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William Edward Hopkins, of Woodville, was awarded the Doctor of Philosophy degree at the commencement exercises of the Louisiana State University, Baton Rouge, Louisiana, on June 2, 1951. Mr. Hopkins, who is the son of Mr. and Mrs. J. W. Hopkins of Meohum River, received the Bachelor pf Science degree in commerce from the University of Virginia and the Master of Science degree in rural sociology at Virginia Polytechnic Institute. He has taught in various high schools in
I ‘The Time Ha* Come/ §
the Walrus said . ;
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The grass always looks greener —the other fellow’s job always appears easier. We all enjoy teasing the bankers and rural mail carriers and state highway men by telling them how we wish we had as many holidays as they do. It seems that every time someone got born or died or signed a state paper, the banks take holiday. And to touch off a neater note, if the holiday comes on Sunday as Jeff Davis’s birthday did on June 3, they just postpone the celebration for Monday. Nice going, if you can get by with it. It’s a shame someone hasn’t persuaded the farm work to schedule that way, so the farmer could get a holiday if the notion strikes.
With summer here, the folks working in stores in neighboring towns start taking Wednesday afternoons off. It’ll catch a few of us toward the first of the summer before we get used to it. Even the best of us will get caught by driving to town and find after we get there that it is Wednesday afternoon and stores are closed.
* * *
A fellow was talking the other day of the plan that worked in his home town when he was a boy at the time the streets needed paving. The mayor had a reputation of hating to spend the town’s money. The streets had been good enough for days past and he saw no reason to waste money now hard-surfacing them.
The young mem of the village ganged up. At the hour of the morning mail, as the mayor approached the post office to get his mail, the young men would conspicuously gather up stilts, make a great to-do of crossing the mud-holes on the stilts, park them by the lamp post before the post office, and after getting the mail, pick up the stilts and go back across the street.
The plan was not working. The mayor still saw no reason for wasting the town’s money to pave streets.' He should have knqwn better. He should have realized that the young blood would persist until it won.
The young men finally got him. One morning, as the mayor approached the post office, he saw the townspeople grinning broadly. He raised his eyes to see what they found amusing.
Acrosp the street was hanging a large banner: “No fishing in the town of-- by order of the Mayor”, and along the street, stuck into the mud by every mudhole, was a fishing pole with a string hanging down into the dirty
The, streets were paved'witfiTh' rf" few'weeks.
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