Dear Sun Spots: I have several boxes of wigs to give away, all colors and all styles, although some are not in the best of condition.

Perhaps there is a theater group out there that would like them.

Please contact me at 933-4252. – Chris, No Town.

Dear Sun Spots: My name is Jacques Rivard and I live in New Brunswick, Canada. I am doing genealogy and am looking for any living relatives of Isidore Caron, married to Philime Theriault.

They had children: Noel Caron married to Marguerite L. Dallaire.

He had two sons and one daughter that I know of for sure: Gerard F. Caron married to Marguerite L. David and Constance L. Caron married to Bruce A. Butler and Robert Louis Caron married to Lois M. White.

If anyone reads this and is or knows of them, I would greatly appreciate it if you would get in contact with me at 506-388-1447. I can also be reached via e-mail: at [email protected]. – Jacques Rivard, Canada.

Dear Sun Spots: Reading your column recently about Edgar Albert Guest and his poem, “Myself,” prompted me to write this letter.

Edgar Guest has been one of my favorite people, and poet, for many, many years now.

He must have been a wonderful human being. His philosophy of life is shown in the thousand or more little gems of wisdom that run through all his poems. He had a remarkable gift of rhyming simple words together to express great and profound truths.

I am so surprised that so many people I talk to about him, have never heard of him. If you are one, I say please get acquainted with him and his poetry.

He will comfort you, enlighten you and just make you feel uplifted.

He wrote about every day matters.

I have his complete works in a single volume “Collected Verse of Edgar A. Guest.”

I am enclosing one of his most meaningful poems, in my opinion, because it is just as true as some 80 or 90 years ago. – Ambrose Flynn, Oxford.



What We Need

We were settin’ there an’ smokin’ of our pipes,

discussin’ things,

Like licker, votes for wimmin, an’ the totterin’

thrones of kings,

When he ups an’ strokes his whiskers with his

hand ‘an says t’me:

“Changin’ laws an’ legislatures ain’t, as fur as

I can see,

Goin’ to make this world much better, unless

somehow we can

Find a way to make a better an’ a finer sort

o’ man.

“The trouble ain’t with statutes or with systems

– not at all;

It’s with humans jest like we air an’ their petty

ways an’ small.

We could stop our writin’ law-books an’ our

regulatin’ rules

If a better sort of manhood was the product of

our schools.

For the things that we air needin’ ain’t no writin’

from a pen

Or bigger guns to shoot with, but a bigger type

of men.



“I reckon all these problems air jest ornery like

the weeds.

They grow in soil that oughta nourish only

decent deeds,

An’ they waste our time an’ fret us when, if we

were thinkin’ straight

An’ livin’ right, they wouldn’t be so terrible

an’ great.

A good horse needs no snaffle, an’ a good man,

I opine,

Doesn’t need a law to check him or to force him

into line.

“If we ever start in teachin’ to our children,

year by year,

How to live with one another, there’ll be less o’

trouble here.

If we’d teach ’em how to neighbor an’ to walk

in honor’s ways,

We could settle every problem which the mind

o’ man can raise.

What we’re needin’ isn’t systems or some regulatin’ plan,

But a bigger an’ a finer an’ a truer type o’ man.”

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