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I hear a song,
A song of love, at night.
This song has wings
And soars up into flight.
It lifts my heart
Beyond recall
And calms my mind,
My strife, my all.
The ‘pome’ to which you have just been exposed is an example of what not to print in an amateur journal.
Boston is such a nice city but why are all the streets one way in the wrong direction?
Ed Cole was extremely hospitable and I learned more about recent amateur activities than I had in the last year. Of special interest was Tim Thrift’s book on marbling. I envy the possessor of this volume.
Silvia Crane is quite Welleslyan. Her ideas concerning teen age ruckus are in accordance with mine.
We wait for Wesson, Crane, Babcock, and other APCers to return. Why not recruit more young printers? These are the future APC. Let them also be the present APC.
My sympathy is with the ‘new’ UAPA but I cannot agree with all the points covered in the resolution adopted at Philly. My objections are mostly to parts a, b, g, k, l, of section II. In parts a and b, I object to any association committee actions as a dictator for all the associations, telling them what they are and what they must recognize. My objection to part g is that it is dictatorial if carried out by the committee and ambiguous if not enforced by the committee. What is meant by ‘discourage?’ Does this mean the committee will have power to do anything about such sins or will the committee merely publish a ‘black list’ of ‘bad boys’ every so often?
My objections to sections k and l are that they tend to segregate certain parts of the association and creates a bad feeling. We now have teenagers, ex-presidents, officers, fossils, and now you want to add a ‘veteran’ class. Phooey! I do not want to be in this class any more than I wanted to be in the ‘teenager’ class.
The AAPA does not so well by its old members. I have not seen an AAPA bundle since 1944 although my dues have been paid.
I once met a fellow named Wesson,
Who never had learned any lesson:
He was taught but for naught
And now he is caught
By a girl who was soon just a Wesson.
There once was a maiden called Tillie,
Who was wooed by a fellow named Willie –
He used all his wiles
To answer her styles
And ended up as her Billie!
C’est numeroux sept
Bob Smith. West Hempstead, N. Y.