_opinion ^

Grouchy Report Fat Chance Or Big Gyp? By TOM PORCIL As president of the Grouchy Old Fotk Club, I am not in the habbit of running down any of our members, that is, with one exception. The exception is member Percy Snide, as pompous a little jack-ass as you are apt to find anywhere. Everything this man does sets my teeth on edge. For Example: At our last meeting Percy bustled in and plopped a dox full of cards on my lectern, told me that I was to be the questioner in a Trivia game, and that the game was to start immediately. . ; As soon as the game gbt going I could see why the little twerp wanted to play Trivia. For one solid hour he chirped out the answer to every single question, always with a smirk on his face. The other members sat through it in silent frustration. Ji Percy Snide had to be stopped, but now? 1 decided ^ make up a question that there couldn't possibly be an answer to. HOLDING ONE of the cards in front of me I asked, ' If it takes a green-head fly two hours to travel from Sea Isle to Avalon. then how far does a cranberry have to fall to break a shingle on a roof?" "4 387 feet " I was stunned. "Good Lord," I said to myself, "is there a question in the world this creep can't answer?" 1 gave it one more shot — "If Lindbergh took 36 hours to cross the Atlantic, then how much wool is needed to make a sport coat for an elephant?" "74 '/4 yards, chortled Percy Snide. LOOK, I KNOW when I'm licked. I stopped the game and announced: "Before we adjourn, Is there any further business?" Someone called out, "Why don't we have an insurance program like the other senior clubs? You know, the one where you pay in 60 dollars a month and then when you're in the hospital they pay almost half of the basic daily telephone charge?" , . _ "I've been working oh this along with member Don Disclaimer," I said Don, as you know, is a retired insurance salesman. He will now bring you up to date on the progress that we have made on this matter." "Fellow members," said Don, "I am even now in the process of hammering out a deal with the Fat Chance Insurance Company. We've come up with a policy that will protect us against the horrible ravages of the dread Wanschlager's disease. No physical exam required." DR. FRED FEESPLITTER. a retired M.D., leaped to his feet. "This is nothing but a big gyp." he shouted, Wanschlager's disease hasn't even been discovered yet!" "No," countered Don. "neither has the Platypus plague been discovered yet, but you wouldn't like to catch it, would you?" The good doctor, badly confused, sat down slowly. "Hey Doc," someone shouted," you oughta know that you can't out-talk an insurance agent!" 1 resumed control of the meeting, thanking Don Disclaimer for his efforts, and announced: "This meeting is adjourned." % (ED NOTE: Porch writes from Sea Isle City.) VFW ISays Thanks To The Editor: On behalf of VFW Post 386, Cape May, and myself, we want to thank your paper for your coverage of our "Member of the Month" the past year, and hope you will continue in the coming year. Any veteran who hasn't joined one of our 10 posts in Cape May County, do so today. It's for your own benefit, with all the new cuts in veterans' benefits coming in the future. PAUL R-PARRINELLO Public Relations Officer VFW Post 386 Cape May

f "V Hmil&V 1| Published Ewrv WtdMMUy By Tb« Scmvav* Corporation P.O. Box 430 Coy May Com How. W 4. OMU

Joseph R. Zelnik Bonnie Reina Gary L. RudyJohn Dunwoody Darrell Kopp

Editor General Manager Advertising Director Special Promotions Director r Publisher

Saowov* Corp 1984 All fight* rnr.ved All properly nght* lor Ihe entire content* ol th\ publication tholl be the property ol the Seowove Corp No port hereol may be reproduced without prior writ•en content I ~ deSdunes News & Photos Thursday Advertising .Friday — 3 P.M. Classified Advertising Friday — 3 P.M. 465-5055 For News or Advertising Information Nrithrr pertiripelina tdirrtirrr. n«r thr publi.hr r> ol ihr HF.R 41.11 Oil l.A%TER> ni" be rmponeiblr or lielilr for misinformation mi.prinl., lyprwraphiral rrrorvrtr in ant i»»ur Thr rdilor rr*rr\r« thr ri*ht lordil an) irtlrr or aftirlr. •ubmiltrd for publication. / '• Wower Totmakip rr lantern t 1\ Published Every Wednesday By Tbt Smevt Corporal*® Ji

Brillianrl Morketing Concept. Doctor However Im Not Sure The American Public Is Ready For Designer Hearts..

Humana Heart At Hucksterism? (ED. NOTE: Following letter to the Wall Street Journal by Dr. Frank Matthews of Decatur. Ga.. responded to its editorial defending Dr. William DeVries and the Humana Heart Institute for giving William Schroeder an artificial heart.) I read your editorial on the Humana heart experiment with mixed feelings. I have been a card-carrying member of the AMA for over 20 years, but at my age the possibility of wanting Dr. DeVries' services becomes less and less far-fetched. I hope Humana will clarify its goals. The purpose of a business should be to make a profit and incidentally render a service , the purpose of a profession should be to render a service and incidentally make a profit. • The difference is subtle but vital. In a free society, both groups are ethical and desirable* but we don't yet know the long-range results when one tries to assume tM role of the other. . I IF HUMANA developes first-class diagnostic lervices to monitor Dr. DeVries' successes and a good autdpsy service to learn from his failures, if they define ana publish good nursing techniques to care for their heart patieRts and their families, if they set up residency programs for Dr. DeVries to teach other doctors (competitors? ) ; if they openly publish their findings in detail for other institutions to criticize and utilize — they'll not only make money, they'll earn it. And they might change the world in the process. But if Humana doesn't take these steps, it's all raw hucksterism — with human life as the loss leader.

vjolden tdge : Quit Saving Cold Turkey By DOROTHEA F. COOPER There must be others in this world besides me who are more or less compulsive savers, and not of the "of souls It is an accumulative sort of thing in every sense of the word, and probably reverts to the times when things were scarce or not even affordable, and to make-do was the order of the day. „ . , . , It struck me one very rainy day recently, as I looked about our 50- bedroom house (a bad figment of the imagination which I am grateful is not true cleaning-wise! ) for things neglected, not within sight and waiting to be Kitchen cabinet drawers seemed to be the priority, so I , dug in with amain (love that word!). Among the items were: . , . BALLS AND BALLS of string; match packets, some three quarters empty; really' twisted twists; caps for which there couldn't possibly be any bottles so small ; rubber bands which had given up the ghost in curly, gummy wads ; proofs of-purchase long out of date ; two keys which I had hated to throw away in case I found to what locks they belonged (which I never did). Also, two plastic knives from boxes of long-ago eaten fudge ; more string for when 1 had to truss a turkey , a very rare, if ever, occasion; a grapefruit cutter, samples of the many plastic container demonstrations (rife in this area) which I never did learn how to use but saved it for when I did; and more string. With a terrible twinge of conscience, I recklessly threw the whole kit and caboodle into the trash — including all the string. STOKED BY a cup of coffee, I then attacked my clothes closet. Actualy, I was forced to do so, what with cold weather coming on and winter garments transferred from upstairs. I started in. First, the fur fabric coat which, if I were ever to wear it again would have the buttons moved over to under the arm pit — out! J) Then a very warm coat made from some Italian sheeps wool, comforting but so heavy it required a pair of weightlifter's shoulders to carry it. But somewhere out there must be a pair of cold shoulders that would be glad of the burden. Out! Four pairs of slacks that at present would faU off my hips and which I had been tempted to alter. (Mfch laughter here. I hate, and can't, sew. More on that subject ■later.) Out. An extra large bright green sweat shirt (when was I ever that fat?). Really out! Some sweaters that I had uk tended wearing under a coat if we ever had a blizzard at 20 degrees below zero. » I HAD TO QUIT cola turkey. Before I could be tempted to reconsider. Iigathered all the above into neat bundles, ,and with the help of a friend delivered them to an agency which had use for them even before they were fully unpacked. And they were so grateful. And so was I, as I bid the garments good-bye. I was free at last, good start on a New Yeir resolution. irmi icouiuuuii.

-Still Asking 'Why?' Confessions of a Sure Shot

By JOE ZELNIK We all have secret, impossible dreams. Phil Matalucci wanted to be a figure skater. Gerry Thornton wanted to $ell Inglenook. Earl Ostrander wanted to be popular. I wanted to be a basketball star. Not pro. Not college. Just high school. Along \*ith varsity sports came first crack at the cheerleaders. My hero was a fellow a couple years ahead of me at good old Gowanda (N.Y.) High who got a college scholarship to play basketball. That was a big deal 35 years ago. And he was shorter than me. MY IDEAL lived in my neighborhood and 1 had many opportunities to play with, or against, him in pickup games on the corner of Beech and Miller streets, where a backboard and basket hung from the electric light pole. That was a tricky "court." A fast break meant leaping over a curb as you went into the air for a pushup (no one dunked in those days). Even Doctor J. would have sprained his ankle. When not in school, I spent practically every waking moment for a half-dozen years practicing basketball. We played beneath that light pole 12 months a year. This was western New York, mind you, where it snows real snow from November to April. We may not have had time to shovel out our parents' driveway, but we kept that intersection cleared. the neighbors would get sick of the noise about 10 or 11 p.m. Then we'd see the only police car coming slowly (he didn't want to "catch" us) up the&treet and we'd abandon the court for . bed. GOD GAVE ME a good eye, especially with the twohand set shot, still remembered by a few octogenarians. Put me all alone in front of a basket and I was good for 80

percent. I guess you'd call me a "Solitary Sure Shot." I was deadly in games of "21" or "PIG." Unfortunatley, if you added any spectators, my accuracy dropped to about 50 percent. And if you put an opponent waving his htfrfds in my face, my success rate dropped precipitously to about 2 percent. I also lacked coordination, was never able to jump more than three inches off the ground, and hated violence — like leaping into the middle of a group to fight for the ball. SOMEHOW I made the junior varsity, although I spent most of my time on the bench. But the crucial question came' in my junior year, when cheerleaders blossomed and I tried out for the varsity. I gave it my all, said morning and evening prayers, and remember well the afternoon the list of players who made the team was posted on a school bulletin board. No Zelnik. Those days, like today, I was always asking "why?" Why was the meeting closed? Why does it take eight weeks for the public to find out its drinking water is poisoned? Why does a hospital enlarge its building but reduce its staff? Anyway, I went to the coach and asked, "Why?" He looked me straight in the eye and told me I , wasn't serious enough. I suffered, but I survived. And now I hardly ever think about the swish of the ball going cleanly through the net, a sweeter sound than anything except possibly the right person saying, '4 love you.,? THiyfWAS a long time ago and forgotten, right? I'm too mature to looU roF& dollar basketball shoot every time I go to n fair or)carnivlal. So what if I can usually make two out onyjoeo-cmd win a prize worth 50 cents? No, I'm beyond all that. What's more foolish than a gray-haired guy puffing on a basketball court? That thump in my car trunk as I turn corners? Oh, just some ball bouncing around I guess, i "PIG," any one?