeer sleigh filled to overflowing with holiday cheer.

Well, Sir, another monster of the deep has visited the outskirts of our beloved city, and I want you people to look-see just what has saved many a life from the jaws of a ravenous beast. You see that reptile in the picture on this page? Then you see the two brave boys, guns in hand, who dared the dragon in his den, and rid the land of its poisonous breath.

That's what these boys told us.

But, between you and me and the storm door, there are a few soreheads, unbelievers, and wet-blanket individuals who are ready to deny the allegation and to defy the alligators.

Still, the boys have keen imagination and, when the first visit of Santa uncovered a rifle apiece, they had to go out and shoot something and why not an alligator, even tho' it had been dead for some days and thrown out by its owner as a Christmas gift to the buzzards.

And, just to prove the heroism of
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Two young big game hunters pictured above, William Ross and Clifton Dennis, seem to be rather proud of their success in bringing in the 'gator. But somebody has been mean enough to hint that there is something fishy about their markmanship. That would be all right, too, inasmuchas an alligator is as much fish as he is anything else. Anyhow, the story is a good mate to the one connected with the "Gyascutus", pictured below, which somebody else has also been mean enough to say is a "Sweet Potato."
CHIRPS
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our young Americans they were not even afraid to pose for a picture with the horrid thing. That should put all you skeptics to shame. These boys are made of real American stuff, even if it is, in a way, camouflaged.

Just by way of association, I had that "gyascutus" republished, simply to show that worse things than shooting a dead crocodile can happen, when a sweet potato can assume the form and shape of centuries-old dinosaur. Hail to the Eastern Shore! You can't beat it.