The times-news. [volume] (Hendersonville, N.C.) 1927-current, 1935-08-13
THOUGHTS OF
A FISHERMAN
By IKE WALTON

YOU, 90 to the writer's conference
at Blue Ridge? All the big au-
thors and poets and prospects
and professors are going. You
ought to be a sort Of writer by
this time"
eyes, Pm pretty good at writ
ing checks and notes and bills
Sally"
"Now, Isaac just stop poklng
fun at my suggestions. Why you
might meet some really big men
and get some good points"
"All right Sally, fix up my
clothes and III CO." So Sally she
washed and ironed my striped
pants, and starched my blue shirt,
and pressed my green hat, and
put ammonia on my spotted coat,
and I went.
Blue Ridge is a mighty pretty
place off the big road with great
big old whitewashed wooden
buildings named after Robert E.
Lee with Abe Lincoln's picture
inside and one of those trot-
around tote-your-o vittles eat
ing departments. The conference
was 70 per cent feminine, good
looking girls and ladies, and they
conferred on the front piazza in
proper southern style.
/ When they learned / was
linear descendant of Sir Isaac
Walton of Great Britain, and also
of Pink Rutledge Walton of Old
Waxhaws, S. c., and that my
great-grandmother officiated at
the entrance into this world of
little Andy Jackson, they gave
/ me a chair and told me to reg
lister. Then they proceeded to
confer some more. The most i'm
portant-lookihg conferee was a
big bald-headed siX-foot 200
pound Arabic-nosed gentleman
named Teltaille. He had a lot of
sense. He emphasized plot and
substance and form and manner
and detail and motife and techni-
que and impression and expires
sion and inhibitions and passions
and delicacy of touch and dra-
matte appeal and tragic develop
ment and-oh well, get the die
tionery and look 'em up yourself.
The ladies took notes, but | was
so entranced / forgot to.
Then the boss-conferee was a
smooth gentleman, a regular
soothing-syrup dispenser, whose
chief function was to keep the
folks from fightingH Bull Run
over again. He was awfuliy
polite and he made the yankees
there feel good. He said litera-
ture was like an egg--the shell
was the Form, the meat was the
Substance. He said hen would
have trouble trying to lay a
four-cornered egg. The ladies
seemed to agree to this very SYM
pathetically and an old rough
looking chap said he thought lots
of literature these days was like
eggs too, mostly year-old eggs.
such as Antony Adverse and
Look Backman Angel or what
ever that Asheville fellow that is
mendous, beneficent power when
we ignore the many advantages
of passing our professions, our
businesses, our trades from father
to son.
"But," says a father, "my SON
didn't want to follow my work"
If the son from early infancy
had been kept in the, thought of
taking up his Fathers work, and
If the fathersha5 Dragged to the
son about the Importance and
fineness of his work, instead Of |
running it down and knocking it,
as so many fathers do, the son
would probably have grown up
eager and proud to- be his fathers |
partner and to carry on where his |
father left off.
But some fathers and sons |
are not congenial.," True. Yet per-
haps they would be if both would |
try.
"Some boys are not adapted to
the vocations of their fathers"
True. But most of us cam learn
and like to do one thing as well
as another. sssas-::'-9s zee.