LETTERS: AN INVESTMENT IN GOOD FRIENDS

To the editor:

Two centuries ago, newspaper polls determined not citizens' reactions to their political leaders, but to the poetry most beloved and read. Again and again, Young's "Night Thoughts," Gray's "Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard" and, after it was published in 1850, Tennyson's "In Memoriam" won the top ratings. They are little read today, but their popularity at that time may teach us something about present values.

These verses have been much on my mind lately. When I came to this city in 1962, I knew only one or two individuals, carryovers from Boone County. But sometime later I unpacked my suitcases and changed my bank account from my birthplace town bank. Recently I attended services for a longtime friend, Cleo Mabrey. Not long before, I had walked beside the bier of Ivan Nothdurft. And only shortly before that it was Woody Rushing and Ray Ritter and Vince Ruessler and Ed Brasington and a host of others.

The world is lessened not that they are gone. The assignment for all of us is to somehow try to fill the gaps. I have tried to extract from my memories that least common denominator. Why did we value them as we did? Can we who remain remodel our own conduct?

All of that happy band, and a host of others that should be named, had the sincere gift of making me feel important. Rush Limbaugh Sr., Ritter, Rushing, if we met by chance or design, gave the impression that they were fortunate to have met me. Limbaugh made several trips over town to deliver a book he wished to give me. Ritter did the same thing, now that I think of it. They regularly inquired about the family. The son of one gave an heirloom ring to my daughter-in-law. I recalled that the thanes in the time of Beowulf were always getting rings from the king.

Their interest in me was accompanied by a concern for all of society. They came from that kindlier and gentler time when students had mottoes in their dorm rooms which read, "Others," and memorized verses which said, "I shall not pass this way again, so if I can do any kindness, let me do it now." Their obituaries reveal in all instances an incredible amount of services from which all of us have benefited, stellar and quite roles in societies, so that it is no exaggeration to write that when we drive across the county or attend events in public buildings or go to parks or even cross bridges, we travel upon the efforts of these and others like them.

Death is always somber, but reflection makes all of us wiser. When I read, "Our little systems have their day; they have their day and cease to be," I am less concerned with Y2K. When I recall the line, "And in the dusk of them the clock beats out the little lives of men," I wish to go outside and stand beside an old tree. And I remember how pleased I was when I had repeated that line in a small ceremony and later Rush Senior told me, "I was happy to hear Tennyson."

My days in Cape Girardeau have brought sadness as well as joys. If I had never learned to know these, I, of course, would not have been saddened by their deaths. But perhaps our accountant, Tom Higgins, would say I made a good investment, all things considered.

PETER HILTY

Cape Girardeau