"COLUMN ONE"
By Mary Mayo, Editor

Time has become entirely too important, too tyrannical, exacting and downright hateful in today's scheme for living and something should be done about it.

But how do you go about corraling the elusive upstart long enough to slip the fetters into place and reverse the order of things so that YOU become the master and TIME the mere drudge?

I remember reading a poem a long time ago that went something like "Time, you old gypsy man, Will you not stay, Put up your caravan Just for one day?" It seems strange now to think that I ever had TIME to ready poetry.

"That's silly," I told my mother. Mama loved poetry, too, so I would very kindly read poetry to her while she ironed. (Sure glad my daughters don't read what I write.)

"You'll see," said Mama, "you'll see someday."

It took awhile, but as usual, she was right. At first, I thought it was because I married a Yankee from Minnesota. ("Look at Mary's new boy friend," the neighbors said at first. "He doesn't walk . . . he runs!")

He couldn't speak English, either, at least not like a Texan . . . just ran around wocking and tocking.

Teaching him to speak properly wasn't too difficult because he got tired of writing out everything he wanted to say, but slowing him down was something else again. "Hurry up, hurry up! Don't you EVER hurry?" he'd shout.

"I just CAN'T hurry," I would explain. "I couldn't hurry for the president . . . not even Jim Bowie!"

Well it took a long time and lots and lots of debts, but finally I did slow him down, so it isn't his fault, after all.

It could be the fault of these clocks he collects. The family has a saying to the effect that you admire the 1837 clock and its all-wooden movement and you listen to the cuckoo clock until it drives you plumb cuckoo but when you want to know what time it is, you dial LUther 2-4381.

There's one clock in particular that's surely gone hay-wire. It hangs in the hall and, according to the clock man, it ticks quietly some 65 or 70 times and then the long hand broad-jumps to the next minute mark with a loud CA-LICK.

In fact, the "ca-lick" is so loud there is no place in the entire house where it can't be heard, not even in the basement with the water going.

Over the years, my life has become attuned to the "ca-licks" from the hall.

For instance, I can iron a boy's shirt in 3 "ca-licks," and wash 4 cups and a handful of silver in 2 "ca-licks" with a bit left over. But suddenly the "ca-licks" have gone mad.

Instead of a clock in the hall, it sounds like a perpetual castanet chorus. And I find that I just don't have TIME for anything.

That's why Marie Cunningham has taken over the job of Editor of the Journal beginning next week; her clocks, it seems, behave as clocks should.

Most of you already know Marvin and Marie Cunningham because they were born and raised right here and graduated from Jenks High School. They have 4 children, Marvin Jr., who goes to Okmulgee Tech; Marian Kay, a senior in high school who will enter college next fall; Gary, a high school sophomore and Marietta who is in Mrs. McDonald's 3rd grade.

Marie has said I may continue to write "Column One" for a while, but any news you have (and we hope you have plenty and all of it good) will be well taken care of by calling it in to her at the Journal telephone number, CYpress 9-5181 anytime after next Friday.

Meanwhile, I would like to thank every person I have talked with since working for the paper for an unbelievable amount of cooperation and encouragement and best wishes to every one of you.