The ODD ANGLE

Auckland Star, Volume LXXIII, Issue 170, 21 July 1942, Page 4

The ODD ANGLE

(By MacCLURE) • ANOTHER ANNIVERSARY On the twenty-fifth of this month our broadcasting stations may announce another anniversary. And then again they might let the occasion slip without any special announcement. In any case I'm not worrying, but the fact remains that on that day it will be exactly a year since this MacClure bloke who writes this started this column for your special benefit. Yesterday I met a chap who seems to have gone completely to the pack in the past year. Accepting his invitation, I accompanied him to his abode, and there he showed me a list of resolutions he had drawn up after, as he put it, "reading your blooming column week after week." Then he showed me his photo—taken one year ago—before he started to read it. "I was in business, a successful rogue, cheat and liar. They used to call on me to speak at most of our functions. I was slick, polished, oily, and could put it all over anyone. I opened bazaars, hospitals, political campaigns—everything, in fact, bar banks—and got away with it. I was glib, had the gift of the gab, and soft-soaped my way to the top of the ladder. In fact, I nearly made the Rotary Club and had my name down for the Chamber of Commerce, and was privileged to call Paddy by his first name. And now look at me. I'm ashamed of my past life, I'm poverty-stricken because I haven't the nerve to keep on leading the life I did. I belong to nothing; the heads have discovered I'm too honest and won't trust me; the politicians are suspicious of me—and I've even been doing E.P.S. work of a night! That's what your column has done for me. Darn it. I've almost become an honest man." He shuddered violently. Of course, that was an extreme case. • APRES LA GUE!tKE And now for a last word. The end of the war (there's bound to be some end to it sooner cr later) is going to find a lot of us out—out of everything. Some of us are going to be out of work (one hundred and fifty thousand, our politicians tell us). Some of us are bound to be out of a home. And more of us in one—with padded cells or concrete walls, plus warders to wait on us. Some of us, too, are going to be out of hand, out of temper, out of funds. And a lot more are going to be out of gaol and those defaulters' camps. Our members, too (twelve months later), are going to be out of Parliament. Then —it's no good giving you any even approximate date—we're all going to vote in a New Bunch and estab-

llsh the Old Order all ovor again. All right, then, have it your own way, a New Order. It's gclng to bust up the second week because—well, you know the sort of biokes you are. If I'm wrong and it doesn't bust, the Age of Miracles will have been established on this earth—or in this land, anyway. Then—and, mind you, I'm not guaranteeing this—truth, justice, decency, common sense—and as much liberty as we can be trusted with—are going to be enthroned. And there's every chance that democracy — dinkum democracy — may arrive. There won't be any "Odd Angle" column then, of course, because there won't be any need

for it. And, being an Age of Miracles, I'll have nothing to write about but miracles, which by that time will have become so tame that the only ones worth writing about will be those that didn't come off. But—let's wait and see. It might save many heartbreaks —and much foolish planning. There's still much truth in that old adage about "counting your chickens." etc. • THERE'S ALWAYS A LIMIT

Having attained your goal, you will not (need I say it?) find anything in this column to socthe your nerves or encourage you to climb any higher (or descend any lower, to be more exact) in the social scale you find yourself now in. This column was never intended to humour

jokers like the ones you'll now mix

with. When I decided to start it I thought how nice it would be to show up all liars, cheats, rogues, white-anters (I got that bit from Bcb), humbugs, hypocrites, backpatters nnd shrewdies. ' I even considered hitting up some of the twofaced crowd you knew about town, publishing some of the balance-sheets of some of the New Religionists and the rents received from blemished businesses by folk with unblemished characters. I allowed old Alf and Feeble and my paint man to run their eyes over my lists of political stunts, associations, public scandals, and everyday frauds which I had

foolishly thought of making public. They were alarmed. "If you do we can only come and see you on public visiting* days," they said in alarm. Running his eye down a list of doubtful folk who needed investigating, Old Alf found my own name. He pointed it out. Alas. I had been too keen, too scrupulously honest. I started to cross it out, "No, leave it in—show yourself up," Feeble said. That settled it. After all, there's a limit to this purity campaign. • THE ART OP GO-GETTING The truth is if a man is determined to chase up Truth, keep with it. and keep it in sight all the time he will get poorer. It's the costliest thing the world has ever known. Following it is more expensive than the gee-gees. Besides, it's going to got you disliked—hated, in fact—and will definitely get you blackballed from most of the associations you belong to. It was always thus. After reading a host of those "get-on-in-life" correspondence courses I've come to the conclusion that all one needs is a tough hide—the tougher the better —a copy of Roget's Thesaurus of English Words and Phrases (plus Chesterfield's Letters, and if you have time to read him, Machiavellian intrigue), a good suit, an oily manner, and a healthy bank balance will always be yours—plus the presidency of most outfits. Mind you, you'fl be expected to do your share of back-patting, subscribe to the orthodox hypocritical and political humbugging that goes with the position to which you have attained— and, needless to say, subscribe to the funds of the aforesaid turnouts.