Volume 6, Issue 2, page 2

NAY, 1959 *
MORE ON WHAT Several isWE SAID IN A sues back, to
2-LINE FILLER fill a column
that was a few
lines short, we wrote: "No
reader gets out of The ABERREE
what the editor thinks he is
putting into it." We weren't
trying to apologize to those
readers who say they "can't
understand much of it", or to
deck our surds with a gilt of
hidden meanings, or even to be
brilliant. We just had a hole
to fill, and we filled it.

But we should have had a
bigger hole, because that little two-line "filler" has been
subjected to more varying analyses from readers than some
of our more controversial auditorials. And each analysis
only served to mint up the
accuracy and power of two short
lines of type.

Actually, what we could
have said, and didn't (after
all, you can't get many words
in two lines), is that we publish The ABERREE in one universe -- ours -- and you, and the
reader down the street, and
over there, and there, and
there, are reading it in YOUR
and THEIR universes. If what
we or one of our contributors
says agrees with you, to the
extent the article or letter
does agree will you accept it
in your universe. If it doesn't agree, you either bar it
from your universe by outright
rejection, or by refusing to
understand it. Only you could
edit a magazine acceptable completely to you, and -- as we've
discovered, something partly,
or mostly, acceptable to us
when we printed Volume I, or
Volume II, or even last month,
will not be acceptable to us
when we are putting together
Volume VI, Number 2 (which is
this one). We're not proving
by this statement that we're
wishy-washy; we're just admitting that we have yet to reach

the non-enviable pinnacle of
all -knowingness, or knowingal lness , or "Me, Inc."
Sometimes, we are amazed at
the number of "Only Ways" that
cross our desk. It seems that
there are more people trying
to convince (usually for a
price) their fellow men that
they can solve their past,.
present, and Eternity problems
for them than there are people
to sell to. Of course, we know
(or are convinced at this writing' that when one reaches
the state of self-confessed
omniscience, he usually finds
it necessary to shout, barter,
and brag from the highest television tower so that he can
bask in his own echo . Otherwise, if he just went ahead
and practiced what he believed,
he might be embarrassed by so
great a throng of followers
that he'd find his own universe a mite crowded.

And just in case we need a
couple lines to fill, we might
add that followers never make
a mark in the world; they're
too busy shuffling along trying to rub out the marks of
those they profess to agree

For example: "I agree with
you that black is black -- altho
I know that what you're trying
to say is that white also is
black, with all the darkness
taken out. And colors are only
black-without-darkness to which
pigments of a different vibratory rate have been added."
Oh, yes. They agree. But
only after they have distorted
it to fit their own universes.

The criminal with the least
chance of not getting caught
is the one failing to put the
required coin in a parking

War is emotion on the loose.

WHAT KIND OF We wouldn't
FUTURE DO WE try and guessOFFER YOUTH? h i s age -- 15 ,
16 , 17, maybe.
Under si x feet, yet he was
neither the gridiron hero nor
the squint-eyed bookworm. A
neat, clean type of youth you'd
be proud of if he were your
own . And he wanted a job.
"What can you do?" we asked .

He grinned. "Not much, I
guess. But I can learn."
We couldn't think of an answer he could have given us
we'd have liked better. Swiftly, memory raced back to our
own youth, when we braved the
editor of a country weekly and
asked for a job. Everything
around us w a s strange -- the
presses, the type cases with
their little boxes of fascinating letters, the smooth "grave
stones" on which the pages of
the paper were made up ready
for putting on the press.

But there was nothing there
for an untrained boy to do.
Oh, he could sweep, maybe, and
straighten up -- but the editor
and his brother were able to
take care of all the type setting, make-up, and press feeding. We'd only be in the way.
"I'd work for nothing -- just
to learn , " we said , and on
this basis, we were accepted.
Undoubtedly, during the first
six months or so, we did more
harm than good. We spilled
type -- which experienced hands
had to straighten. We had misfeeds, and paper that slipped
past the tiny guides and wrapped around the ink rollers --
which tied up the press while
the mess was cleaned up and
the damage repaired. But in
time, we learned. However, had
it not been for our willingness to work for the experience, and the editor's willingness to put up with us,
maybe as a farmer, or plasterer, or minister, we'd have had
no training or "call" for such
things as editing and publishing The ABEEREE.
"Sorry," we told the boy --
and our own memories choked
us. "We don't have anything --
even if you were trained."
What we didn't, and couldn't, add as he turned away in
disappointment, was that United States labor regulations
would prevent this boy from
doing what we did several
years ago. Now, even tho he
could no more than sweep out
the tiny office, laws would
regulate the number of hours
he could work, how much he was
to be paid, and what percentage of his salary must be added to take care of him when
he retired. His only hope was
a trade school -- if he could
afford it. He might, or might
B It It