Polk County observer. (Monmouth, Polk County, Or.) 1888-1927, 1914-01-20
By j. C. Hayter.

There is no rubbing it out, we like
the amateur shows better. The smooth
and polished productions of the pro-
fessional actors and actorines may,
and doubtless do, appeal strongly to
the high-brows, of whom there are
comparatively few, but to us folk of
t|e common everyday variety of
whom there are many, the amateur en-
tertainment is by far the better bet.
Once in awhile, it is true, the mi
crobe of "higher culture" gets into
our systems and we find ourselves
standing in line for four hours for
the privilege of paying $4 into the
Golfers of the Spaghetti Grand OPP
era Company. Then we go inside
and sit politely bored for three hours
more, listening to the fugues and ar
peggios and rigolettos and pizzarink-
tums, and pretending that we are
elated thereby, when the fact of the
business is, we are wishing away down
in our hearts that the orchestra might
forget itself for just minute and
tear us off a few bars of "Yankee
DOODLE" or cold Dal Tucker" "
or some other equally understandable
and danceable tune.
Few there are among us who would
not gladly dig up his dollar to see
'Old Matty' wound up and in ac-
ton, or to watch Ty Cobb hammer
long one clean over tn, roof cf the
Standard Oil warehouse. 1t would
be worth all of the aforesaid dollar,
and more. But what we really like to
do-what we count it rare privilege
to dds to go down to the college
campus some Saturday afternoon,
perch on that rocky hillside, and,
with the summer sun scorching the
back of our necks, watch the Pump
kin Center "Giants" wallop the ever
lasting stuffing out Of the Squirrel
Hollow Red Sox.'
That is a deal more to our liking
1t is the real article. We admire
the action of the big league game as
we would admire the action of some
marvellous and well-oiled machine, but
it is these red-hot, rip-sizzling con-
tests between the boys of neighbor-
ing wards or villages that have made
baseball the most pop tar game in
America, and American ball pl, .''rs
l.Ie champions of the We rid.
We enjoy the modern theater, with
its wealth of talent and its miracles
of scenery, but this enjoyment is not
of the same ecstatic quality as that
which comes to us when we have set
tied down in our hard-bottomed chair
in the local town hall, (usually dig
nifed by the title "opera house, y
to witness an entertainment by our
own and our neighbors' boys and
girls. We like to nudge each other
and say, That's john" and "You
wouldn' It hardly know Mary with that
blonde wig on" and "Look, at Billy;
I'll betcher he is just scared Timber. F"
Then the play progresses, and the
well-acted scenes make you proud of
the young actors, and the little mis-
takes and rough spots are excused and
forgotten-and you get out of it all
a pleasure that cannot be measured in
mere dollars and cents. No matter
if YOU can discern a half-inch or so
of air space between Johns false
whiskers and his youthful cheeks,
when you happen TO catch him stand
ing sidewise; no matter if Billy does
get too far Upstage at The end "f The
1T and find mself on Ia outside IF &
too-quickly-dropped curtain. These
little features are important. They
distinguish an amateur show from a
professional show, and send US home
declaring "We wouldn't have missed
it for anything"
All of which is predatory to few
words of praise for the delightful lit
tie play, "a Family Affair" given
by home talent Friday evening, and
repeated last night. for the benefit
of the Dallas Public Library.
Let il be understood at the out
set, however, that the foregoing re-