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THOMPSON: Invitations are out for the marriage, October 2, of Gus Burns and Miss Hannah Latham, both of this borough. “Gus” is the only Benedict in town and Miss Hannah is his lifelong flame.
HICKORY GROVE: The story of Harvey Cole and his wife, having been beaten and robbed by thieves, as published in several papers last week, was a fake. No such people ever lived in or hear Hickory Grove, and no such robbery occurred. [100 Years, Sept. 20, 07].
BIRCHARDVILLE: Little Nina Strange, only daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Myron Strange, died, Tuesday, Sept. 17, after a short illness of whooping cough. Nina had been feeble in body all her days, but bright in mind and lovely in spirit. She will be greatly missed in the home by parents and friends. AND: Frank Bolles and family, of Binghamton, have been spending the summer at Birchardville. Mr. Bolles is a fine [photo] artist and has taken some splendid views in the county. The interior view of the church at St. Joseph is an excellent sample of his work.
MIDDLETOWN CENTRE: Thomas Porter, of the U.S.S. Washington, who received a furlough on September 16, while his cruiser was in dry dock at the Brooklyn navy yards, visited relatives at Middletown Center, last week. AND: Our baseball team defeated the LeRaysville bunch on the local grounds, Sept. 21. The home team gained a deciding lead in the start and easily held it throughout the game. Redding held the visitors safe at all times, while Rogers pounded to every corner of the field. The game was called at the end of the seventh inning on account of darkness. Score: Middletown, 14 and LeRaysville, 4. Batteries, Rogers and Jones; Redding and Conboy. Umpire, D. Jones.
WEST BRIDGEWATER: Last Friday, as Isaac Kitchen, wife and little daughter were going home, the breeching broke at the top of the hill by Mrs. Lindsey’s. The horse ran away, broke loose from the covered buggy, throwing the occupants out, overturning the wagon and breaking it. Mr. Kitchen fell on his wife, holding on to the horse, while both were drawn along the road some distance till he let go of the lines. All were hurt considerable and Mrs. Kitchen fainted several times. Wm Stephens caught the horse. Mr. Everett, a neighbor, came along and carried them home.
FOREST CITY: Frank Scubitz, a Forest City miner, was killed by a fall of rock in the Clifford mine on Saturday. He was 62 years of age and is survived by a wife and several children.
MONTROSE: George S. Frink and wife are to leave soon for a trip to Iowa, to visit his brother, Dan Frink. It will be a nice trip for them, as Mr. Fink will see many interesting things. He says he and his wife have been married 45 years and they are now going to take their wedding trip. AND: Bronson, the photographer, has one of those smiles on that will not wear off. The cause is a brand new Premo view outfit, which he has just purchased. It has not only the latest improvements but is the best view camera on the market, which enables him to make the most exacting work either exterior or interior on a moment’s notice.
UPSONVILLE: Banker Brothers recently sent a Devon bull calf to Massachusetts. Their herd of Devons is one of the finest in Susquehanna county and secures premiums yearly at all State Fairs where exhibited.
BROOKLYN: Brooklyn is fortunate in possessing a fine orchestra, composed of the following members: Jos. Tewksbury, violin; Harry Shadduck, cornet; Leonard Shadduck, piano; C. H. VanAuken, trombone.
WEST LENOX: Miss Carrie Waters, of Binghamton, visited her parents, Mr. and Mrs. John Waters, recently. By the way, Mr. Waters is nearing his 84th birthday, but is in better mental and physical condition than many men at 70. He can read and write without the aid of glasses and is as spry on his feet as a dancing master. He has been in the habit of going out in the potato field every fair day, recently, and dig six or eight bushels of potatoes. Just for exercise, he says. His worthy wife is nearing her 76th birthday and is quite feeble and needs a great deal of care. Truly, we are no older than we feel.
HERRICK CENTRE: Edwin Curtis has bought a fine young horse for his school wagon.
NEW MILFORD: Mrs. A. C. Risley, panic-stricken by what she supposed to be an alarm of fire on Monday, fell down the basement stairs where she had started to get a hydrant hose and was badly injured. One arm was badly bruised and she sustained other injuries, but not of a serious nature.
CLIFFORD: Mrs. Minerva Hobbs died at the home of her daughter, Mrs. Henrietta Felts, on Sept. 14, aged 82 years, five months and 13 days. Death was due to shock from falling down the stairs. The funeral services were conducted at the residence on Tuesday, the 18th inst., Rev. J. Wallace Young, of Albany, N.Y., who is a nephew of the deceased, officiating. The deceased became a widow in July 1864, her husband, Asahel Hobbs, having died as a prisoner in the Andersonville rebel prison.
NEWS BRIEFS: The old country schoolhouse of not so long ago will soon be a relic of the past. Although one traveling through the country sees many of these old-fashioned structures, he does not realize that they are rapidly being deserted, and that a consolidated schoolhouse will be met with farther up the road. These new buildings are graded, and many have several high school courses, so that one teacher now teaches only one class, whereas in the old days the pedagogue taught everything from the alphabet to Latin. Of course, the consolidated schoolhouse is not so convenient to all the children, as they have to go a greater distance, but all of them ride to school nowadays. The consolidated school is much cheaper to the community and what the farmer saves in taxes, he puts in sleighs and wagons so that his children may ride. Pupils can also remain at their home schools much longer than they formerly could, and this is also a great saving. We may expect great results from this change, for the farmers with their poor schools have turned out some wonderful men, and they should do even better under the new conditions.
Controlled substance addictions often form the impetus to criminal conduct. Frankly, this is one of the best arguments against the tired suggestion that controlled substances should be legal. A good portion of all property crimes (thefts and burglaries) result from the need to feed the user’s addiction. A legalized controlled substance will still be addictive – and thus create the drive to commit crimes to obtain money to purchase more controlled substances. The only difference between a legalized controlled substance and an illegal controlled substance is the ease to which a user can obtain the drug. It is far better public policy to make the acquisition of controlled substances difficult – as opposed to the availability of marijuana blunts next to cigarettes at your local convenience store.
In order to truly battle the ravages of controlled substances, there is a need to provide the user with treatment to overcome the addiction and counseling to address the personality traits that originally drove the person into drug use. This sounds simple – but addiction treatment is no easy business. There is the old adage that you can lead a horse to water, but you cannot make him drink. This holds true of drug addicts – they need to want to get better. Drug addiction treatment providers are amazing people that willingly devote themselves to the difficult task of changing ingrained behaviors and battling personal demons. These treatment providers are true heroes in the war on drugs – their success or failure will determine whether a person eventually returns to a life of addiction or crime, or walks away sober and free.
Good treatment programs take time, energy and money – lots of money. For intensive inpatient programs, a drug user will be housed in a facility for long periods of time – to assure that they abstain from the use of controlled substances, to provide the treatment provider with some control, and to give the addict a chance to get clean, learn new coping skills, and change their behaviors. Every year, federal, state and local governments devote countless tax dollars for treatment purposes as a means to provide care for those who cannot afford to pay their own way.
But what about a drug addict (or alcoholic) who has private health insurance? The problem arises that the health insurance companies do not want to foot the bill for inpatient treatment and often refer their clients to lesser levels of treatment. The managed care system aggravated this problem to the extent that insurance companies were denying the care ordered by a physician, i.e., inpatient treatment, in favor of lesser treatment options. Finally, the Pennsylvania Insurance Department sued managed care providers over their refusal to provide payment for the services ordered by the treating physicians – and the insurance companies lost!
A unanimous panel of the entire Commonwealth Court determined that managed care providers are prohibited from overriding the decisions made by physicians or psychologists as to the level of care that an addicted person needs. In other words, the Court agreed that doctors should make the treatment decision – not an insurance representative directed to keep costs down and profits up.
In the war against drugs, treatment providers are often the forgotten soldiers. Their dedication and commitment are crucial to any success in battling the ravages of controlled substances on our society. The recent Commonwealth Court decision is a crucial step in the right direction – to make insurance companies step up and provide the level of treatment care needed by the insured addict without regard to the cost. The bottom line is the well being of the addict – not the insurance company’s profit margin.
Please submit any questions, concerns, or comments to Susquehanna County District Attorney’s Office, P.O. Box 218, Montrose, Pennsylvania 18801 or at www.SusquehannaCounty-DA.org.
Q. I’ve been having some difficulty swallowing food for the past few weeks. Is this something to worry about or is it just another one of those age things?
You shouldn’t worry about occasional difficulty swallowing. Persistent swallowing problems, though, can be a symptom of a serious condition, so it is something to be concerned about. I’d get it checked out by a physician as soon as possible.
And, yes, difficulty swallowing – called “dysphagia” – is one of those age things... yet again.
As we get older, the esophagus, which is the tube that connects your throat to your stomach, loses its ability to move food downward. So, while difficulty swallowing can happen to anyone, it is most common in older adults.
Swallowing is a three-step process that involves dozens of muscles and nerves to work properly.
Step 1 – The tongue gathers the food in your mouth.
Step 2 – The tongue pushes the food to the back of the mouth. A swallowing reflex moves the food through the pharynx, a canal linking the mouth and esophagus.
Step 3 – The food enters the esophagus. It then takes the esophagus about three seconds for the food to be pushed into the stomach.
There are a variety of causes for dysphagia. Probably the most common causes for occasional problems are chewing improperly or gobbling food. Here are others:
* The muscle at the base of the esophagus doesn’t let food enter your stomach.
* Narrowing of the esophagus.
* Tumors in the esophagus.
* Food or foreign objects stuck in your throat.
* Stomach acid backing up, causing the esophagus to spasm or form scar tissue that narrows this canal. This condition is known as gastroesophageal reflux disease (GERD).
* The formation of a small pouch that collects food particles in your throat. This happens more often in older people.
* Weakened throat muscles caused by disease, stroke or spinal-cord injury.
* Improperly coordinated contractions of the esophagus.
Dysphagia can impede nutrition and hydration. And, if food or drinks get into your windpipe when you’re trying to swallow, you can suffer from respiratory problems, including pneumonia.
Occasional dysphagia can be prevented by chewing thoroughly and slowing down when you eat. Treating GERD can reduce swallowing problems caused by the narrowing of the esophagus.
There are a variety of tests for dysphagia. They include: an X-ray of a barium-coated esophagus; direct examination of the esophagus with an endoscope, a lighted instrument; a test with a pressure recorder to measure muscle contractions of the esophagus; video fluoroscopy and ultrasound, two forms of imaging that record patients swallowing.
Treatments include: exercises to help coordinate swallowing muscles or stimulate nerves responsible for the swallowing reflex; expanding the esophagus with an endoscope and balloon attachment; surgery to remove tumors; drugs to reduce stomach acid; liquid diets or feeding tubes for severe cases.
Some people are taught a different way to eat. For example, they may have to eat with their head turned to one side.
Preparing food differently may help others. People with problems swallowing liquids may need thickeners for their drinks.
Avoiding some foods – such as very hot or very cold foods – can help some dysphagia victims.
If you have a question, please write to firstname.lastname@example.org.
No Straight From Starrucca This Week
No Veterans' Corner This Week
I Remember Yesterday
I remember yesterday. It wasn't very long ago. TVs were store-window wonders, cell phones and ATMs waited to be invented. Plastic was a curiosity; it had yet to become synonymous with spending money that one did not have. But mostly I remember yesterday for what it did have: school, playtime, and radio.
This was shortly after WW II. Many of our teachers were discharged officers who just continued in their military duties but without uniform and in a building, a school building. Mr. Podesta (Jimmy behind his back) ran homeroom and math class like Captain Podesta ran his company. We joked privately about Mr. Kearton, a wounded vet, now history teacher, as having more holes than a sieve. When prompted he would talk a little, very little, about the war but never about his wounds. Algebra was "Major" Drake. I hunched behind Fat Eddy to escape his searching gaze and watched the minute hand creep slowly to the appointed time of release. Mr. Gabacchio would sprawl out on the science demonstration table, prop his head up with his forearm and regale us with stories about flying the Hump, an air route ferrying supplies from India over the Himalayas to China, our wartime ally.
I've long since forgotten what these teachers taught, but the men themselves and the stories they told are as fresh as yesterday.
After school we boys would meet at the clubhouse. Ours was a tent made of discarded canvas hidden – so we liked to think – in a patch of woods. There we would steal a smoke until someone blew out the candle, then it was a free-for-all wrestling mayhem.
Bike riding? That was dog-fighting time. The school yard was the theater of operations. The bikes, planes. Knocking someone over was a shoot-down and if you got "killed," well that was okay, too. One just climbed back into the "cockpit" and joined the fray again. My, my. And all this without helmets!
Maybe the gang – boys were (still are) gang creatures – would strap roller skates onto shoes and see who could win whatever kind of race or contest we devised. Often neither bikes nor skates were needed. Tag or hide-and-seek would occupy us for hours. Mom never worried about us. There was no reason to. At day's end she called, "Come on home, son, it's supper time," and the gang would disband, each to his home.
After supper – I mean supper, not McDonald's, microwave, or pizza and soda – it was homework. That done, and I don't remember it being onerous, there were the radio heroes. Tom Mix would ride into the kitchen. Decoder ring was at the ready for the night's secret, coded message. Rossini's "William Tell Overture" brought the expectant "Hi-Yo Silver! Away!" The Lone Ranger and his Indian sidekick, Tonto, were riding the plains once again. (In our ignorance, no one knew there was anything demeaning about being called an Indian.)
A few bars from Rimsky-Korsakov's "Flight of the Bumblebee" heralded the arrival of the Green Hornet and his faithful Japanese valet, Kato. A squeaking door was the intro to the Inner Sanctum, definitely not for the fainthearted or very young. An eerier laugh was The Shadow's calling card. Gun shots and tires squealing around a corner were the signature sounds of Gang Busters, while only a whistled, haunting melody piercing the silence of the night began The Whistler's half-hour.
All did their part in fighting crime, but crime had a different definition yesterday. A series of gas-station stickups was a "crime wave." And shooting a cop meant headlines, and for the cop killer, the chair. Serial killers, drive-by shootings, snipers, waited for another era.
Dad never misplaced his car key. It was right where he always left it, in the ignition. Doors were shut, but seldom locked. A handshake was as good as a contract and a man's word was his bond – yesterday.
My teachers have played their parts and left the stage. The cowboy heroes of evening radio rode into their last sunset. The costumed crime fighters have faded into the ether. My boyhood friends trod destiny's solitary paths. And mom called her final, "supper time." Yet in memory's eye they are never further away than yesterday.
Perhaps everyone lives in what Dickens described as, "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times." But years have a way of softening the edges, winnowing out the nonessential and unpleasant, cultivating the cherished. Romanticizing is inevitable, even desirable. Nevertheless, I wonder: Will today's yesterday will be as sweet as yesterday's yesterday?
No A Day In My Shoes This Week
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