History is made by people like me.  Not the first time, though.  Not the time when the hand actually falls and the quadrille actually ends.  No, history is made by the eyes of ignorant men like me, who see in these events something related, a pattern where there may have been none, substantiated by opiated idiots and reckless boors and the events--the hand, the ending of the convolutions--come to be seen as, and eventually become, an Event.

There were other dwarfs--Dirty, Sickly, Stinky-- left behind, never developed by Disney for his movies.  Those that were birthed can't wonder why they were chosen.  But shouldn't we?

Didn't the animators, working so close to such an opinionated man, decide to split Disney down into his seven parts?  Although he didn't realize it, Disney nevertheless nixed those qualities he felt most self-conscious of.  So Dopey existed contentedly.  But Vengeful remained only an underdeveloped sketch.  Grumpy blustered into life, while, somewhere, Chintzy's silhouette rests, unelaborated.  Perhaps with another five or ten dwarfs, a more complete Disney might have scampered across the screen in an unselfconscious way; Lonely, Petty, Bully and Pop all shoving at each other at the watering trough.

As it is, the Seven Dwarfs are an odd mix, roughly corresponding, each with each, to the Seven Deadly Sins.  Grumpy is Anger, Doc is Pride, Sleepy is Sloth, etc., etc. (Your learned correspondent is at a loss, as should be expected, in that he can remember all of the Seven Dwarfs and very few of the Seven Deadly Sins.)

But why not?  Why not tear up the paper?  Why bother to construct sentences, the innards of which one only finds the verbal twistings of the subliterate?  How can we say anything if it's not written for us first?  How can we say it if the voices have not said it first-- our broadcaster parents leaning across their desks and reading to us of bloodshed and Dr. Seuss.  "Gunmen in Palestine opened fire on a crowd gathered to commemorate the memory of Menachem Begin.  One fish, two fish, red fish, blue fish.  More after this."  They do not tell us that the gunmen are in Palestine, the crowd in Jerusalem.  They do not tell us how many of the fish are red, how many blue, whether they are alive or dead.  Our broadcaster parents merely are there to inform and instruct, in case of civil emergency, what to steps to take, although they will not tell us what we lose in not taking the steps about which they'll tell us nothing.