Time for Concern, Not Escape

By CHARLES M. GUTHRIE
of the editorial/opinion page staff
published by the StarTribune
September 18, 1966


   I WAS OUT in the back yard passing a football with Jimmy Tierney, my 11-year-old pal from next door, when J. Adelbert Picklewurst, my know-it-all neighbor, wandered over.
   He watched us a minute and sniffed. "Fine thing," he growled. ""The world is going to pot and you fritter away your time with a football."
   "Well, you can't spend all your time worrying."
   "Quit rationalizing. You can at least show some concern. There is much too little of it. There is too much escapism, too much interest in the Vikings and the Packers and 49ers and not enough thought about Viet Nam. People are more absorbed in the World Series than in the race riots or pollution. We are headed full-speed for the abyss and nobody seems to give a hoot."
   "But," I reminded him, "you've told me several million words about baseball. I thought you were both a fan and an expert."

   PICKLEWURST SUCKED on his pipe. "I am," he said modestly, "but now it's time to put away childish enthusiasms. What difference does it make who wins the National League pennant, with Armageddon at bat? And why should we rend our garments in anguish and ask why the Twins didn't start playing ball until so late? All this doesn't make the slightest difference in the price of pork chops, the wage and price guidelines, or slaughter on the highways. I'm through with sports for the duration."
   "For the duration of what?"
   " Viet Nam, mainly. If things go on as they are we'll get into war with Red China. Then the fat will be in the fire for sure. You newspaper boys are supposed to know everything. Why don't you come up with some solutions instead of so much lofty but tenuous prose? You wail about the threat to democracy. Why not offer a formula for negotiations with Hanoi?"
   "Well," I said defensively, "De Gaulle made a proposal we didn't like because it would involve loss of face."
   "And of course we can't lose face." Picklewurst jabbed me in the chest with his forefinger.
   "Quit throwing that damned football a minute and listen. What's better, loss of a little face or loss of thousands of GIs in an Asian land war that could last into the next century?"
   Not wishing to have him around for the rest of the day, I threw the football back to Jimmy and said nothing.

   "WE COULD USE some solutions, too," said Picklewurst, "to the race question. All Washington can think about is more civil rights legislation."
   "What would you do, ban protest marches, lock up all the bigots, or what?"
   " I'd do more about it than toss a football around or wonder about Sandy Koufax's arthritic elbow or Willie Mays' home-run production. I'd do some heavy thinking--and I am doing some, incidentally--about how to generate more tolerance in the human heart and get the price of beef down to where you didn't have to buy a roast on the installment plan."
   He refueled his pipe and continued. "As a matter of fact, while you squander time, I'm going home now to resume my deliberations and do some serious reading." He looked at his watch. "Heavens!" he exclaimed, "I'm seven minutes late." He hurried off.
   "What he's late for," Jimmy grinned, "is the Pirates and Cardinals. They're on TV today."


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