Pity the Candidate

    Now it's time for all good men to come to the aid of the poor, frustrated candidates, trying to hack out a platform that will please almost everyone, offend hardly anyone.

    It can't be done, of course.  Never in history have people been so sensitive.  To make matters worse, they never had such power of retaliation.

    It used to be safe to come out flatly for, say, Christmas.  No more.  People are still angrily paying their bills on last yuletide's excesses.

    It's even controversial to come out for motherhood, a traditional bulwark of political oratory.  It seems we're caught in a nasty population explosion and sociologists and other people contemplating an overcrowded planet are rather against it.

    YOU'D THINK pounding the table against traffic accidents on freeways would be okay.   But hark.  What about the tow truck and repair people?  They vote, too.

    Despite all this, candidates have a few things left for their harangues.  I'm sure it can be safely stated that everyone stands unequivocally for more meat and less lettuce in tacos, white lines on streets, the view of Catalina on a  clear day and, generally speaking, luxury.

    On the other hand, everyone is certainly against earthquakes, floods, volcanoes, ill winds, women who press avocados in supermarkets, race track touts, devil grass, offensive TV commercials and, if the truth is known, intelligence-insulting political candidates.

    Always glad to lend a helping hand.

    IT WAS RAINING as a Cheviot Hills woman set out on the assigned route in her neighborhood Sunday to ask for the contributions for the heart fund.  Not only that, she wasn't feeling well, the aftermath of an illness.  She felt even worse after some householders greeted her  resentfully and slammed doors in her face.  It was with great restraint that she refrained from reminding them that she was a volunteer worker, receiving nothing for her effort.

    Thus, she felt week and depressed when she finished her rounds and headed for the home of the supervisor to turn in the money.  Her mood quickly changed, her self-pity disappeared.  The supervisor, a gracious, cheerful woman, was in an iron ling.