Wednesday is newspaper day here in South Columbia County. After we buy the papers, Pam and I discuss it together, peruse the local ads and the letters to the editor, and other stuff that goes on around us. Some of us that have been in this area over thirty years remember when Gib Crouse ran the Chronicle and the Ericksons owned The Spotlight. Support and dedication to the local community was paramount in their minds and they gave us quality publications adhering to sound ethics and good journalistic practice. They both participated and supported our community. They believed in civility and made certain their newspapers did also.
Yesterday I received an email from one of my Sisters-in-law talking about how much she had enjoyed my mother and how she counted among her blessings to have been fortunate to have known her. Some of you may remember when Mom would visit St Helens. She would walk from my house near the City reservoir on Pittsburg Road downtown and meet me for lunch at McIntire’s Deli, or she would shop at BJ’s Sewing Basket, or Wicker Wonders, or other local shops. One of her favorites was the huge baked potatoes at Fat Boy’s Pizza and the extra special service Don and Cheryl extended to make her feel welcome in her son’s town. Her name was Freda but most people called her Mrs. Pulliam or Mrs. P. She raised six sons, loved her daughters-in law, was widowed at a fairly young age, worked into her seventies and was just a damn good person. All her boys except myself served in the military seeing action in WW II, Korea, and pre Viet Nam.
By now I hope you are wondering what the connection between the newspapers, my mother, civility, Pam, Paul, and why I would take the time to discuss it. It is the degeneration of the quality of discourse. As many of you are aware Pam Powell is my wife. We are both active locally and we both stand on our own.. We value our marriage however, and when I was on the Port Commission and she became employed by the hospital we made a vow that I would not discuss the Port and she would not discuss the hospital at home. That is not to say that we would not participate but that we wanted to avoid stressing our relationship. We have followed this process throughout. I get my information on-line and at the meetings the same as anyone else.
Unfortunately, there seems to be a very small but vocal group who think demeaning a person and belittling their name is a normal part of the political process. Some of them call Pam Powell, Mrs. Pulliam and some call me Mr. Powell evidently under the assumption that it is demeaning and lends support to their causes. Sometimes they misspell or further denigrate the names evidently to assist in supporting their rumors. To paraphrase Lloyd Bentsen, “I have seen Don Rickels and Don Rickels they are not.” They post on blogs and claim to be reporters and preach Freedom of the Press. But none of them seem to want to take on the awesome responsibility that freedom of the press requires: accuracy, verification, civility and above all respect for others. Unfortunately our local papers are now allowing them access on the editorial pages. I doubt that any of them know how much of a compliment it is to be called Mrs. Pulliam, or Mr. Powell. And, I don’t think that Gib Crouse or the Ericksons would have allowed it in their papers. And Pam and Paul don’t know which one of us they think they are insulting. We are both proud of each other.
Thursday, February 24, 2011
Monday, February 21, 2011
pickles
I originally posted this to Facebook but was reminded of it again today. I thought it was a good one to post to Beetz Me since Paul and Joe Phaumbeetz are the same guy.
So, Pam and I were sitting down eating dinner (Buffalo burgers) this evening looking out over the river and having a nice visit when I asked her for a pickle. A Steinfield's Kosher baby dill to be exact. Then I said, " I wonder where they are made now that Steinfield has sold the Portland operation and closed the Scappoose plant" She read the label out loud and said "product of India". I said, "No! They moved to the mid-west someplace didn't they?" and Pam repeated, "made in India". Never mind what I said next, but I am still ranting. The meat was from Montana, the tomato from Florida, the horseradish from Beaverton, the bread from Seattle, the wine and the blue cheese from Oregon, and the KOSHER dill from India. It is the last jar of Steinfield's I will ever buy. No wonder farmer'smarkets are coming back so strongly.
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