If You Ask Me / By Martha Knight

Watching a dramatization of “A Christmas Carol” Friday night, I thought of how timeless it is. The appeal is still there. But I think today’s children enjoy it less than we did at that age, acting it out or watching it being performed at school.

Today’s kids are more jaded. They take the undead in stride, at least as literary or movie concepts. Going back in time or visiting the future have been treated in movies and television series. They can stream “A Christmas Carol” in various versions, and simplified takes on the Dickens story are readily available on electronic readers and in paperback.

Still, we can relate to the longing old Ebeneezer Scrooge finally developed, as ghostly apparitions co-opted his thoughts or dreams, and compelled him to consider that which he repressed in his waking hours. He had lost sight of what is most important! He had destroyed relationships he needed, and developed a set of values that was most unsatisfactory. Well, that was just the way it was; there was no turning back the hands of time.

Or was there? Was it too late to salvage something of what he had given up, years ago? Could he yet redeem the time? Was the future “in stone,” or was it malleable?

Similar questions crop up as we look at photos and comments posted on the “nostalgia” sites online. For instance, the Facebook pages Port Allegany: Remember When and Port Allegany: Then and Now.

Often when a photo or post card is added, depicting the downtown as it appeared in some bygone era, there is a chorus of remarks about what a shame it is that we don’t have all those stores/activities/good times, that we used to.

People chime in with statements as to what it was like, and how they remember it, so much better/safer/prettier/more fun/more peaceful/more festive than it is now. Others suggest what needs to be done to get things back to the wonderful town they remember.

Meanwhile there are additional expressions of sadness. What a shame things have deteriorated so in this beloved hometown they recall! Too bad “they” let it deteriorate.

Well, “they” ought to fix it! “They” ought to recreate those wondrous scenes of holidays past.

Kudos to those folks for thinking that neglect or poor decisions or apathy can be overcome. But I am reminded of that old story about the mice and the ongoing challenge of evading the skulking, marauding cat. If they put a bell on the cat, it would be so much easier to avoid becoming its next meal.

Terrific idea! But—who would put the bell on the cat? Welllllll…

No doubt all thought someone should. Or that “they” should, a “they” no one identified. The wonder is that any mouse survived long enough to tell the tale. (That was when mice could talk, you understand, and maybe even write. I am just as well pleased that they lost that ability sometime in the intervening years. Also, I am delighted that no one has equipped the neighborhood cats with bells, so far this winter, for I have not experienced a mouse invasion yet.)

Another old story that applies to some of these “which they” quandaries is “The Little Red Hen.” That industrious chick, probably a Rhode Island Red, knew perfectly well that someone had to till the soil and plant the wheat, and tend it, and harvest it, and grind it, in order for there to be flour But when she asked all the other farm animals who would do this, they all responded , “Not I.”

(This must have been while Old McDonald was away, and had left the livestock and poultry in charge. It was before he got into the fast food business.)

Every time LRH called for volunteers to perform some labor necessary for the production of a wheat crop, and none of the beasts stepped up, she said, “Then I will.” And she did.

Eventually she harvested a nice crop, ground the grain, and used some of the flour to make a batch of whole-grain bread. The other critters smelled that heavenly fresh-baked bread scent and volunteered to eat the loaves hot from the oven, slathered with butter. But LRH rejected those offers, and ate the bread herself. No bird-brain, she!

Those two cautionary tales remind me of a time quite a few years ago when we had no local system for meeting the food needs of the poor in the community. Some families also did not have adequate clothing.

This was talked about from time to time, by various local groups, with everyone acknowledging that there was a need. Too bad we didn’t have a soup kitchen, or a program like that one in Olean, and wasn’t there something going on in Smethport, what was it called? Of course for a sudden emergency a family could go to the local Salvation Army representative at the bank. For people passing through, there was a kind of travelers’ aid system operated by the ministry. But local, poor people? Hm.

The Catholic priest at that time was Father Paul Schill, who looked like serenity personified and who had so much determination it was scary. He was very good at putting bells on cats, figuratively speaking, and much more persistent at recruiting than the Little Red Hen. I remember a few times when I tried to beg off on whatever task he had in mind for me at the moment, and he would just give me a quizzical look, agree that I was a busy person, and then repeat the request.

He sent letters to all organizations, government entities and churches in the community, inviting them to send representatives to a meeting. That was how Port Allegany Community Services (PACS) was born. It is still going. The clothing bank is gone (although there is a need), but the vital food program is functioning well, and heavily used.

It takes a catalyst, a lead instigator, or two or three. An actual He or She, or They. Or maybe, You and I, or We.

Peace.