- Jackson, Wyo., gets Jack White
- THE BUZZ: Spreading the love one T-shirt, toothbrush at a time
- PROPS & DISSES
- MUSIC BOX: Upcoming mega music fest is labor of love
- GET OUT: No refuge for nine-minute milers
- Jackson’s wellness underdogs unleashed
- FEED ME! Friendly ghost of restaurant past returns
- WELL THAT HAPPENED: Escaping Neverland
- Photo contest garners stirring moments
- MUSIC BOX: Get weird with Peelander-Z
Letters to the Editor 2.27.13
Have a heart
Per your Publisher’s Note [Feb. 13, 2013] from last week, Judd Grossman, shame on you. You’re irked by the 35 mph nighttime speed limit on Teton Village road? The speed zone is only for a few miles and only at night. You can’t spare the less than two minutes it adds when all the science has proven that lower speed limits allow for more recognition time and definitely more stopping time.
And to say it impacts the economy and quality of life, pleeeeeze [sic]. Yes, the main problem is the development and sprawl that has been allowed on Teton Village Road. The sheer volume of cars on the road is mind-boggling. But the development already exists – it is not going away. We have to do what we can with the existing situation. Moose face drought and a warming climate, diminished habitat, parasites, predators and nonstop traffic. We can’t control any of the above except the speed limit. Isn’t that worth a shot? The signs and reduced speed limit must be helping since the death toll this year is at least down from last year. Wouldn’t you rather have added reaction time so you don’t hit a large animal? Beside the animal, think of the potential damage to you and your vehicle.
You mourn the change that has occurred here, the least you could do is not throw the wildlife under the bus (perhaps literally) by arrogantly resisting the almost negligible time difference just so you can get to the stoplight faster and sit. Have a little heart.
– Brooke Bullinger, Jackson
Ever since the onset in the cooperative habitation of hamlets, towns, bergs, shires, city-states and nations, citizens all have perpetually bemoaned their responsibility and duty of paying taxes. It is within the nature of man. The United States Revenue Act of 1913 was signed by then President Woodrow Wilson, and ever since, a majority of Americans have made it a generational tradition, like baseball, apple pie and Chevrolet, to bewail and lament that grievous date of April 15th.
When one joins an elite country club and enjoys the benefits of its pleasures or one joins a workers union and enjoys the benefits of its protections, that one is required to pay a yearly sum for such said privileges, and that sum is called dues. When one is a citizen, or not, of the United States of America, has some manner of financial income and enjoys the liberties not afforded to the majority of others in the world, I feel it only fair that National Dues are expected for the privileges provided.
Taxation on the people has existed since the time when societies had been formed and governed. Some have been fair and reasonable while many others have been nothing but outrageous extortion. I am not in concurrence with all the present day American tax codes and the innumerable loopholes provided. I am of the thought that if one earns an income in this nation, citizen or not, one has a duty to contribute with a ratio based upon that one’s income. To avoid this letter from evolving into a voluminous tome, shall I simply say that the poor pay less and the wealthy pay more; with no exception of reductions. Although, I would personally prefer that I had a choice in where my tax dollars were directed. For example, I would much rather have my dues go to disease research rather than drone deployment. But then again, my idealism at times overtakes my realism. Nonetheless, National Dues are every ones obligation if you want to be in the club. I, like most, do not experience a particular thrill by giving a portion of my hard earned money to the government but to borrow the words of the eloquent Walter Cronkite’s nightly sign off, “That’s the way it is.”
– Patrik Troiani, Jacksonian