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In other words, the young fogie dances in the latest frenetic style. because he doesn't want to be called an old fogie. But he thinks it is decadent. He'd like the return of the waltz and the schottische. Some old fogies get all het up every year, and writing letters to the editor, deploring the increasing commercialism of Christmas. 1 used to do this when l was a young fogie, but I've quit. What's the difference? Well, a young fogie gets all upset about things that should upset only old fogies. As he gets older, he really doesn't Rive a diddle. They can play "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Rein- deer" on the first of July. and it doesn't bother him. An old fogie. on the other hand. is a young logic who has molded his ideas early, and left them there to moulder. Or increased the rigidity of his early opinions until they are molded in iron. He likes "I'm Dreaming of a White Christmas", but doesn't want it played until there is some snow, and Christmas is imminent (not eminent, as my students insist). I prefer to be a middle fogie. This is a person who listens to young iogies. old fogies, nods solemnly in agreement. and wishes they had buried "White Christ- mas" with Bing Crosby, its perpetrator. The following is a reprint of Bill Smiley's Christmas l98l column. From all of us at The Chronicle, warmest wishes for a safe, happy holiday season. _ Perhaps that is why, at Christmas 1982, when most of us are scrimping and saving, stretching the dollar, concentrat- ing on making ends meet, making do with what we have, sacrificing luxury - we are showing an admirable ability to rise above that adversity through compassionate gestures to fellow man. Gifts that cost little, yet mean so much. The spirit of Christmas lost? Not a chance. In fact, in this day and age, it is one of the most precious commodities we have. But that being the case, then maybe Christmas has come just in time to allow us to stash away those worries for a day, a week, whatever, and instead concentrate on the spirit of the season, how it should be, how it is, and the gap between that appears to be narrowing. But beneath that picture of woe is an undeniable quirk of c, human nature that allows us to make light of our burdens by instead focusing on the needs of others, packing our own troubles away to lend a hand where needed. It may be viewed as a trite observation by many, but no matter how bad off a person seems to be, there will always be someone in worse shape, in need of an uplifting expression. Yes, there are those without jobs, many on the verge of financial 'ruin, welfare rolls are overflowing and personal relationships are showing the wear and tear of the general state of distress. To be sure, a lot of Canadians have not that much to celebrate this Christmas as we have been pushed to the precipice of personal hardship unlike any time since the Great Depression. We certainly needed that blanket of white that arrived yesterday to metaphorically cover up our woes, at least until the end of the holiday season. PAGE , - WATERLOO cmounch. may}. 0505559372», 1932 Second Class Mail Registration Number 5m While an old tonic shakes his head at the 81 [CD 1CD LEE Christmas commodity tettistratioo Number 55“ established 1854 published every Wednesday by Fairway Press, a division of Kitchener-Waterloo Record Ltd., owner 225 Fairway Rd.S., Kitchener, Ont. Walotloo Chromcle ttttict, a boon!” an the Macon Haney and Whale Law Otticq Huang (you autumn. upon: that) Padang at the real ottNrttowttrtg openMootuytoFrtday, 900am 10500pm address correspondence to Waterloo office " Erty tit F. , Waterloo. 0m. NN ILT, telephone as 2330 As a middle logic, I choose to shut out the carols that begin Nov. lst, ignore the drooping angels on the town decorations that were erected (there it is again) on Nov. ttth, and merely set my teeth, grit them a bit, and try to get througtfNte This brilliant analogy. gentle reader, it you are still there, represents my attitude toward the commercialization of Christ, mas. I can turn off the commercials and ignore the town's brave decorations. Or I can crab when they commence, or are erected (sorry, that's a dirty word now). Or I can say, "Cheeze 'n rice. I wish I were back in the business again. pulling in all those dollars that should be going for food and fuel." modern, openly sexual dancing. knows the dancers are all going to the hot place, and would like to see the return of the waltz and the schottische (polka. what have you?). The middle fogie says, "Jeez, there but for the grace of God. go I." Or, "Holey ole moley, I wish my arthritis would ease up. I'd love to try it, especially with that girl who's Just kick off her shoes and displayed her navel." He'd like the return of the waltz. but never learned to count past two in the one-two-tttree of the waltz, and gets tangled up, and falls on his face, in a fast polka or schottische. Publisher: Paul Winkler Manager: Bill Karges Editor: Rick Campbell Thoughts from ariotd togiis Little do the kids know that I was a reporter because everybody else was doing something useful; that I was an editor because nobody else wanted to take That, to me, is the real Christmas spirit. His boss. King Pierre the First, has expressed similar sentiments. “If they can't afford filet mignon, let them eat boiled sumac bushes." Very tasty, by the way, and a true national dish, along with pumpkin soup. "Wednesday afternoon. we are going to have a seminar on writing. headed by Bill Smiley. former reporter. editor. publisher, and author of a syndicated column that appears in more than 150 papers across Canada." It sounded great. Like those November Christmas carols. But I cannot say, "That's a lot of crap, John." i don't really know where I'm going with this column, but l have to live up to the billing another teacher gave mw this week. after he'd arm-twisted me into talking to his creative writing club: The aforementioned gentleman, if you’ll pardon the euphemism, after preaching a budget of equity and restraint. went out to lunch with a few of his ilk. and ran up a lunch bill of between $600 and $2.000. depending on the version you read. Christmas season, bearing in mind that the Minister of Finance wants a little piece of every action going on in town, and across the country. . Just this week, I wrote a letter of recommendation for a student. If some- body checked it out, I would be on the stand for perjury. mopery and gawk. But, what the heck, a commercial is a commer- cial, even though it's a tissue of lies, halt-truths and exaggeration. But I must admit. the Christmas spirit sort of grabs you, whether it's by the ptcket-bytk, or the short and curly. - However. the show must go on. whether it's "Good King Wenceslaus" in No- vember, or yours truly talking a group of youngsters into adopting the glamorous life of journalism. at 60 hours a week. and basic pay a little below unemployment in- surance. My colleague didn't mention that I wrote stories about nothing happening in town that week, Just to fill up a hole on the front page; that l infuriated merchants and township reeves and little old ladies. and had to bear the brunt: that I personally carried the newspapers to the post office in bags weighing about 280 pounds; that I helped stamp and roll up the out-of-town papers; or that I am neither rich nor famous. the blame; that l was a publisher only becausie I owed half of a 330.000 mortgage: and that I am a household word across Canada. almost inevitably preceded by the prefix "bull". (jj,i "iii-i-c-ici/ic Ed