Volume 7, Issue 7, page 2

* Vol. VII, No. 7 that particular plant was
Recusant Voice of The Infinites growing from the red clay at
for Earth, Mars, Venus, Saturn, that particular spot -- so far
Pluto,, and Zydokumzruskehen from its native area -- but
no one challenged the botanist's speculation.

Nor was there any dispute with the driver of the
car, as he almost automatically guided it along the
strip of graying macadam
No one blamed his driving
for the flat tire. No one
suggested he turn left at
one corner, right at another, or take one or more of
the frequent forks, or even
turn around and go back in
the direction from which we
had come. Ahead of us was a
road. All of us knew where
we were going, and what we'd
probably do when we got
there. Neither the chemist
nor the geologist considered the driver unsafe, just
because he was a botanist
and not a chemist or geologist. None of us looked at
the road as the special
province of our particular
"belief " -- a road for geologists, botanists, chemists,
or editors. None of us felt
we had to "convert"; or"apprentice"; the others to our
way of life before they
could travel the same road
we traveled.

Intelligent man has no
difficulty working together, playing together, living together, even fighting
together, because man is
naturally gregarious. Many
are the stories of "battle
foes" striving to save the
life of a man they'd been
trying to kill -- after the
battle was won, or lost. It
was not the man they were
fighting, but his BELIEF --
and war mongers and religionists know that if they
can plant enough hatred in
their subjects, they can
turn them into blind automatons and vicious, conscienceless murderers.

Only when paid rabble
rousers, ignorant "leaders "
with privatehates and axes
to grind, salesmen of "only
ways", and missionaries of
death, step in to turn
brother against brother and
neighbor against neighbor,
does man reach the point
where he cannot follow a
highway without fighting
over which turn, which fork,
and which way.

NOVEXBER, 1960 *
Published monthly, except for the combined January-February and JulyAugust issues, at 207 North Washington, Enid, Oklahoma. O.S.A.

Editorial Office: 2522% North Monroe St., Enid, Oklahoma
Mail Address: Postoffice Box 528, Enid, Oklahoma
Subscription price: $2 a year; $5 for 3 years. Single copies, 25*
Second class privilege authorized at Enid, Okla., Postoffice
Editor: The Rev. Mr. Dr. ALPHIA OMEGA HART, I-2, D.D., D.Scn., F.Scn.,
B.Scn., HDA, HCA, et al ad infinitum ad museum.

Publisher: ALICE AGNES HART: I-1, HCA. SEC., WEE., Lbrn., H.Kpr., ETC.

POLICY: Don't take it so damn' seriously. The infiniteness of Man is not
reduced to a "split infinity" by wars, taxes, or "experts"who
seek to sell him that which he already has in an infinite amount.

Sub-Policy: We reserve, the right to change our minds from issue to
issue, or even from page to page, if we desire.

Sub-Sub-Policy: Each man has the inherent right to be his own and only
"Authority" -- with his wife's permission, of course.

Advertising Rates: $1 a column inch, if you get results; double if you
don't. Payable in advance. Copy must be in office 30 days prior to
date of issue in which it will aopear.

IT'S "ROAD TO We took a
GLORY" THAT'S r i d e t h e
BOOBY TRAPPED o the her evening with
three men. One was a chemist, one was a geologist,
and one was a botanist.

Just as we topped a rise,
there was a sharp report,
and the car started weaving. The botanist, who was
driving, pulled expertly to
the shoulder and stopped. A
right front tire had blown.

Quickly, we all pitched
in and replaced the crippled wheel with a spare.
There was no question about
who would work the jack,
who would remove the spare
from its mooring, who would
change wheels, or who would
spin the lug wrench. Each
did what had to be done that
someone else wasn't doing
at the moment. Within five
minutes, we were ready to
resume our trip.

Just before we got back
into the car, the botanist
called our attention to
some odd plants -- odd for
this part of Oklahoma -- growing in the red clay banks
left from the gouges builders made when reducing the
amount of rise over the
hill. From a discussion of
plants, and the many ways
seeds have of being scattered, talk changed to the
chemistry of the soil that
allowed plants to find life
in a clay that looked as if
clay indicated this hill
may at one time have been
not a hill but a valley,
its position reversed by
some great cataclysm. Fully
an hour was spent exchanging
views on what the three
"authorities" found, or
thought, and it was almost
dark when the four of us got
into the car and resumed our

A pointless anecdote? An
account of a trivial incident? Well, if one judges
an incident by drama, or
tragedy, or upset, it was
trivial. But it was important to the extent that four
men -- a Spiritualist, a Catholic, a Protestant, and the
writer (who is none of these
label-carrying isms) -- could
travel a highway in perfect
harmony and peace, helping
to carry out a, common plan,
and during a temporary
stress (the flat tire) work
shoulder to shoulder in
shortening to almost nothing a common obstacle.

Despite their differences
in training and education,
each respected the others'
knowledge and w e l c o m e d
their views as interesting.
There was no argument. The
chemist may have been right
or wrong in his soil analysis, but neither the botanist nor the geologist
aired a verbal doubt. Maybe
that particular hill never
had been a valley ina longnothing could find root. And forgotten past, but neither
the geologist pointed out the botanist nor the chemthat the stratum of bluish ist questioned his hypothshale bottoming t h e red esis. There might be dozens
clay indicated this hill of explanations as to why