From the Vineyard Gazette, January, 1960:

“The time has come, the walrus said, to talk of many things,” and the category of items of which will soon be discussed on the floors of Island town meetings is almost as varied as that which he related. At least it could be. But the question is, will it be?

The town meeting of today is in most cases a pale shadow of the not too far distant past when men stood sturdily on their feet to champion a cause they thought was just or to lambast one that they thought was not. Nowadays it takes a regional high school fight with all its bitterness, to bring the “average voter” into the picture.

Otherwise, he and she sit like dumb, driven sheep while the expert politicos among town officials, and a painfully few others, shepherd the budget through at lightning speed, arising to move the article or budget item with such celerity and finesse that often it has been voted before most of the people in the hall know what is going on.

What About the Rest of Us?

All very fine for the finance committee, the selectmen and the other chosen few, but what about the rest of us? Are we not entitled to our day or evening at town meeting? Is the 10 o’clock show or the 11 o’clock fight on TV so compelling that one exactly like it will not be available to eager eyes and ears the next night, and the next, and the next? What is there about time anyhow? Today’s speed fiends would have little use for that lovely song, “Two hearts that beat in three-four time,” because it doesn’t jazz it up enough. A jazzed up meeting is what everyone demands nowadays.

A fairly brutal disregard of the second man’s point of view is exhibited by practically every committee member and town official, once he get the floor — and try to get him down at your peril. There will be stomping feet in the back of the room inciting him to further effort, while the meek and modest and unvocal among us sit by and see our hopes deferred for another year, and our taxes raised as a matter of course.

Now I have a particular pet peeve to enunciate. I can’t speak on the floor, for the foolish reason that it terrifies me so to do. But if I could I would arise with this comment — I shan’t name the town, if the shoe fits.

Among many other items the budget calls for the expenditure of $11,400 divided as follows: insect pest control, $3,000; control of Dutch elm disease, $600; care of shade trees, $800; planting of shade trees, $500; mosquito control, $4,000; spraying insecticide fog, $2,500. The distinction among some of these items is hard for me to comprehend, but I do know that some of thousands so lightly spent will spell death for birds and discomfort, even illness, for those allergic to poison from the skies, from spraying machines and the like.

Too Little and Too Late

Now balance this $11,400 against the meagre $3,500 which the same town will ask the voters to give it to compete with one of the most powerful enemies in the world – the Atlantic Ocean. Does it strike you, as me, as slightly ludicrous? In almost every effort made so far, the town has been to little and too late in its attempt to combat its old adversary. My motto is “million for defense but not one cent for tribute” when it comes to the comparable figures. What are a few mosquitoes and such minor discomfort, and quite unnecessary and badly spaced and timed spraying, compared with the possible and quite probably loss of Katama Bay and the acres and acres around it?

At long last, it has been decided to try to use the snow fence barriers which have proved so efficient everywhere. If I could arise and speak on town hall floor, I should say let’s forget the mosquitoes and go to work in earnest to defend the town from further pillage.