The Saturday Evening Post - March 5, 1955 by The Saturday Evening Post

The Saturday Evening

POST March 5,1955

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T H I S

I S S U E

• Detroit’s Prophet Jones: Messiah in Mink • International Scandal: Who Killed Wilma? • Erie Stanley Gardner’s New Perry Mason • William Faulkner’s Latest Short Story

THE

M O ST FOR YO U R

MONEY

IN T H E

L O W -P R IC E 3

• Biggest car in the loicest-price field. . . 17 feet of beauty! • Brilliant new 6-cylinder PowerFlow 117, with exclusive Chrome-Sealed Action. Exciting new 167-hp Hy-Fire V-8, highest standard horsepower in its field. • Clamorous new Full-View Windshield . . . a true swept-back wrap-around, with greatest visibility of any low-price car. • PowerFlite . . . finest no-clutch transmission made, with PowerFlite Range Selector on the instrument panel.

W HY FIGHT 4 P O U N D S ?... LET PLYMOUTH DO T H E W O R K ! There’s a big difference between Plymouth's full time, feather-touch Power Steering . . . and others! Some power steering systems are lazy. You have to put a 4-pound pull on the wheel before you get any help. Under most driving conditions, these parttime systems operate less than one minute in every ten. They rest while you work. They’re the type offered by cars A and B. But Ply mouth Power Steering works for you full time. The mere weight of your hand turns on the power. From then on it’s right at your finger tips—

smooth, sure, sensitive, always under perfect control. Plvmouth Power Steering can save you as much energv in 100 miles of driving as you would use shoveling a ton of coal. It makes parking an absolute cinch, and helps vou steer safely over bumps and rut.». It gives you at all times a close and consistent feel of the road,” instead of the “on-again. off-again sensation you get in all cars using a part-time system.

And because of its steering ratio, Plymouth re duces steering motion. You don't have to turn the wheel so far. Maneuverability is much increased. All of which is typical of Plymouth's advanced engineering. So this year, of all years, look at all 3! We feel sure your choice will then be Plymouth. PowerFlite and all Power Driving Aids available at low extra cost. Enjoy "PLYMOUTH NEWS CARAVAN” on NBC-TV and "SHOW ER OF STARS” and "C L IM A X !” on CBS-TV.

ALL-NEW PLYMOUTH ’55

See i t .. . drive i t . .. to da y a t yo u r P ly m o u t h dealer’s . . . a gre at new car for th e Y O U N G

IN H E A R T

THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

Pardon our slang in suggesting that you could have a crush on a clock. But the thought is not as silly as it sounds. Not when the clock in question is one of these clever and colorful, helpful and dependable, thoughtful and unusual electric beauties by Westclox. Just look ’em over. You’d never bury them away in some remote corner of the house!

COUNTRY CLUB ELECTRIC ALARM. Simple, clean lines show off handsome ivory or green case, in molded plastic. 5 inches high. Unique modern dial. Clear, lively alarm. $9.45. With luminous dial, a dollar more.

PRIM ELECTRIC WALL CLOCK. For kitchen, bath, den, recreation room or office. 5)4 inches in diameter. Non-breakable crystal. Sturdy metal case; dials in red, yellow, white or green.Only $3.98. Chrome finish case, $4.98.

PITTSFIELD ELECTRIC ALARM. Modern styling in a rich wood case. Blond or mahogany finish; gold color bezel. Only 4)4 inches high. Pleasant bell alarm. Easy-set alarm indi cator. $7.95. Luminous dial, a dollar more.

BYRON ELECTRIC ALARM. T ilt base m akes smart, simple dial easy to read. Gold-colored Roman numerals contrast with red, green or silver color case. Bell alarm. Plain dial. Non-breakable domed crystal. $10.95.

SLEEPMETER ELECTRIC ALARM. Small clock; smart, modem. Only 4)4 inches high. Plas tic case in ivory color. Bell alarm. Nonbreakable crystal. Sweep second hand. Only $5.45. Luminous, a dollar more.

BANTAM ELECTRIC ALARM. This chipper little fellow is only 3)4 inches high. His cleartoned bell alarm has a pleasant call. Ivory or mahogany finish. Wonderful value at only $3.95. With luminous dial, a dollar more.

s pvVr'3'dri'/en oh electric

WESTCLOX k&eps PRODUCTS OP

on ^lrri&

CO RPO RATIO N

MADE BY THE MAKERS OF BIG BEN*

Beautifully fash ioned wood case in mahogany or blond fin ish, suits any decor. Unusually-designed dial. Only 4)4 inches high. Pleasant-tone bell alarm. $7.95.Luminous dial, a dollar more. KENDALL ELECTRIC ALARM.

LaSalle-Peru, Illinois • In Canada: Western Clock Company, Ltd., Peterborough, Ontario • Prices quoted (or U.S.A. only, do not include tax and are subject to change. »Trade Mark Reg. U.S. Patent Office.

W ES TC LOX ,

Your choice o f red, green, yellow or white dials in this wonderfully adaptable wall clock. Mounts flush. Easy to clean. Only $4.95. In spar kling chrome finish case a dollar more. MANO R ELECTRIC WALL CLOCK.

M a r c h 5, 1955

Control ... in the Jet Age

■

in jet aircraft is the precision control equipment which regulates the flow of fuel and directs the movement of fluids in the hydraulic power systems. Here is “traffic control” in the Age of Jets. Kohler of Kohler, a leader in the plumb ing fixtures industry, also produces these jet engine precision components. A major prob lem was the extreme hardness of the steel used in their manufacture. Expensive cut ting tools grew blunt quickly and had to be replaced. Shell Lubrication engineers were con sulted on oils specifically designed for threading stainless steel. After careful studv, Shell came up with an oil which completely s s e n t ia l

f K O H L E R CO. met a serious machining problem in produc ing essential parts for jet en gines. It was solved by a Shell Industrial Lubricant with sub stan tial savings in tim e and dollars.

solved the problem. Steel threads were cut sharp and clean. Tool life was vastly in creased. Development of finer lubricants is an other example of Shell leadership in the petroleum industry. Shell Research leads to finer quality, more for your money, when you buv products bearing the Shell name and trademark.

Shell Research leads to finer Products —

moreforyour money © » 5 5 , SHELL OIL COMPANY

Sa t u r d a y

evening

post \

C Y R U S H . K . C U R T IS , P r e s id e n t, 1883-1932

BEN H IB B S, Editor R O B E R T F U O S S, M a n a g in g E d ito r K E N N ETH S T U A R T , A rt E d ito r

M A R T IN S O M M E R S , F o re ig n E d ito r

B E V E R L Y S M IT H , W a s h in g to n E d ito r

A S S O C IA T E E D IT O R S : E. N . B R A N D T • R IC H A R D T H R U E L S E N • STU A R T ROSE • P E T E M A R T IN JAC K A LEXAN D ER • F R E D E R IC N ELSO N • ARTH U R W . BAUM • H A R L E Y P. C O O K • M A R IO N E R . N IC K L E S • W E S L E Y P R IC E • P E G G Y DO W ST REDM AN • E R N E ST O . H A U S E R •

• D E M A R E E BESS ROBERT M URPHY II. R A L P H K N IG H T

STEV E N M . S PEN C ER • HUGH M ORROW • H ARRY T . PAXTON • ASH LEY H A LSE Y, J R . • H A R O L D II. M A R T IN R O B E R T L. JO H N SO N , J R . • JA M E S P. O ’ D O N N E LL • M E R R IL L P O L L A C K • R O BERT SH ERROD D A Y E D G A R , A ssista n t t o th e E d ito r

•

F R A N K K IL K E R , A s s o cia te A rt E d ito r

W IL L IA M J . ST E V E N S, J R ., A ssista n t M a n a g in g E d ito r •

D O U G L A S B O R G S T E D T , P h o to g r a p h y E d ito r

E D IT O R IA L A S S IS T A N T S : EDU A R D H . S A IL E • W IL L IA M J . B A IL E Y • R IC H A R D L. LE H M A N P A T R IC IA W A LSH • JO H N R . W ELLS • JA N E T M . H A R P E R • B IL L B R E IS K Y • BEN ALLEN •

T his

I ssue

M arch 5, 1955

• GW EN LY SA U G H T P E T E R F. P E T R A G L IA

Voi. 227, ¿Yo. 36

Sh o r t

St o r ie s THE WRONG BEACH..................................................... William Chamberlain 24 RACE AT M O R N IN G ............................................................ William Faulkner 26 THE CAPTURE OF RED RIVER R O Y .............................. Ed M ontgom ery 31 WHY BOYS LIKE G IR L S ......................................................... John He Meyer .34

A R T IC L E S PROPHET JONES: MESSIAH IN M IN K......................................John Kohler 20 THE ORCHID COMES DOWN TO E A R T H ........................... Neil M. Clark 22 HOW TO GET ALONG WITH T E X A N S ................... George Sessions Perry 23 WHO KILLED WILMA M O N T E S I?.................................. Ernest O. Hauser 28 I KNOW WHAT IT MEANS TO BE PUNCH-DRUNK . Harry M. Blitman .30 THAT’S THE KIND OF DAME I AM (Fourth o f seven articles) . . Ethel Merman, as told to Pete Martin 32 INSIDE ROCKET TEST CELL F .................................. Ronald M. Deutsch 36 2 S e r ia l s THE CASE OF THE SUN BATHER’ S DIARY (First o f eight p a rts)..............................................Erie Stanley Gardner 17 BOOTLEG GOLD (Third o f six p a r t s ) .......................Robert Ormond Case 43

Other

Features LETTERS

...................................... 4

E D IT O R IA LS .................................. 10

POST SCRIPTS....................................38 V E R S E ..........................48, 64. 87. 92. 98

KEEPING P O S T E D ................... 112

T his

W e e k ’s

C over

If mother has just previously ehased her husband with his forgotten brief case, and if now she misses the school bus after a 100-yard dash, let her re flect upon how lucky she is to have duties that keep her figure lean and lovely. I f this makes her happy, also if it doesn’ t, then she can stagger hack home, unhitch her hair curlers, forget to turn off the burner under the coffee

C un,s Publishing

Ä S S / 1*

ÜTu.S*U r i c Ì L l ” u t a k

L's

Published weekly by The Curtis Publi.hin» r „ ___, dependence Square, Philadelphia, Pa Entered class matter at the Post Office at Philadelphia Second Class Matter at the Post Other I V t..., Kt't’ ' Canada, by Curtis Distributing C o n ,» „ ’T l T T ' - r O ut. Canada. ‘ ’ • u<* . Tor The names oi characters used in all Post fiction , fiction articles are fictitious. Any resemblance t ^ T 1 person is a coincidence. c 10 a i S u b s c rip t io n P r ic e s : U.S., U.S. Possession, and Ca, > Yr.. «6: 2 Y r ,.. *10: i Vrs„ Cuba. Dominican Republic. Guatemala Haiti Me Nicaragua. Panama. Republic of The Philippines’ Rep of Honduras, Salvador, Spain and South America (exccp Guianas)— 1 Yr., $8. All other countries, l Y r„ $11. K

by Money Order or Draft on a bank in the U.S.. payable in U.S. Funds. All prices subject to change without notice. All subscriptions must be paid for in advance. U n c o n d itio n a l G u a r a n t y . We agree, upon request direct from subscribers to the Philadelphia office, to refund the full amount paid for any copies of Curtis publications not previ ously mailed. H ow to road e x p ira tio n d a te s from your address la bel on the cover: The first number shows the expiration issue, the second the year. Post Number 1 is the first issue in July (the number of this issue appears on this page). A few ex amples: 52-55 or June 25. 1955; 22-55 or November 26. 1955. You always count from the previous July first. T h o C u r t is P u b lis h in g C o m p a n y , Walter D. Fuller, Chairman of the Board: Robert E. MacN’ eal. President: Mary Curtis Zimbalist, Sr. Vice-Pres.; Cary W. Bok, Sr. Vice-Pres.; Benjamin Allen, Sr. Vice-Pres. and Director of Circulation: Donald M. Hobart. Sr. Vice-Pres. and Director of Research; Arthur W. Kohler. Sr. Vice-Pres. and Director of Advertis ing; Lewis W. Trayser, Sr. Vice-Pres. and Director of Manu

pot, drive to school and deliver that fodder box. Or if her husband has the ear, she can walk to Main Street and take an " L ” bus, transferring later to a ” B” bus. W hen she returns, it will he high time to get to w ork. Which, no doubt, she will do with a song on her lips, for observe that Mr. Hughes, that cheerful painter, has her dwelling on Joy Street.

D o e sn ’ t your hair deserve a break — after the beating it's taken from sun, harsh shampoos, chemi cals and permanents? Your own common sense will tell you the average “do-nothing” hair product can’t possibly help. The only way to have better-looking hair is to have healthier hair! That’s the Formula 9 way — with amazing new Super Lanolin! This ex clusive Charles Antell development is 3 times more effective in correcting drab, dry, lifeless-looking hair than lanolin itself! That’s why even dam~ aged hair comes back to life before your eyes! Yes — use Formula 9 as directed — and your hair looks better — feels bet ter-stays in place better . . . because it is better! No wonder more people use Formula 9 for correct ing hair troubles than any

facturing; Brandon Barringer. Treasurer; Robert Gibbon, Secretary: Edward C. Von Tress, Vice-Pres. and Executive Director of Advertising; Morton S. Bailey. Vice-Pres. and Advertising Director of The Saturday Evening Post. The Company also publishes Ladies' Home Journal. Better Farming. Jack and Jill, and Holiday.

C H A N G E O F A D D R E S S : Sen d y o u r now a d d ross a t le a st 30 d a y s b efo re t h e d a te of tlfe issu o w it h w h ic h it is to ta k e effect. A d d ress

SUPER LAN OLIN

T H E S A T U R D A Y E V E N IN G P O S T I N D E P E N D E N C E S Q U A R E , P H I L A . 5, P A . Send old address with the new, enclosing if possible your address label. The Post Office will not forward copies unless you provide extra postage. Duplicate copies cannot be sent.

F0RMUIA9

TH E SATURDAY EVENING PO ST

March 5, 1955

Traffic Control ... in the Jet Age

4*r

. ^

air

in jet aircraft is the precision control equipment which regulates the flow of fuel and directs the movement of fluids in the hydraulic power systems. Here is “traffic control” in the Age of Jets. Kohler of Kohler, a leader in the plumb ing fixtures industry, also produces these jet engine precision components. A major prob lem was the extreme hardness of the steel used in their manufacture. Expensive cut ting tools grew blunt quickly and had to be replaced. Shell Lubrication engineers were con sulted on oils specifically designed for threading stainless steel. After careful study, Shell came up wath an oil which completely s s e n t ia l

K O H L E R CO. met a serious machining problem in produc ing essential parts for je t en gines. It was solved by a Shell Industrial Lubricant with sub stan tial savings in tim e and dollars.

C » 5 5 , SHELL OIL C O M P A N Y

T he

Sa t u r d a y

Even

ing

post

T H E C U R T IS P U B L IS H IN G C O M P A N Y

BEN IIIB B S , E ditor R O B E R T F U O S S , M a n a g in g E d ito r K E N N E T H S T U A R T , A r t E d i to r

M A R T IN S O M M E R S , F o r e ig n E d ito r

B EV ER L Y S M IT H , W a s h in g to n E d ito r

A S S O C IA T E E D IT O R S : E. N . B R A N D T • R IC H A R D T H R U E L S E N • S T U A R T R O S E • P E T E M A R T IN • D E M A R E E B ESS JA C K A L E X A N D E R • F R E D E R IC N E L SO N • A R T H U R W . BA U M • H ARLEY P . COOK • RO BERT M URPH Y M A R IO N E R . N IC K L E S • W E SL E Y P R IC E • PE G G Y DOW ST REDM AN • E R N E S T O . H A U SE R • H . R A L P H K N IG H T ST EV EN M . S P E N C E R • HUGH MORROW • HARRY T . PA X TO N • A SH LE Y H A L SE Y , J R . • H A R O L D H . M A R T IN . R O B E R T L. JO H N S O N , J R . • JA M E S P . O ’D O N N ELL • M E R R IL L P O L L A C K • R O B E R T SH ERR O D DAY E D G A R , A s s is ta n t t o t h e E d i to r

•

F R A N K K IL K E R , A s s o c ia te A rt E d i to r

W IL L IA M J . ST E V E N S , J R ., A s s is ta n t M a n a g in g E d ito r •

D O U G LA S B O R G S T E D T , P h o to g r a p h y E d ito r

E D I T O R IA L A S S I S T A N T S : ED W A R D H . S A IL E • W IL L IA M J . B A ILE Y • R IC H A R D L. LE H M A N P A T R IC IA W A LSH • JO H N R . W ELLS • JA N E T M . H A R P E R • B IL L B R E IS K Y • BEN ALLEN •

i n

h i s

• G W EN L Y S A U G H T P E T E R F . P E T R A G L IA

i s s u e

M a r c h 5, 1955

Voi. 227, N o. 36

4 Sh o r t S t o r ie s THE WRONG BEACH........................................................W illiam C h a m b e rla in 21 RACE AT M O R N IN G ............................................................... W illiam F au lk n e r 26 TH E CAPTURE OF RED RIVER R O Y ................................Ed M ontgom ery 31 WHY BOYS LIKE G IR L S ............................................................Jo h n I)e M eyer 34

7 ARTICLES PROPHET JO N ES: MESSIAH IN M IN K ........................................J o h n K ohler 20 THE ORCHID COMES DOWN TO E A R T H ............................ Neil M. C lark 22 HOW TO GET ALONG W ITH T E X A N S ....................G eorge Sessions Perry 25 WHO KILLED WILMA M O N T E S I? ....................................E rn est O. H au ser 2« 1 KNOW WIIAT IT MEANS TO BE PUNCH-DRUNK . H arry M. B litm an 30 THAT’S THE KIND OF DAME I AM (F o u rth o f seven articles) . . E thel M erm an , as told to Pete M a rlin 32 INSIDE ROCKET TEST CELL F

Ronald M. D eutsch 36

2 S e r ia l s THE CASE OF TH E SUN BATHER’S DIARY (F irst o f eig h t p a r t s ) ................................................Erie S tanley G ard n er 17 BOOTLEG GOLD (T hird o f six p a r t s ) ........................Rol>ert O rm ond Case 43

Oth er

features

LETTERS

........................................ 4

E D IT O R IA L S .................................... 10

POST SC R IPT S.................................. 38 V E R S E .........................4 8 ,6 4 ,8 7 ,9 2 .9 8

KEEPING P O S T E D .................... 112

T hi s We e k ’s Cover If m other has ju st previously chased her husband w ith his forgotten brief case, and if now she misses th e school bus after a 100-yard dash, let her re flect upon how lucky she is to have duties th a t keep her figure lean and lovely. If this makes her happy, also if it doesn't, then she can stagger back home, unhitch her hair curlers, forget to tu rn off the burner under the coffee-

Curtí»

c’ T i l f y r r u ' s Ca ^ riÍ Í L t 9Bntuu, ’ a U

class m atter a t the Post Office a t PhlladeloM. ¡ Í ? ” c °,nd' Second Class M atter a t the Post Office X * » ;, ' B ? f ' d “ Canada, by Curtis Distributing C om pand l ü T '-í>M* T Í Ont.. Canada. ‘ ny’ Toronto, The names of characters used in all Post fiction o ^ t ___s fiction articles are fictitious. Any resemhlan ° and person is a coincidence. * * * * * * * * to a living S u b s c rip t io n P r ic e s : u .s ., u .S . Possesion, I V , - V 2 V ,,.. V „ : 914;

j r

rSTE C°tS^S

Cuba. Dominican Republic. Guatemala Haiti Mexico N ic a w ra . Panama. Republic of The P hilippine' ¿.public of Honduras. Salvador Span, and South America (except the Guianas)—1 Yr., $8. All other countries. 1 Yr.. *11. Remit

by Money Order or Draft on a bank in the U.S.. payable in U.S. Funds. All prices subject to change without notice. All subscriptions must be paid for in advance. U n c o n d itio n a l G u a r a n t y . We agree, upon request direct from subscribers to the Philadelphia office, to refund the full amount paid for any copies of Curtis publications not previ ously mailed. H o w to road e x p ira tio n d a tes from your address la bel on the cover: The first number shows the expiration issue, the second the year. Post Number 1 is the first issue in July (the number of this issue appears on this page). A few ex amples: 52-55 or June 25, 1955; 22-55 or November 26. 1955. You always count from the previous July first. T h e C u r t is P u b lis h in g C o m p a n y , Walter D. Fuller, Chairman of the Board; Robert E. MacNeal, President; Mary Curtis Zimbalist. Sr. Vice-Pres.; Cary W. Bok, Sr. Vice-Pres.; Benjamin Allen. Sr. Vice-Pres. and Director of Circulation; Donald M. Hobart. Sr. Vice-Pres. and Director of Research; Arthur W. Kohler. Sr. Vice-Pres. and Director of Advertis ing; Lewis W. Trayser, Sr. Vice-Pres. and Director of Manu

pot, drive to school and deliver th a t fodder box. Or if her husband has the car, she can walk to M ain S treet and tak e an "L ” bus, transferring later to a ” B” bus. W hen she returns, it will be high tim e to get to work. W hich, no doubt, she will do w ith a song on her lips, for observe th a t M r. Hughes, th a t cheerful painter, has her dwelling on Joy Street.

D o e sn ’t your hair deserve a break — after the beating it’s taken from sun, harsh shampoos, chemi cals and permanents? Your own common sense will tell you the average “do-nothing” hair product can’t possibly help. The only way to have better-looking hair is to have healthier hair! That’s the Formula 9 way — with amazing new Super Lanolin! This ex clusive Charles Antell development is 3 times more effective in correcting drab, dry, lifeless-looking hair than lanolin itself! That’s why even dam~ aged hair comes back to life before your eyes! Yes — use Formula 9 as directed — and your hair looks better — feels bet ter-stays in place better . . . because it is better! No wonder more people use Formula 9 for correct ing hair troubles than any other hair product. MONEY-BACK GUARANTEE

facturing; Brandon Barringer. Treasurer; Robert Gibbon, Secretary; Edward C. Von Tress, Vice-Pres. and Executive Director of Advertising; Morton S. Bailey, Vice-Pres. and Advertising Director of The Saturday Evening Post. The Company aiso publishes Ladies’ Home Journal, Better Farming, Jack and Jill, and Holiday.

C H A N G E O F A D D R E S S : Sen d y o u r n e w a d d ress a t le a st 30 d a y s b efo re t h e d a te of trie issu e w it h w h ic h it is to t a k e effect. A d d re ss T H E S A T U R D A Y E V E N IN G P O S T I N D E P E N D E N C E S Q U A R E , P H I L A . S, P A .

Send old address with the new, enclosing if possible your address label. The Post Office will not forward copies unless you provide extra postage. Duplicate copies cannot be sent.

SUPER LA N O LIN

F0RMÜ1A9

L E T T E R S

W est you go...to a

T O

T II E

E D I

T O R S

Southern California vacation! Floral beauty by the acre at famous Descanso Gardens. World's largest camellia garden, near Los Angeles.

Sunny sands, blue waters, surging surf.. .You're far from summer's heat on our breeze-kissed Pacific beaches!

You'll enjoy seeing Hollywood's ultra modern TV studios . . . riding by the homes of your favorite movie stars.

THE GREAT AMERICAN TRAVEL ADVENTURE What other vacation journey shows you so much of your own country? Your Southern California trip whisks you across the Great Plains, past the Rockies, into the real West. You see working cowhands and span the color ful Southwest deserts. Then —to climax your adven ture—you explore Southern California. Here is the West with a subtropic flavor. Palm trees and orange groves. Pacific beaches and Spanish missions. H ollyw ood with its stars and studios. Gardens glowing the year-round. And, over all, the sunny skies you’ve read about. It’s the great American travel adventure. Yet a Southern California trip is practical too. See cost statements below. You’ve wanted to come. Why not enjoy The Great American Travel Adventure—this year!

HOW ABOUT COSTS? Answers from recent visitors: “When we added up costs we were surprised to find we spent very little more M A than we would on a nearby vacation!’— <-'% ~ Mrs. Rena Thomas, secretary, Milwau— kee, Wisconsin. “ I would say the extra cost over our usual vacation was about $100!’—Joseph J. Witte, sales representative, Clayton, Mis souri.

Spend some lazy, sunny hours in our fragrant orange country . . . see the golden fruit growing on the trees!

FREE: Color Sightseeing Map of Los Angeles County and all Southern California, 22)«" x 25". Locates 645 sights, 80 movie star homes, routes for tours. Valuable! Mail coupon today!

LET YOURSELF GO! TH|S YEAR TAKE A...

S o td h eM L

Catifo't/Klo, Vacri&m,

ALL YEAR CLUB OF SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA. This advertise In Los Angeles you'll shop amid the palms, explore streets bright with flowers, dine at a gay outdoor cafe.

ment sponsored by the Los Angeles County Board of Super visors for the citizens of Glendale, Hollywood, Inglewood, Long Beach, Los Angeles, Pasadena, Pomona, Santa Monica and 182 other communities.

All-Year Club of Southern California, Dept. C-3 629 South Hill Street, Los Angeles 14, California Please send me free Color Sightseeing Map. Name__________________________________________ ____ Street_______________________________________________ City_________________________________________Zone__

Just a short ocean cruise to Santa Cat alina Island—home of the big flying fish and magic Undersea Gardens.

State_______________________________________________ P L E A S E P R IN T N A M E A N D ADDRESS

liin lr o v r r s ia l C lem en I As a Tennessean temporarally so journing in Florida, let me congratu late your Harold H. Martin on his article— Post, Jan. 29— T h e T h in g s T

hey

Sa y A

bout th e

G overnor!

Gordon Browning told the people all this, and more, too, during the 1954 campaign, but when pretty-boy Frankie "b oom ed like a siege gun, sang like a mountain fiddle,” and ended up by raising his hand to heaven and with dramatic emotion murmured, " Take m y hand, precious Lord, and lead me on ,” the crowd went wild. On Election D ay they crowded to the polls to give him the biggest vote ever given a man in Tennessee. . . . Unless magazines like the Post warn the people about Frank Clement, he may well be President o f the United States. And, if he should be, God help America. H a r r y W i l l ia m s o n Greenville, Fla. The story . . . about Gov. Frank G. Clement, o f Tennessee, by Harold H. Martin, is a masterpiece—masterpiece o f omission, commission, half-truths, and no truth at all, in some respects. It is plain that its intent is to try to embarrass one of the South’s most distinguished and capable governors. O f course, the fact that h e 1is a Democrat A N D from the South makes him persona non grata to you and many other South-haters above the M ason-Dixon Line. But the fact remains, com m on decency and fair play would dictate that some effort should have been made to present the picture as it really is, without retouch ing and bias. In failing to do this, you have rendered a distinct disservice to the whole U.S.A. . . . L loyd E . B aylo r

Chattanooga, Tenn. ► The author, Harold H. M artin, is a native o f the South—and a lifelong D em ocrat.—ED.

L ilie r b u iis I have read your fine editorial [ M u s t O u r C o u n t r y s id e S e r v e a s a T r a s h C a n ?] in the January 22nd

issue in regard to roadside trash. . . . M y husband and I travel a great deal by car and are horrified when we stop at the sides o f highways and parkways to see the accumulation of trash. W e have yet to pull off the road at a quiet or beautiful place and not find within a short distance this dreadful sight. It has come to the point where a vacation trip is spoiled because o f careless people. . . . M

rs.

F r e d e r ic R . G i b b s

Washington, D .C . . . . It is borne upon me that what we need is not so much campaigns to educate the adult public in civic re sponsibility and decency, but early and efficient training o f our children and young people. For that we need a few more women . . . like m y Grand mother Hill! M y mother’s mother lived in a lit tle Ohio college town, a mile away

from the town and a good half mile from the nearest other house. Her admonition to her seven children ad mitted no argument, no excuse: "A n y trash or paper—even an apple core between this house and Mrs. Apple gate’s (the nearest neighbor) is to be picked up, brought home and burned. It doesn’t matter whether you put it there or not—you would be blamed and it is your responsibility! ” . . . She was born one hundred and twenty-six years ago, and has been gone (to a tidier land, we hope) for fifty, but I am very sure that not one o f us who knew her lightly discards even a taffy wrapper in the wrong place. The thought of her would arouse us from slumber in the middle o f the night to go back and pick it up! . . . A g n e s B r id g e W e is s b a c h Merchantville, N.J. > li 'l > u f f e v \

It«‘ ; i « l e r n

T he story about R ev. William Holmes M cGuffey, H e S c a r e d t h e D e v i l O u t o f G r a n d p a , by Henry F . and Katharine Pringle [Jan. 22], was one of the best things I have come across in a long, long time. M aybe it

appealed to me because my early schooling in Colorado was filled with the reading and memorizing of stories and poems in M cGuffey readers. I am now in m y 72d year, and as I read this story my mind was filled with those early memories. I served on "T h e Last W ooden Sailing Ship” in the United States N avy in m y . . . youth, and often as I stood watch at the wheel I would repeat the poems I learned from M cGuffey’s readers, such as The W reck of the Hesperus, and I would imagine myself on that plung ing deck. H ugo E von F r e y Long Beach, Cal. W e can only wonder what effect R ev. William M cG uffey’s moralizing books would have had on today’s teen-agers. True, times have changed, but there are still lame dogs and twinkling stars. D o r a M. G u e l ic h Clearfield, Pa. . . . As a child o f grade-school age (during the 1920’s) we were the fortu nate recipients o f the contents o f an old lady’s attic, among which was a complete set o f M cGuffey readers. I can recall now many o f the stories and poems that were printed in them. I remember the story of poor Alice Reed who helped the sea captain’s widow find his lost fortune behind a CONTINUED ON PAGE 6

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loose tile and who thereupon was adopted by the widow and became her companion. I remember the story of the boy who mistreated his dog and was made by his fairy godmother to exchange places with the dog in order to learn how it feels to be an animal—a lesson, incidentally which has influenced my whole life—to treat animals kindly, and a story which I relate to my own youngsters to this very day.

news of the murder of an American officer, apparently to prevent the American people from rising in their wrath and vetoing further appease ment of communism.” There were such officials and there are such officials now. . . . I hope you will continue to print articles of this type. With your millions of readers, you can do a vast deal of good. . . . B u r t o n A. P r in c e Westfield, Mass.

L o u is e A b r e n d t

Milwaukee, Wis. Regarding the Pringles’ article about McGuffey, that reads, in part, "Such maudlin sentimentality conformed to the morality of the day, . . .” Are present-day morals so far removed? God forbid! Children are not bom with a sense of compassion for the hurt and the helpless, and it is one of the duties of the arbiters of massmedia communication to teach them such compassion. . . . M r s . C l a r k so n D. M c N a r y Denver, Colo. ► Authors Henry and K utharine Prin gle were n ot criticizin g th e m oral s ta n d a rd s o f M c G u ffe y ’ s era, b u t rather the m a u d lin language that was used to teach youn gsters th e differ en ce betw een righ t an d w ron g.—ED.

S u p p r e s s i‘ d N e w s

forbig21"A r \ 'i iiT V

Jan. 22] brings to mind another sim ilar "B ig D ig” which was done at the corner of 34th St. and Fifth Avenue when excavating for the Astoria part of the old Waldorf-Astoria hotel. In that job a great deal of filled earth, not rock, was encountered, necessitating heavy plank "shoring” and adding more and more as the hole got deeper. Finally when bottom was reached, many feet below street level, the side along 34th Street was wholly shored up by the heavy planks, held there by enormous 12"xl2" timbers. Passing by one morning, I was sur prised to see a large crack in the asphalt pavement between the car tracks in exact center of 34th Street. For the entire length of the excava tion, the whole southern half of the street, car tracks, pavement and side walk had all moved south as much as

S e c r e t ” S t o r y o f J o h n B ir c h ’ s M u r d e r W a s t h e T i p - O ff on C h in a ’ s R e d s ] based on my small

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book, in your January 22 issue. For the more I studied the life of this young man, the more my own admiration for him grew. I believe that his actions, his beliefs, and his courage can serve as a heart-warming inspiration to a lot of other young Americans. . . . R o b e r t H. W . W e lch , Jr .

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Your editorial on the suppression of the story of John Birch’s murder is additional evidence that Hiss, White... and many others only reflected the attitude of men more highly placed. For a long time, communism under various aliases and disguises was not only condoned and tolerated—it was also praised, aided, protected and subsidized, openly and covertly, by the most powerful officials of the U.S.A. Sympathy with communism—in the period from 1933 to 1945—was the trend and fashion of the time. Now the fashion has changed. Now we convict and condemn some of the scapegoats who only abetted their masters in their sins. I’m an old-time Red-baiter my self—but I’m sorry for some of the saps that got sucked in. A. E. C o r n e l l Tunkhannock, Pa. . . . You write: "Amazingly, there were in Washington, responsible offi cials who were willing to suppress

twelve inches in some places, making a jagged crack which might have been caused by a severe earthquake. Quick action in placing many extra heavy timbers, no doubt prevented the whole half-street from going into the hole. _ ... W il l ia m C . W oo d h u ll C h a t h a m , N.J.

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

March 5, 1955

FROM KELVINATOR! IN YOUR CHOKE NEW AUTOMATIC DEFROSTING REFRIGERATORS

Now you can blend your appliances to your kitchen—no matter what the color scheme—with new Kelvinator refrigerators and ranges. Color shown: Bermuda Pink.

THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

OF 8 NEW DECORATOR COLORS WITH BIGGEST FREEZER CHESTS EVER!

L A G O O N BLUE

SAND B EIG E

SP RIN G G REEN

BUTTERCUP YELLOW

FERN G REEN

HARVEST YELLOW

DAWN G R A Y

B ER M UDA PINK

and C L A S S I C WHITE—of course

By JOAN ADAMS Kelvinator Institute for Better Living

o w , at last , you can have the kitchen of your dreams,

with your refrigerator and range in colors that blend with wallpaper, paints, drapes and floor covering. And you have not just a choice of one or two colors, but 8 of them. Plus white, of course. These new colors, picked by famous color stylists, will fit any decor . . . and how they’ll brighten your kitchen. Then, to brighten your life, this new Kelvinator refrigerator brings you wonder upon wonder. A truly giant freezer chest, for instance, that stores 80 pounds of frozen foods and ice cubes. It defrosts automatically with the famous Kelvinator “ Magic Cycle* system. Your frozen foods stay far, far below freezing during nightly defrosting. In the refrigerator huge Moist Cold” Crispers give you juicier, tangier salads. There’s a roll-out Dairy Shelf with silent nylon rollers. The bottle space is extra roomy and tall. The whole refrigerator is a happy balance between freezer space and refrigerator space. Here's the kind of beauty, convenience and lasting quality you want in your kitchen. With this Kelvinator— you get them all. See it now at your Kelvinator dealer’s. Or write Kelvinator, Detroit 32, Michigan. In Canada: Kelvinator of Canada Ltd., Toronto 15, Ontario. \ *

Patent applied fo r.

N ew Sp a cio u sn ess— N ew Beauty! The roomy interiors o f the new colored Kelvinators are finished in white with glamour-gold trim. White models are finished with gorgeous Sea Tone blue and gold. Shelves in door provide a special place for butter, eggs and cheese. Everything’s close at hand in a Kelvinator.

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A range with disposable oven linings* / Only in Kelvinator electric ranges. Linings of gleaming aluminum foil that you use and throw away. Put in new ones in a jiffy. Here's an end to the drudgery of oven cleaning. Free year’s supply of cut-to-fit linings with range.

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o f $1500 to Princeton U niversity, on the ground that such contributions were outside the legal powers o f the com pan y. T h e N e w Jersey Suprem e C ourt upheld the gifts on the ground that " f r e e and vigorou s n ongovern m ental institutions o f learning are vita l to ou r d em ocra cy and the system o f free enterprise.” In T h e Freem an magazine for June 14, 1954, W illiam F. B uck ley, Jr., au th or o f G od and M a n at Y ale, raised a question as to w hether or n ot univer sities d o con tribu te to the strength o f th e free-enterprise system . H e was able to cite several professors and au thors o f textb ook s on econ om ics who take a dim view o f the free-enterprise system . T here are u ndou btedly plen ty o f such men on som e college faculties. H ow ever, the d a y is lon g past, if it ever existed, when an industrial cor poration w ould undertake to say: " W e will g iv e y o u a m illion dollars if y o u will fire P rofessor X .” A pparen tly the m odern corporate giver to educa tional endow m ents w ould rather die than hint at such a thing. N evertheless, the grow th o f con tributions from corporate funds is sure t o influence the thinking o f college professors, as well as college presi dents h ungry fo r new m on ey. T h e teacher o f econ om ics w h o m a y have

The Public-Power Bloc Has Mastered Some Techniques of Total Confusion

Ju st r a is e th e g la ss to v e n t ila t e lo w e r th e g la ss to In su la te

It’s far and away the greatest combination door value on the market. Compare it with any other door and see the tremendous difference! With the R usco Picture-Windo Door you’re always prepared for any weather. You never change — you just arrange . . . and that wonderful MagicPanel® controlled ventilation— an exclusive, patented R u sco fea tu re— is always there at your finger tips. Equipped with silent-air door closer, check spring and chain, vinyl sill sweep, knob and key lock. If there’s no Rusco Dealer in your neighborhood— write direct to The F. C. Russell Company for complete information on how you can order your Rusco Door by mail. The beautiful Rusco Picture-Windo Door illustrated sells for only $69.50 F.O.B. factory. The attractive, protective grille, with your own initial or house number. $10.00 extra. Another great Rusco companion value— Rusco All-Metal Door Canopy, for permanent, year ’round protection against the elements. Large 48" x 37" size, only $29.95, F.O.B. factory. For free illustrated literature and name of your nearest R usco D ealer, see the Yellow Pages of your Telephone Directory, or write to the address below.

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con vin ced him self in th eory that so cialism is a fairer and m ore efficient ty p e o f econ om ic organization than is free enterprise m ay well find him self asking: "W h e r e did the m on ey com e from to build and sustain the m agnifi cent system o f higher ed u cation which we already h a v e ? ” and finally: " A m I m ore o f an intellectual helot and hostage o f the black reaction because m y chair is supported b y Standard Oil or U. S. Steel than I w ou ld be if I ow ed m y position to the vagaries o f the p olitically m otivated s ta t e ? ” T h e truth is that Am erican business and industrial a ctiv ity is now con ducted by corporations to an extent which was undream ed o f in the old days when T h eod ore R oosevelt and B o b La F ollette hurled their barbs at the trusts. C orporations have m ended their ways, to o , and are now w idely accepted as the necessary means o f carrying on econ om ic a ctiv ity w ith ou t resort to socialism . In these circu m stances, it is n ot rem arkable th at their m anagem ents shquld concern them selves w ith th e survival o f liberal edu cation as well as the narrower techni cal training needed fo r specific indus trial tasks. I f the "broad er-g au ged m e n ” becom e to o scarce, the sufferer will be free society as we have know n it here in Am erica.

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H E strategy and tactics o f the pu blic-p ow er b lo c in respect to the D ix on -Y a tes con tract for con stru ction o f a plant to su p p ly electrical pow er to the A to m ic E nergy Com m ission bear a certain superficial resem blance to the debating m ethods o f the com m unists o v e r an issue like F orm osa. (H old it, readers! W e ’re not com paring publicp o w e r a d v o c a t e s t o c o m m u n is ts , m erely poin ting ou t resem blances in m ethods o f procedure.) T h e first stage after the con tract was signed featured a vigorous attack on th e A ggressive Im perialists o f W all Street, w ho, operating through the P u p p et E isenhow er R egim e, had com m itted a felonious attack upon the P e o p le ’s G overn m en t o f T V A . T hen follow ed a series o f "r e v e la tio n s ” by form er em ployees o f the Im perialist P rivate U tilities, plus efforts to brand private-u tility com panies as engaged in an effort to oppress th e hapless c o lonial peoples o f the T V A region. T he con fu sion o f resolutions and press re leases continues, although President E isenhow er’s flat statem ent that the D ix on -Y a tes con tra ct will stand has weakened the cam paign considerably. H ow ever, ju st as in the U nited N a tions, the antics o f the p u blic-pow er bloc have not been w ith ou t effect.

T h u s A to m ic E n ergy C om m issioner T h om as E . M u rray, w ho seems to have voted for the D ix on -Y ates con tract w hen it was before th e com m is sion, told a congressional com m ittee later that the con tract should be can celed because "som eth in g must be d on e to free th e com m ission from any con nection with this cause for so m uch discord .” Speaker Sam R aybu rn urged the D ix on -Y a tes grou p to withdraw from th e con tract because " t h is thing has created such a furor ” that privateu tility com panies cou ld be injured. In international disputes as con d u cted by the com m unists, we are all to o fam iliar with the desperation w hich eventually sets in, causing those w h o have no truck with com m unism to agree to al m ost an y concessions if on ly the yam m ering will cease.

Fortunately, these tactics, like mass picketing, can produce effects quite the opposite of those intended. We ap pear finally to have put our back up in Asia, and, when President Eisenhower was asked at his February-second press conference whether he had any plans to withdraw the Dixon-Yates contract, his reply was: " I do not.” Nevertheless, we can confidently ex pect the public-power boys to set them up in the other alley.

Busy girl earns a "Coffee-break” Fingers beat staccato on the keys. The phone interrupts. Then back to the typewriter. Check for spelling. Mark each one “ Air Mail Special Delivery.” Now the letters are finished, the boss signs them and says, “ It’s time for coffee!” She smiles. A cheerful cup of good, hot coffee! What a wonderful way to break the tempo of work and ease the strain of concentration. Coffee! Nothing else offers such a

friendly lift. Coffee—it’s always so much pleasure, and for only pen nies a cup. During your day, too, at home or on the job, isn’t it fre quently “ time for coffee” ? Enjoy coffee often —and make it right. Use 2 level tablespoons (or 1 Standard Coffee Measure) for every cup. Give yourself a “ Coffee-break” ! Think better, work better, feel better. PAN-AMERICAN COFFEE BUREAU, 120 Wall Street, New York 5, N. Y. G 1955

There is nothing so satisfying as a cup o f good coffee

March 5, 1955

THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

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To you, Mr. and Mrs. America, the name Revere means Revere Ware Copper-Clad Stainless Steel Cooking Utensils. More than likely you have some of these utensils hanging in your kitchen. What you may not know is that among the manufac turers of America the name Revere is equally well-known for its mill products and semi-manufactured products of copper, brass and other copper base alloys, and aluminum alloys, steel and other metals. You will find Revere Copper Water Tube, which is sold through distributors, in radiant panel heating systems, hot and cold water lines, air conditioning and industrial processing lines, waste, stack and vent fines. Other Revere Products are fabricated into literally thousands of different items by manufacturers which reach you in the form of the radiator in your car, water heaters, ash trays, lamps, chafing

dishes, safety razors, silverware, cameras, vacuum cleaners, even the brass tip on the lead pencil you use. In fact it is safe to say that every day of your fife in some way you are being served by a Revere Product. There is no way for you to tell that there is a Revere Metal in your air con ditioner, in your door chime or alarm clock, but Revere is there, incognito, helping to make your fife a more enjoyable one. For Revere not only furnishes the manufacturers of America with metals it also "gets into the act” productionwise through its Technical Advisory Service. It is this service that has made Revere, not a mere purveyor of metals, but an American institution. This in turn means that indirectly Revere helps bring you better, more economical and efficient products. Revere Copper and Brass Incorporated, Founded by Paul Revere in 1801; 230 Park Avenue, New York 17, N.Y.

IN N O N - F E R R O U S M E T A L S , R E V E R E R E A L L Y K N O W S IT S A-B-C'i.

THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

March 5, 1955

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Look, Miss Duvall, I w asn't bom yesterday

Mason said. "W h a t’s in your diarv?”

Everything the blonde owned had been stolen—her car, her house and her clothes. Never had Perry Mason been handed a more intriguing assignment.

The Case of the Sun Bathers Diary Beginning a new Perry Mason adventure

. ELLA STREET, Perry Mason’s confid tial secretary, placed her palm over mouthpiece of the telephone and saic the lawyer, "D o you want to talk wit girl who has been robbed?” ^ Why is she calling me instead of the police?” "She says th a t’s something she’ll have to explain.” "All right. Tell her to come in and I ’ll see her.” I asked her about coming in. She says she can’t. She has nothing to wear.” Mason laughed. "Now I ’ve heard everything. I ’U talk with her, Della. W hat’s her name’ ” "Arlene Duvall.” Mason said, Throw the communicating switch so we can both listen, Della. This I have to hear.” Mason picked up his phone and, when Della Street had thrown the switch, said, "Yes. Hello.. . . Perry Mason speaking.”

By ERLE STANLEY GARDNER

"M r. Mason, this is Miss Arlene Duvall. I want to see you on a m atter of the greatest importance. I —I have money to pay for your services.” "Yes.” " I ’ve been robbed.” "Well,” Mason said, winking at Della Street, "come in and see me, Miss Duvall.” " I can’t.” "W hy?” " I ’ve nothing to wear.” "Well,” Mason said impatiently, " p u t something on. Put on anything. Y o u ------” " I ’m trying to tell you, Mr. Mason, that I ’ve been robbed. Everything I have in the world has been taken—my clothes, my car, my home.” "Where are you now?” "At the fourteenth hole at the Remuda Golf Club. The members have installed a telephone out here.

The golf club is deserted now. I lied to the operator at the clubhouse by telling her I was a member, so she put the call through. I need clothes. I need help.” "W hy not call the police, Miss Duvall?” " I can’t call the police. They mustn’t know any thing about this. I ’ll explain when I see you. If you can arrange to get some clothes to me I ’ll p a y ------” "Ju st a minute,” Mason said. " I ’ll put my secre tary on the line.” He nodded to Della Street. Della Street said, "Yes, Miss Duvall, this is Miss Street, Mr. Mason’s secretary, again.” " Miss Street, if you could get some clothes to me, just anything. I ’m five feet two. I weigh a hundred and twelve and I take size ten or twelve.” "Just how am I supposed to get the clothes to you?” Della Street asked. " I f you could—if you could bring them, Miss Street, I will be glad to pay whatever it’s worth.

18 You’re the only hope I have in the world. I can’t appeal to the police and I most certainly can’t go around like this.” "W here will you be?” " I don’t suppose you’re a member of the Remuda Golf Club.” "M r. Mason is,” Della Street said. There was relief in the voice. "W ell, if he could give you a guest card and you could put some clothes down in the bottom of a golf bag and start out—you could come directly to the fourteenth hole. Back about fifty yards beyond that hole there’s a patch of rather thick brush that runs down to a service road, and if you’ll just yoo-hoo. . . . Oh, my heavens, here come some golfers! G ood-by!” The phone was slammed up. "T h e poor kid,” Della Street said. "Imagine be ing out there at eleven-thirty in the morning in broad daylight without------ Chief, how in the world could she have been robbed? How could she have lost everything a n d ------ ” "There,” Mason said, "is the part that intrigues me. D o you want to go out, Della?” "T r y holding me back.” " I think I’ll go with you,” Mason announced. "She can wear my size,” Della Street said. " I have an old dress I was going to give away. It’s nothing particularly fancy—a sport outfit with shorts and a skirt. It will at least enable her to get across the golf course without having a wolf pack howling in hot pursuit.” Mason glanced at his watch. " M y next appoint ment is at two o’clock. We can just about make it, Della. This thing has really aroused my curiosity.”

ROM the veranda of the clubhouse Mason saw the two girls appear against the sky line as they came over a hill on the fairway. He walked down to the foot of the terrace to meet them. Della Street presented Arlene Duvall as though she had been an old friend. Mason’s hand was gripped with firm strong fingers. "Thank you, Mr. Mason,” Arlene Duvall said, "fo r everything.” She was, Mason noted, a creamy-skinned blonde, with hair that had the color of honey. " Miss Street is the one to thank,” he said. "Y ou r clothes were stolen? ” "Everything was stolen.” Mason said, "Y o u aroused my curiosity with your phone call. You certainly furnished a welcome change in the humdrum of a routine day.” She laughed. " I ’m pretty well satisfied Miss Street thought I had worked out a novel method of arousing your interest, th a t------ ” "W as it? ” Mason asked. She shook her head. Mason led the way up to the veranda, ordered drinks, then settled back in the chair. "L e t’s hear the story.” " I was living in a trailer.” "A ll by yourself?” She nodded. " I n a trailer cam p?” "O nly part of the time. There’s a service road that runs to the back of the golf course. Very few people know of it. I think perhaps I was the only one who traveled that road regularly. When they bought the course it was part of a large tract of land. There’s a long wooded stretch down below the fourteenth hole, and a stretch of sloping, grassy meadow. Then there are more woods and then the highway. I found that I could drive in on this serv ice road, park my trailer and have complete privacy. No one seemed to object. It must be two hundred yards to the nearest fairway.” " G o on,” Mason said. She met his eyes. " I ’m a nature girl. I like to get out and prowl around through the woods. I like to go barefooted. I like to take all my clothes off and brown in the sun.” "W h at,” Mason asked, "d o you do for a living?” " A t the moment, nothing.” "A ll right, what about losing your things?” "T his morning I followed my usual routine. I had stayed down in the meadow all night—in fact, I ’d been down there about three nights, parked with my house trailer.” ,

" I ’ m tryin g to tell y o u , M r. M ason , th at I’ve been r o b b e d .’ ’

"W eren’t you afraid?” "N o. After all, a house trailer is about the safest place one can be. When you lock the door from the inside there’s no way anyone can get in.” "S o this morning you went sun-bathing?” " I followed my usual custom. I slipped out of my clothes, crossed the open meadow into the woods, and just walked around in the sunlight for a while, feeling the air on my skin, the warmth of the sunlight.” "Go*on,” Mason said; "tell me about what hap pened.” "W ell,” she said, "when I went back to where my car and trailer should have been, there wasn’t any car and there wasn’t any trailer.” "Y o u couldn’t have mistaken the place?” "Heavens, no. I never lose my way in the open and I’ve been out here f o r ------ Well, ever since it began to get warm.” "Y ou r ignition keys?” Mason asked. " I have the ignition key to the automobile and the key to the door of the trailer in this little key container that I had hidden outside the trailer.” "Y o u called me instead of the police?” "Naturally. Can you imagine a girl attired in a very diaphanous wisp of sunlight having two police officers determining what had been stolen by taking an inventory of what was left?” "Was there,” Mason asked, "some other reason?” She toyed with her glass for a moment; then met his eyes. "Y es.” "W h a t?” " I think—well, the police may have been the ones who were behind the whole thing.” "Y o u mean that the police stole your car?” She nodded. "W h y ? ” "Because they wanted to search it carefully, thor oughly and at their leisure.” "Looking for what?” I L L U S T R A T E D B Y J A M E S R. B I N G H A M

" M y diary probably.” "A nd why were the police interested in your diary?” She said, "M r. Mason, do you know who I am ?” " I know that you’re an attractive young woman, probably in your early twenties; that you, accord ing to your own story, exist without visible means of support; that you were living a highly unorthodox life in the house trailer, and that for some reason you have been afraid to make friends.” "W hat makes you say that?” Mason said, "T h e answer is quite obvious. Nine hundred and ninety-nine women out of a thousand who found themselves without clothes on a golf course would have one or more close friends to whom they could appeal. To call a lawyer whom you have never met indicates there are parts of this story that you haven’t told and apparently are try ing to keep from telling.” " D o you know my father?” she asked. "W h o is your father?” "Colton P. Duvall.” Mason shook his head, then said, "W ait a minute. There’s something vaguely familiar about the name. I ------ What does he do? ” "H e makes license plates.” " A manufacturer?” "N o . He is a laborer,” she said; and then added, "in the state prison.” "O h,” Mason said. "H e is,” she went on, "supposed to have stolen three hundred and ninety-six thousand, seven hun dred and fifty-one dollars and thirty-six cents.” " It seems to me I remember it now,” Mason said. "A deal in connection with some bank, wasn’t it? ” "A bank and an armored truck—a shipment of currency.” Mason nodded, watching her narrowly. " He’s been in prison for five years. He’s supposed to have the money secreted somewhere. He’s being subjected to pressure of a type that is indescribable in its refined cruelty.” Mason studied her, and she met his gaze candidly. "Officially,” she said, " I am the daughter of a thief.” "G o on,” Mason told her. " M y father worked in the Mercantile Security Bank. They have half a dozen branches. There’s one branch in Santa Ana. In order to keep balances straight, cash is shipped by special armored truck to the various branches. On this day there was a shipment of three hundred and ninety-six thousand, seven hundred and fifty-one dollars and thirty-six cents. Dad personally wrapped it up. An inspector was supposed to have been watching, but dad was a trusted employee and the inspector had made one big wager on a horse race. He had a small portable radio and—well, when it was time for the race to be run, he tuned in on the radio. He said afterward that he was listening, but that he kept his eye on dad, that dad sealed the package, then wrapped it and stamped it with sealing wax. Dad put his own seal on the wax and the inspector put his own seal •i 99 on it. "And then?” Mason asked.' "Then, about ten minutes later, the man who drove the armored truck came up and gave a receipt for the package.” "W hen was it delivered in Santa Ana?” "About an hour and thirty minutes later.” "W hat happened there?” "Apparently the package was in order, the seals seemed to be intact, the Santa Ana cashier gave a receipt, but asked the driver of the armored car to wait, as he had a shipment of vouchers going back.” "And then what?” "A few minutes later, the man came running out and said there’d been a mistake somewhere. He had received the wrong package.” "W hat was in the package he had received?” "A big bundle of canceled checks.” "A ny clue as to th e ------ ” "T h ey all came from one file in the main Los Angeles bank —the file marked 'AA to CZ.’ ” "And where was that file located?” "R ight near the shipping room. Someone had evidently lifted out the cash from the box, scooped up Stacks of canceled (Continued on Page 69)

came running out to the armored there'*d been a mistake somewhere.

The prophet has been known to look the doors on his rapt followers until the collection was over.

Jones’ 54-room m ansion, at Detroit. In 1954 he filed a personal incom e-tax return o f under $5000.

Sporting a $13,500 m ink coat, Prophet Jones ("G o d 's one and only divine p ro p h e t") exhorts followers at one o f his all-n igh t services in Detroit. The coat is a gift from two Chicago schoolteachers.

"T h e curse o f work is fixin’ to leave you .” The prophet promises the m illennium in the year 2000.

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Five nights a week, up to 2500 cash-paying worshipers m eet in “ The Shrine of Lady Catherine,” a former movie theater, to hear the prophet.

Prophet Jones: Messiah in Mink By JOHN KOBLER "An open mind, a clean heart and one dollar, please!” exhorts Prophet Jones, leader of one of America’s noisiest religious sects, as his flock files past his throne. Here's the un believable story of Detroit’s self-styled "Universal Dominion Ruler" and his "nonprofit ecclesiastical corporation.’’ "All those exempts,’’ the prophet chortles. "It’s beautiful!" lAMES FRANCIS MARION JONES is a De troit Negro who claims to be the re-embodi ment of the Savior. In the eleven years since he established his Church of Universal Triumph, the Dominion of God, he has convinced a good many people throughout the country, white as well as Negro, of his divinity, and they show their venera tion by showering him with such costly offerings as diamond jewelry, solid-gold pocket accessories, automobiles and roomfuls of furniture, and by pour ing money into the church treasury. Like Father Divine, who claims to be God, Jones promulgates a brand of heaven-on-earth religion which draws its converts largely from among the underprivileged and the emotionally starved. "The curse of work is fixin’ to leave you,” he promises his followers in an urgent, rasping singsong. "T he curse of death is fixin’ to leave you. . . . Say amen! ” “Amen! ” they respond as one voice, and dig down for another contribution. Jones also prophesies. During a visit last fall to New York, where he preached in Carnegie Hall to an audience of 1200, each of whom had paid two dollars to get in, he announced that a vast commu nist spy ring, with headquarters in the city, would be exposed at any moment. And he professes to heal. He tells his followers, for example, that if they ever develop a tumor, to wire him and he will wire back the prescribed treatment, after obtaining the details directly from the Almighty.

Billing himself as "H is Holiness the Rt. Rev. Dr. James F. Jones, D.D., Universal Dominion Ruler, Internationally Known as Prophet Jones,” the preacher officiates at five services a week in a former movie theater on Detroit’s Linwood Boulevard. " Thankful Meetings,” he terms them. They start at about ten p . m . under the leadership of an assistant preacher, Her Royal Highness, Rev. Lady M attie Usher—every member of Jones’ entourage carries a royal or noble title—and often last until seven or eight the following morning. Jones himself does not show up until, as he explains, God has ordered him to, which may be midnight or after. He says he takes no step, in fact, however trivial, without God’s ex plicit instructions. They are transmitted to him in the form of a breeze fanning his right ear. Ulti mately the services reach a pitch of shouting, stamp ing, holy-rolling frenzy which once caused a Detroit judge, in the days when Jones operated near a resi dential neighborhood, to find him guilty of creating a public nuisance and enjoin him from holding services later than 11:30 p . m . Every Monday, from one to two a . m ., the pro ceedings are broadcast nationally over Detroit’s CKLW, which can be picked up by short wave on numerous Midwest radios. "T he Shrine of Lady Catherine,” as Jones renamed the theater in honor of his late mother, has a capacity of 2500 and it P H O T O G R A P H Y BY O L L IE A T K IN S

is frequently packed. About 10 per cent of the congregation is white. The building, when paid for at the rate of $1800 a month, will have set the Do minion treasury back $160,000. Prophet Jones, to use the title most of his follow ers address him by, is a tall, willowy, mocha-colored man of forty-eight, as flamboyant in dress and manner as a macaw. As he sweeps out of his custombuilt, chauffeur-driven, beige automobile, across a red carpet, into the shrine, he presents a resplendent, a stupefying sight. An ankle-length, red-velvet coat with a white silk lining, one of almost 500 ensembles he owns, may drape his lean, six-foot frame. Under neath he may wear a robe of red crepe aglitter with sequins. His favorite headdress is a gem-encrusted white beret. His graying locks have been arranged by his personal hairdresser. Princess Chaney, who devotes an hour a day to the job. Clouds of perfume linger in the air long after the prophet has passed, for he douses himself with rich, heady blends from an accumulation of bottles which the faithful have given him. The bottles, which fill an entire closet, he values at $91,000. In his left ear lobe a topaz sparkles, and his left hand and wrist are weighted down with jewels out of a safe that con tains topaz, garnet, ruby and diamond rings, gold chains and a diamond bracelet from Tiffany’s com posed of 812 stones, costing $17,000. His right side, however, remains innocent of all adornment. "W hen God wants to talk to (C ontinued on Page 74)

22 An orchid from th e co llectio n of "M r. O rchid,â&#x20AC;? h o b b yist L in n aeu s Savage.

B est-of-show a t W ash in gto n â&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Seventh A n n ual In te rn a tio n a l O rchid Show.

Rodney Jo n es bred th is p rize p la n t in one of h is n in e orchid greenhouses.

W ith al>out 20,000 species, orchids are o n eo f o ur m ost n um ero us p lan (fa m ilie s.

THE ORCHID COMES DOWN TO EARTH By NEIL M. CLARK Wives at a recent Chicago convention sported 44,0 0 0 orchids, harried florists have 1 0 ,0 0 0 ,0 0 0 of the blooms to sell, and people are even grow ing their own plants at home. Once, only a rich man could afford the ' queen of flowers," but now some buyers ask, '"Are orchids nice enough?"’ PHOTOGRAPHY BY FR A NK ROSS

O rch id -d e ck e d Je a n n ie S h im o n , D oris S te p h e n s an d P h y llis K illin g e r an d a 5 0 -fo o t, h lu e -rih h o n w in n e r (re a r) a t th e W a s h in g to n show .

H E other day a M anhattan wholesale florist sold 350 orchids for a funeral blanket which, he guessed, would cost the buyer $1500. A stud orchid plant changed hands not long ago for, it was said, $3500. Last winter wives at a Chicago convention were given 44,000 orchids. At the same time a Park Avenue florist was selling fine orchid cor sages at twenty dollars per flower. B u t an Atlantic City florist in April said that a few buyers of gifts for convention wives were asking, "A re orchids nice enough for our ladies? ” The business of selling the world’s most famous flower is all mixed up. I t is plagued by wanting to keep orchids on a pricescarcity pedestal, yet wanting to mass-sell; by amateurs turned pro who make too many fingers in the pie; by the grow-your-own-orchids-at-home movement; by research men who turn up with ways to produce finer orchids and more of them. Almost a hundred years ago Charles Darwin, the Origin of Species man, showed what could happen if orchids ever got out of hand. He counted measured samples and found that one plant produced 186,300 healthy seeds. These, he figured, if most of them grew, would plant an acre. Those could seed every foot of ground on the island of Anglesea. And fourthgeneration descendants of that plant could "clothe with one uniform green carpet the entire surface of the land through out the globe.” In Darwin’s day, orchid growers were a special breed of green-thumbers and goofies, mostly rich men obsessed by a plant older than Ja ck ’s beanpole, the traditional flower of female lure, bearing the world’s most beautiful flowers, but the very dickens to raise. They thought it a shame for fine orchid seeds to go to waste, and spent fortunes (Continued on Page 94)

T h e w o rld 's m o st fa m o u s flow er grow s n a tu r a lly in a lm o s t every c o u n tr y .

The amphibious exercises had begun, and ex-Corporal Opie M cCall was

leading the landing party to

The Wrong Beach By WILLIAM CHAMBERLAIN

"Y o u can trust M cCall, Barge,” Opie assured X-CORPORAL OPIE M cCALL, unfaded him airily. "H e ’ll keep an eye on things like an patches on the sleeves of his denims show eagle. M aybe like two eagles.” ing where chevrons had once been, lounged Fifty yards away a jerry-built structure extended at his ease and surveyed the activity on the out into the water, its planking raw and new in the sea in front o f him with a bright interest. The Ump afternoon sun. A steep ramp led from the sand to a teenth Infantry was practicing amphibious opera platform some thirty feet high, which represented tions down there. Opie was enjoying that because the deck of an attack transport, and men wearing it involved other people working besides McCall. combat packs and helmets were toiling up the ramp The field telephone burred beside him and the to mill at the top. Presently they would descend a voice o f Jughead Simpson, first sergeant of Head debarkation net and into waiting LCVP’s—Landing quarters Company, came through. "T h at fourth Craft Vehicles and Personnel —which would carry boat wave loaded yet? ” he wanted to know. them around the point a mile away and dump them "N op e,” Opie said. on a stretch of sand which had been labeled Beach "W h y n ot?” Jughead demanded angrily. Red One for the amphibious exercises. " I think somebody else just fell overboard. Prob First-class Sergeant Lederer, the other member of ably one o f those fat first sergeants th a t------ ” the communications detail, came across the sand " We’ll chat about those fat first sergeants later,” Jughead growled. "Y o u just see to it that you let me IL L U S T R A T E D B Y B IL L F L E M IN G know when that fourth wave shoves off! ”

■

from the platform with his face screwed into a frown. He was a lanky, sunburned man and things worried him. Habitually. Now he squatted on hi« heels beside Opie. "E verything’s fouled up down there,” he said disconsolately. '' The fourth wave s already ten minutes late in shoving off.” He paused as there was a sudden spate of shouting on the loading deck and men pushed confusedly about. Somebody ran forward with a long-handled boat hook and began to fish around among the piles. Opie watched the activity with a bright interest. "Som ebody else overboard,” he said philosophi cally. "N oah used to run ’em better.” Lederer gave him a sour look. " Used to run what better?” "R u n amphibious operations better,” Opie said. "H e loaded the animals in two by two. Noah was a smart cooky in my (Continued on Page 90)

How to Get Along With Texans By GEORGE SESSIONS PERRY When John Dickson Harper—a rock-bound Republican on a Yankee payroll—arrived in the Lone Star State, people eyed him warily. But the changes he wrought, and the way he wrought

John Harper (center) and Texans. Harper is man ager of a new $100,000,000 plant near Rockdale.

them, soon had his new neighbors eating out o f his hand. . . . p T everybody by any means who has come to Texas has been able to get along with the sometimes cantankerous breed that lives here. The "Father of Texas,” Stephen Aus tin, who brought in the original 300 Anglo-American families, could not win enough votes to head the republic he’d virtually created. Even Sam Houston, who had personally led the Texas army to victory at San Jacinto, the battle which resulted in Texas’ inde pendence from Mexico, was out of public office in Texas about as often as he was in. This story, however, is about a man who seems to have the knack of getting along with Texans, day in, day out, month in, month out, year after year. He comes, by the way, not only from Sam Houston’s state, Tennessee, but directly from Maryville, where Sam went to school. His name is John Dick son Harper. He came to Texas in 1951 for the purpose of man aging a $100,000,000 aluminum plant then abuilding near my home town of Rockdale, whose popula tion for decades had been about 2000 and where the biggest industrial enterprise was a modest ice fac tory, there no longer being anything so grand as a cotton gin in action. When I first met John Harper, a few days after his arrival, he was living in a two-dollar room, the air of which was conditioned only by the nonexistent breeze while the temperature averaged 105 degrees in the shade in the daytime and fell, on good nights, to as low as 80 degrees. Yet he took all this in good grace, losing patience neither with the Lord of Hosts nor Gov. Allan Shivers for his having to be barbe cued in this manner. This handsome, forty-one-year-old man with dark-brown hair and direct hazel eyes beneath a pair of subbituminous brows, bought himself some khaki work britches and work shirts and began making friends, while bulldozers and every descrip tion of dirt-moving machinery commenced ripping up the earth, leveling hills, cutting foundation trenches and starting work on an 850-acre lake that would serve the aluminum plant in the same way your radiator serves your car. As it happened, this plant was to be built approx imately eight miles south of Rockdale in a tiny community originally known as Freeze-out, in honor ¿>f the card game, a type of poker, that was the chief amusement at the little inn where wayfarers ap proaching the Chisholm Trail spent the night. This, incidentally, is an item of local lore John Harper himself dug up, and one which few of us natives had known prior to his arrival. When John first came to town, his problems were so multifarious that to list them all here would put you to sleep. To name but a few, he had to see that the people of Rockdale rebuilt their town in a way that was to their liking, but would yet accommo date the thousands that would pour in, first to do construction work and later to operate the plant. He had, almost in passing, to learn who was who,

and why. To fill his lake, he had to lay a thirty-sixinch pipe fine to the confluence of the San Gabriel and Little rivers, which lay twelve miles away. To do that, he had to buy the permission of every farm owner between the lake and the rivers. I don’t imag ine you’ll be at all surprised to learn how valuable became the right to run pipe under some of that land. Yet John’s first duty, aside from getting the plant into production, was to make and hold friends in our vicinity for his firm, the Aluminum Company of America, which heads up in Pittsburgh. The townfolk were naturally weighing the questions: Is this good or bad? Will our way of life be blasted into something wholly different, something that revolves not around the seasons, but around an occasional ukase from Pittsburgh? At once John told the City Council that his com pany would be willing to pay taxes in advance in or der that the town might sufficiently expand its municipal facilities, such as its water system and streets. It had to build adequate schools for the youngsters of persons yet to arrive. The local paper, the Rockdale Reporter, had been yapping for years about the need for a swimming pool for the town’s sun-baked children, since in our part of the country all but the major rivers, as often as not, cease to run from the end of July until December. John told the town his company would donate the land and go halvers on the cost of a first-class municipal swim ming pool. Now, it goes without saying that in so small a town as Rockdale, every eye was on his every move. Mind you, he was here alone. His wife and children were still back home in Maryville, where, until re cently, he had been assistant power manager for Al coa’s extensive Tennessee operations. Meanwhile, wearing unostentatious clothes and driving a lowpriced automobile, he was available to speak to any group in Central Texas and explain what his com pany was up to, and why. It was a thrilling story he had to tell, because his company was attacking a task that had never been tried before in industrial history. It meant to mine and dehydrate the ocean of lignite coal that lies be neath this part of Texas, and use it as fuel to gener ate electricity, which is needed in tremendous amounts in stewing alumina up into aluminum. Well, naturally, Texans liked that. We didn’t have any use for that old lignite, a fuel only slightly superior to peat and for which no one in recent years had cared to pay so little as a dollar a ton. Then, too, this not only smacked of but was adven ture, a kind of poker game in which even the white chips cost a million. That first year John lived in Rockdale was spent pretty much on the go. After all, until he was able to get his own power plant going a few years hence, he’d be buying power from the Texas Power and Light Company, whose head offices are in Dallas, 165 miles to the north. (C on tin u ed o n Page 8 7 )

Helmuth Fuchs does a jig at a party Harper and his wife (left) threw at their Rockdale home.

The Harpers and their sons Thomas and John, Jr., have been "fu n to have around," says a neighbor.

A new story by a Nobel Prize-winning author-and Post veteranlaid in fabulous Yoknapatawpha County, Mississippi, scene o f his most famous novels.

Race at Morning By W ILLIAM FAULKNER

WAS in the boat when I seen him. It was jest dust-dark; I had jest fed the horses and dumb back down the bank to the boat and shoved off to cross back to camp when I seen him, about half a quarter up the river, swimming; jest his head above the water, and it no more than a dot in that light. But I could see that rocking chair he toted on it and I knowed it was him, going right back to that canebrake in the fork of the bayou where he lived all year until the day before the season opened, like the game wardens had give him a calendar, when he would clear out and dis appear, nobody knowed where, until the day after the season closed. But here he was, com ing back a day ahead of time, like maybe he had got mixed up and was using last year’s calendar by mistake. Which was jest too bad for him, be cause me and Mister Ernest would be setting on the horse right over him when the sun rose tomorrow morning. So I told Mister Ernest and we et supper and fed the dogs, and then I holp Mister Ernest in the poker game, standing behind his chair un til about ten o ’clock, when Roth Edmonds said, "W hy don’t you go to bed, b oy ?” "O r if you’re going to set up,” Willy Legate said, "w h y don’t you take a spelling book to set up over? . . . He knows every cuss word in the dictionary, every poker hand in the deck and every whisky label in the distillery, but he can’t even write his name. . . . Can y o u ?” he says to me. " I don’t need to write my name down,” I said. " I can remember in my mind who I am.” " Y o u ’re twelve years old,” Walter Ewell said. "M a n to man now, how many days in your life did you ever spend in school? ” "H e ain’t got time to go to school,” Willy Legate said. "W h a t’s the use in going to school from September to middle of November, when he’ll have to quit then to come in here and do Ernest’s hearing for him? And what’s the use in going back to school in January, when in jest eleven months it will be November fifteenth

again and he’ll have to start all over telling Ernest which way the dogs went?” "W ell, stop looking into my hand, anyway,” Roth Edmonds said. "W h at’s that? What’s that?” Mister Ernest said. He wore his listening button in his ear all the time, but he never brought the battery to camp with him because the cord would bound to get snagged ever time we run through a thicket. "W illy says for me to go to bed!” I hollered. "D o n ’t you never call nobody 'mister’ ? ” Willy said. " I call Mister Ernest 'mister’,” I said. "A ll right,” Mister Ernest said. "G o to bed then. I don’t need you.” "T h at ain’t no lie,” Willy said. "D eaf or no deaf, he can hear a fifty-dollar raise if you don’t even move your lips.” So I went to bed, and after a while Mister Ernest come in and I wanted to tell him again how big them horns looked even half a quarter away in the river. Only I would ’a’ had to holler, and the only time Mister Ernest agreed he couldn’t hear was when we would be setting on Dan, waiting for me to point which way the dogs was going. So we jest laid down, and it wasn’t no time Simon was beating the bottom of the dishpan with the spoon, hollering, " Raise up and get your four-o’clock coffee!” and I crossed the river in the dark this time, with the lantern, and fed Dan and Roth Edmondziz horse. It was going to be a fine day, cold and bright; even in the dark I could see the white frost on the leaves and bushes—jest exactly the kind of day that big old son of a gun laying up there in that brake would like to run. Then we et, and set the stand-holder across for Uncle Ike McCaslin to put them on the stands where he thought they ought to be, be cause he was the oldest one in camp. He had been hunting deer in these woods for about a hundred years, I reckon, and if anybody would I L L U S T R A T E D BY R A Y PROHASKA

know where a buck would pass, it would be him. Maybe with a big old buck like this one, that had been running the woods for what would amount to a hundred years in a deer’s life, too, him and Uncle Ike would sholy man age to be at the same place at the same time this morning-provided, of course, he managed to git away from me and Mister Ernest on the jump. Because me and Mister Ernest was going l°Then'"me and Mister Ernest and Roth Ed monds set the dogs over, with Simon holding Eagle and the other old dogs on leash because the young ones, the puppies, wasn’t going no where until Eagle let them, nohow. Then me and Mister Ernest and Roth saddled up, and Mister Ernest got up and I handed him up his pump „un and let Dan’s bridle go for him to git rid of the spell of bucking he had to git shut of ever morning until Mister Ernest hit him between the ears with the gun barrel. Then Mister Ernest loaded the gun and give me the stirrup, and I got up behind him and we taken the fire road up toward the bayou, the five big dogs dragging Simon along in front with his single-barrel britchloader slung on a piece of plow line across his back, and the puppies moiling along in ever’ body’s way. It was light now and it was „oing to be jest fine; the east already yellow for the sun and our breaths smoking in the cold still bright air until the sun would come up and warm it, and a little skim of ice in the ruts, and ever leaf and twig and switch and even the frozen clods frosted over, waiting to sparkle like a rainbow when the sun finally come up and hit them. Until all my insides felt light and strong as a balloon, full of that light cold strong air, so that it seemed to me like I couldn’t even feel the horse’s back I was straddle o f—jest the hot strong muscles moving under the hot strong skin, setting up there without no weight atall, so that when old Eagle struck and jumped, me and Dan and Mister Ernest would go jest like a bird, not even touching the ground. It was jest fine. When that (Continued on l*aKe 103)

The boy’s mother— who ran off with a Vicksburg roadhouse jake.

Uncle Ike McCaslin,

Mister Ernest,

Koth Edmonds,

The Boy

Willy Legate

IN T E R N A T I O N A L

i-hose father was Italy’s foreign minister at the time. eU a view o f manslaughter suspect Piero Piccioni, w Sept. 24, 1954: At a Rome prison, bystanders se»

Who Killed Wilma Montesi? By ERNEST 0. HAUSER The girl’s body was found on the beach, and in three days the case was "closed” : Accidental death. Then, six weeks later, came the first accusation of murder, and one of the wor

s most

sensational scandals began. A Post editor reveals the full story ol the crime t tat 10c e R ome. HE beach that stretches south from crowded Ostia the popular seaside resort some twenty miles outside the walls of Rome, is neither elegant nor pretty. Low, weatherK e n pines and scrub timber push down to the flat, beaV , Vim- small stenciled signs warn Sunday 8811 l chat hunting is Reserved. The woods fade «outh lor half hour. out, approach the squat, cheaply constructed an<1 ^ homes of Tor Vaianica, an unimaginative IleeniW gazing out over the open sea. It was VlUfhe deserted beach at Tor Vaianica, on April 11, 1$53 at seven-thirty in the morning that a young It ruction worker came upon the body. C°Thus started one of history’s great scandals- a a i which rocked Italy’s whole social structure, ? ^ d the resignations of the national police chief j . . , , foreign minister, and came within an inch b r i n g i n g down the government itself. And though ol Dri g & means over, it s not too soon to thehe°hrto^he meaning of these strange eventsPry ? riiacern behind them a knife-edged threat to a , , fiiivoung democracy. Shrewdly exploited by Italy s s y the Weird affair stands out as an the comm demonstration not only of their marksimpressi nroDagandists but of a communist techmanship as 1 time, be used to sink a gov-

niqUe nUriemUy’t° the United States.

vacious Anna Maria Moneta-Caglio, whose testimony implicated Piccioni and "M arquis” Ugo ontagna in the Montesi case, is helped through a crowd o f newspapermen as she leaves her home.

ernment ^ light> the story makes a nasty litVieV! ^ e in the cold war. But poor Wilma Montleeptr „ u d g y . dark-haired, twenty-one-year-old i®81’ 1 „ill whose incompletely clad, inviolate body °man morning on the beach, had little, if Wa8/h °n 7 to do with it The daughter of a modest carpenter, she was a person of no consequence,

Actress Gianna Antonini with Ugo Montagna, accused o f giving a dope party which led to ^ ilma’s death.

W ID E W O R L D

Victim Wilma Montesi, a carpenter’s daughter, was 21 when she died. Although the cause of her death still is a riddle, Italian Reds have used the case to indict Italy’s entire “ ruling class.” and while she was undoubtedly the victim of foul play, the mystery may well remain a mystery f orever. The perfect crime? The Rome police closed the routine investigation on April fourteenth—three days after the body had been taken to the morgue. Their unbecoming hurry met with the approval of the dead girl’s parents and her sister, Wanda. Loath to see Wilma’8 memory sullied by gossip, the family suggested she had probably gone out by train to Ostia on April ninth—the day she disappeared from home —to treat a skin rash on her foot with sea wa ter. Could she not have collapsed with a sudden chill while wading in, and died of drowning? And could not her limp body have drifted down the coast to Tor Vaianica? Although nobody claimed that Wilma had gone out to Ostia to bathe her foot be fore, and though the body showed no signs of having floated in the sea, the Rome police agreed that this was the most likely explanation. Their verdict: Acci dental death by drowning. So far, so bad. With just a bit of luck, the case might have wound up on the bleak list of spurious accidents and unsolved crimes which do, alas swell the police files of every country. But murder has a strong propensity for wanting out, and voices could be heard about the capital that there was something fishy here —that Wilma had not died of a cold April foot bath, but had been done away with by a person too highly placed to be involved in such a mess —particularly on the eve of an elec tion in which the ruling Demo-Christian Party would try to hold its own against a clamorous Red opposition. Here we encounter the first of many mysteries within a mystery. Where did the voices come from?

Silvano Muto, editor o f the magazine, Attualità, made the charges which almost wrecked Italy's government.

Who was the first to whisper that the police had done a hush-up job? What evil wind first wafted, like a rotten leaf, the name of young Piccioni into the debate? Most likely, we shall never know. Vague hints that the son of a ranking Demo-Christian politician had caused the death of Miss Montesi cropped up in various newspapers, notably two monarchist dailies, within a few days after the event. The first to put the finger on the playboy son of Deputy Premier Attilio Piccioni—the Number 2 man in the Demo-Christian Party —was a humorous magazine, Merlo Giallo. In a jingle accompanying a cartoon, it pointedly spoke of a pigeon —piccione in Italian —carrying the evidence. It wasn’t until May 24,1953, with the crucial elec tions only two weeks off, that Vie Nuove, a leading communist weekly, went for the pigeon with a blunderbuss. This article—a masterpiece of innu endo —did not even draw a bead on the suspect un til the reader’s heart was bleeding for the victim, " a beauty typical of our city, brunette, tall, with white skin and black eyes.” Wilma, the writer spec ulated, might have been thrown into the water al ready dead, by somebody who feared a scandal. "All Rome talks about this! ” But once Piccioni’s name was introduced, it was repeated with a calculated frequency increasing toward the last paragraph and culminating in the abrupt question: "D oes Piero Piccioni have an alibi? ” Now, it is true that Piero, in a showdown with his persecutors, could count on little public sympathy. The thirty-two-year-old jazz pianist belongs to Italy’s lost generation. One of four gifted children of a respectable career politician, he lost his mother at an early age and, in the political and moral debacle

that followed the collapse of Mussolini, found little to hold on to. Traveling with a fast crowd, he laid himself wide open to corruption—to a corruption stamped, today, indelibly on his still youthful fea tures. The snub-nosed, beady-eyed young man whom the ladies found quite irresistible was a famil iar figure about Rome. He was, after the liberation, the leader of a thirteen-piece jazz orchestra in a chic restaurant, and he directed, until recently, a radio program called Jazz Classics. Faced with the communist attack, Piero Piccioni did what you and I would do —he sued the author. Quick as a flash, the challenger withdrew the charges, the libel suit was settled out of court, and the gov ernment, in which Piccioni, Senior, served as deputy prime minister, could enter the elections of June 7, 1953, without a scandal hanging around its neck. Then, in October, just when the body on the beach seemed no more than an awkward memory, came the explosion. A scarcely known, recently founded monthly, Attualità, published "th e Truth” about the death of Miss Montesi. Signed by the pa pier’s editor, Silvano Muto, the article suggested that the girl, having passed out from an overdose of narcotics at a wild party, had been left to die on the deserted beach by someone very well connected. Muto was careful not to mention Piero Piccioni’s name. But he had made a dark allusion to Capiocotta, a hunting preserve managed by one of Pic cioni’s friends, "M arquis” Montagna. The beaches there, Muto insinuated, were being used by smug glers to land narcotics, and secret dopje parties had taken place at Capocotta, whose fenced-in grounds reach to within two miles of where the body had been found. Narcotics . . . (C on tin u ed o n Page 8 3 )

--------The author scouting fighters at a small Philadelphia club. ” 1 was lucky,” says Blitman concerning his punch-drunkenness. " I came back almost all the way physically, and my mind remained whole.

I Know What it Means to be Punch-Drunk By HARRY M. BIJTMAN A candid revelation by an ex-top-ranking fighter, who licked some o f the b e st-a n d took a few terrible beatings. Firsthand testimony on how corrupt $nd dangerous the fight game c a n -b u t need n o t be, by a man who came back from the fringes o f Queer Street. |NE of Red Skelton’s most popular comedy routines is his take-off of a punch-drunk prize fighter. Red always gets the laughs M when he goes into his act as Cauliflower lg, who is constantly hearing bells, whistles and ldden passage of birds above his battered head, an laugh at it now. But as a man who spent years in the ring, winning most of the time, but g some shellackings, too, I can’t laugh very long rd. Cauliflower McPug isn’t so funny to one oas been on the fringes of Queer Street himself, isn’t very funny to move along with short, ring strides; to feel your hands tremble and head shake uncontrollably. Nor is it funny to he pitying, amused or derisive glances that v as you go. le fight game has a larger public than it ever now that television has brought it into millions

of households. There is a big demand for talent to fill all those TV spots. I’m happy about the new popularity of the sport —boxing is still my first deep love. I ’m glad for all the youngsters who are getting a chance to make names for themselves. But how many of these youngsters are being ex posed to the risk of future disability? How many of them will be on Queer Street five, ten or twenty-five years from now? I can’t look into the future, of course. But I can look backward and tell you how things have gone for myself and others who were lighting main events twenty-five years ago. On June 27, 1928,1 was an eighteen-year-old boy. There were 25,000 people packed into old Baker Bowl, then the ball park of the Philadelphia Phillies, to see me fight the featherweight champion of the world, Tony Canzoneri. It was an over-the-weight match, and so the title was not at stake.

Blitnian as a featherweight contender. He began fighting as a professional when he was sixteen. I didn’t know it, but this was the real peak of my career, which had started in the amateur ranks three years before. It was my twenty-fourth pro fessional fight. I was confident, I was cocky and I was riding high. I was sure I could take Canzoneri. I had good reasons for believing this. In January of that year I had beaten Pete Nebo, a classy Seminole Indian who had done well against both Canzoneri and Benny Bass. The latter, a slugger who could also box, had lost his title to Canzoneri in a bout which was fought in Madison Square Garden to a fifteenround decision earlier that year. The crowd was with me that night, since I was a Philadelphia boy. For three rounds I clearly outboxed the champ. I was a southpaw, which seemed to confuse him, and I kept fooling him with a snap ping right hook. In the fourth round I had Canzoneri’s left eye cut and almost closed. Then I bounced my left off his midsection. When he sagged, I shot a left to his jaw. Tony was staggering at the bell. I skipped back to my comer and yelled at Max (Boo Boo) Hoff, my manager, " I ’ll knock him out in the next one!” Hoff, who was one of the most fabulous characters in Philadelphia during and immediately after the prohibition era, sponged my face and neck and whispered, "L ook, kid, you’re in front. Don’t take any chances. Keep your left high and keep jabbing and hooking with your right. Do that now. He’s off balance.” I thought there was something wrong with this. But Boo Boo was my manager and my boss. I fol lowed instructions. I won every one of the ten rounds, the limit a bout could go in Pennsylvania when an eighteen-year-old was involved. A few days later a story was going the rounds that Hoff had promised Sammy Goldman, Canzoneri’s manager, that his boy "wouldn’t get hurt” if he signed for the match. I don t know that this is so. I do know what the late Frank McCracken, who refereed the fight, told me when he ran (Continued on Pape 108)

31 D

The Capture of Red River Roy By ED MONTGOMERY H e had a worn-out shotgun, only one hand to shoot with—and an outlaw was his quarry. ALTER BRANSOM, who had a way with all kinds of animals except women, came to town the year of the boom and wen t to work for Old Man Griffin, the mule dealer. Walter should have made a hand, being stubborner than most mules and smarter than some mules, and if he had, there likely never would have been any boom. And the thing that ruined Walter Bransom for mules was a little pest in pigtails and boy’s pants. They’ll tell you that Red River R oy Hodges, the bank robber, made the Bransom Petroleum Com pany, but that’s not right. A mule had as much to do with it as Red River R oy did; and another girl did too. You see, Walter Bransom never would have moved to town, in the first place, if it hadn’t come to him all of a sudden that a man wasn’t ever going to amount to much just running the woods the way he’d always done.

It came to him right after he asked Betty Lou Bentley to be his bride. Betty Lou had cool blue eyes and hair the color of sage grass in the fall, and the manner of a prin cess. She let her cool blue eyes rest on Walter while she thought about the question he had asked, and then she looked out across Banker Bentley’s big front lawn. "T h e man I marry,” she said thoughtfully, "will have to amount to something.” "Amount to something?” " He won’t be a man who spends all his time hunt ing and fishing and maybe trapping just enough every winter to keep body and soul together,” she said. Walter couldn’t think of any real quick answer to that. ILLUSTRATED BY SAM BATES

"O f course,” she said, "he wouldn’t have to be an all-the-way success. Just on his way.” " I guess I’m not so very far on the way yet,” Walter admitted. A man who hadn’t accumulated anything more than a couple of coon dogs and a shotgun couldn’t very well say much more than that, he guessed. " There’s nothing wrong with the mule business,” Betty Lou suggested. "People will always need mules. I guess probably mule-trader Griffin is in the market for somebody about now.” This was on a Sunday night and, the day before, a new hand had quit Old Man Griffin. The new hand went down and robbed the bank, shot a deputy sheriff in the shoulder and lost a posse in the Pan ther Hills. The postmaster had looked through some draw ers and found a picture that showed Old Man Grif fin’s former hired help ((Continued o n Page 4 6 )

Roy faltered, then fired blindly at Walter when Walter was so close it seemed impossible to miss.

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Kthel M erm an and chorus girls o f There's No Business Like Show Business. "Nowadays I guess you m ight say I've been accepted by Hollywood.” she reports.

That’s the Kind of Dame I Am By E T H E L M E R M A N , as told to P E T E M A R T IN It d id n ’t take Ethel lon g to decide that H ollyw ood was “ a b ig nothing , a clam bake.” M ovie b ig w ig s junked her best scenes and trie d to tone down her flip w ays. So she w ent back to B road w ay to team up w ith Jim m y D u ra n te — and k n o c k ’em dead in the good old b ra ssy way. PART

Ethel, who insists she’ s through with Broadway, scans her scrapbooks at her Denver, Col., home.

¡H E R E ’S a story that when I first went to Hollywood, I found it a big nothing, a clam bake. Maybe the reason that’s hard to down is that it’s true. The story goes that I found m y self bumper to bumper with hoity-toity movie dames who were so impressed with their own importance they looked down their noses at my informal and sassy ways. The slide fastener of this part of the story has come off the track. When I went to H olly wood to do my first picture, W e’re N ot Dressing, I met no movie stars off the set. I never went to parties because I didn’t know anyone. I didn’t get close enough to anybody for them to look down their noses at me. There were long noses out there, but not that long.

FOUR

Mom was with me. W e’d left pop back in New York. I lived with mom at the Ravenswood, on Rossmore, a building Mae West owns. She lives there too. On Christmas Eve, mom and I didn’t know any body. W e had no place to go, so we just sat there. That time had always meant the Zimmermanns be ing together and everything that goes with Christ mas, like trimming the tree and putting out the presents. W e looked at each other like two goons, blubbering and thinking of pop back in New York. In a social way we were completely isolated. A few years later, when I went to the Coast to be in a movie, Alexander’s Ragtime Band, things were different. I wasn’t being lonely and sitting home and crying. I was leaning over in the opposite direction

Next W eek In the fifth part o f her story, Ethel M erm an tells about her first marriage (it lasted less than a week), her second (it lasted over a dozen years) and two o f her big gest h its: Du Barry Was a Lady, Panama Hattie.

and having myself a ball. When I ran into self-im portant Hollywood stars with nothing behind their self-importance, it made me perverse, and if they were " too, too refeened,” I had to wrestle with a yen to snap their garters, dig them in”the ribs and say, "Y o u said it, sister!” Nowadays I guess you might say I ’ve been ac cepted by Hollywood. I had a wonderful time out there working in my last two pictures, Call Me Madam and There’s No Business Like Show Busi ness. Now I’m asked to Judy Garland’s house, or Evie Johnson’s house, or Roger Edens’ house, or Cole Porter’s house, or Ann Sothern’s house. It’s all in getting to know folks and getting them to know you, just like anyplace else. But my early Hollywood exposure was out of focus. On Broadway I was a hip-swinging Hannah, but it was generally agreed that I was a wholesome type with a sympathetic quality. Hollywood didn’t give me a chance to show that. The Brains out there had different ideas. In New York, even when I sang the double-meaninged lines written for Du Barry Was a Lady, I was still the wide-eyed type. I was in love with Bert Lahr in that show, wasn’t I? That should have been enough to prove me wide-eyed. I do love Bert, but his features are not classical, his face is not sexy. It’s a fundamental in show biz that an audience only cares about "the girl who’s in love with the fella.” If you’re just a friend of the heroine, nobody cares beans for you. You might as well have stood at home; you’re a wall to bounce dialogue against. On the stage, if I wanted a fellow I got him. I was the girl. When I fell in love, the audience was pulling for me. I bring this up because, in my early flicks, I wasn’t even "the friend of the heroine.” When the movie makers got through lousing up my roles, I was so close to being a "h ea v y ” —that means an "old meanie” —I might as well have worn a Franken stein’s monster suit and a wig trimmed with wiggly rubber snakes. I wasn’t the only one who was burned by what Hollywood did to me. The writer, Gilbert Seldes, was so rawed up that he popped off about it like this: "T h e musical shows which Miss Merman makes wonderful are bought by Hollywood and someone ruins them there. Her looks, I gather, aren’t what Hollywood absolutely needs. Her talent is rarely equaled.” I’d help establish a show as a Broadway hit; then a studio would snap it up for a thick bundle. Pres ently, when you saw the thing on the screen, you’d have hell’s own time recognizing it. The only fa miliar thing about it was the title. Any other simi larity was a coincidence. The original stage lyrics were thought too broad for anybody with a mental age higher than seven. So they were prettied up. To the surprise of nobody except the movie makers, this took all the kick out of flip and sassy lyrics. People wondered what all the horn tooting and drum beat ing had been about when the show played Broadway. Originally I went to Hollywood hopped up with optimism, eagerness and ambition. I’m not noted for laziness or doing as little as I can get away with. I wanted to give each scene everything I had. I thought I was doing it. I didn’t notice the looks passed from director to producer to cameraman, but when I saw We’re Not Dressing on the screen, I got it. They’d used a fraction of the footage I’d been in. The rest had been kicked (Continued on Page 54)

V A N DAM M

B o b H op e and E thel crossed sw ords w h en h e stole a scen e fro m h er in R ed, H ot an d B lu e. " I f th a t so ca lled co m e d ia n ever does th a t again , I ’ m g o in g to p la n t m y fo o t on h is n o s e ,” d eclared E thel.

S L IM A A R O N S

On stage o f th e B roadw ay h it. Call M e M a d a m : R a ou l P ene d u Bois, I.eland H ayw ard, Jerom e R o b b in s. G eorge A b b o tt (k n e e lin g ), H ow ard L in dsay, R ussel C rouse, E thel, Paul Lukas and Irving B erlin. J im m y D u ran te and E thel eostarred in R ed, H ot and B lue. " I ’ ve been told that I ’ m ro u n d -e y e d and lo o k surprised, t h a t 's w ron g w ith th a t? ” asks E th el. "Vi h o w an ts a girl w h o k n ow s ev ery th in g ?”

What could father say? His daughter demanded the truth about

WHY BOYS LIKE GIRLS ByJO H N

T was Saturday night and Walter Fenton was industriously spreading mustard on a huge frankfurter with all the slapdash of an experi enced house painter. His wife, Emily, was studi ously probing the pickle dish. Nancy, his fifteen-yearold daughter, was preoccupied—which was a danger sign. “ D addy?” Nancy’s tone was plaintive. Walter Fenton looked up from his mustard with some suspicion. “ M ’m-m?” he said. “ Why do boys like girls?” Which caused Walter Fenton to miss a dab of mus tard. “ Emily! ” He glared. “ When will you ever teach this child th at there are some subjects that shouldn’t be brought up at the dinner table?” Emily was never disturbed by the battle of the sexes. “As long as there are dinners, there will be sub jects,” Emily said. “ Dish out with the wisdom, dear.” Walter Fentbn sought refuge in sarcasm. “ I suppose there is a boy mixed up in this! ” he said. “ W hat would life be without a boy?” Emily said. “ Is there a boy?” Walter Fenton demanded. Nancy sighed gravely. “ There’s a boy all right, daddy. But I haven’t got him.” “ Praise the Lord!” said Walter Fenton. He was quite fervent about it. “ The Lord,” said Emily, “ helps those who help themselves.” Walter Fenton groaned. Even after seventeen years of married life he never ceased to be dismayed by Emily’s serene acceptance of the facts of life. And now that Nancy was fifteen he had come to realize that so far as his daughter was concerned the sun rose and set in the orbit of her mother. Sometimes it made him feel the way he did when taxi drivers ignored his frantic pleas for mercy in the rain. “ Emily,” he pleaded, “ will you ever realize that this child is only fifteen years old?” Nancy gasped indignantly. Walter Fenton dared not glance in her direction, for Nancy, despite her pony hairdo,' showed unmistakable signs of an imminent womanhood of which he did not care to take official notice. “ When my great-grandmother was fifteen ----- ” Emily began. Walter Fenton stiffened ominously. “ Emily, don’t you dare bring your great-grandmother into this! ” he warned.

MEYER

“All right,” Emily said. “ Let’s say when I was fif teen ----- ” “ What about when you were fifteen, Emily?” Emily grinned slyly. “ I never let a boy get by me without being investigated.” Nancy was preoccupied again. “ I don’t see what that Bobbie Smith has got that I haven’t got!” she said. “ Well, whatever it is, I hope she hangs onto it! ” said Walter Fenton. Then he said, “ What has Bobbie Smith got to do with all this?” “ Why, I would say,” said Emily judiciously, “ that the boy in question is drooling over the girl in question, who, unfortunately, doesn’t happen to be Nancy. . . . Isn’t that about right, N an?” “ You’re so right, m other!” Nancy sighed. “ Maybe you haven’t made him notice you yet,” Emily said. Walter Fenton braced himself for action. “ Emily, are you going to start conniving with this child again? ” he demanded. Emily was firm on this point. “ Every girl is entitled to a co-operative mother,” she said. “ You mean scheming!” Walter Fenton charged. “ I mean co-operative,” Emily said. “ Gee, daddy, you’re suspicious!” Nancy said. Attacked on both flanks, Walter Fenton roared, “ Nancy, I don’t believe you even know this boy’s name! ” Nancy stiffened. “ I do, too, daddy! T hat is, I know his first name is Tommy—and, besides, he has cute red hair.” “ I told you so!” Walter Fenton cried. “ Emily, I will not have my daughter falling in love with boys until she knows their last names! ” Nancy’s eyes widened. “ But, daddy, I ’m not hardly at all in love with him! ” “ Then what do you want him for?” Walter Fenton roared. Nancy summoned her dignity. “ To see if I can get him.” “ Em ily!” “ Which is a very good reason,” said Emily. “ Will you tell me why a girl should chase a boy just to see if she can get him ?” Walter Fenton de manded. “ I t’s educational,” said Emily. “ Fun too.”

I E E l ’S T R 4 T E D BY R. C. H 4 R R I S

( C o n tin u e d o n P a * e 7 9 )

"D a d d y , d o n ’ t y ou kn ow any thing about a g ir l? ” Nancy cried,

S ID A V E R Y

D r. A rth u r S tosick observes a ro c k e t-e n g in e -te st b la st in sid e a b lo ck h o u se a t th e C alifo rn ia I n s titu te o f T echnology J e t P ro p u lsio n L ab o rato ry .

Inside Rocket Test Cell F By RONALD M. DEUTSCH ''Whatever happens,” they told the author, "'don't move!’" He peered through the slit—ten panes of safety glass thick—and the rocket went off: A 5000-degree hot blast of intolerable sound. And in the strange world at Cal Tech Jet Lab, where guided missiles are born, that was only a baby rocket. . . . F E W weeks ago, und er th e w atchful eye of a secu rity escort, I crossed th e threshold of R ocket T e st Cell F —a steel-and-concrete blockhouse in a g ian t lab o rato ry so closely guard ed th a t n o t one A m erican in 10,000 knows even its n a m e —an d stepped into a stran g e and d istu rb in g world. " H i ,” said th e te s t chief, a d o cto r of chem istry who h a d n o t y e t reached his m id-tw enties. " G r a b a seat on th e ta b le by th e window, an d w hatever happens, d o n ’t m ove.” " H i ,” I said. " W h y should I w an t to m o v e ? ” "S o m e people g et excited,” he shrugged. " C ouple of m o n th s ago a te s t m o to r blew u p an d sta rte d throw ing fum ing n itric acid an d burning rocket fuel. A v isito r got panicky w hen th e fum es began to com e th ro u g h th e w all from th e firing p it. H e ra n for th e door, an d one of o u r m echanics barely got him w ith a flying tackle. I t ’s u n d e rsta n d a b le,” he added. "A nervous ty p e. B u t th e blockhouse an d th e surro u n d in g area were being sp a tte re d w ith th e

acid and fuel. W e d id n ’t th in k he should go outside, a n d we preferred to keep th e door closed.” O bediently, I took m y seat on th e tab le an d w atched th ro u g h m y slit of a window—ten panes of safety glass th ick an d fronted by steel bars —as th e m echanics and engineers finished th eir preparations in th e firing cell. Tw o weeks of dickering ab o u t secu rity h ad preceded th is visit, for th e barbed wire an d arm ed guards of th e C alifornia In s titu te of Technology J e t Propulsion L ab o rato ry p ro tect m any defense secrets. K now n to its carefully cleared circle of in tim ates as th e birthplace of A m erican ro cketry, th e je t lab h as spaw ned m any of th e w eapons th a t m ake W hite Sands a place of secrecy, th a t breed ta lk of a p u sh b u tto n w ar an d of to u rs of th e moon. T here is probably n o t a rocket or guided missile in th e U nited S ta te s to d a y th a t does not owe some d eb t to th e la b ’s hundreds of scientists and engineers. Of th e lab o ra to ry ’s work, M aj. Gen. Leslie Simon, chief of A rm y O rdnance’s R esearch and D evelop

m ent, has said: " T h e m en of th e J e t Propulsion L ab o rato ry have carved o u t a new science. T heir accom plishm ents are equaled only by those of th e m en who gave us th e atom bomb. T o gether these tw o developm ents—th e A-bom b an d th e guided missile —m ay well be th e key to our continued existence as a nation. A nd w ithout th e je t lab th ere would be no guided-missile program as we know it to d a y .” A t th e h e a rt of these accom plishm ents lies th e work of R ocket T est Cell F an d a score of o th er blockhouses fined against a C alifornia hillside not far from P asad en a’s Rose Bowl. F o r in these cells m uch of w h at we know ab o u t th e stran g e phe nom enon of rocket power has been discovered. E ach is divided in to tw o c o m p artm en ts—a heavily shielded control room , and a bare, scarred cham ber in w hich th e rocket engine itself is fired. I w atched as th e engineers locked up th e firing cell, counted heads an d filed in to th e control room. T en feet from m y window was th e rocket m otor, a

steel pipe about the size of the exhaust pipe on your car, with a nozzle on one end. The other end was hooked up to a maze of valves, tubes and cylinders. I couldn’t help feeling a little disappointed when I realized that this unimposing bit of pipe was the center of so much cautious and scholarly attention. The elaborate safety routine the men were follow ing, the safety showers and the gas masks on the wall seemed a little pretentious. Picking up the phone, the test chief asked Central Recording, half a mile away, if they were ready to record the run. "Thirty seconds,” he said into the phone. Another engineer twisted dials and pushed buttons. The warning siren above the blockhouse sent its dour wail over the hills, and above it could be heard the whoosh of compressed air as pressure was put on the fuel lines. "T en seconds,” said the test chief. "Five, four ------ ” he counted down, and I covered an involuntary smile as I looked at the flimsy pipe. You might have thought this fellow was firing an atom bomb. Then, with no warning, there was a deafening blast, and a shaft of blinding flame, 5000 degrees hot, powered into the hillside. Suddenly the rocket screamed, and the blast doubled its intensity. The whole blockhouse shook violently, and concrete dust filled the control room. The noise, the vibration and the brilliant flame dazzled and stunned the senses, and I couldn’t have moved if that comet in the test cell had started coming toward me. Then all at once, after what seemed a couple of long minutes, the motor was silent. " I t ’s a long five seconds, isn’t it ? ” asked Dr. Arthur Stosick, chief of the jet lab’s Rockets and Materials Division. "Seconds?” I asked, a little short of breath. "E ven with a little one like this, we don’t dare fire any longer,” said Stosick. "W e tried a fifteensecond run on a similar motor once. It tore a piece out of the hill and showered molten rock over the hillside, burned it clean. The whole lab turned out to fight the fire, and we just stopped it from taking the mountains behind us. Now we wet down the hill before firing.” " Of course,” put in the test chief, " we fire engines of any size, such as the one for our Corporal guided missile, out of Muroc and White Sands. This little test motor had a few hundred pounds thrust. We fire them at twenty thousand pounds and more. But even the big ones are small enough to b£ carried by one man, and some are rated at a hundred and twenty thousand horsepower.” Dr. Clark Millikan, the noted air expert who is chairman of the board of the lab, and who practi cally commutes between his Cal Tech office and top-secret meetings in Washington, told me, "F or several years we have known the general outlines

of our future missiles. We have needed to know far ahead of time, by a study of natural laws, just what could and couldn’t be done with rockets. "F or example,” he pointed out, "as early as 1945 we were asked to study the idea of a missile which could be fired from a single launching station to any point on the face of the earth. We said it could be done, and our ideas are being realized in the shape of weapons. The Army missiles you are just begin ning to hear about—the Nike, the Corporal, the Honest John—are really rather old-fashioned. Most of our work today is predicated on the idea that in fifteen or twenty years the pilot may well be a thing of the past in air warfare.” So secret has been the work of JPL that though the Corporal was just announced last year, its grandfather was fired in 1947. And a few years ago, when an Army Assistant Chief of Staff was given a tom- of the lab’s eighty acres, he confided, "Y ou know, I had no idea there was more than one little building.” In concrete terms the jet lab has turned out a string of rockets and guided missiles ranging from Jato—the Air Force’s jet-assisted take-off—to the Army’s Corporal. JPL’s work has helped make pos sible such missiles as the antiaircraft Nike, the Honest John artillery rocket, the air-to-air Falcon and the high-flying Aerobee weather rocket. But these are the old-fashioned weapons. On JPL’s drawing boards and being tested by its liaison group at White Sands are weapons which one Army Ordnance officer told me "would scare the pants right off any potential enemy.” For a more literal interpretation of the shape of things to come in the missile business, I talked to Harris M. Schurmeier, the twenty-nine-year-old engineer who runs JPL’s $4,000,000 wind tunnels. Bud Schurmeier’s age and job might be inconsistent elsewhere, but not at JPL, where the average age of the seventeen technical-section chiefs is in the low thirties, though a few of the top old-timers are nudging forty. Schurmeier was supervising a test run in the supersonic wind tunnel, and a dozen engineers girded with throat mikes and earphones, looking like students in a college lab, managed the subtle operation of yard after yard of control panels. Automatic calculators clicked and hummed, trans lating the doings in the tunnel as page after page of numbers, row on row. Through the broad safety window, like a control booth in a radio station, I saw a gleaming metal dart in the tunnel, and through a special viewer the rush of air over its surface. "Breaking the sound barrier?” I asked lightly. Schurmeier smiled the same patient smile I saw many times at the jet lab. " I ’m afraid you’re think ing of transsonic (Continued on Page 64 )

S ID A V E R Y

Harris Schurmeier, Dr. Clark Millikan and Frank Goddard run a test in the wind tunnel.

SID A V E R Y

JPL director Dr. Pickering (second left), and his engineers plot a missile’ s probable course.

F R A N K ROSS

A Corporal is readied for firing at the White Sands Proving Ground, in New Mexico, where scientists test guided missiles in actual flight.

Missiles such as these Nikes are "rather old-fashioned,” JPL scientists re port. In 15 years, says one, "P ilots may be a thing of the past in air war.”

¡Marc h 5. 1955

TH E SATU RD AY EVEN IN G PO ST

Sunday D river

Little-Know n Letters A communiqué a d d resse d b y M aster R oger T re a d w a y

POST SCRIPTS

from A le x a n d ria , V irg in ia , to his p a re n ts in Boston.

A l e x a n d r ia , V a .

June 22, 1742 T\EAR Mater and Pater: We had a jolly -L / nice trip down on the packet and Uncle Thaddeus met me at Yorktown, where we took the stage to Alexandria. I must say Virginia is quite a change from Boston, and I will have many a tale to tell around the Common this winter. They have rather a nice river here called the Potomac. Not quite up to the Charles, of course, but surprisingly good for a backward territory. Yesterday I took the punt and had a bit of a go downstream. Pulled onto a little beach to enjoy the largish tea Aunt Prudence had provided, and met a frightfully interesting native chap about my own age. After I insisted, he agreed to share my tea. Hap pily I had brought along the little woodman’s ax Pater had the smith make for me. We chopped wood for a fire and had a rousing time. Afterward we gathered flat rocks and skipped them across the water. I proposed a small wager as to who could throw the farthest, and I must admit he won handily. However, when I offered him a silver dol lar in payment, he at first refused to accept it, say ing he had much more practice than I, and felt it not quite fair. Finally he accepted the coin, and in a gesture of true sportsmanship, said he would com memorate our meeting by throwing it across the river, which he did. A truly remarkable throw. Since it was a warmish afternoon, he suggested strolling up to the springhouse at the manor for some cold buttermilk. On the way he borrowed my ax and demonstrated how Indians blazed a trail. When we came to a small orchard, he showed the method of chopping a tree so that it will fall in a cer tain direction. Unfortunately, at this moment a tall, vigorous man appeared up the path. There was quite a scene about the tree, and I immediately offered to pay the damage. M y friend, however, admitted it had been his idea, and the last I saw of him he was being hauled along toward the manor by the scruff of his neck. I fear he is in for a formidable caning. Prob ably a son of one of the tenants, but an extremely nice chap. Nothing much else has happened. I hope young Revere has returned my cricket bat. I fear he will never learn the game, as he seems much more in terested in horses. Please write all the news. Your loving son,

C inem ascope M ovies HESE cinemas seem to endeavor To make me a part of their action, T And though this arrangement is clever

had cast him, he felt, as a winner, FATE An ambition he constantly nursed;

Why, his deepest disgrace was to show or to place— He relentlessly strove to be first. Though in matters prosaic, like business, His zeal seldom rose above par, Competition and strife were the breath of his life When he went for a spin in his car. Every car up ahead was a hurdle, To be taken regardless of cost; He was fretful and strained while one driver remained Who had yet to inhale his exhaust. He ignored such restrictions on traffic As the cop and the light and the sign; He would jockey and swerve on a hill or a curve Till he rode at the head of the line.

It causes me spells of distraction. While viewing a fight that each minute Is growing a bit more unnerving, I don’t want to feel that I’m in it — I ’m glad to be merely observing! — R IC H A R D W H E E L E R .

How to be a C e le b rity

He ascribed his success as a driver To a skill that left nothing to luck; He would stress his finesse as he beat an express To a crossing ahead of a truck. Only laggards, he preached, are in peril; You are safer, he vowed, going fast. (You have noted, I fear, as I’ve checked his career. That the tense I must use is the past.)

— C. P. DO N N EL, JR . ACTUALLY, it isn’t hard to be a celebrity. Once A you’ve acquired the knack of climbing Everest for the first time or being a beautiful movie star, all Definitions That M ay be Right, you need to do is write down a cclorful list of things you like or like to do, and have it ready for the or M ay Not reporters. This enables them to begift their articles S h u n . A military command. about you with something like " When Fred HeartM ag n a n im o u s . Nanimous to an extreme. bum isn’t busy crooning for major studios, chances G astr o n o m y . The science of looking at gas through are you’ll find him hunting truffles, finger painting, a telescope. lifting weights, or walking in the rain.” I nc o n so la ble . Shoes that are too far gone to fix. In my research on this matter of lists, I’ve found E lb o w M a c a r o n i . Any macaroni you find on your that they’re easier to make than they look. elbow. The one thing which must go into every list is O pe n H o u se . A house with no roof. walking in the rain (sec above). Somehow, this does P e n siv e . Winner of the 1944 Kentucky Derby. a lot for an article. Anybody can do it, too, and it’s V e s t ig ia l . Not much left of your vest. cheap. It is also important to include at least one T r a in C r e w . The bunch of people helping the thing which is very unexpected. If you’d ever seen bride down the aisle. or heard Fred Heartburn, you wouldn’t think he U n p a r a l l e l e d . T wo lines that go in different could lift a canape, let alone a five-pound bar bell. directions. Similarly, if you’re the man-mountain type, you F a st D a y : A da y that y o u w onder how it g ot so late. could be fond of needlework. D ipso m an ia c . An ardent fisherman. For the rest, it’s mainly a matter of how much M onograjh . A telegram of one word. money you make. If you make $10,000 a year or Sic. Not feeling well. less, you must be pretty colorful, and it doesn’t P y l o n . T o keep heaping it up. matter how expensive the things are which you W a l t z . Anything belonging to Walt. like, because everyone knows you’re just talking B u l k h e a d . Any head over Size 9 anyhow. For instance, you could like sunrise on the Mediterranean — JO H N B A IL E Y . pressed duck Swiss bell ringers walking in the rain If you make up to $50,000 a year, however, you’re on touchier ground, and you had better not be quite so fancy. Something like this, perhaps: peanut-butter sandwiches watching television cooking informal spaghetti suppers walking in the rain If you make over $50,000 a year, it is best to be homey as all-get-out. In this case it is best to like settin’ and whittlin’ pressing your own pants eating hash in the kitchen walking in the rain, barefoot That is about all there is to it, and, as you can see, it is easily done. I, myself, have a list of dandies all ready for the first interviewer who comes along. As a matter Our next speaker needs no introduction, because you of fact, I have had it ready w ouldn’ t know him even i f I told you who he is . . for quite a long time.

R oger. -----D IC K A S H B A U G H .

'H e had a nap this afternoon

T H E S A T U R D A Y E V E N IN G P O S T

— PEG BRACKEN .

D R A W N B Y JA C K T IP P IT

T H E S A T U R D A Y E V E N IN G P O S T

Va carat (25 points) $90 to $200 V i carat (50 points) $225 to $475

1 carat (100 points) $600 to $1225 2 carats (200 points) $1350 to $3180

In October, 1954, jewelers throughout the country were asked for the prices of their top-grade engagement diamonds (un m ounted) in the weights indicated. The result is a range of prices, varying accord ing to the qualities offered. Exceptionally fine stones are higher priced. Add Federal tax. Exact weights shown are infrequent. Lover’s D re a m ... painted for the De Beers Collection by Pierre I no, of Paris

tiu i/ Ovti^iXe/UJlA

-&UC,

Love has a language all its own,

sweet and full of secret meanings for each lover’s heart. It speaks in the mountains and the sun, in buds, and in the wondrous lights of an engagement diamond. And while its voice may some day fade from the mountains, sun and buds, it lingers clarion clear in the diamond’s joyful flames, repeating the dreams of lovers down their married lifetime and beyond.

Your engagement diamond need not be costly or of many carats, but it should be chosen with care. Remember, color, cutting, and clarity, as well as carat weight, contribute to its beauty and value. A trusted jeweler is your best adviser. Extended payments can usually be arranged.

I. W. AYER A SON

De Beers Consolidated Mines, Ltd.

March 5,1955

THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

Look for them in your grocer’s freezer today! OYSTER STEW M a d e th e w a y fa m o u s o y s t e r houses m ake it C hoice, tender o y s t e r s . F r e s h , w h o l e m ilk . Cream ery butter.

GREEN REA with HAM T h is is the real old-fashioned kind o f pea soup. S low -sim m ered w ith lots o f tender ham.

1 CREAM o f POTATO P o ta to e s g lo r ifie d ! M a d e w ith fresh, w hole m ilk, cream ery b lit ter, a little onion and a tou ch ,To f genius.

CREAM o f SHRIMP M o s t e le g a n t s o u p e v e r — fin e shrimps in rich cream w ith butter, spice and everything nice.

These additional Cam pbell’s Frozen S ou ps are available in certain F ish Chowder, Cream o f C orn , Chicken Vegetable and Snapper.

THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

Soups you p robably n ever in the w orld expected to get in prepared form . : . are here now from Campbell’s, thanks to freezing. Only freezing makes it possible to capture the delicate flavors of these great soups. Be prepared for something very special. Even the name Campbell’s on the label can’t begin to tell you how good they are.

THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

March 5, 1955

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impact, and a triple layer sealant between tire and rim insures protection against leakage. Because there is no tube, this is a lighter tire — easier steering, softer riding, cooler running. Be cause it is an Atlas tire, it has the characteristic Atlas wide, flat 7-rib tread that puts more rubber on the road for extra safety and mileage. See the Atlas Cushionaire—tubeless or with tube — at your local Atlas dealer. Written guarantee honored on the spot by 38,000 Atlas dealers in the United States and Canada.

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N. J .

"Destroy all circuits, L ute," DeMeers ordered. "W e take no chances."

BOOTLEG GOLD % Ravenhill

E M EERS’ two hatchetmen, Lute and Parker, carried the heavy black boxes to Ravenhill’s plane and loaded them according to Ravenhill’s instructions. The boxes were supposed to tain heavy-duty radio batteries. But Ravenhill knew that only gold could account for so much weight in so little space. At the insistence of Sgt. Roger McCord, a Mounted Police officer stationed at Lochiel, Raven hill had agreed to charter his plane to the pompous Mr. DeMeers, a fabulously wealthy Belgian busi nessman. DeMeers, with a beautiful widow named Babs Beechum and a pilot friend of Ravenhill’s named Clancy, had been flying north to the Barrens when his plane broke down at Fort Resolution. Ravenhill flew to Fort Resolution, where the mys terious black boxes were transferred to his ship. DeMeers told the Canadian authorities that he in tended to investigate some tin deposits. But Raven hill learned from Clancy that DeMeers’ real mission concerned bootleg gold, which was to be flown to a secret rendezvous point in the Barrens. Clancy had set up this base for DeMeers, and was the only pilot who could find it. Clancy was playing along with

a prisoner in his own plane —for his passengers were Soviet agents. DeMeers because of Babs, who had become finan cially ensnared in the plot. The first shipment of gold was to total 12,000 ounces, worth $420,000 at legal prices. Babs was to con get half of this. She offered a third of her share to Ravenhill, asking only that he accompany her to protect her interests. Neither Babs nor Clancy seemed to realize that the gold already was aboard Ravenhill’s ship. Before the plane took off from Fort Resolution, Clancy warned Ravenhill to make a run for it while he still had a chance. But Ravenhill preferred to gamble on his trump card: both the plane and the gold were temporarily under his control. HI E MEERS was on the float, waiting impatiently to come aboard. Mention of the fort had re minded Ravenhill of a detail they hadn’t discussed. He was sure DeMeers would brush it aside, but he mentioned it for the record. It would delay them perhaps another twenty minutes, he told DeMeers,

ILLUSTRATED B Y BRUCE BOM BERGER

but someone should dash up to the fort and file their flight plan before they took off. DeMeers brushed it aside; they would proceed on his original flight plan. Ravenhill reminded him that this would violate both CAA and military regula tions. A flight plan covering DeMeers’ plane did not apply to the new ship. Moreover, a pilot —Raven hill—had been added to the personnel. " I take the responsibility,” DeMeers told him pointedly. "Later explanations are cheap. Time is valuable now. Let us start off.” Ravenhill could have insisted on the point, since the pilot himself bore the final responsibility in this field. He quelled the stubborn impulse and waved them aboard. Nothing on the official record disclosed that Ravenhill was actually the pilot, since the original flight plan had listed Clancy alone at the controls. Then why complicate matters? The second flurry occurred after Parker had cast off and come aboard and they were adrift under idling propellers. Ravenhill gave the instruments and passengers a final checkup, and snapped his fingers in disgust. (Continued on Page 97)

THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

March 5, 1955

THE BEL AIR 4-DOOR SEDAN in Autumn Bronze. Chevrolet’ s new Fisher Body combines that long, low, "let’s go” look with more room inside for hips, hats and shoulders, and new rigidity and safety underneath. It’s one more reason why Chevrolet’ s stealing the thunder from the high-priced cars!

THE BEL AIR SPORT COUPE in Shadow Gray and Coral. You ought to see how the interior looks, too!

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the

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motor amie

THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

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was really Red River Roy Hodges, who was worth a thousand dollars to any man who could lock him in a jailhouse or shoot him in the attempt. After that, the posse had made another circle into the hills, but they didn’t bring back any thousand-dollar outlaw. Well, the mule business looked about as good as anything else for his talents, Walter figured. He was about five and a half feet tall, fast on his feet and strong as a team of oxen. Had a face that no mule was likely to make look much worse too. He fixed it up with Old Man Griffin that he could get to be a partner after a while if he did all right. He threw his blankets and shot gun in a comcrib on Monday morning and got what satisfaction he could out of thinking about how much room he had for advancement. He got along pretty good with the mules that first day, but he had a lot of trouble with Sally Griffin. She didn’t have any mother and Old Man Griffin let her hang around the pens all the time. She got along with Walter the way the horseflies got along with the mules. That night he took Betty Lou Bent ley to the dance at the schoolhouse and she looked at him real proud from time to time. He was surprised to catch him self thinking about how it would be to stand this close to Sally Griffin, and her in a fluffy dress instead of the boy’s clothes she always wore. Sally, he noticed, wasn’t at the dance. But she was out bright and early next morning, leaning against a corral gate and watching Walter work with a new batch of mules her father had got in. "F o r gosh sake,” she said after a minute, "get out of that pen. A man can’t keep his mind on his business any better than you can this morning has got no business in there.” Walter was trying to doctor a collar bum on a mean-eyed mule’s shoulder, and at first he acted like he didn’t hear her. Sally Griffin had soft brown eyes and a slow little smile that made you want to wrap your arms around her and protect her. But she wasn’t ready to admit she was through being a tomboy yet, and you could argue with her like you couldn’t with most pretty girls. Matter of fact, Walter couldn’t seem to help arguing with her. He turned his head to argue with her then, but before he could open his mouth the mule proved she was right. Sally dragged him out of the pen, little slip of a thing that she was, and made some people carry Walter into the house. Doc White came and set his broken collarbone. " Mister,” Sally said when the doctor was gone, "y o u ’re fired.” "Y o u don’t do the firin’,” Walter said. "Anyway, just one busted collar bone can’t keep me from handlin’ a few mules.” Walter was troubled by a certain kind of a look he’d seen on Sally’s face when he started noticing things again after the mule kicked him. Most times he could get more fire into it when he was arguing with Sally. "N ext time one’ll kick your fool head off,” she said. " There won’t be one kick where I am again,” Walter said grimly, "till I’ve went someplace else.” "T h a t’s what you say, but I know better. Nobody’s ever got cured of Betty Lou Bentley yet.”

Well, Betty Lou Bentley wasn’t what Walter had been thinking about, but he wasn’t about to tell Sally Griffin that. Not if she was going to act like that, he wasn’t. " I f gettin’ cured of Betty Lou Bent ley is what it takes to keep the job,” Walter said coldly, " I don’t want it.” He got up, moved his left arm around a little bit in its sling, and went away. He walked up one side of Main Street and down the other, looking for a posi tion with a future. But things were slow in town then. This was before the boom, you under stand. The boom didn’t amount to any thing right then but a hole in the ground—a hole put there by a wild catter with a mortgaged set of cable tools, very little money and hardly any sense. But Walter did trade a coon hound to a man for a cookstove. Then he traded his shotgun to another man for two months’ rent on a house to keep himself and his cookstove and his other coon hound in; and his bride, if he got her, which wasn’t looking very likely right then. When he got to the end of Main Street he was so desperate he went on across a brush cow pasture that cor nered on the quarter section where Jud Forsythe was drilling the wildest wild cat you ever saw—the Jud Forsythe No. 1, better known around town as the Godforsaken No. 1. There wasn’t any body there but Jud Forsythe, a Choc taw Indian and a little pointer dog. Jud and the dog weren’t doing any thing, and the Indian wasn’t doing very much. "H ow ’s it cornin’ ? ” Walter asked. " Runnin’ deep,” Jud said automati cally, "and lookin’ good.” Politely Walter refrained from com ment and Jud Forsythe sighed. "She’s at eleven hundred and thirty-one feet,” he said. "G ettin’ no deeper fast, and dry as Carry Nation’s politics. It’s kind of a slow business drillin’ an oil well when you’ve run out of a crew.” Walter looked around. "Country looks pretty oily to me,” he said. "M ister,” Jud Forsythe said, " I want to shake your hand. Me and you is the only two people in this county thinks there’s oil enough here to cure a dog of the mange.” "T h e good Lord never made a piece of land so sorry it wasn’t supposed to do somethin’ better than raise them little old blackjacks and sand plums.” Walter picked up a handful of topsoil, tasted it and looked around some more while he dusted his hands. " How much for a half interest in this well?”

March 5, 1955

" Mister, the mood you caught me in I ’d sell half of this oil well to the first man that handed me a thousand-dollar bill.” "Seems like a lot of money.” "H ow does five hundred sound?” " Well, I don’t know too much about how the market is runnin’ on dry oil wells,” Walter said doubtfully. "Supposin’ I was to throw in half the leases I’ve got on three sections joinin’ this discovery well?” "All right,” Walter said. "H ow much for a thirty-day option?” The driller looked disappointed, but he got a pencil out of one pocket and an envelope with a bank’s return ad dress out of the other. He wrote down some things like "Salt M eat” and "M e a l” and "Chewing Tobacco.” "Tw enty dollars,” he said, when he was through figuring. " I ’m a little shy,” Walter said. " How much for a seven-day option? ” Jud looked at the envelope again and crossed off a line that said " Corn Liquor.” Then he wrote that back in again and crossed off a line that said "B acon and Eggs.” "Nineteen dollars,” he said. Walter looked at the bird dog. "Y o u got a shotgun?” he asked. Jud looked puzzled, but he nodded at his tent. Walter found an old solidframe pump gun and fourteen loads. "C om e on, dog,” he said, prodding the pointer awake with his toe. "G o point me some birds.” He killed ten quail, which he sold to the man at the produce house who bought for the Oklahoma City market. He got enough money to buy three boxes of shells and a little bag of gro ceries for himself and his partner. The next day he killed fifty birds. He would have killed more, except Jud’s old gun had a way of hanging up after every other shot and it hurt quite a bit to use his left arm. He depressed the local quail market a little, but he cleared enough to buy the seven-day option with. "W here,” he asked Jud as he pock eted the receipt, "d o you suppose Red River Roy Hodges is stayin’ ? ” "Wherever banks are prosperous and sheriffs are careless. You know that.” "H e doesn’t rob a bank every week. I’ll bet he’s still holed up in the Pan ther Hills.” "W ell, he probably is. But there’s so many of them hills.” " I know it,” Walter said, "b u t a horse makes a lot bigger track than a coon does.” (C on tin u ed o n Page 4 8 )

«rASWiiS-

THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST (Continued from Page 46)

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"Y o u can make statements like that all day,” Jud said, "and not get any argument out of me.” "And when he makes the last track — why, he’s standin’ in it.” "Unless he lays down, he is.” "Thousand dollars’ reward for him, is there?” " There is for Roy. I doubt if there is for the horse.” "W ell, you keep on diggin’ our oil well deeper. I got to borrow your shot gun again.” He went by the post office to look at Red River Roy Hodges’ picture, and then home for his coon dog. The dog followed him down the street to the Griffin place. "T h e way I figure it,” Old Man Griffin said, "y o u ’ve got one day’s time cornin’.” " That’s the way I figured you might figure it.” "W ell, now that we’ve got that set tled, the agreement was two dollars a day and you pay your own doctor bills.” "Seems like you forgot to mention about the doctor bills.” " I might have. Well, shucks, I like you, Walter. I’ll pay half the doctor bills.” "O r I could take it out in trade,” Walter suggested. " I could rent that pony mare you got outswapped on so bad.” "W hat you mean outswapped?” Mr. Griffin swelled up like a bullfrog about to emit a love call. "W ell, she’s all right,” Walter ad mitted, " i f you don’t mind a pacin’ horse. Me, I’ve got a sensitive gizzard. Hurts when it bounces again’ my back bone.” " That mare will fox-trot like a show horse, if you know how to ride her.” "She won’t,” Walter said; "bu t anyhow, you want to trade or don’t y o u ?” "She will too,” Old Man Griffin said. "H ow long would you want to hire her for? ” "F o r as long as it takes me to ride over in the Panther Hills and ’tend to a little business and come on back. It’s hard to tell how long it’ll take, that mare’s so bad about failin’ down.” "T h at mare hasn’t stumbled since six weeks before she was weaned. Go ahead and take her. I’ve wasted enough tradin’ talk on you I could have made myself a hundred dollars with it.” "Y o u ’d ought to throw in a sack of oats,” Walter said over his shoulder, as he went after the saddle. But Old Man Griffin wouldn’t, so Walter left the pen with just his coon hound and Jud For sythe’s shotgun and Old Man Griffin’s pony. But at the gate he picked up Sally Griffin. She stepped out from behind the stone corner post, and Walter tried not to let on he saw her. He put the bridle lines over his shoulder and started walking fast toward the street like he was thinking hard about something. But Sally ran to catch up with him and walked along. "W alter Bransom,” she said, "what are you up to? You haven’t lost any thing in the Panther Hills.” "Awful good fishin’ in them hills.” "G ood hunting too.” Sally skipped for a few steps to keep up. "O nly it’ll be different hunting something that shoots back at you.” " I don’t aim to hunt anything that’ll shoot back at me,” Walter said truth fully, " i f I can help it.” "M aybe he won’t shoot back at you,” Sally said. She sounded dififer-

ent, kind of like a girl who’s trying not to cry. "M aybe he’ll shoot you first.” " I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.” "L ook ,” she said eagerly, "y o u ’re not fired. You can have your job back.” "N ext time,” Walter pointed out, "on e of them mules is liable to kick my fool head off.” They were even with the bank now, and Walter wrapped the lines around the hitching rack and went inside. He looked over his shoulder when he got to the door and Sally was hot-footing it toward home. That’s the time I told that young lady where to get off, he told himself. He pretty nearly believed it too. He found banker Bentley looking through a ledger for mortgages he could foreclose or something. " I ’m fixin’ to go get Red River Roy Hodges,” Walter told him. "W ish you’d have got him last Fri day,” banker Bentley said glumly. " I didn’t need the money last Fri day.” " I needed the money he got last Saturday.” " I thought maybe you might let me have five hundred on account.” ★

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"O n account of what?” " Well, there’s a thousand dollars’ re ward for Roy Hodges.” Banker Bentley said in a strained voice that he didn’t think loose outlaws were good security. "W ell, then, what about loanin’ me five hundred dollars on half of an oil well?” "W hat oil well?” Walter told him, and the banker said he already had two mortgages on that oil well and that was quite a bit too many. " I’d just as soon have a mortgage on a thousand post holes,” he said. " It’d sure help me if I had five hun dred dollars,” Walter said. "H elp me close a deal I ’ve got. Else it’s liable to rush me about gettin’ Red River Roy.” "Y oung man,” banker Bentley said, "th e more I talk to you, the more I think somebody else would look a lot better sittin’ on my front-porch swing with my daughter.” "W h o ’s that?” "M ost anybody.” Well, the way things were going, Walter was pretty sure he wasn’t going to get any five-hundred-dollar loan here in no more time than he had to spend negotiating. He went and got on his rented mare. It took a little while to teach Old Pete to trail horses. There wasn’t any thing hard about it, but the dog had to get it out of his head he wasn’t sup posed to monkey with tracks not made by animals wearing fur that his boss could turn in for money. Walter kept working him on the trail made by the Red River Roy Hodges posse, and

March 5, 1955

when he was sure Old Pete had the idea he called him in. He sent him out again after they’d passed the place where the posse had broken up to hunt the hills in pairs. The first circle, Old Pete hit a trail that wound around like it was made by a lost man, and eventually turned back toward town. The second try worked out the same way, but along in the mid dle of the afternoon the coon dog hit a trail that carried him straight and true toward the heart of the hills. Walter followed along at a kind of a dogtrot that didn’t do his broken bone any good at all, until he was pretty sure. Then he got down and hobbled his pony. He felt in his pocket to make sure he had the three double-naught buckshot shells he’d been saving to kill a wolf with, and went on afoot. Inside of an hour, Old Pete stopped barking trail and started barking treed. Walter broke into a run. This part was what he had been worrying about, be cause it was hard to figure what Red River Roy Hodges would do when a coon dog showed up and started baying his horse. But it didn’t seem like too much of a risk, because there was hardly a man anywhere who would just cold-bloodedly up and shoot a dog. If it was me, Walter reasoned, I ’djust figure it for somebody’s lost dog. No rea son to think anybody’d have a huntin’ dog way out here in the middle of nowhere on purpose. Have to pass by too much good huntin’ to get here. He moved slower and slower through the hickory and post-oak woods as he got closer to where he thought the tree bark had come from. Every few steps he’d stop to look over the country on ahead, and finally he saw a horse. The horse was staked out in a little open place in the woods. Walter skirted the open place and by the time he’d gone fifty feet he smelled wood smoke. A few minutes later he was lying on his belly looking from behind a rock and watching Red River Roy Hodges feed some combread to Old Pete. Red River Roy had a nice little camp. Had a fire going and a coffeepot sitting in the edge of the coals. The back part of a deer was hanging from a tree. His blankets were back under a rock where the rain couldn’t fall on him much and the wa ter would run around him and on down the slope. Roy wore a six-shooter and he had a carbine in handy reaching distance. Walter, with just a worn-out shotgun and only one real good hand to shoot it with, wasn’t in very good shape to negotiate with him. Bût that was all right, because it was going to get dark in an hour or two and Red River Roy would be climbing into his blankets. Walter planned to let him get good and sound asleep, and then wake him up by poking the barrel of his shotgun into his stomach. He worked his way up the hill on the far side of the camp from the way he’d come in. He d found himself a nice big rock and settled down behind it to put the buckshot loads in his gun. Those dou ble-naughts would do about as good a job on a man as anything else, at rea sonable range, and you could hit him with them a lot easier than you could a rifle bullet. But these were swollen from the time he fell in Mutton Creek, and they didn t want to fit. He’d probably have jammed one into the chamber eventually, only all of a sudden Roy Hodges’ horse started talking the way one horse talks to another horse. The horse got an answer, too, and for a couple of seconds Walter was so scared he couldn’t move. All he could (Continue<l on Page 50 )

THF SATURDAY EVENING POST

Why VAN JOHNSON

smokes Luckies “ When I light up a cig a re tte , I naturally expect to enjoy myself."

“ I’ve smoked other brands, but I en joy Luckies more than any of them.”

"Luckies taste better. That's why I buy them and why I smoke them.”

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VAN JOHNSON gets more enjoyment from Luckies than from any other brand . . . because Luckies taste better. They taste better to many millions o f smokers . . . and for good reasons. First o f all, Lucky Strike means fine tobacco. Then, that tobacco is toasted to taste better. “ It's Toasted” —the famous Lucky Strike process—brings Luckies’ fine tobacco to its peak o f flavor . . . tones up this light, good-tasting tobacco to make it taste even better—cleaner, fresher, smoother. So, Be H appy—G o Lucky. Enjoy the better-tasting cigarette . . . Lucky Strike.

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A M E R I C A ' S L E A D I N G M A N U F A C T U R E R OF C I G A R E T T E S

THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

50 (Continued from Page 48)

think of, all o f a sudden, was Sally Griffin. Last he’ d seen of her, she was heading down Main Street, hurrying like she was going after something, and now W alter knew what it was. She’d gone after a horse. She’ d been following him all the time. Chances were she’d stopped when she came to where he left his mare, waited for him to get back, got scared when he didn’t, and rode on. B y the time he’d got all that figured out, Walter had thrown a birdshot shell

back in the barrel of his pump gun and was working his way back down the hill. He was going too fast and too care less, and knowing it, but he couldn’t make himself slow down. What he wanted to do was get around the clear ing without being seen and head the girl off. But then he stopped for a second behind a tree to listen, and he could hear a walking horse not very far away. There wasn’t time to head her off. He went on down the hill, cussing Sally Griffin for being so foolish and

cussing himself for letting her be so foolish, and most o f all cussing Sally for going around dressed like a man, be cause R ed R iver R o y Hodges might not shoot a woman. He got to the big rock where R o y ’s camp was, all right, but R oy was clear over on the other side of the clearing, with his carbine pointed over a rock toward where Sally would ride into sight. He was too far away to do any good shooting at him, but Walter was afraid to wait any longer. He raised up and shot, to warn Sally mostly, and the

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March 5, 1953

No. 8 shot hit R o y in the back, but of course they didn’ t hurt him much at that distance. Just made him mad. It made R o y so mad he threw a shot at Walter without knowing exactly where he was. W alter stayed hunched down behind the rock and got the gun down between his legs so he could pump another shell into the chamber with his one good hand. L o o k ! ” he y e lle d h o p e fu lly . " Y o u ’re pretty well surrounded, R o y ! If you was to surrender I ’d split the re ward with y o u !” R o y shot at him again, like he thought he could shoot through a boulder. Seems like the best offer y o u ’re likely to get! ” Walter argued. < R o y didn’t shoot this time, and after a while Walter took his hat o ff and poked his head around the rock from the side and down low to the ground. R o y had moved around to the other side o f his rock, where he could watch both directions better, and when Walter looked the way R o y was looking, he saw Sally Griffin. She was walking her horse carefully and peering through the trees, trying to see what was ahead. In her jeans and man s hat, you would have to look twice, at that distance, to tell she was a girl even if you already knew her. R oy had spotted her and was already raising his carbine. Walter shot once as he left the rock, to throw R o y ’s aim off, and then ran, trying to get close enough to do some good with his next shot. He was work ing the slide action o f the pump gun with his left hand and concentrating on playing like it didn’ t hurt very much, and he was right out in the mid dle o f the clearing before he realized the old gun was hung up. • L^6 keP^ on running, which was fool ish, but maybe no more foolish than to turn around and run back to the rock. Red River R o y snapped a shot at him and missed the moving target, and turned back for another look at Sally, vffio had stopped her horse maybe fifty yards away. So R oy, who passed as a hard man to rattle, came back coolly and sensibly to kill Walter as his closest and most dangerous adversary. But as he turned, Sally kicked her horse from a standstill into a dead run. R oy faltered, looked around, looked back did nothing, and finally fired blindly and missed Walter when Walter was so close it seemed impossible to miss. Walter almost felt sorry for Red FLver R oy Hodges as he got there and hit him in the head with his gun barrel. Walter had never had his life saved often enough to know what you were supposed to say under the circum stances. Then Sally Griffin got down off her horse and stood there, trying ter ribly hard not to cry, but shaking in spite o f herself, and he didn’t say any thing- He put his good arm around her and patted her on the shoulder, like you do a hurt child. Even when she was tnrough sobbing she didn’ t tiy to pull away for a long time. A t first banker Bentley didn’t know if he ought to cash in Red River R oy Hodges for a thousand dollars when Walter walked in on him next morning. Seemed to think that was up to the Government or the state or somebody. So Walter took the bank’s money out of Red River R o y ’s saddlebags and showed it to the banker. Then he put the money back in the saddlebags and started to walk out of the bank, and banker Bentley changed his mind. He had to argue some more when he got to the oil well, because Jud For-

THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

sythe didn’t want to take Walter’s five hundred dollars. " I t ’s a dry hole, Walter,” Jud said sadly. "W e ’re clean through the Bar tlesville sand now and we didn’t hit nothin’, and that means we ain’t goin’ to.” Walter looked thoughtful. "G ood ,” he said. Jud squinted at him. " I guess one of them bullets must have creased you after all,” he said. " I told you this is a dry hole.” "T h a t’s all right,” Walter said. "Here. Take this money. I want that half interest in the other leases. All the trouble I went to to get me a busi ness to be in, I don’t aim to get out of it this easy.” "W hat we goin’ to drill them other leases with? Our fingernails? ” "W e got us a drilling rig.” "W e got us a due mortgage on it too.” "H ow much to pay off our mortgage and get the rig moved about a mile and get started diggin’ again?” Jud got out his pencil and another envelope the bank had sent him, and went to figuring. But you could tell he thought it was a pure waste of time. "R ight at a thousand dollars,” he said hopelessly.

way to get shot at. If you can’t find enough dresses, spend the rest on fryin’ pans and curtains and things like that for the house. When I get back, I don’t want to find an unspent dollar.” That was so he wouldn’t have it to tempt him, but he didn’t tell Sally that. Sally said it all sounded good, but she wanted to go over that part about getting wrapped up and protected from the world again. " I ’ve got to go out and protect you from the world right now,” Walter ex plained. " I ’ll have to catch up on that other later.” And the way he felt, he wasn’t in any mood to show banker Bentley any mercy. Bentley was recounting the re covered loot and looking happy, but he quit looking happy right after Walter walked in. " I f I was you,” Walter told him, " I ’d jump at the chance to invest five hundred dollars in the future of the man that caught Red River Roy Hodges.” Banker Bentley said he didn’t think the future of any man who would go up against Red River Roy Hodges with one arm and a load of birdshot would be long enough to discuss. "A man that’d bring all that money back just the way he found it—not lose some of it in a hollow tree on the ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ way or something—seems like he’d be a pretty good risk.” Probably the real reason the dog Banker Bentley had to admit he had a better talking point there. But not a remains man’s best friend is that big enough one, he said. they’ve never borrowed any money "W ell, would you invest five hun from each other. dred dollars in the son-in-law of a man —DAVID MURRAY. that can outtrade other mule traders? ” Banker Bentley thought that over. ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ " Mule-trader Griffin’s son-in-law sime as the world wouldn’t be spendin’ any time sittin’ in my front porch swing, "W ell, you wait.” Walter went back to town with a would he?” "N o t any.” song in his heart. He went to see Betty Lou Bentley, and there was no argu "Y oung man,” banker Bentley said, "now you’re talkin’ my language.” He ment there. " I ’m so far on my way to bein’ a went over to the safe where he kept his success,” he told her, "that I just sunk loaning money. all my workin’ capital in an oil well so hopeless that Jud Forsythe is aban Back at the well, Jud was glumly trying to pull tent stakes out of the donin’ ’er.” Betty Lou smiled. " I f you did that,” ground. The bird dog was sleeping and she said, " I think I ’d like to see some the Indian was helping the dog. "L e t’s drill just east of where that more of Jud Forsythe.” Walter figured he was expected to spring branch heads,” Walter said. " I look pretty down in the mouth about hunted a hundred and sixty acres all then. A girl that had just gone out of around that spot, and never saw a your life would expect it of you. He feather. Now you know the Good Lord tried, but he was too eager to get out never made a piece of land so sorry it of there and go see Sally Griffin that he wouldn’t at least raise a covey of quail. Whatever He put there ain’t on top of maybe didn’t do a real good job. the ground, so it’s got to be under it.” "M ight be,” Jud said, "b u t we’ll Sally wanted to argue, too, which was to be expected, only this was dif never know. I already told y o u ------ ” " I remember,” Walter said. He ferent. She didn’t want to take her half handed over the money and stood of the reward money. "W h y, look,” he told her, " i f I was watching, a little wistfully, as Jud just any kind of a gentleman at all or counted it. " I ’ve got to borrow your shotgun even not quite so hard up—why, I’d again,” he said. He sighed and went to make you take all of it.” " I don’t want it,” she said, and it wake the bird dog. "Com e on, dog. looked pretty likely that she was go Let’s go knock down some eatin’ money for this outfit.” ing to start crying again. "Sally Griffin,” he said, " I ’m They’ll tell you that Walter Bransom through arguin’ with you. From here on in, I’m just goin’ to wrap you in killed a thousand quail before they my arms and protect you from the brought that well in, and that might be right. Anyway, it made five thousand world.” barrels of oil a day, and it made the "Y o u ’re going to what?” Walter showed her. It was a little Blackjack Field and the Bransom lopsided on account of the sling, but Petroleum Company and the Forsythe you could tell it was going to be just Petroleum Company. Jud wanted to call it the Sally Bran fine. "N ow you take that money,” he som No. 1, but Walter and Sally said, "and buy yourself five hundred wouldn’t hear of it. They started in dollars’ worth of girl’s dresses. I won’t calling it the Jud Forsythe No. 2 and have my wife wearin’ men’s pants. It ended up calling it the Betty Lou For th e end ain’t ladylike, besides bein’ too good a sythe No. 1.

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

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T H A T ’S THE K I N D OF DAME I AM (Continued from Page 33)

around the cutting-room comers until lost. The important names in the cast were contract players, the bread-andbutter winners of the lot. I was there for the one picture. Naturally, if any body was cut, it was I. I was told that my one big number was junked "because it came at the end.” To me, this seemed a new high in sappy reasoning. When I said so in my softest and most dulcet tones, it was explained to me that " it distracted the audience from the story.” I thought up an unladylike phrase for that, too, but I didn’t use it. M y big number was called The Animal in Me, and it took weeks to film. They needed that time to train forty ele phants to stand in a circle while I sang, and lift their feet and trunks in unison like Rockettes. Well, their feet any how; I guess Rockettes don’t have trunks of any kind. They probably just have cute fitted overnight bags, like the one Grace Kelly carried in Rear Window. There were kangaroos and other animals in that scene too; but after spending all that dough on it, they threw it out. The Paramount ads for We’re Not Dressing carried the statement: "Ethel Merman will always be remembered for her rendering of Eadie Was a Lady in the Broadway show, Take a Chance.” That was a weird one. If they were go ing to say anything, you’d think they’d say: "Ethel Merman will always be remembered for her songs in the Para mount movie, We’re Not Dressing.” Then it came to me. They couldn’t say that. People would ask, "W hat songs? ” Scrapping the dancing elephants was just a sample. Not only was I cut out of some of the big musical numbers, I was out of some of my speaking scenes too. Every time I blinked, more of me wound up in the dust bin along with the mice. But even if the public would have held still for my New York stage lyrics in their original form, they never had a chance to find out. There were some happy little parties called censors, who made a living out of trying things out on their own "clean minds” before they let them be tried out on anyone else’s clean mind. I’ll never forget the fuss made about a scene in my next movie, Kid Millions, starring Eddie Cantor. In this scene eight- or nineyear-old little kids were shown eating ice cream. When they shoved them selves away from the table, their tum mies were bulging. The censors O.K.’d the overstuffed little boys, but booted out the footage of the little girls. They thought the padding that represented too much ice cream made them look pregnant. That kind of thinking is dis gusting. If there’d been a ship’s rail handy, I ’d have ran to it and hung my head over. When I’d been in my second stage show, George White’s Scandals, I’d seen Irving Berlin and said hello to him, but I didn’t really get to know him until 1938, when I worked in his mo tion-picture project, Alexander’s Rag time Band. One of the big things about Mr. A ’s Ragtime Band was that it was among the first musicals to have a plot. The King of Jazz and such had been like enormous vaudeville shows, with 100-piece orchestras hoisted out of pits on hydraulic lifts, quadruple quar tets dropping down from the skies, and squadrons of dancers leaping up out of

no place. But this oversize revue-type musical had lost its popularity, and Alexander’s Ragtime Band took the musical-film business by the slack of its production numbers and lifted it out of its slump. Lift or no lift, I was still getting the business, still "the other girl,” or "just featured,” depending upon which term you think the least revolting. It was a near thing. To me they were equally repulsive. I was still being planted in front of chalk lines and told not to move around much when I sang. And once more I knocked my brains out doing things that were chopped out of the pic ture. To begin with, the film was half over before I appeared on the screen, and even after that you missed me if you blinked. But you didn’t miss the star of this flicker, Alice Faye. She was soft, kittenlike and cuddly. She was also the studio’s mint. Fox always seems to have somebody lined up like that. It’s the funniest thing. You’d think they have a stockpile of curvy, blond cuties. Faye had the publicity boys practically driving around tacking pictures of her on trees, telephone poles and vacant sheds. All this did was confuse me. Another movie, Anything Goes, had been a spectacular success as a Broadway show. I ought to know. I ’d been in it, hadn’t I? So what happened? When Paramount decided to make a film out of it, they changed it as much as possi ble. In New York I ’d sung I Get a Kick Out of You to Billy Gaxton, standing perfectly still at a bar, as a sort of prologue to the rest of the show. But in the movie version I was strung up on a crescent moon on wires and I had whole birds of paradise in my hair, not just feathers. I was smothered in a big chif fon gown, and I was flown around the stage with 300 extras chasing along un der me. Naturally^ that killed it. On Broadway it had been staged simply, with a bow to the way in which Fanny Brice stepped out and sang a song all

March 5, 1955

by herself. Yet there were gents with pointed heads in the studio who won dered what happened to the movie ver sion of the song. Then and there I promised myself, I'll never come back to Hollywood again unless I'm certain I can do something worth while. That’s why I love Walter Lang. Walter is a nice fellow anyhow, but the way he directed the two movies, Call Me Madam and There’s No Business Like Show Business won my foolish heart. Other directors had told me I was "to o brassy, ” "to o bouncy, ” "to o gusty” ; that I "projected too much.” When I was in a picture I had to under play it. But when Walter was ready to direct Call Me Madam, he told me, " Get out there and be as brassy and as full of bounce and gusto as you know how. That’s what zillions of people who saw you in the theater paid to see.” And while I ’m at it, I want to make a deep bow to Sol Siegel, producer of Call Me Madam and There’s No Business Like Show Business. Siegel was mainly responsible for my appearance in Show Business, since he felt I would be the perfect choice for the role. I arrived back in New York in Au gust of 1938, after making Alexander’s Ragtime Band. I was standing in the doorway of the train at the Grand Cen tral Terminal, showing my teeth at a publicity photographer from the Fox New York office, when all of a sudden the train started to back out of the station. The lad with the flash bulbs and the fast shutter had said, " I think it would be good if I took one of you swinging the trainman’s lantern.” So I’d swung it. Apparently it was regarded as a real honest-to-John signal by the boys up front in the locomotive. And the train started to back into the yard. That pic ture landed in the papers all right —and why not? It looked as if I was getting the railroad version of the hook they used to use to yank people from the vaudeville stage.

. . Now, after your mother threw the gravy in your father’s face, what happened?” THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

T he drum beaters in th e Fox p u b licity d e p a rtm e n t d id n ’t let a th in g like th a t die for lack of nourishm ent. A sto ry cracked th e papers th a t read: "As a result of E th el M erm an ’s signaling chore for th e N ew Y ork C entral, th a t lad y has been ad m itte d to th e B ro th er hood of R ailroad T rain m en .” I t was tru e, an d I ’ve got a gold card to prove it. W hen A lexander W hitney, president of th e B .R .T ., an d 100 representatives who were a tte n d in g a wage conference in Chicago h ad m y railroading activ i ties called to th e ir a tte n tio n , th e y im m ediately w ired me an offer of honorary brotherhood. M r. W hitney an d his little pals were aw are of th e fact th a t there was such a th in g as publicity to o ' B u t I h a d n ’t come hom e ju s t to swing la n te rn s or help th e Fox flacks grab new spaper space. I ’d really come hom e to rep o rt to V inton Freedley for another B roadw ay production. I heaved a sigh of relief. T his rack et I knew, T his was m y public. I t was a rack et th a t h a d its side sp littin g w ays now an d then. I t m ight n o t seem so funny if you were in th e m iddle, g ettin g th e squeeze, b u t afte r it was all over, y o u ’d laugh y o u r head off a t som ething th a t h ad you hopping around on th e griddle like a drop of cold w ater in h o t grease while it was going on. T ake, for instance, w hat h a p pened to H ow ard L indsay and B uck Crouse when th e y tried to sign Billy G axton an d m e on th e d o tted line for V inton F reed ley ’s next show, R ed, H o t and Blue. W h a t th e w riters of a stage m usical do when th e y try to sell a m ale s ta r on his p a rt is to tr y to m ake him th in k h e’s going to be M r. Big in th e cast, th e im p o rta n t one, th e one w ith th e lion’8 share of th e lines—th a t is, t h a t’s th e w ay th e y ta lk while th e y ’re describing it to him. T hen th e y go to th e w om an s ta r an d m ake her feel th a t her p a rt is th e d om inant one, th e one ab o u t which th e action revolves. T his so rt of flimflam is th e trad itio n al an d expected th in g in th e th eater. W hen Crouse an d L indsay told Billy G axton ab o u t th e p art th ey had in m ind for him first, Billy listened. T hen, when th e y were through, he asked, " W h a t’° E th e l p la y in g ? ” "R em e m b e r th a t girl we m entioned briefly back th ere? ” th e y asked. "W ell E th el plays t h a t girl. W e’re n o t su r prised y o u ’ve forgotten her. A fter all, her role is so sm all.” T hen H ow ard an d B uck rushed down to see m e a t th e P aram o u n t, where I was serving a term in vaudeville. T hey were in m y dressing room telling me a b o u t m y role, laying it on thick an d building it up, when G axton walked in. I d id n ’t know w h at h ad been going on betw een th em , so I d id n ’t know how funny it was when Billy appeared, and B uck an d H ow ard had to keep on talking. One of th em h ad ju s t said, " T h e n G axton does th is,” when he gulped and said, "H e re comes G axton now! ” H ow ard an d Buck couldn’t afford to unsell me, so th e y h ad to keep on m ak ing m y p a rt sound good. G axton lis tened quietly. T hen he w alked out. He also walked o u t of th e show. H e d id n ’t say h e’d been double-crossed. H e d id n ’t say anything. H e d id n ’t sign an y th in g either. In his place a com edian w ith an inferiority complex was hired. His nam e was Bob Hope. V inton Freedley had a terrible tim e gettin g R ed, H o t an d Blue off th e ground. H e signed m e first. T h en he tried to g et a firm com m itm ent from Jim m y D u ran te. Jim m y was roam ing around in Ita ly som eplace and his busi ness m anager, Lou C layton, signed for him.

I t was th en th a t th e B a ttle of the Billing happened. T his b attle featured m y agent, Lou Irw in, and Lou C layton, D u ra n te ’s representative. F o r th e first an d only tim e in th eir lives, I ’m sure, , these tw o sm arties had forgotten to specify who was to get to p billing in th e co n tracts th e y ’d negotiated for th eir principals. Freedley couldn’t have cared less, b u t th e tw o agents cared like crazy. If it had got around th a t th e y ’d forgotten a billing clause, it would have m ade th em seem very absent-m inded indeed.

W hen th e big rh u b arb ab o u t billing w as a t its h o ttest, Freedley said th a t if he could only reach Jim m y by tra n s a tla n tic telephone, he was sure he could straig h ten things out. H e asked C lay to n where Jim m y was. " I th in k he’s in a place called R om e C ap ri,” C layton said vaguely. F reedley sa t up u n til five o ’clock in th e m orning gettin g th e A m erican E m b a s s y in I t a l y on th e p h o n e . W hen he got th ro u g h he said, " T h is is V inton Freedley in N ew York. Do you know if th e re ’s a com edian

nam ed D u ran te traveling around in Ita ly som ew here?” " H e was here,” th e spokesm an a t the em bassy said. " B u t he’s in C apri now .” So C layton was half rig h t anyhow . Freedley called Jim m y in C apri and said, " W e ’re having trouble w ith the billing. G et rig h t on the D eutschland and come home. I t leaves from H am b u rg .” " N o t m e !” Jim m y said. " I w on’t fly.” F o r some reason he decided th a t th e S. S. D eutschland was a dirigible, (Continued on Page 58)

In Chicago the famed Palmer House, “host to

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TH E PALMER HOUSE Executive Offices Conrad N. Hilton PRESIDENT

Chicago 5, III.

March 5, 1955

THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

Stunt driver takes “pile driver plunge“ with 40 nails in tires! We hammered ten nails each into four new Tube

less De Luxe Super-Cushions and mounted them on a Jimmie Lynch Death Dodger car. Then a stunt driver raced this car off a ramp—zoomed into space—came down with the crashing impact of a

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MORE PEOPLE RIDE ON G O O D Y E A R TIRES THAN ON ANY OTHER KIND!

Look for this sign; there's a Goodyear dealer near

THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

All-New Tubeless Super-Cushions

G oodyear’s exclusive 3-T Cord and Grip-Seal construction make possible the one true tubeless tire I Taxi fleet owners report that, in many months o f all-road driving, cabs equipped with new Tubeless Super-Cushions had less than X the number o f puncture flats normally experienced with other tires. What does it take to produce a tire that re duces puncture flats by 80% in 54 million mer ciless miles? It takes the world’s most durable tire cord, 3 -T Cord, plus Grip-Seal construc tion—and only Goodyear has it. In its exclusive and patented 3-T process, Goodyear triple tempers tough cord sinews and integrates them with improved rubber com pounds uncllr Tension, Temperature and Time —unifies rubber and fabric with Grip-Seal con struction to produce a tubeless tire body that’s completely airtight—the strongest ever made!

This triple-action process makes the fabric plies stronger, livelier, more durable — effectively controls “ growth” and prevents tire damage. You get greater protection against blowouts! Any tire will blow out if it is cut through. But naturally the tire with the strongest cord offers you the greatest protection against cuts and bruises that start fabric breaks—the most com mon cause o f blowouts. 3-T Cord is so tough that any break grows slowly. Instead o f a sud den, dangerous blowout, you get a gradual, harmless loss o f air. Bring your car up-to-date with the one true tube less tire—the new Tubeless De Luxe SuperCushion! Your Goodyear dealer will buy all the unused mileage in your present tires.

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TH E SA TU RD AY EV EN IN G PO ST (C on tinu ed from Page 5 5 )

and it cost Vinton forty dollars to ex plain that it was a passenger ship. When Jimmy came home, he was as sweet about the billing as he al ways is. He said, "As long as I’m good on the stage, I don’t care.” But Clayton still balked. I was rehearsing, Jimmy was rehearsing. Clayton and Irwin were hollering and banging on Freedley’s desk. There were days when we didn’t know whether the show would open or not.

For larger cuts, burns, abrasions. . .

use the dressing your doctor u s e s . . .

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STERILE GAUZE PAD No connection with American National Red Cross

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To Cole Porter goes the credit for thinking up the compromise that saved the day. It was a crisscross arrange ment of names like this:

You’d think that would have ended it, but it only partly satisfied those com peting strategists, Clayton and Irwin. There was an argument about whether the name on top or the name on bot tom was most prominent. So every two weeks the names were recrossed the other way. Cole Porter is not only a genius at writing songs, composing music and working out trick arrangements of stars’ names to keep their managers and agents happy, but he’s a genius at the art of sophisticated living, too; at least, he seems that way to me. When he orders wine, he sends it back if it’s not the right temperature. If you have lunch with him in his patio, a menu is written out and stuck in a transparent plastic thing before you. You sit there and look at your menu, and Cole looks at his, and you make polite dinner conversation. I’m not a girl who cares whether the wine’s the right temperature or not. If somebody doesn’t like it, I’ll say, "O .K . Let’s take it and pour it in the sink and go down to the corner drug store.” I ’m no connoisseur. I don’t eat potatoes—too starchy —but if I did, I’d be a meat-and-potatoes girl. If I go to a fancy restaurant where the other cus tomers are insisting it’s got to be this or it*8 got to be that, I just tell the man, "Bring me some consommé, two lamb chops and some asparagus with butter sauce. Full stop. Period.” Red, Hot and Blue didn’t have much of a book. The New York Times’ Brooks Atkinson said that the authors would probably be pleased if he didn’t mention their libretto, since the con nective tissue of the story consisted mainly of "O h, hello, Bob’s ” and " I was looking for you’s.” For a reason which escapes me now, I was running a contest in the show in which a girl who had a waffle mark on her behind was supposed to win the prize. The problem of testing a number of girls for such a waffle mark, without having the Boston Watch and Ward Society running a blood pressure about the necessity for peering here and peer ing there, took some working out. Jimmy Durante thought of a way. We dressed the girls in skirts made of ma terial with two-way visibility. When the lights were turned on in a certain way, you could see through them. Regardless of story weaknesses, Cole Porter had some good songs in the thing. One of them, Delovely, I sang with Bob Hope. One day Roberto took it into his head to sing it lying down. He lay down by the footlights, with me standing behind him. I controlled my self with an effort that almost busted my stay strings, but afterward I had a heart-to-heart talk with Freedley. " I f that so-called comedian ever does that again,” I said, tight-lipped but lady like, " I ’m going to plant my foot on his nose and leave more of a curve in it than natine gave it.” Vinton must have passed a few of the calmer pas sages of our discussion along to the scene stealer. All I know is he never did it again. Jimmy Durante was easy to work with. He learned his lines by having them read to him by the well-known dramatic coach and Shakespearean student, Professor Eddie Jackson, of Clayton, Jackson and Durante. Eddie

M arch 5, 1955

gave Jimmy his private version of Lit tle Theater technique; then Jimmy gave it his own individual touch, his main contribution being to pronounce difficult words in a Duranteish way. It was quite a contribution. In Red, Hot and Blue, I also sang a torchy Cole Porter number Down in the Depths on the Ninetieth Floor. Vinton Freedley had had a gold-lame gown made for me. I wore it when I sang the ditty, standing alone in a golden spotlight. When I turned around, the audience could see that I was wearing a bustle consisting of a nest with a hen sitting on it. This was Vinton’s idea of a riotous sight gag. It fetched a belly laugh all right, and that was what Vinton wanted, but it wasn’t what I wanted. I’m all for rowdy hi larity. I’ve contributed a fair share of it to the world, but there I was, singing my heart out, and what was I getting? Guffaws. To me, the hen and all spoiled the torchiness. I told Vinton, "Any audience that gets a laugh out of me, is going to get it while I’m looking at them. It comes off.” A little light lawn mowing with a pair of scissors in my dressing room fixed that. That crack of mine —"'A n y audi ence that gets a laugh out of me is going to get it while I’m looking at them, ’ ” coupled with " a little light lawn mow ing with a pair of scissors ” —makes me think of the present condition of my hair. The day after they stopped shoot ing No Business Like Show Business last September, I had the part of it I wore tucked up and the part of it I wore as a horse’s tail cut off. All those curls that used to take hours to do are kaput. I’m much more comfortable now, and very chic. Very pomme de terre. But it still looks like me from in

front. That’s the selling side—the side that’s my trade-mark. Would RCA Victor change its trade-mark to a French poodle with its ear cocked at that horn? See what I mean? After that "flag on the play” as Tommy Harmon says, I’ll get back to Red, Hot and Blue, which also brings me to one of my best friends, Lew Kessler. Lew is one of the most talented pianists I know. When I’m booked to do a show in or near New York, I’m un easy in my mind unless Lew’s perched on the piano stool making the keys talk my way. I met him first when I was in Red, Hot and Blue. He’d played piano previously for Cole Porter, so Cole handed him a sheaf of music and told him, "Y o u ’re going to work my new show. Take this, teach the people, find their keys.” What he meant was find what key the song had to be played in for each principal. I’ve heard Lew describe that first time we worked together. When he tells it, it goes like this: " I ’d never had any experience with Mermo.” (He calls me Mermo; Dorothy Fields calls me Mermsy, Merm or sometimes Stinky; and Georgie Solitaire calls me The Merm.) "B u t I’d heard she was a whip with a quip, and if you weren’t used to her, she’d leave you bruised. The first day I worked with her in the Alvin Theater, I’d been given this number to work over with her. I don’t remember what key she said she wanted it in, but I do remember it was hard to transpose into. What’s more, I’d never looked at the music before.” When Lew gets to this part of his story, I barge in with a detail or two. That key must have been the key of B. I never go for anything higher than a C. If anybody wants me to go higher than that in a show song, I say, " I

¡1

'A m I correct in assuming that a demonstra tion places me under no obligation to buv?” T H E S A T U R D A Y E V E N IN G F

THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

should tear my lungs out? Remember, I ’m going to have to do this every night in the week for a year or more. Not only that, but I’ve got a lot of other songs to sing. And between songs I have lines to say.” I could go to a D if I have to, but I get just as much effect out of making C my top note—and with less strain. Most singers grow very enthusiastic about themselves when they hit a top note in practice and it sounds good, but after they’ve done it for two months, six nights a week plus two matinees, they usually ask to have it transposed lower. Me, I always wind up in the same key in which I started. Anyhow, the transposition I wanted Lew to do for me was into the key of B. B would have had five sharps, which made it difficult to play the first time he tried transpos ing it, so he fumbled it a bit. The way Lew goes on with the story is: "Those five sharps were murder. Ethel was singing in the key I was playing in all right, but I wasn’t play ing the right harmony. When she got through, she turned to me and said, 'Look, pal, will you do me a favor and take the Vienna rolls off your fingers? ’ ” Lew says, " I wasn’t very experi enced in show business, but I discov ered one thing: if you meet Merman when you first start, everything is baby talk after that. With this woman, you never know what she’s going to say, but if you have stamina, she’s won derful.” When Red, Hot and Blue opened in Chicago, it was just blue; it wasn’t even warm. Vinton Freedley' had or dered seventy tons of sand. It was to be loaded into sandbags to counterbal ance the scenery, so it could be raised and lowered. But the house carpenter in Chicago didn’t believe that any show would need seventy tons, so he’d or dered seven. At eight o ’clock on the first night everybody was ready to go, when the scenery stuck four feet above the stage. The stagehands chinned themselves on it, but it wouldn’t budge. Freedley sent Jimmy Durante out to explain things to the audience. Brother! I ’m glad I didn’t have to do it. The show opened the next night, but it never recovered from that initial set back. Almost all of the shows with which I’ve been connected were hits, but one exception was Stars in Your Eyes. This is still hard for me to figure, since Dorothy Fields wrote the lyrics, Arthur Schwartz wrote the music, Dwight Deere Wiman produced it, and the cast was tops. It included Jimmy Durante, Richard Carlson and Tamara Toumanova, the ballerina. Toumanova’s agent was a guy named Milton Bender. Arthur Schwartz and Dorothy Fields and Dwight Deere Wiman hired Toumanova because they wanted her kind of dancing in the show. They knew she had never acted and they knew that her English, while charming, would be cloudy. That part of it they’d gamble on. But all through rehearsal Bender kept assuring them that Toumanova was going to be ter rific. "D o n ’t worry, fellows!” he kept saying. " I know!” He was Mr. Confi dence himself. He looked like a man who’d got a tip not from a trainer or a jockey but from a talking race horse. On opening night in New Haven, Wiman and the others were bright enough to protect Toumanova’s first entry by giving her a dancing entrance, in which she could show her big style right away. She socked her act over the footlights with authority. She wore class like a leotard. When the applause finally subsided, Bender turned to

those of us who were standing backstage and said, with a sigh of relief that he pulled up from somewhere under the boards, " I said she was great, didn’t I, and now I believe it.” It was the most typically agenty re mark I’ve ever heard. No wonder he was stupefied with amazement. Imagine an agent’s client being anywhere near as good as he’d said she was. Stars in Your Eyes made its get away in 1939, but it was bumped and jostled going around the turns from the start. It hung on for six months, but six

NEW

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months wasn’t long enough to get a production as expensive as that off the nut. The lead male character was a bur lesque of Darryl Zanuck. He was played by the Abbey Theater’s loss to America, Jimmy Durante. Jimmy lugged a collapsible polo mallet around with him. Every once in a while it folded or came apart and sawdust poured from it. When that occurred, Durante explained, "T oim ites!” A great director, Josh Logan, di rected the production. It was the first

RTURES

time we’d worked together, but he must have thought I had possibilities, because, after the show opened, he gave me a silver cup. Engraved on it was: " T o Sarah Bernhardt, Jr., from Josh.” I keep it in my curio cabinet at home, where I stash the things I treas ure most. That inscription was putting it on pretty thick, but I didn’t snigger, " Gosh, Josh, you shouldn’t have done th at!” Even if it’s not true, it was something to live up to. When I asked Josh to help me re member some stuff for this story, he

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

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was rehearsing his latest show, Fanny. N obody can be more concentrated than Josh when he’s in rehearsal, but he took time out to write me a long letter reminiscing about our association to gether. " M y first remembrance of you is in Stars in Your E yes,” he wrote. That Josh is m y boy! H e’s a doll. " I ’ll never forget the seduction scene, the one in which you and Dick Carlson got together,” I ’ve heard him tell people. In that scene I was a famous and strong-minded movie siren who was pitching woo to her handsome but in nocent young leading man. I plied this hard-to-get dream boat with strong wa ters. Finally he got a snootful and came to rest on the couch beside me. H e was just leaning over for an embrace when he saw a copy of Alice in Wonderland on a shelf. W ith loud yelps of jo y he an nounced that it was his favorite book, and asked me to read it aloud to him. The episode ended with m y opening the book and reading in a strangled voice: "C h a p te r One. Down the Rabbit H o le !” W hen I read, "A lic e was getting very tired of sitting by her sister with noth ing to do,” it was so apropos that the audience screamed. Then the lights went out to denote a time lapse; they came on again, and I was still reading, with a scowl on m y face. I looked at m y young man, and with all the venom I could put into it, I said, "C h a p te r T e n ! W h o Stole the T a r ts ? ” T h at really fractured the people. Presently the mood of the scene changed. The new mood had me perched on a table that held a tele phone, near a pilot light, all alone on an em pty sound stage. I was beginning to realize that I was going to have to buy m y young man with presents and fat roles because I couldn’t make him love me any other way. So I sang a song with D orothy Fields’ lyrics, in a voice that died inside of me before it came out. In m y song I told m y young man that he owed me nothing, and that while I might be headed for an enormous wreck, it was m y party and I ’d pay the check. That song got the audience on m y side, and for the first time they be gan to sympathize with me. I ’ve had a little touch of frustration in real life like that. In August, 1943, the papers reported: "W h e n Ethel M erm an cut a birthday cake at the Stage D oor Canteen last night, the re cipient, a six-foot marine, refused to kiss her. 'I got married W ednesday,’ he said. 'I ain’t going to kiss anybody this week.’ ” I should have made it a week later. T h at leatherneck looked like B ob M athias, the Olym pic champion. In Stars in Your Eyes, Jim m y Durante and I had a hilarious duet called I t ’s A ll Yours. W e came out in Russian costumes, wearing big Cossack hats, and flapped around in furs trimmed with ermine. B ut our Ruskie trimmings had nothing to do with the song. Its theme was, " I t ’s all yours, everything you see! ” W ith the word "s e e ,” Jim m y would take his fur hat and whap it down into the orchestra pit. The sheet music took off like sea gulls flying, and half of the music stands toppled over. In the mid dle of all this confusion, we interpolated D urante-type jokes. "S t o p the music, stop the m u sic!” Jim m y barked like a seal with a sore throat. " D o n ’t raise the bridge, boys; lower the river! ” Then he went on with the song, " I t ’s all y o u r s --------” It was mad. Or Jim m y would ask, "W h a t do you think o f a house with no basem ent?”

March 5, 1955

Then he’d answer himself, " I think it’s low .” I ’d been given things to interpolate too. "E t h e l,” Jim m y would ask, "d o e s this bus go over the Queensboro B ridge?” and I ’d say, " W e l l , if it don’t we’re all going to get a hell of a duckin’ ! ” Jimm y cackled and slapped his thighs, and both of us laughed like crazy. Or he’d say, " I was walking down the street and a bunch of kids followed me, and a policeman stopped me and asked, 'W h a t have you done?’ and I said, 'I ain’t done nuttin’ ! ’ And he said, 'Y o u must have done somethin’ to have all of those kids followin’ y o u .’ ” End of joke. T h at one was tripledistilled, 100 per cent Durante. It m ay seem the shaggiest of shaggy-dog kind of thing, but with Jimm y doing it, it was convulsing. B ut to get back to this m utual-ad miration thing between Josh and me. Josh doesn’t think me perfect by any means. There was something I didn’t like to do that bothered him. W hen a show had been running for a while, he called a "refresher rehearsal.” Some times a cast begins to fluff its lines, or grow careless, or not put as much crisp ness in what they’re doing as they did when the show was new. So, during the first months of a run, the producer or director or both slip quietly into the theater (the sneaks), sit in a rear row and make notes as to who’s flub bing the clutch. Then they go out muttering, "N o th in g can slip as fast as a sh o w !” Or "A c to r s and actresses never seem to realize when they’re let ting down.”

A rehearsal is called "t o jack things up” ; the director stands up and says, " I ’ ve made notes. In the second scene you didn’t do so-and-so. Y ou lost your laugh. For six months you fetched a boflf in this spot, but y o u ’ ve lost it three nights in a row .” I resented this because I always did it exactly the way I ’d done it opening night, and everybody admitted I did. I went to two or three of those refresher courses, but I must say I went dragging m y feet. A m ong m y souvenirs of Stars in Y ou r E yes is this bouquet tossed to me by one reviewer: " I n addition to her well-established ability to hold one note and shake her bracelets,” he wrote, " Ethel M erm an displays such a firm grasp of the art of comic acting that she practically has it by the throat.” Could I be wrong or was there a brickbat concealed in that bouquet somewhere? The year of Stars in Your Eyes was also the year of the New York W o rld ’s Fair. T h at fair siphoned most of the en tertainment dollars from New York out to Flushing, Long Island. The tran sients we’d counted on to fill the theater flocked out to see the Trylon, the Perisphere and Billy Rose’s Aquacade. M a yb e if we could have got the audi ences up on the stage instead of us, and they had had as much fun as we had, and we could have sat out front— or have sneaked out to see Johnny Weissmuller and Eleanor Holm at the A quacade— Stare in Your E yes would have run as long as Oklahom a! or South Pacific. The fifth article o f this series will appear in next week • issue.—The Editors.

The Perfect Squelch R . S O A P E R ’ S swel l i ng waistline and receding hair line marked him as well past forty. But his ideas remained young and he always kept an eye out for at tractive young girls. So, when seventeen-year-old Joan started to work in the office, Soaper promptly went into action. On her first day, he spent most of the afternoon at her desk telling her about himself. Joan was polite but cool, which disturbed him not at all. Finally,

precenuea errand to escape him Soaper fell right into step witl her. r

, kvnu°W’” he 8aid- Pointin, to her bobby sox and moccasin, I might take you out to dinne

”

you put on hie‘

Turning, Joan gave him a brie up-and-down examination " Y o i know,” she said, " I might with you if you put on a toupee '

Barbara l . anderson .

THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

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M a rc h 5. 1953

THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

INSIDE ROCKET TEST CELL F (Continued from Page 37)

aircraft, slower vehicles such as jet in terceptors, that travel about the speed of sound. We call that Mach One.” "How fast is this one?” I nodded at the dart in the tunnel. "Oh, about Mach Four. Say three thousand miles an hour. Of course, this tunnel can’t even quite handle Mach Five,” he said, somewhat apolo getically. " We’re getting along with it, but it’s really become obsolete for much of our work. Our new one is just being started. I t ’s a Mach Nine tunnel, about seyen thousand miles an hour, and much more practical, considering the weapons we’re working with.” Schurmeier explained that at this speed the temperature in an unheated tunnel would be so low that the air would actually become a liquid, so they would preheat the tunnel to 1000 degrees. I asked about the dart in the tunnel, and was told politely th at it was a flight vehicle.” Then the subject was changed. "These models often cost us from twenty thousand to sixty thou sand dollars each,” Schurmeier said. " T h a t’s because they have to be very carefully machined. But it’s still a good deal cheaper than making the missile and flying it.” The aerodynamics section has al ready taken its measure of the future. We ve analyzed the possible basic shapes,” said Schurmeier, "and the bulletlike shape with long delta fins seems the happy medium for missiles and piloted aircraft alike. Won’t be long before it’ll be pretty hard to tell them apart. Another possible shape is the sphere. Of course, once you get out of the atmosphere, shape doesn’t m at ter. But in the air the sphere is a good design to stand aerodynamic heating.” One of the jet lab’s chief concerns is this aerodynamic heating, which is the tremendous heat that builds up when a missile moves through the air at many times the speed of sound. The problem was graphically illustrated in a test firing of a new antiaircraft missile which JPL has brought into final form. Within a few seconds after firing, the missile reached a velocity and glowing heat so high that its high-explosive warhead blew up, blasting the missile to bits. "As we get into the higher Mach numbers,” said Schurmeier, "th e heat ing gets up to five or six thousand degrees—hot enough to turn about any material we know into vapor.” But JP L is not to be deterred by a few thousand degrees. Its engineers have perfected a tough metal, so por ous you can actually puff cigarette smoke through it. By forcing liquid through these pores, JPL plans to cool its missiles much in the way perspira tion cools your skin. The equipment to develop such items as porous metal is worth over $13,000,000, making JP L one of the very big gest laboratories in the world. I t has hundreds of vehicles and scores of buildings, and more than $1,000,000 worth of electronic instruments, such as a movie camera which can shoot a phenomenal 70,000 pictures a second, and the weird "shake tables.” The lat ter play on-the-spot recordings of the vibrations in a flying missile, shaking test parts so fast you can neither see nor feel them move till they set up a scream which can be heard all over the lab. To operate these gadgets takes the

services of 1100 people, most of them trained specialists, with several hun dred graduate scientists and engineers. "O f course,” chemist Stosick told me over a jetburger at JPL ’s cafeteria, "n o t all this research ends in weapons. A few years ago we needed a rubber with special properties. Didn’t find any rubbers we liked, so we made some of our own. One of these—polyurethane rubber—seems cheaper and stronger than natural rubber, which industry predicts it will replace in a few years. Best of all, we don’t have to import it from Asia; we can make it right here. ★

★

MOUNTAIN HOMESTEAD H u h l h r l 'i a m b x H n

One star-tipped m orning the blizzard is still And the drifts arc no higher than the windowsill Where the m an peers, wondering, through the pane, Then shouts to his bride to see it plain: Their homesteaded hill still swathed in snow, But now once again the fence tops show, And bigger than life are ten or eleven Gold-specked meadow larks serenading heaven; While shabby and sleepy, m atted and thin, Bears paw the window, peering in ! The two in the cabin ju st paw back, Grinning, th e long m onths’ tension slack, At the unm istakable spoor of spring On the ghostly landscape blazoning. Larks on the fence posts, bears a t the sill, And kissing in the cabin on the sunrise h ill! ★

★

"O ur rocket work has given us a means of firing up a blast furnace in minutes instead of days, of bringing off some of the most common chemical reactions in seconds instead of horns. You can’t call these weapons, but we like to think we’ve spent the taxpayers’ money wisely in learning them.” It takes a special reports section and a staff of editors to handle the flow of information from JPL, which fills some 350 reports a year, some as long as historical novels. These go to hundreds of Government agencies and key pri vate contractors. One top aircraft engi neer told me, "Those JPL reports have given us ideas to last a lifetime, and short cuts that saved our necks time and again.” The jet lab retains a patents attor ney to handle the welter of ideas. " But most of the time,” said lab adminis trator Val Larsen, "th e Government takes one look at the patent briefs and slaps a security hold on them. Some of our boys will be old men before they get their patents. Others just don’t bother.” When I called on Dr. William Pick ering, the New Zealand-born electron ics expert who recently became JP L ’s director, his secretary said he wasn’t in. "H e’s over in the old Electronics

Building,” she said, "firing some mis siles.” M y security escort close behind, I found Doctor Pickering in a musty room lined with somber black cases. He was bent over a graph the size of a drafting table. " We’re firing a new variation of the Corporal,” he told me. "Where is the missile?” I asked. "Right here,” said Pickering, indi cating a "plugboard” covered by fine wires, looking like a tangle of spaghetti. "These wires represent equations which express the flight of a missile, its engine, electronic controls, design, the weather, and so o n .. . . Fire the missile, George,” he said, and George pushed a switch. There were whirrings and clickings, and the electronic brain covering one wall began to "fly” the missile. "Guided missiles are very expensive hardware to build,” said Pickering. "So we let our computer fire them until we have what we want.” He pointed to the graph, where a firm, rising line ap peared. "You can see this one made a fast take-off, and is now moving out of the atmosphere. Little rough spot in the controls there. Those other graphs in the corner are recording the engine’s behavior and several other things we want to know. I t ’s leveling off now, slowing down.” The pen hovered, then dived for the bottom of the graph, gaining speed rapidly until it came to an abrupt stop. "Shorter range than we thought,” mused Pickering. "W e’ll try another fuel.” I asked about Doctor Millikan’s statement that pilots might soon dis appear from air warfare. " I t does seem the logical thing, doesn’t it? ” said Pickering. "O ur allweather interceptors already have elec tronic controls that find the target, take over the plane, fly it to position, fire its guns at the enemy, and then tell the pilot how to land. "Right now our missile can tell us how its motor is doing, how the weather affects it, and so on. But then it has to ask us on the ground what to do. That isn’t good, because the enemy could confuse th e missile by giving it different orders. So we’re working on a self-contained guidance system. Quite necessary, once you build mis siles of much range. Especially in naviation.” "Y ou mean you’re going to build a nissile th at can do its own navigatng?” I asked. "Quite so,” he said. "T he missile nust make its observations, calculate heir meaning on its computers and hen decide what to do about the inswere.” "N ow just a minute,” I protested. 'All this sounds fine, but it would seem o take almost a human brain to do it.” "Yes, it would,” said Doctor Pickerng, unabashed. "T h a t’s why some of hit people have been working so ilosely with neurologists lately. We live papers at their medical meetings, ind they give papers a t our missile neetings. Our work has become very ¡imilar. But the human brain is an mperfect guidance system. It forgets, ind emotions get in its way. We must lo better. "Still, no m atter how carefully we flan,” cautioned Doctor Pickering, 'these things are uncertain until they lave been done repeatedly. There is a p-eat deal of talk, for example, about lights to the moon. The truth is, we ire just learning some of the things hat might make such a flight a failure. Vlost of us agree that probably somelay someone will send a missile to the

moon, and naturally we can’t help speculating about it. But we are really too busy looking for weapons systems to dwell on such things. We are trying to find practical means of defense. At JPL we have always tried to keep our imaginations free, but our feet rather solidly on the ground.” Unlike many of our national research programs, which begin as "crash” projects, primed with dollars until either they burst or produce weapons, JP L ’s beginnings were humble. Its his tory began in 1936, in the office of the late Edward Barrett, then secretary of Cal Tech. A man named Weld Arnold—a Har vard man who had begun the study of meteorology in his middle years— walked into Barrett’s office and dropped on his desk $1000 in five- and tendollar bills. " I would like,” said Mr. Arnold, " to sponsor some rocket re search.” Secretary Barrett knew of no rocket research at Cal Tech or anywhere else The noted Dr. Robert Goddard had worked in near secrecy on rockets for years. But nevertheless, in 1936 rockets were mentionable in polite academic circles only on the Fourth of July. The rest of the year they were relegated to the dim precincts of the science-fiction writers. Still, there is no recorded in stance of a good university man turn ing down spot cash for research "Certainly,” said Barrett, writing out a rece.pt. " I ’ll make the arrangemerits. b Mr. Barrett called Aeronautics Pro fessor Theodore von Karman, who in turn called three young graduate stud e n ts-F ran k Malma, H. S. Tsien and Apollo Smith. These lads had spent theu- own sparse funds to fire little gunpowder rockets in the nearby

^ r ^ C°’AWheneVer rains had not returned the Arroyo to its natural func tion as a river bed. With $1000 and the advice of ProI Z Z . V° n Karm/ n and Millikan, the students assumed the title GALCIT

CAT CTT R f S earch P r o je c t - w ith G A LC iT standing for the tonguetwisting Guggenheim Aeronautical LabT ^ . W i ° f lh a Cahfomia In stitu te of th e A ^-oyo' Secoena nde 6r ^ e n t ‘T * to

earnest. y

and **** rockets in

•<rt?V ^ y^ar8i.later’ with a few politely l^ rn e d technical PaPers and^much CAT CITgRnPu Wi er behind the ff°CkTet ^ a r c h Project was ticiaTnam kH u acquired a mathematwL did not no? help h ^ ° mer Joe Ste wart, but this did ,ts insolvency. I he mysterious Weld Arnold had S C ' ' : » ? S — rt. - w . neve, rockets Doef ^ ** W8K80 curiousabout V° n Karman finally lioostinp

°^ r P ap ers—it proposed

antha,T ane’8 take-°ff with n rS l t t r v

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and to our sur-

“ a couPle Of thousand

A rm v A ^ V hanRed our nam e to the search P ^ ,rp8. J e t Propulsion Remore vp feet» fired rockets for tw o

plane’s ,ake-ei ^

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c h S r i n d 8^ ^ leaned back ^ his 2 a" d hla eye fell upon his blackbe Ba'bvlory6^ Wltb wbat appeared to were u n i u? cuneiforms, but which ^ re e d l t f te,d, ly not‘ With a contioned th* ’ ^ octor Stewart quesmy l i ever-present escort about la b o M h ^ y(uCearance' Rather than euhies inn?atbemat |cian with my diffiS e u fV ? - freshman algebra, I simply

^ £ Z %

t ™ T g0ntheh°J

(Continued on Page 68)

THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

March 5, 1955

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

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TH E SA TU R D A Y EVEN IN G PO ST

(C on tin u ed from Page 6 4 )

I glanced at my watch. 8:15. Pretty long day of driving, I thought, since seven this morning. But home was at the end of this last fifty miles. “ 5:15 the last time I looked. I remem bered that bump on the sharp curve — the one that almost took the steering wheel out of my hands. Fact is, for a week my car hadn’t felt right. Shaky, like something loose underneath, hard to steer, shimmy at certain speeds. “ I remembered my dealer’s friendly warning. ‘Better have those wheels bal anced, Mr. Cleary, dangerous to drive that way.’ “ 9:15. Funny when you add it all up, how a man can be guilty of criminal neglect. That’s what they booked me for after the crash, with home just fifty miles away.”

8 out of 10 cars take this dangerous risk

4. C o s t ly t ir e w e a r. U nba la nce d wheels shorten tire life up to 3 0 % , increase danger of skidding — ruin your smooth ride.

Here's what to do about it— NOW! Alemite has perfected an electronic de vice that is the one safe sure way to bal ance all four wheels —on your car —in minutes —at low cost. Wheels are spun in true driving position at speeds up to 100 mph. And the entire wheel assem bly, from hub to tire, up and down and sideways, is in perfect balance. Only the Alemite Electronic Wheel Balancer does this complete job. Be sure you find the genuine Alemite Electronic Wheel Balancer—with the flashing electronic light —the big DualRange Meter that actually shows you your wheels are out of balance —tells at a glance how much. At your favorite service station, garage or car dealer's.

U. S. Safety Lane tests prove 8 out of 10 drivers take dangerous chances with these fou r costly penalties o f unbal anced wheels. 1. Le<< of car control. When wheels are out of balance your cor shimmies, weaves, vi brates. You have no secure feeling — loss of control can result. 2. C ar shock and w ear. Just five ounces of unbalance delivers smashing 64-pound blows every time the wheel turns. Wheel bearings, steering mechanisms, broke drums suffer dan gerously. 3. D rive r fatigue. Road shock and shimmy, transmitted to steering wheel, tire you— and a tired driver courts disaster.

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"T h e A rm y,” said Stewart, taking one more concerned glance at the cuneiforms, "w a s pleased enough with Jato so that in 1941 they gave us a couple of tiny shacks on the present site of the lab. W e soon had twenty people working for us, but we still had weather problems. The road to the lab went through the Arroyo, and when it rained, the Arroyo flooded. Some of us used to come to work hand over hand on a water pipe suspended over the river. We had one hand-turned copper rocket motor. It was all we could afford. After each test we’d dig it out of the hill and work for a week to repair it.” B y 1943 the lab had turned out a flood of ideas, and its staff had boomed to an overworked 200, under young director Frank Malina. Then intelli gence sifted through on Germany’s V-2 rocket, and the Army determined to meet and match this threat. Only one laboratory had anything like the background for the job. A contract was quickly drawn—the Army to underwrite the big capital outlay, and Cal Tech to get a dollar a year plus costs to supply the brain power and run the new Jet Propulsion Lab. This broad contract, " t o develop guided m issiles,” is basically unchanged. Through it JPL works for all the armed services and for industry as well. In typical fashion, when the V-2 became known, JPL already had mis siles on its drawing boards. In a matter o f months they were flying the Private missiles. In less than two years they sent their W AC Corporal forty-three miles into space. W ith the develop ment of these successful missiles, JPL grew rapidly. Under the leadership of Dr. Louis G. Dunn, who was director from 1946 to last September, the labo ratory became a leader in guidedmissile development. The frantic war years and the fasci nation of this new science founded a JPL tradition. " W e hire our engi neers,” says personnel director Walt Padgham, " f o r a forty-hour week. But they work fifty to seventy-five hours and more. They come in Sundays and holidays and at four in the morning with some brainstorm. They forget to go home. W e had to instruct the watch men to check every office between six and seven in the evening, and tell peo ple the lab was officially closed.” "T h e y are the most devoted group o f young men I ’ ve ever known,” said Col. W. Broberg, who, prior to his recent retirement, for years adminis tered the A rm y’s contract with JPL. "O n e night I asked a few o f the boys if they’d like to come down after work and talk informally about a little elec tronics idea. When I got to my office that night there were seventy-one en gineers waiting for me, all cleared for secret. And these fellows earn perhaps half o f what industry would pay them. " I don’t know when I ’ ve seen a more tight-fisted bunch,” Broberg grinned. "T h e y estimate almost every project at half what our people think it will cost. Then, when the job is done, there’s still money left over.” During the war days, JPL’s rocket blasts echoed over em pty hillsides. But as the war ended, subdividers scraped footholds in the hills near the very gates o f the lab, soothing uneasy cou ples in the earnest belief that JPL was a wartime measure, soon to fold its wind tunnels and steal back to the Cal Tech campus. The cold war, however, brought the lab to several times its hot-war size Indignant residents drew up petitions and held meetings. At one of these

M a r c h 5, 19.>.>

councils an irate citizen announced it wasn’t the noise he minded. What bothered him was all the hearses leav ing JPL in the night, sneaking out the d ay’s casualties. Patiently the jet-lab people explained that they had never had even a serious injury, that the "hearses” were con voys bearing missiles to faraway prov ing grounds under police escort. They sent teams of engineers over the coun tryside with sound gear, put huge baffles on their wind tunnels, smothered their rocket blasts in odd cylinders and chimneys. But JPL’s relations with its neighbors are still cool. Complaints have been quieted by explaining the lab’s crucial defense role. Where will this role take JPL in the near future? Of course, the researchers will be looking for newer, faster and simpler missiles. "B u t generally,” says chairman of the board Millikan, "m ost o f us feel that as we have spent the last fifteen years learning to design missiles, we will have to spend the next fifteen years learning to use them. "T h e y are delicate and subtle ma chines. And many o f us are concerned about the average soldier’s ability to fire them. I t ’s not so easy as pushing a button, and I believe it may eventually take a kind of scientists’ corps, civilians under military control, to fly them. W e must learn, too, to manufacture them. Industry has done a magnificent job. But there are still many problems — tolerances, for example, o f a few mil lionths of an inch. And a guided missile is not like an automobile. When y o u ’ve built it, you can’t run it around the block to see if it works. A missile makes just one trip. The guided missile is still the precocious problem child of the military art.” "T h e possibilities, however, are very nearly limitless,” Dr. Homer Joe Stew art told me. "W e have experimented with an underwater rocket. And we have talked about the possibilities of putting together some o f our existing rockets in a stages configuration that would reach a speed much higher than that needed to create an orbiting mis sile—a satellite, if you like —which would circle endlessly about the earth like a man-made moon. Though this does not mean that we are ready to launch a space platform.” N ot the least o f JPL’s many prob lems is the human problem. W ives and children o f jet-lab scientists often come to feel that the head of the family is a stranger who visits occasionally be tween rocket firings. And so secret is JPL’s work that it is a rare scientist who can tell his wife what he is doing in even the most general terms. In the early Corporal firings D octor Stewart ran the ground controls, to hold the missile on course or destroy it if it went wild. He came home from each White Sands trip a shaken man. " I had visions,” he said, " o f the darn thing coming down on Las Cruces, and me unable to stop it.” Mrs. Stewart observed the tension, but could only watch in sympathetic silence. When the Corporal was finally announced, Mrs. Stewart asked one of her husband’s coworkers if Stewart had had anything to do with it. " D o with i t ? ” said the waggish en gineer, while Mrs. Stewart turned pale. "W h y , Homer Joe’s been flying i t ! ” "M rs. Stewart’s reaction,” explained D octor Stewart, " is no reflection on her credulity. It just shows that among people who know the lab it is under stood that anything can happen at JPL. And,” he added, after a moment’s thought, " i t probably will.” THE k m »

THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

tination, and the branch bank which was to receive the shipment was told the approximate time of arrival over the phone.” (C on tinu ed from Pape 18) "H ow about receiving the shipment at the other end? How are those ship checks and dumped them into the box, ments customarily handled?” then the box was wrapped and sealed.” "W hen the armored truck pulls up "A nd they think your dad was the at the reserved parking zone at the guilty one?” branch bank, the driver sits inside and She nodded. waits until the bank door is opened and "Just what was the evidence against two armed guards come out to stand him ?” Mason asked. on the sidewalk. Then the driver un "W ell, dad was the one who had locks the truck door and then the charge of the cash. The inspector, who representative of the bank comes lost his job over it, couldn’t have made out and unlocks the cash compartment the substitution without dad’s know of the car with his own key and takes ing it. Ordinarily, dad couldn’t have the package into the bank.” made the substitution without the " The driver of the car doesn’t have inspector knowing it. But there was, a key to the cash compartment? ’1 of course, that matter of the radio re She shook her head. "A nd, believe port on the horse race.” me, it’s a very complicated lock. You "T h e man who drove the armored don’t open it without a key.” car? ” Mason asked. Mason said, " It would seem that the She shook her head. person at the branch bank had as much "W h y n ot?” of an opportunity to substitute as your "T h e package was delivered un father did. The seals certainly were opened. It had the seals of the in broken by the time he had looked into spector and my dad on it. The address the contents of the package a n d ------ ” of the bank to which it was to be de "B u t the seals were unbroken when livered was in dad’s writing and the he received it. Furthermore, there amount of the money inside was listed were —other things.” in dad’s handwriting.” "W h a t?” " How many persons in the armored "A ll right,” she said. "N ow I’m truck?” coming to the really hard part.” "O nly one. The armored truck is " I thought so,” Mason told her. " Go really quite a gadget. It’s designed es ahead.” pecially for use in branch-banking "D a d had some of the stolen bills in transactions. The driver notifies the his possession.” bank when he is ready to pick up a "H ow did they know?” shipment. The bank has two armed " It was due to a coincidence. It just guards on duty. The car parks at a re happened that one of the bank’s clients served loading zone back of the bank. had been propositioned in a blackmail The armed guards look out and make ing scheme. He communicated with sure everything is all clear; that there the police. The payoff was set at five are no suspicious persons or cars about. thousand dollars. He was instructed to Then they open the door and step pay off in cash. The police had the out. Then the banker takes the pack bank make up a package of currency, age out and puts it in the locked cash and the numbers of all the bills were compartment in the truck.” listed. "T h e driver doesn’t put it in ?” "W ell, something happened to up "N o . He never gets near the money. set the blackmailer. Apparently he He drives the truck. Someone from learned that the victim had called in the bank always handles the money.” the police. So he didn’t show up for "In this particular instance, who the money. The man who was to have handled the actual cash? ” been the victim of the blackmail held "D a d .” the money for a week, and then, not "Then what?” wanting to leave that amount of cash "Then the money compartment was in his possession, brought it back to locked. The driver got into the truck the bank for a deposit. and the doors were locked from the in " I t happened that this large ship side. There’s armor and bulletproof ment of cash was going out to the glass. The driver started for his des (C on tin u ed o n Page 7 1 )

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

71 you —you have to take me on faith. Will you take me on trust for twenty AUL D RAKE, carrying a sheaf of bank at Santa Ana. So when that five A —a friend is financing me.” hours? Will you undertake the job of flimsy reports, entered Mason’s of thousand dollars was brought in for "H ow did you happen to call me finding my trailer, and will you start fice shortly before five o ’clock, said, deposit the cashier simply counted it when your trailer was stolen?” work on it right now ?” " Hi, Perry. How yah, Della? . . . Got and passed it over to the accountant "Because I ’d been intending to ask Mason drummed with his fingers on something in that trailer case for you, who was making up the shipment. So you for an appointment for several the table top. Her eyes regarded him Perry.” that five thousand dollars in bills was days.” with unwinking intensity. He dropped into the client’s big, in the package. No one knew about it "D id it ever occur to you that law " What do you want me to do? ” overstuffed, leather chair, riffled through apparently except the accountant and yers have business expenses?” "Find that trailer, and find it fast. some of the reports; then, awkwardly the cashier. After it turned out the "O f course,” she interrupted im It can’t have gone too far. A car and a ill at ease in the conventional position, shipment had been juggled, the cashier patiently. trailer are noticeable.” slid around so that his legs were hang reported to the police and the police "A n d what did you intend to do "A nything particularly peculiar ing over one rounded arm, the other were smart enough to keep quiet about about that?” about this trailer? ” supporting the small of his back. There "M r. Mason, I will be in your office " I t ’s a last year’s Heliar. There was about him a sleepy air of lazy in The police put researchers in all of tomorrow morning. I will pay you fif aren’t too many of them. You can dolence. His eyes, which seldom missed the banks. They said there had been a teen hundred dollars. That will be a ring up the factory and get specifica any significant detail, belied their effi kidnaping, with a ransom payment; retainer.” tions.” ciency by appearing completely bored. that there hadn’t been any publicity as "W hat do you want me to d o ? ” " What was your car? ” Drake said, "O ne of the men who yet, but the police had the numbers of " I want you to start right now and " A yellow convertible.” was in on the theft is a man named the bills and they had men listing the try to find my trailer before it’s too "Y o u ’re rather good to yourself, Thomas Sackett. He’s living at 3921 numbers of every twenty-dollar bill late.” aren’t you? And do you mean to say Mitner Avenue—that’s an apartment that was brought in for deposit. It was "W hen will it be too late?” the police and the income-tax people house. No one seems to know too much a terrific task, but they did it—and "W hen they find my diary.” and everyone haven’t had you on the about him. He’s supposed to be a pros they kept the master list of the num "W here is your diary?” carpet asking you where you get this pector and spends quite a bit of time bers in the hands of one man m the "Concealed in the trailer.” money? ” out in the desert—an outdoorsman— FBI. Only that man knew the numbers Mason said, "L ook, Miss Duvall, I Her smile was a one-sided twisting of drives a jeep. Takes off on trips and of the stolen bills. wasn’t born yesterday. Anyone who the right comer of her mouth. "T h ey they don’t see him for a week or ten "W ell, a service-station man brought took that trailer is literally going did for a while. Now they’ve quit.” days; then he’ll be back and hang in one of the numbered bills for de to tear it to pieces. What’s in your "Y o u only think they’ve quit.” around for a while.” posit. The police were sent out to ask diary?” "N o , they really have—as far as "A nd he was in on stealing the him where he had got it and if 1fie^re " A record of all of the things I have getting me on the carpet is concerned. trailer? ” membered who gave it to him. He told discovered, so that, in case anything But I don’t think for a minute "T h a t’s right.” them that, as it happened, he remem should happen to me, dad wouldn’t they’ve given up. They’re following me "Perhaps,” Mason said, glancing at bered the whole thing because it was a lose the benefit of the work I had been around.” Della Street, "h e just wanted to steal bill dad had given him in payment for doing.” "Sure they are,” Mason said. a trailer and take it out in the desert a new tube. Just the tip of one corner "W ant to tell me about it ? ” "T h ey ’ve been watching you. They’ve so he could park it and live in it. had been tom off the bill and the "N o t now.” had you trailed with cars, with motor Drake shook his head. "T h e trailer service-station man happened to re "W h y ?” cycles. They’ve probably been watch itself,” he said, "is up for sale on a member it.” "Because you’re suspicious of me, ing you from helicopters.” consignment basis at the Ideal Trade"A n d then?” Mason asked. and you’re going to have to accept me "T h a t’s their privilege.” In Trailer Mart. Sackett didn’t use his She said, "Then the police went to wholeheartedly before I take you into Abruptly Mason said, "A ll right, right name, by the way, but used the dad. He told them, of course, he bought my confidence.” I ’m going to take steps to find your name of Howard Prim when he brought the tube. The police then told him "L ook ,” Mason said, "le t’s be trailer because you’ve aroused my curi the trailer in.” that the bill was one of those taken in reasonable about this thing. You’re an osity. I want to find out what the "A n d it’s up for sale?” the shipment that had been stolen. attractive young woman. Your dad answer is. Now then, let’s you and me Paul Drake nodded. "O ne of my Dad told them that, as nearly as he was working in a bank on a salary. have a complete understanding.” men checked it and made as if he’d remembered, the bill was part of Almost four hundred thousand dollars "W hat is it? ” like to make an offer,” Drake said. money he’d been carrying in his wallet disappeared from that bank. Your dad " I f you’re on the up-and-up,” " I t ’s been stripped right down to the for more than a week. He brought out goes to prison and you quit work. You Mason said, " I ’ll try and protect you. bare trailer, just as it came from the his wallet to show to the officers, and buy yourself a trailer and an auto If your dad got away with that three manufacturer.” there were two more of the numtered mobile. Fully paid for?” hundred and ninety-six thousand dol "H ow in the world did you get all "Y e s.” bills in the wallet. That cooked dad s lars and you have all of it or part of it that information in this tim e?” Mason "A n d you become a nature girl. And concealed and are drawing on it from Asked g°Msson narrowed his eyes. He searched then you tell me you’re going to call time to time, I ’ll turn you in to the Drake held up the sheets of flimsy. her face. "Y o u stiff believe in your at my office tomorrow morning and police. I’ll find where the money is "W ell,” he said, "y o u told me not to give me fifteen hundred dollars. Those hidden. I’ll turn it over to the authori spare any expense, to put as many dad’s innocence?” >f " I know he’s innocent. are the simple facts of the case as I see ties, and I ’ll get my fee by collecting a operatives on it as I needed. These are "W h a t else?” Mason said. them at this time.” reward.” their reports. They tell the story. "W ell, naturally, everyone thinks he "A ll right,” she said. " I know what Her smile was enigmatical. "Fair "N ever mind the reports,” Mason has a fortune in money buried some you’re thinking. You think that dad enough,” she told him, and stretched said. "H ow in the world did you go where. They played a very ingenious buried the money. You think that I a muscular hand across the table. about it? ” game. They threw the book at him. dug it up. I can’t help what you think. Mason took the hand, said to Della "W ell, it’s not too difficult,” Drake They charged him on a lot of different You won’t work for me unless I give Street, "G et Paul Drake, of the Drake said. "Y o u told me where the trailer counts, and gave consecutive 8enten‘f®j you money. Yet when I promise to Detective Agency, on the telephone, had been stolen. I went down there Now the parole authorities smile at dad give you money you become suspicious. Della. W e’re going to work.” and looked around. Someone drove off and say, Look, Mr. Duvall, if you the car and trailer. The question was: want to make it easy on yourseff you did he walk into the place and pick up can tell the authorities where that the car and trailer or did someone money is hidden. They U dig it up an drive him in? So we looked around you’ll go free on parole. You might and found some automobile tracks even be able to get a commuta ion turning in on the old road. They were sentence to time served. But don t tracks that had been made by a jeep. think you’re ever going to enjoy that "W ell, it was a job of tracking. We *? c ** *? money. Unless you tell us where it is, had the license number of the trailer. a you’re going to stay in here until you re 1 Ordinarily you’d have expected they’d — — too old to enjoy anything. juggle license numbers. However, a —N 3 «? V "Y e s,” Mason said, "on e can ap Heliar is a rather distinctive house - r / IT ) preciate that attitude.” trailer. It has some features you don’t "A n d ,” she went on, ’ they have find on the others, and there aren t hounded me. They think perhaps dad too many of them sold. It’s a relatively buried the money and told me where high-priced unit.” it was.” " I still don’t see how you found it,” Mason said. "G o on.” t i " I tried to keep my job, but they "T h a t’s what I ’m trying to tell you. were shadowing me all the time. I hey There’s nothing romantic or glamorous were checking me every time I turne about this business. When you come around, an d------ Well, I decided to put right down to brass tacks, it’s just a FRANK in my entire time trying to prove da matter of routine. For instance, the RlDtoEWAY was innocent.” „ tracks indicated there had to be at "I n other words, you retired. least two persons in on the deal. Well, "A ll right, I retired.” 'Hanley, may I speak to you? . . . Hanley. . . . Hanley.” just figure it out for yourself, Perry. They only had four things they could "O n what?” _ t T H E S A T U R D A Y E V E N IN G P O ST She said, "There is where I told have done.” (Continued from Page 69)

THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

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Mason said, " I don’t know. I’ll What were they?” They could have driven the trailer have to find out.” He nodded to Della Street. "G et along the road, headed for some dis tant city or some place out of the state; Doctor Candler on the line for me.” Della Street put through the call to they could have parked the trailer in some trailer-parking place; they could Doctor Candler’s office. Mason picked up the phone, said, have run the trailer into a back yard or a private garage; or they could have "H ello,” and heard a cautious voice put the trailer up for sale. Now the at the other end of the line saying, one thing that could have stymied us "Y es. Hello. This is Doctor Candler.” Mason said, "This is Perry Mason, was if they’d put it in a back yard or a garage. That would have licked us. So the attorney, speaking. I am very anx we didn’t bother about that. We turned ious to get in touch with Miss Arlene to the highways. We’d got on the job Duvall, doctor. She told me that she pretty fast, within a couple of hours could be reached through you.” "M a y I ask why you wish to get in of the time the trailer was stolen. You can’t take a car and a house trailer touch with her, Mr. Mason?” Mason said, "M iss Duvall told me through city traffic and get too far in that I could confide in you, that you two hours. I have an arrangement with various all-night service stations along were a trusted friend of hers.” "T h a t’s right.” the different highways. I called up " I would like to tell Miss Duvall that each one of those service stations. They all started looking out for a Heliar action has been taken and has resulted in at least a partial success.” trailer. " I t was about the trailer?” "Then I started a girl telephoning "Y es.” all of the trailer camps to see if a Heliar "Surely you haven’t located it? ” trailer had checked in during the after "W e have,” Mason said. " I t ’s for noon, and another operative tele phoned all of the various trailer-sales sale at a secondhand-trailer lot. It has places to see if they had a Heliar trailer been cleaned of all personal posses for sale, a secondhand trailer, one that sions—dishes, clothes, bedding, every hadn’t been on the lot too long. Re thing. I think this is information that ports began to come pouring in. We Miss Duvall would like to have without struck pay dirt in this Ideal Trade-In delay, and if you will let me know Trailer Mart. They had a Heliar that where I can reach her, I’ll try and get had been brought in just a few minutes in touch with her at once.” " I ’m sorry I can’t give you an ad before we telephoned. A man by the dress,” Doctor Candler said cau name of Prim had it on consignment. Well, we dashed out to take a look at it, tiously, "b u t I can try and get a mes and, shucks, there was nothing to it, sage through to her. How long will you Perry. It still had the same license be in your office, Mr. Mason? ” "W ill thirty minutes be satisfac number on it. "W ell, we got a description of Prim, tory? ” " I think so. If you’ll wait there, I ’ll and his address, which, of course, didn’t try and get a message through to her mean anything, because it was a phony address, but when he’d driven and then she can call you back.” Della Street, who had been monitorthe trailer in he’d been driving a jeep, and the man who runs the place is ing the conversation, glanced across at pretty smart. He’s had a lot of experi Mason. "Cautious,” she said, smiling. "Y es,” Mason said. "Y o u ’d better ence, and when he sells a trailer he has to guarantee title, so he just jotted plug in the switchboard so you can pick down the license number of the jeep to up any calls after Gertie goes home.” " I think she’s just leaving,” Della be on the safe side. Well, we ran down the jeep license number, found it was Street said, and went to the outer office registered in the name of Thomas to plug in the line so that any incoming Sackett, 3921 Mitner Avenue. We had calls would be routed to Mason’s pri an operative check out there to find vate office. Mason turned to Paul Drake and out what was known about Sackett, and picked up the information I just said, "Paul, I want Thomas Sackett put under surveillance. It will have to gave you.” "A n y chance that it’s not the same be a smooth job. I don’t want him to know he’s being watched.” m an?” Mason asked. "Y o u want him followed day and "N one whatever. We have his description. Five feet seven, weighs a night?” "T h at’s right. I want to know where hundred and seventy-five, blond, about thirty years of age, walks with a very he is and what he’s doing every minute of the time. And I want you to find out slight limp.” "H ow about the yellow convertible?” all you can about a job pulled on the "T h at we haven’t located,” Drake Mercantile Security when a truck ship said, "and we’re not going to be able to ment of nearly four hundred thousand locate it unless we can notify the police. dollars w as____ ” That’s a dragnet operation. There are ^Drake snapped his fingers. "T h a t’s too many of them, too many places "W hat is?” where you can leave them. The house "That name, Duvall. He was the trailer was different.” "T h a t’s dam fine work, Paul,” guy who juggled packages. They sent Mason said. He turned to Della Street. hi™ up. Is she any relation?” "W h at about our client, Della? How "H is daughter.” "O h -oh !” can we reach her?” "She left us a number,” Della Street "Find out everything you can, said. "Care of Dr. Holman B. Candler, Paul.” at Santa Ana. She said he was a trusted Della Street returned to the office, friend and we could give him any in said, "Everything’s plugged in.” She formation we wanted relayed to her.” made a dive for the phone as it started Mason glanced across at Paul Drake. ringing. "W e ’ll probably be deluged " D o you have someone keeping an eye with calls for the next thirty minutes, on that trailer, Paul?” chief. I ____ ” "Sure. I have two operatives on the She picked up the receiver and said, job. That’s one thing I wanted to ask "H ello” ; then, after a moment, her you about. If this guy shows up and eyes widened and she nodded to Mason. tries to move the trailer away from "Arlene Duvall?” Mason asked. the trailer lot, what do you want She nodded. done?” Mason picked up the phone.

TH E SATURDAY EVENIN G PO ST

Della Street said, "H e ’ll talk with you, Miss Duvall. He’s right here.” Arlene Duvall made no attempt to control her excitement. "Y o u have something on the trailer? Did I under stand Doctor Candler to say you’d found it? ” "T h e trailer has been located, Miss Duvall.” "W here is it ? ” " I t ’s at the Ideal Trade-In Trailer Mart.” "W h y, that’s where I bought it.” "W h en ?” "A bout six months ago.” "W ell, it’s there now —offered for sale on a consignment basis.” "W h o left it ? ” "T h e name which he gave the man ager was Howard Prim. The address which he gave was fictitious.” "Y es, yes, of course. H e------ What’s the condition of the trailer? Has any one ripped away the woodwork any where?” "Apparently not.” "M r. Mason, it’s very imperative that I get to that trailer at once. Can you—can you meet me there? ” " D o you,” Mason asked, "have anything in your possession that would indicate that you own the trailer, the registration certificate o r ------ ” " I have nothing, Mr. Mason. I was left with nothing except the ignition ★

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key to my car and the key to the trader.” Mason said, "O f course, if you bought the trailer there and the man who sold it to you is there------ Well, I’ll drive down and meet you there.” "R ight away?” "R ight away,” Mason promised. He hung up the telephone, said to Paul Drake, "Paul, I’m not going to tip my hand in regard to Sackett for a little while at least. I think this may be a case where I shouldn’t let my client know everything that we know.” "A s far as I ’m concerned,” Drake said, "y o u ’re my client. I give infor mation to no one else. You give it out as you want and to whom you want.” Mason pushed his swivel chair away from the desk, said to Drake, "G et your men on that other job right away, Paul. Tell the two men who have the trailer under surveillance to keep on the job. Follow that trailer, no matter where it goes.” "Y o u think your client can estab lish her title and move it ? ” "She should be able to. Since this outfit sold the trailer in the first place, we shouldn’t have much trouble.” He nodded to Della. "R eady, Della?” "R eady,” she said. "K eep on the job personally until nine-thirty,” Mason told Drake. " I may want to get in touch with you after we’ve gone down to the trailer place. And I’d like to have you get everything you can on that bank job.” " I ’ll stay until ten,” Drake promised. Paul Drake walked down the corri dor as far as his office on the same floor as Mason’s, but nearer the elevator. The lawyer and his secretary de scended in the elevator and entered Mason’s car in the parking lot reserved for tenants. Mason eased the car into the con gested traffic of the afternoon rush hour.

"H ow long will it take us?” Della Street asked. "T w e n ty minutes at the very least. . . . What do you think of our new client, Della?” "P oor kid. She certainly was placed in an embarrassing position.” "W asn’t she!” "Chief, you sound skeptical.” "W hen you stop to figure the cold, hard facts, we have a girl whose father was convicted of embezzling nearly four hundred thousand dollars. She drives an expensive car and lives in an expensive trailer. She prances around barefoot in the dewy grass, letting the sunlit breezes caress her bare skin.” "N ice work if you can get it,” Della Street observed. "N ow , Della, let’s look at it from the viewpoint of the parole board. You have Colton P. Duvall in prison on an indeterminate sentence. He claims that he was innocent. You are concerned, as a member of the board, with just how long you are going to keep Colton Duvall in prison. Perhaps you are even considering granting a parole. So you get in touch with the police officers who did the investigative work on the case and ask them for their opinion. They tell you about the daugh ter doing no work, and yet apparently having plenty of money.” "W ell, when you put it that way,” Della Street said, "she ------ Good Lord, chief, her own actions are keep ing her father in the penitentiary.” "Provided,” Mason said, smiling. "Provided what?” "Provided the Adult Authority, which in this state has the same duties and functions as the board of pardon and paroles in most states, has any in tention, no matter how remote, of granting parole. It would almost seem as though Arlene Duvall were trying to keep Colton Duvall in prison rather than getting him out. Surely from the viewpoint of the authorities, the daugh ter’s actions must be exceedingly ex asperating, to say the least.” "V ery definitely,” Della said. "O n the other hand,” Mason said, "th ey could be a very alluring form of bait.” " I n what w ay?” "D uvall goes to prison,” Mason said. "H e is given to understand —per haps not in so many words, but nevertheless given to understand —that if he wants to disgorge the loot, he will be given parole. He apparently has no intention of disgorging the loot. He’s going to wait them out. So they finally come to the conclusion that he’s going to sit tight. Then the daughter starts living without visible means of support, an ideal existence of complete leisure. Wouldn’t it be natural for the parole authorities to say, ' Control of the money seems to have passed from the father to the daughter. How about let ting this man out and keeping him under close surveillance? W e’ll watch every move he makes. We can’t help it if his daughter spends money, but if he starts spending money, too, we’ll get him on the carpet, cancel his parole and perhaps be able to get the daughter as an accessory. Then we may be able to find where the money’s hidden and get some of it back.’ ” "A n d where do you fit in that scheme?” Della Street asked. " I might be intended to play the part of a pawn.” " B y being expendable?” "T h a t’s right.” "W ell, be careful.” " I intend to be.” (TO BE CONTINUED)

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March 5, 1955

TIIE SATURDAY EVENING POST

P R O P H ET JO N E S : M ESSIA H IN M IN K (C on tinu ed from Page 2 1 ) m e,” he says, "h e approaches m e on m y right side, so I ju st naturally keep that side free.” N o t even the exigencies o f dental care have been allowed to in terfere w ith this principle. Several gold fillings and a gold bicuspid flash in his m outh when he preaches, but all are situated in the left jaw . "In tro d u cin g G od’s one and only di vine prophet! ” L ady U sher announces, when Jones finally m akes his appear ance. "L e t ’s give G od a great big h a n d !” The congregation leaps to its feet and for a while pandem onium reigns su prem e. These rank-and-file celebrants are designated in D om inion society as "c itiz e n s .” E very citizen takes com fort in the knowledge th at he, too, m ay one day be elevated to royalty, should he perform som e outstanding act o f de votion, such as giving th e prophet an expensive present. Flanked by princes and princesses, lords and ladies, Jones sashays down th e center aisle to the stage and en sconces him self in w hat he insists is a replica of K in g Solom on’s throne. It consists of a w ell-stuffed arm chair on a canopied dais sw athed in red and green silks. A niche on his right holds an or chid-colored telephone. W h at follow s com bines elem ents from the services o f m any a kindred sect, n otably Father D ivin e’s Peace M ission . A lu sty choir belts out hym ns to the accom panim ent o f crashing cym bal and tam bourine, organ and g u tbucket piano. O ccasionally, the spirit m oves the prophet to join in w ith a pair o f rum ba gourds. On stage and in the aisles the D om inionites sing, shout and jitterbu g. Once Jones him self takes the floor to preach, he m ay not relinquish it for four or five hours. " I stand longer than any other preacher,” he boasts. P art o f his sermon he delivers in a chanting, rhythm ic "u n k n ow n ton gu e” peppered w ith phrases like "c o sm ic illum ina b ility ” and "t h e lubritorium o f lu brim en tality.” I t has the sam e electrifying effect on his listeners as red-hot ja zz. Such theological doctrine as can be disentangled from the prophet’s som e w hat chaotic discourses boils down to the proposition th at in the year 2000 a . d . all men still living will becom e im m ortal. T h ey will not go to heaven, how ever; heaven will com e to them , abolishing forever, along w ith death, all the ills th at flesh is heir to . T h e prob lem is to stay alive during the forty-five years between now and th e m illennium . T h e only w ay to succeed, the prophet warns, is by obeying his decrees. These num ber fifty and cover m any aspects of hum an existence, from sexual m orality ( "N o citizen m ust be the father or m other o f an illegitim ate child ” ) to the proper use o f nail polish (the prophet prescribes natural polish w ith ordinary dress, red with evening clothes). G ood "reg istra n ts,” as full-fledged D om inionites are also called, drink no alcohol, coffee or tea ; do n ot sm oke, tak e snuff, play gam es o f any kind, not even checkers or dom inoes, fraternize w ith non-D om inionite8, attend any other church or m arry w ithout the prophet’s consent. W om en m ust wear girdles. "T h e y are to be long enough,” says D ecree N o . 10, " t o keep the stom ach and buttocks from protrud in g .” M en m ust wear w hat the prophet describes as "h e a lth b elts— short stom ach girdles.”

Decree N o . 37 enjoins the registrants from observing D ecem ber tw enty-fifth as Christm as. The approved date is N ovem ber tw enty-fourth, the proph e t’s birthday, nam ed by him Philam athyu. The festivities last seven days, ending on the D om inion equivalent of N ew Y ear’s, called Hushdom ecalam a. "G ift s and monies will be sent to the D om inion R u ler,” the D om inion Ruler ordains. The m ost im portant decree is the last, according to which " E veryone m ust be one hundred per cent (1 0 0 % ) with the D om inion R uler. A ll disobedience to G od is sin. Sin brings forth death. The wages of sin is death.” A bou t m idw ay through each o f the five weekly services the citizens are bidden to file past the throne and de posit a contribution. "A n open m ind, a clean heart and one dollar, please,” the prophet exhorts them as they ap proach. N o t m any are rash enough to risk celestial wrath by offering less, and som e donate considerably m ore. On a few occasions, when the general zeal seemed to be flagging, Jones has or dered all the exits locked until the col lection was over. Frequently, one or more supplem entary collections are taken up to defray som e special ex pense, such as a trip to N ew Y ork for the messiah and his retinue. Jones dedicates part o f each serv ice— on Thursdays alm ost all o f i t — to dispensing solutions to personal prob lem s o f health, love and business. T o a citizen w ith an ulcer, for exam ple, he will sa y, " I adjust your stom ach. I t is ad ju sted .” C itizens wishing to pose

Can You Name This Star? H IS s q u a llin g in fa n t o f twenty-tw o months later be came famous for glamorizing an other garment not unlike the loose one she is wearing here. Elected M iss New Orleans in a beauty contest in her home town, she moved to Chicago with her mother to seek a stage career. But all she landed was a job as a department-store elevator oper ator. Band leader Herbie Kaye later made her his vocalist, then his wife. Shortly before W orld W ar II, she divorced Kaye and acted in a dozen films clad mostly in her famous garment. She then starred with Bing Crosby and Bob Hope. Can you name her?

— RAYM OND R. STU A R T.

• jn o m r ] h p o j o q :j » .n g u y

Park is inhabited alm ost entirely by w ealthy N egro fam ilies. A m assive double door guards the entrance to the French C astle, and L ady B urton, the receptionist, scru tinizes callers carefully through a glass panel before she unlocks it. Jones has been extrem ely wary of strangers since 1952, when a pair of N egro extortioners wrote him a letter dem anding $5000 on pain of his life. H e reported the threat to local F B I agents, who instructed him to reply th at he was prepared to pay up. The extortioners were nabbed when they cam e to collect the m oney, and went to the penitentiary for one year. It was during their trial that the prophet m ade his first and, to date, only appearance in a court. H e has a horror of courts and he has appointed an agent from am ong his followers to receive and act upon any legal sum m onses th at m ight arise. The interior of the French C astle is a fantasy of hand-carved woodwork, gold-painted ceilings, ornate brocade drapes and w all-to-w all carpeting with a pile as deep as an English lawn. N ear the front door stand two m atching chairs with tape stretched between the arm s to prevent unauthorized persons from sitting in them . One is reserved for the prophet, the other for his m other’s spirit. On occasion, to honor a guest he deem s sufficiently distinguished, the prophet will rem ove the tapes. A fair pianist him self, he likes to hear lively music wherever he goes, and from radio loud-speakers scattered through the halls jazz blares forth ceaselessly day nd night. The prophet receives visitors in a sm all paneled study, dom inated by a life-size portrait of him self in a white robe. The heat of the room is stifling, because a gas fire has been burning in the fireplace tw enty-four hours a day, the year round, ever since the prophet m oved in, ten years ago. "G o d told me never to let it go o u t,” he says. Perm a nently ranged in front of the fireplace are dozens of children’s toys. These are m eant to sym bolize the lack of toys in his own impoverished childhood. P ractically the entire contents of the place were either donated by worship ful followers or purchased out of D o m inion funds. Th ey include a $7000 grand piano, $8000 worth o f silver plate, a stained-glass window installed at a cost of $1200, and suite after suite of furniture ranging in value from $2000 to $10,000. Som e donors in reduced circum stances bought their gifts on tim e. favorite color it was. T h e prophet h it his real stride in A fter raising the m oney for the down 1938 when th e Trium ph sect sent him paym ent, they would give the prophet to D etroit as a m issionary. E nthusi their installm ent booklets and, as each astic converts were soon pressing hand paym ent fell due, return w ith the re som e gifts upon him . A ll o f these, his quired sum . In a few cases when a superiors argued, should rightfully re donor could not scrape together the vert to the m other church. Jones dis m oney, Jones assumed the paym ents. sented violently and, rather than sur Then, once a m onth, gathering up all render so m uch as a cu ff lin k , broke the booklets, he would drive the rounds aw ay to launch his own sect. T h e T ri- of the creditors and, with m any a ritu ••«i maintains — -.-«fa in s a umph sect still i church in alistic flourish, hand over the cash. A s Detroit, but it cannot hold a candle in of last fall only tw o or three gifts re mained to be paid for. popularity to Prophet Jones • O f all Prophet Jones’ possessions he The fu ll, lush m agnificence o f the and in the prophet’s daily life can be appreciated 18 proudest ( » . . « , of his ni8 wardrobe, w araro0e anu ,u e in ly b y thoae.w ho h ave bterature which he ,„ m in hia borne. H e occupies a hree story, tim e to tim e am ong his follow ers he d efifty -fo u r -r o o m g r .y .t o n e^ p lea su re « m ib e s „ m e „ fth e L o te n ts in th e r e c S -

their problem s privately m ay mount the dais and whisper them in the prophet’s ear. H e allots each petitioner one m inute’s tim e, not a second more, and there is a fixed m inim um fee of ten dollars. On a busy Thursday the ag gregate m ay reach $4000. M o st D etroiters are clim bing out of bed when Prophet Jones, tired but tri um phant, winds up the service am id a final flurry of greenbacks. The car which bears the prophet away m ay not be the sam e he arrived in. H e owns five. In addition to the beige jo b , which has a radiotelephone and cost $15,000, there is an all-w hite convertible, the gift of a citizen who credits the prophet with having restored his father’s failing vision; an expensive sedan, another gift from the grateful; a station wagon, which his m other gave him shortly be fore she died; and a truck, used m ainly for hauling the portable throne which accom panies Jones when he preaches out of tow n. Born in a Birm ingham , A labam a, slum to a railroad brakeman and a schoolteacher, Jones got his start as a prophet early in life. According to D o m inion hagiology, he was not quite tw o and his first prophecy concerned his father. The infant is supposed to have said to his m other: "P a p a turn hom e bu ddy” (translation: papa will com e hom e bloody), and, sure enough, th at night the senior Jones staggered in, bleeding from a cut in his scalp. A hobo whom he had ejected from a box car had hurled a chunk of coal at him . A t six, the tiny m ystic joined a sect sim ilar in character to the one he later founded, known as Trium ph the Church and K ingdom o f G od in C hrist, and he preached his first sermon to its Birm ingham congregation. A fter a sp o tty public-school education, ending in his eleventh year, he began preach ing regularly under Trium ph auspices. The prophet detested his father and neglects no opportunity to execrate his m em ory. For his m other, on the other hand, he felt a deep attach m ent. W hen she died, in 1951, after he had surrounded her with luxuries and elevated her to th e rank o f First D o m inion L ad y, he pounded the $2500 "N o , casket w ith his fists, scream ing, n ot m am m a, not m am m a! ” T h e giltengraved invitations to his m arathon birthday parties are still issued in the nam e o f H er Grace L a d y Catherine L . Jones as well as in his. E very F riday, D om inionites are supposed to wear green in m em ory o f L a d y Jones, whose

mC>1 dow s open upon a sunken rose garden. N o . 75 is one a 8Core ° f elaborate dw ellings dotting Arden Park, which once ranked am ong the city’s most fashionable residential sections. A G en eral M otors executive, Edm und A . — the house in H)17 at a reV ier, built puted cost of $100,000. Today Arden

«' “ »

'»M »n ea .

pert. There is a "h a lte r skirt of fuchsia chiffon over white satin,” a "tw o-p iece satin robe with a red skirt and whiteon-white shirt” and an "a ll-w h ite Czech cloth robe studded with French crystal beads.” This last creation kept Princess Rebecca Goodwin, his official robe maker, busy for five months.

(Continued on Pajie 76)

THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

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Part of his job is to write up policies and place them for you with reputable insurance companies. In doing so, he selects companies rated financially able to repay you in case of loss . . . companies with a reputation for paying claims promptly. CJdd tact: Ihe NHG Protection Agent is

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

March 5, 1955

der they asked him which he would lyn, Princess Bluntella, and appointed four times to the drinking fountain in prefer— brown or white mink. " B e g (Continued from Page 74) Evelyn administrator o f the Chicago a D etroit bus station and partake gars can’t be choosers,” he has ex Th e prize o f the collection is a white church, or " Thankful Center.” thereof. "M o th e r is very intelligent plained since, "s o I chose white.” mink coat, made up o f seventy-five Sterling Jackson ga ve the first gift, a and scientific,” Esther relates. "S h e Th e execution o f the coat was en pelts and costing $13,500. I t is one of sedan which cost $4300. Then, out o f did as the prophet bid her and she was trusted to a N ew Y o rk furrier. Th e several lavish gifts presented b y a fam their combined savings, the four Jackcured. She is a live and well tod ay.” total cost came to $13,500, o f which ily o f Chicago Negroes named Jackson. sons made a down paym ent on the 812But that was not all Prophet Jones the Jacksons arranged to pay $2000 In 1949, E velyn and Esther Jackson, stone diamond bracelet. T h e y paid the did fo r the Jacksons. " I had a toxic goi down and the balance in monthly in elderly spinster schoolteachers, having final installment last summer. In 1953, ter,” says Esther, "a n d he fixed that.” fallen under Jones’ spell through his fo r Philam athyu, they decided to buy stallments o f $475. H e also reunited the sisters with their " I s n ’t it gorgeous!” exclaimed the radio broadcasts, appealed to him to the prophet a mink coat, "full-length, estranged brother, Sterling, who runs prophet, when the Jackson sisters de help their widowed mother, who was let-out, with raglan flare-back, shawl an auto-repair garage in Chicago, gave livered the coat. " G o d bless y o u !” suffering from what th ey called "b lo o d collar, deep, velvet-lined pockets and them both resounding titles—Esther Replied Princess Essentina, " I t is hemorrhages and swelling ankles.” Th e scarlet lining.” Before placing the orbecame Princess Essentina, and E ve only a preview o f things to come from preacher instructed Mrs. Jackson to go our most fortunate gratitudes.” On the whole, Prophet Jones basks in an effulgence o f which an Oriental potentate might be envious. Between tw enty and thirty members o f his flock, some salaried, others giving their services, w ait upon his slightest whim. T w o valets help him dress and undress. Six secretaries handle his cor respondence. In public, four body guards never leave his side. F o r each o f his four passenger cars there is a chauf feur, and when he travels b y train, they drive ahead and wait for him at his destination. H e has his own barber, who administers a daily facial massage as he reclines in his own barber chair. (H e prefers to shave himself, using a straight razor and spending a full hour at it.) A pedicure treats his feet once or twice a month and customarily gets a tip o f ten dollars. There are tw o cooks, La d y Flowers and L a d y Byrd. La d y Flowers cooks for the household staff and for such citizens and delegates from the D o minion outposts as may be guests at the French Castle—some linger there for months. H er toughest assignment is th e p ro p h et’ s w eek -lo n g b irth d a y splurge. Last time, more than 2000 guests attended and consumed 3000 Stretch socks of H e l a n c a yarn started it— a whole variety pounds o f turkey, 1500 pounds o f chicken, tw o pigs, 1000 pounds of short of exciting new stretch-to-fit garments for the whole family. ribs, 200 pounds o f cold cuts, 500 Doll-size panties and stockings that mold to every curve pounds o f cheese, 12 gallons o f pickles, like a second skin— socks that grow with children’s feet— 400 pounds o f salad, 400 molds o f ice feather-light stretch briefs for men— gloves that fit like cream, 310 cakes, and a Niagara of gloves should fit. These are just a few. soda pop. Only in garments made of H e l a n c a yarn do you get all L a d y B yrd cooks exclusively for the these comfort features of the original full-stretch yarn: prophet in a kitchen on the third floor Stretch to fit as if made for you alone— because H e l a n c a to which she alone has a key. " A great yprn stretches, then relaxes to conform to your person preaching unadulterated gospel contours. Stretch to last! H e l a n c a yarn wears longer has to be careful,” says the master o f because resiliency is permanent— garment keeps its shape the French Castle darkly. L a d y B yrd after repeated wearings and washings. Stretch to give all-day always accompanies him on his travels. comfort! H E L A N C A yarn relaxes gently. . . is so soft to the In N e w Y ork last year he occupied a skin— won’t bind, chafe or constrict in any way. $100-a-day suite at Th e W aldorfLeading brand-name manufacturers use H e l a n c a yarn to Astoria, a hotel whose cuisine is gener make all items shown here— and many others. And ally considered to be safe, but at meal N E W C O M F O R T IN B R IE F S. leading stores sell them. But, don’t just ask for “stretch". times Jones would repair to the apart Free-action fit with mild support because they stretch. Never bind Ask to see the H e l a n c a * mark. Be sure to get the genuine ment o f a trusted follower in Harlem, or chafe. Porous-cool. About $1.95 where La d y Byrd awaited him, skillet full-stretch yarn. to $2.95. poised. H E B E R L E I N P A T E N T C O R P ., 200 F ifth A v e ., N e w Y o rk 10. Th e prophet eats only one formal For information send postcard or tolephone JUdson 2-0066 in New York meal a day, but it is a spectacular pro cedure. It takes place at about eleven o ’clock at night in his Sky Room on the top floor, where a long refectory table stands under a flower-painted ceiling strewn with red, green, blue and orange light bulbs. T w elve privileged male followers, whom the prophet has chosen to be his disciples, usually dine with him. None enters the Sky Room , however, until word comes that the LO N G E S T W E AR IN G N Y L O N S prophet has taken his place at the head G L O V E S N O W S T R E T C H tO Shape S O C K S G RO W W IT H K ID S . Outlast any other stretch stockings. S N U G B U T N E V E R T IG H T . Garter o f the table. Then they file in one at a of every fing er. Just putting them on S e n s ib ly sheer, g la m o ro u sly dull' Stretch up to several shoe sizes. Long panties and b rie fs softly e x p a n d ... makes them fit. Wash and dry in a jiffy. Smooth, wrinkle-free fit. About $2.95. wear— all-over good fit for active feet. time, bow low and murmur, "G o o d g e n tly hug eve ry c o n to u r without About $1.50 to $3 00. No pressure. About 89f to $1.00. evening, your holiness. H ow does your binding. About $2.00 to $3.50. holiness feel this evening? ” Acknowledging each greeting w ith a lordly nod, the prophet waves the dis ciple into a chair, and the repast, a Gargantuan one, proceeds largely in si ya ^ lence. But at so me point each disciple is expected to pass a favorable comment the origina/ upon the food.

the y a rn that m a d e “ s tre tc h s o c k s ” f a m o u s ...

'Worn. ... the original full-stretch yarn

. . . gives same amazing comfort, fit and wear to all these products. . .

don't just ask if it stretches ask if it’s made o f . ..

a(dajiC(L

THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

"D inner is lovely, your holiness,” one will say. "T ru ly a delicious feast,” another will chime in. The prophet never hits a finger to help himself. I f he wants water, he says so, and a disciple leaps up to fill his glass. His favorite disciple—his heir ap parent, in fa ct—is Prince Douglas Rog ers, a young Chicagoan, who was a promising medical student until he succumbed to the prophet’s influence. Promoted to the office of Dominion treasurer, he now receives a substan tial monthly salary plus an expense al lowance. Next in the fine of succession is Prince Jam es Parker, who left Fisk University, where he was studying music on a scholarship, to follow the prophet. Any sign of rebellion among his fol lowers Prophet Jones counters with dire threats, couched in the guise of di vinely revealed prophecy and trans mitted in the presence of other Dominionites. To a woman back-slider he dis closed not long ago, "G od said if you draw back one more time he is going to take your voice. You won’t be able to speak.” The offender craved forgive ness and promised to offend no more. At one time Prince Rogers himself was threatened with excommunication when he betrayed a certain independence of

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thought. "G od made me get Prince Rogers and tell him not to be my Judas,” the prophet told an assemblage of Dominion officials. " I ’m not going to have the castle and let other people rule it.” So meek is the prince today that he scarcely dares address an out sider without the prophet’s sanction. How tightly Prophet Jones controls his followers is indicated by the defer ence which vote-conscious state and city politicians pay him. Last Philamathyu both Gov. G. Mennen Wil liams and Detroit’s Mayor Albert E . Cobo sent him messages of congratula tions. When he gave a party recently in honor of newly appointed Circuit Court Judge Wade H. McCree, Jr., the first Negro in Michigan history to receive that appointment, numerous white as well as Negro dignitaries attended. In 1951, the prophet actually delivered the invocation at the opening session of the Michigan State Legislature in Lan sing. His own political sympathies tend to be Republican. In the last presiden tial campaign he pronounced Ike the di vine choice. What might seem at first blush a truly miraculous aspect of the proph e t’s operations is his financial setup. It enabled him last year to five more like a millionaire than ever, though he filed an income-tax return of less than $5000. The explanation, however, is mundane. Since 1945 his sect has been chartered under the state laws as a nonprofit ecclesiastical corporation. The moneys it takes in are presumed to be spent on organizational expenses only, and it is therefore not obliged to pay taxes. In crediting the attainment of this status entirely to God’s guidance, the prophet fails to do justice to one Samuel Brezner, his lawyer and also a Wayne County assistant prosecuting attor ney. I t was Brezner who not only ad

vised him to incorporate but drafted the articles of incorporation which proved acceptable to the Michigan Corporation and Securities Commis sion. "All those exempts! ” the prophet chortles, when he recalls the time Brez ner first enumerated the advantages. " I t ’s beautiful!” There is nothing unusual about the Dominion’s freedom from taxation. Practically any religious body, how ever obscure or unorthodox—not to mention nonprofit institutions of many kinds—enjoys the same privilege. What does distinguish the prophet’s sect, however—to the prophet’s own im mense benefit—is a couple of clauses in its constitution. Most churches have a board of directors, duly chosen by the parishioners, who supervise its finan cial affairs, approving all ministerial salaries and other expenditures. The Dominion has a board, too, but it con sists of "those persons whom the Ruler shall from time to time select and who shall serve at his will.” The Dominion constitution further states that the prophet "shall have the power to veto any and all of the actions of the coun cil, and may remove any member thereof at will.” Thus, in effect, Prophet Jones wields absolute control over the Dominion’s earnings. What do those earnings amount to? The Michigan laws do not require a nonprofit corporation to disclose that figure, and the prophet has kept it a dark, dark secret. But a sizable part of it can be estimated. From the citizens who fill the shrine at almost every serv ice, for example, approximately $10,000 a v.eek is collected, not including the proceeds from the ten-dollars-aminute healing sessions. All Thursday afternoon, too, the prophet gives pri vate consultations in the French Cas tle at the same fee, and every minute is booked weeks ahead. From his radio audience the prophet receives in mail donations many times the $185 that each Monday-morning broadcast costs. Also, he is adept at de vising impromptu methods of raising extra cash. When a photograph of him appeared a few years ago in the De troit Tribune, which sells for ten cents, he bought hundreds of copies, waited a week, then told his congrega tion that any invalids who pinned one to their bedroom walls would be cured. He disposed of the lot at five dollars each. He has sold thousands of signed photographs at the same price. He once auctioned off a rose from his sunken garden, which he guaranteed would bring the wearer good fortune. The final bid was $150. His latest offer is a recording of his voice, in two songs, He Helps His People, and Can’t Stay Here No More, selling at four dollars. Play it on your phonograph and your troubles vanish. Jones’ only serious competitor in De troit is Rev. Jam es Lofton, whose somewhat less sensational revivalist services attract a large Negro congre gation two or three times a week to an other former moviehouse not far from the prophet’s pitch. Jones offered Lof ton a kind of reciprocal-trade agree ment. Now, oncea month, each preacher brings his congregation, donations and all, to the other’s service. The Thankful Centers established by Jones in other cities and operating as part of the same Michigan corporation provide an additional source of rev enue. Jones determines what per centage of their collections they may retain for salaries and overhead; the rest goes into the Dominion coffers. He boasts of 425 Thankful Centers in the United States, the West Indies and

Africa, with a combined membership of 6,000,000. But in reality Dominion strength is concentrated chiefly in De troit. The actual number does not ex ceed fifty—the main ones being located in New York, Chicago and Philadel phia—and none have a membership of more than a few hundred. Neverthe less, the Thankful Centers together add at least $20,000 a year to the gross take. This golden stream, moreover, flows independently of the gifts. Last birth day they included two suits, two pairs

of shoes, a dozen imported shirts, an Irish-linen tablecloth and a $4000 mink stole. Like any personal gifts from pa rishioners to ministers, these need not be considered corporate assets, but be long to the prophet alone, to do with whatever he chooses, free from the in hibiting hand of the tax collector. As a reporter remarked in the course of the celebration, helping himself to another platter of turkey, "T h e prophet doesn’t have to wait till 2000 a . d . for the millennium. He’s got heaven on earth right here and now.” t h e e n d

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TH E SATURDAY EVENING POST

M arch 5, 1955

This is the Taylor family o f Old Greenwich, Conn. Ail the Taylors, including Alex III, aged 10, John, 9, Holly, 6, and David, 2l/ i, now put their savings—safely, conveniently and profitably—in their local insured Savings and Loan Association.

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How important are their loan services?

A Thev are now the nation’s largest single source of home mortgage loans'. They make liberal loans-quickly and at moderate rates. What's the best time to get to know your local insured Savings and Loan Association? A Right now! Drop in to d ay -an d see for yourself what a fine place it is to do business! Q

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TH E SATU RD AY EV EN IN G PO ST

W H Y BOYS LIKE GIRLS (C on tinu ed from Page 3 4 )

"B u t this boy likes Bobbie Smith! ” Walter Fenton protested. Nancy gazed at her father in solemn wonder. "D addy, don’t you know that there are times in every girl’s life when all females should be exterminated ex cept one?” "T his is not a war we’re talking about!” Walter Fenton shouted. " That’s whatyou think,’ ’ said Nancy. "Amen,” said Emily. Walter Fenton^ never quite under stood why he always approached Emily when she was brushing her hair. Be cause when Emily was brushing her hair she was as serene as a battleship in a yacht basin. To Emily, life was never more in hand than when she was get ting ready for bed. But then, there were a number of things that Walter Fenton never quite understood about himself and Emily. His own painful boyhood, for instance. Somehow he knew that Eniily had never felt the ache of accident, and he guessed that when Emily was a girl she had just reached out and plucked life, the way he had seen boys pluck greedily at fat red apples. "Em ily, why does Nancy have to chase boys?” he asked plaintively. "N o daughter of mine,” said Emily, "w ill ever get married and not know how it happened.” Walter Fenton groaned in dismay. " Then you’re going to let her chase this b oy ?” " I am.” "M aybe she won’t be able to get him,” he suggested hopefully. "W hich might be a very good lesson to her,” said Emily. Then she said, "However, I can assure you that it won’t be for lack of trying.” "Em ily, girls are not supposed to chase boys! ” Walter Fenton protested. " That,” said Eniily, "is a philosophy that mothers of boys use to stir up their timid offspring.” Walter Fenton dumped himself an grily into bed. For a moment or two he stared up at the ceiling; then he said, " I wish you’d just let her grow up naturally, Emily.” Emily considered this for two full strokes of the brush. "W ould you rather have a rose or a weed? ” she said at last. " I want a normal daughter! ” Walter Fenton shouted. The strokes of Emily’s brush went on uninterrupted. "Then you’d better tell her why boys like girls.” Emily turned and grinned in pure delight. ' What would you tell her? ” As usual, Walter Fenton was trapped. But he made the attempt. ' Why, I would tell h e r-th a t boys like girls be cause—well, because they’re kind and cou rteou s — and in telligen t a n d ------ ” "W alter Fenton,” Emily said with considerable venom, " i f I thought for one instant that you married me be cause I was kind and courteous and intelligent, I’d kick you out of this bed room this minute! ” Which put an end to that conversa tion. Sundays, for Walter Fenton, were days of quiet and mystery stories. But this was an exception. There were countless sub rosa conferences between Nancy and her mother. And at times there were giggles. "E m ily,” Walter Fenton said one time when he caught her alone in the

kitchen, "d on ’t you have any respect for that poor boy’s mother? ” Emily grinned. "T hat poor boy’s mother never marched from the cradle to the altar without some help,” she said. Walter Fenton returned to The Case of the Buried Bride. It failed to enter tain him. Deep in his bones he sensed that another crisis was approaching in his life. And the next morning brought no relief. "M y ! It’s a beautiful morning!” Nancy said. She was brimful of life and vigor. "E at your breakfast!” Walter Fen ton ordered. And Nancy did—an enormous break fast. Then she was bouncing off to school. "G ood-by, mother-r-r-r! Good-by, father-r-r-r! ” Walter Fenton watched out the win dow as Nancy headed for the bus. " I f Grant had ever had her at Richmond! ” he fumed. "O r Lee at Appomattox,” Emily grinned. It was a long day for Walter Fenton. Somehow he couldn’t rid himself of the mental picture of Nancy, her pony hairdo flopping in the wind, romping gaily in pursuit of an unknown boy. And at dinner that night he couldn’t resist asking, with his stiffest sarcasm, "D id you get him ?” Nancy was surprisingly sober. "A t least I found out his last name,” she said. "G lory b e !” said Walter Fenton. "F o r once we’ve got first things first! ” "H e ’s very shy,” Nancy said. " I don’t blame him !” Walter Fen ton snorted. "Y o u probably threw the book at him.” " I did not, daddy!” Nancy said indignantly. Walter Fenton was unconvinced. "Well, what did you do? ” he demanded. Nancy glanced uneasily at her mother. "Tellhim , Nan,” Emily said. "There were things he missed in life when he was a boy.” "E m ily !” "W ell, weren’t there, dear?” " I want to know what this child did about that boy today! ” Walter Fenton said. Nancy hesitated; then she said reluc tantly, "W ell, I fell downstairs at school------ ” "R ight in front of him, I suppose?” Walter Fenton glared. " There is a time and place for every thing,” Emily said.

"W hat else? ” Walter Fenton wanted to know. Nancy glanced once more at her mother, but Emily was smiling her re assurance. " I had to have some help with my algebra,” Nancy admitted. "B u t you’ve had straight A ’s in algebra all year long!” Walter Fenton cried. "W hat a boy doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” said Emily. "E m ily !” Walter Fenton shouted. "W h y don’t you have this child walk right up and kiss the boy? ” " D a d d y !” Nancy gasped. "Y o u wouldn’t want him to think I was for ward, would you ?” Emily was brushing her hair again, and Walter Fenton was pacing the floor behind her. "Emily, what kind of things have you been telling that child?” Walter Fenton asked. Emily was vague. "Oh, boy things.” "B ut, Emily, she’s only fifteen years o ld !” "And I bet you would rather have her five or fifty,” Emily said. " I certainly would! ” Walter Fenton said. " Walter Fenton,” Emily said, "some times I think you would like to see Mother Nature hanged as a witch! ” When he walked in the door on Wednesday night Walter Fenton could feel the tragedy in the air. Worse, there was the strong, masculine odor of broil ing steak. Emily always had reasons of her own for having steak, and the thicker it was, the more reason she had. This steak smelled thick. Walter Fen ton tossed his coat on the banister and his hat in the nearest chair. Then he saw Nancy reading a book by the fire place. She was drooping. "W ell, how goes the battle?” said Walter Fenton. He tried to be cheerful. " I guess the battle is over, daddy,” Nancy said. Walter Fenton felt a curious sinking in his heart. "Y o u mean you didn’t get him?” he asked. Now Nancy’s chin quivered danger ously, but she would not let the tears come. "Oh, he and that Bobbie Smith decided to go steady! Isn’t that ridicu lou s-goin g steady at their age?” "W a lter!” It was Emily. " I want you upstairs! ” "B u t I’m down here!” Walter Fen ton said. "T h a t’s precisely why I want you upstairs.”

Emily tripped up the stairs and Wal ter Fenton followed her to their bed room. "W alter Fenton, you leave that girl alone! ” Emily was in a mood. "B u t what have I done?” he asked helplessly. Emily was unyielding. "Y o u haven’t done anything yet. But you’re about to.” " I am ?” Walter Fenton wondered what was coming. "W e,” said Emily, "are about to start a hope chest for Nancy.” "A t a time like this! ” Walter Fenton cried. "She just got through telling me the boy is going to go steady with some body else! ” "T h e time to start a hope chest,” said Emily, "is when hope is needed.” "A hope chest at fifteen!” Walter Fenton groaned. "She can have my wedding dress for a start,” Emily said. . "Emily, I don’t want you to give away your wedding dress! ” But Emily was firm. "E very girl,” she said, "is entitled to be married in her mother’s wedding dress.” Walter Fenton flapped his hands against the pockets of his trousers. " I don’t know anything about starting a hope chest, Emily! ” he said in dismay. "Then you’d better learn in a pretty quick hurry.” "B ut, Em ily!” "T h e steak must be done, dear.” So Walter Fenton trudged down the stairs, wondering if he ever would fin ish with fatherhood. And as he sat down at the table to serve the steak, he found Emily no help at all. "Y ou r father has something to tell you, Nan,” Emily said, smiling. Despite her gloom, Nancy was puz zled. "D a d d y ?” Walter Fenton was glaring across the table at Emily with all the outraged dignity of a defeated senator. "E m ily,” he said, "d on ’t you think it would be better if you told her? ” " I ’m sure you’ll do very nicely, dear,” Emily said. Walter Fenton was absolutely cer tain that he wouldn’t do nicely at all, but there was no help for it. He tried to assume a hearty voice. "N ancy,” he announced, "you r mother and I have decided it’s time for you to start a hope chest.” Nancy’s chin quivered. " I doubt if I’ll need one, daddy,” she said. "H ave some steak, then,” Walter Fenton said helplessly. " I don’t think I want any steak, daddy. Not very much anyway. And only one potato.” "W ould you like my wedding dress, N an?” Emily was saying. " I don’t even have a chest to put it in, mother.” "There’s one up in your father’s closet, dear,” Emily said. "Em ily! ” Walter Fenton cried. "T h at cedar one, mother?” "E m ily !” Walter Fenton roared. "T h at cedar chest is for my hunting clothes! ” " I ’m sure the hunting clothes won’t mind,” said Emily. " But, Emily, my cedar chest! ” Wal ter Fenton cried. "Y ou r cedar chest,” said Emily, "has been waiting for a purpose in life for a long time.” "Thank you very much, daddy,’ ’ Nancy said gravely. "E m ily !” "Y ou r daughter thanked you, dear,” Emily said. "Y o u ’re welcome!” Walter Fenton glared. (C on tin u ed o n l’age 8 2 )

March 5, 1955 th e satukday evening post

C O P Y R IG H T

I K » — O E L .C O -R E M Y D I V I S I O N . G E N E R A L M O T O R S C O R P .

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST ( C o n tin u e d f r o m P a g e 7 9 )

Suddenly Emily bounced from her chair and left for the kitchen. " I forgot to make the gravy!” Now Walter Fenton was alone with his daughter, and he realized that he felt the same way he had when he was a boy, when he had never known what to say, when life had been so accidental, so awkward, so far beyond his reach. "N an,” he heard himself saying, "did you like this boy?” "Daddy, he was an awful drip!” Nancy choked. Walter Fenton felt his bewilderment growing. "B u t if he was a drip, Nan, what did you want him for? ” Suddenly all the pent-up defeat in Nancy’s heart erupted. "D addy, don’t you know anything about a girl?” she cried. " If a girl can’t make a drip like her, how can she make anybody like her? ” Then Nancy said in despair, "Oh, I wish I knew why a boy likes a girl! ” Walter Fenton, now back in the inad equacy of his painful boyhood, reached into his pocket for a hidden security he had carried for nine solid years—a neatly folded hundred-dollar bill, tucked far away from temptation in a tiny fold of his wallet—the mad money that had assured him for nine long years that come what may, he could always get home from any part of the country. He handed it to Nancy. "N an,” he said gently, "here’s some thing for your hope chest.” Nancy glanced a t the folded bill. Her eyes widened. "Gee, daddy,” she mar veled,"you must make a lot of money! ” From Nancy’s reaction, Walter Fen ton realized painfully that he had failed and that he was still as clumsy as he had been when he was a boy.

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I t was long after he and Emily had gone to bed, and Walter Fenton was staring up into the darkness, studying a ceiling he couldn’t see. "Emily, do you think she’ll get over it? ” he asked anxiously. "G o to sleep,” Emily mumbled. "D o you think we should take her away somewhere, Emily? ” "The place to fight boy battles is on the home front,” Emily said. "Emily, aren’t you even worried?” "T he time to worry,” said Emily, "is when she loses three in a row.” Walter Fenton sighed. " I wish I had your faith, Emily! ” "You just wish,” Emily said. And Walter Fenton was wishing — wishing devoutly.'' Emily, I don’t want that child to go through what I did when I was a boy. I wish I knew what we’re going to do.” " Why, we’re just going about marry ing off our daughter the way we’ve al ways done.” This startled Walter Fenton. "E m ily! I haven’t been trying to marry off my daughter! ” " I have,” Emily mumbled. "Since when?” Walter Fenton de manded indignantly. "T he day she was bom,” Emily yawned. "E m ily!” With another yawn, Emily said, "W hen my great-grandmother ------” "Emily, don’t you dare!” Walter Fenton warned. "Well, my mother, then.” "W hat about your mother, Emily?” "N one of your business. But if it hadn’t been for my mother, you wouldn’t have had a wife.” "Emily, did your mother have any thing to do with your marrying m e?” Walter Fenton pleaded. "M y mother knew what was what,” Emily said.

"D id she like me, Emily?” "She wasn’t delirious,” Emily said. Walter Fenton tried another tack, "Emily, have you ever been sorry you married me?” He waited breathlessly for an answer. "N o,” said Emily. "B u t I haven’t been delirious either.” "D o you really love me, Emily?” Emily was silent for a moment. " I ’d love you better if you could tell Nancy why boys like girls,” she said. " I ’U try, Emily.” "You better not,” Emily said. " I want Nancy to look facts in the face.” Nancy’s appetite was still below par. "Ju st one potato, daddy,” she sighed. "W hen are you going to get back to normal? ” Walter Fenton demanded. "W hat is normal?” said Emily. Now Nancy sighed heavily. " I still wish I knew what Bobbie Smith has got that I haven’t got.”

People are Like That HAT do you suppose that the youngsters of today W wish for most of all in this ma terialistic and supposedly self ish world? To find the answer, I, as a icher, questioned 160seventhd eighth-grade pupils in a ichita, Kansas, school. Boys d girls alike were asked, " If u had five wishes to make con ning anything in the world, lat would you wish for?” In their replies, 50 per cent shed first of all for world ace and 20 per cent for a good reer in life. Nearly all of the it wanted either a good educa>n for themselves or a better indard of living for all the >rld. Yes, one boy wished the •ooklyn Dodgers would win e pennant, and a girl longed ist for an automatic dishisher. But most thought in are impersonal or selfless terms. A

’o r t iin ir p

" I f all girls could get all boys, the world would be in a mell of a hess,” said Emily. " I suppose you’re right, mother,” Nancy sighed. "B ut it would be so de lightful for a while! ” "The slaughter,” said Emily, "would be stupendous.” "W hat about your hope chest?” Walter Fenton wanted to know. "You can keep your hunting clothes in it for a while, if you want, daddy.” Then Nancy said, "M other, do you think if I tried that boy just once more, I might get him ?” "N o,” Emily said. Nancy’s eyes clouded. " I wish some body would tell me why. Do you know why, mother?” Emily chewed thoughtfully. "N o,” she said. "B u t it makes getting mar ried an interesting job.” "Emily! Marriage is not a job!” "M aybe not,” said Emily. "B ut it’s darned hard to get to be president of the concern.” " I t certainly is!” Walter Fenton cried. "And if it’s a job, it’s a job women invented! ” Emily grinned. "While men were too busy to notice,” she said. Suddenly Nancy was gazing a t her mother and father in wide-eyed won der. " Gee, it must be wonderful to love each other the way you two do!” she said. For an instant Walter Fenton was utterly unable to speak. "E m ily ___ ” he began. "Stop being sentimental, dear,” Em ily said. Just then Nancy glanced out the window. There was an eruption as she bolted out the front door. "N ancy!” Walter Fenton roared. "Save your breath, dear,” Emily said. "You may need it when she comes back.” "B u t she hasn’t eaten her dinner!” "W hat’s a dinner between appe tites?” Emily said. " Emily, I wish you didn’t take things so calmly.” Walter Fenton sounded in jured as he said it. Emily sipped her coffee. "Them as fights Mother Nature deserve what they get,” she said. " I don’t see what Mother Nature has to do with Nancy not eating her dinner!” Walter Fenton said, glaring. Something pushed Nancy out that door, and it wasn’t me,” Emily said. Presently—though it seemed hours to Walter F enton-N ancy was back She was bouncing and radiant. " Mother-r-r, there’s a new family moving in 1” " T h a t’s nice, dear.” g "B u t that isn’t all!” Nancy said breathlessly. "There’s a boy! And 1 know his last name! And he has black., curly hair! And, mother, I saw him first! Brother-r-r! Am I going to fill that hope chest now! ” Suddenly Nancy was racing up the stairs. "W here’s she going now?” Walter r enton demanded from the maze of his bewilderment. "F or war paint, I expect,’’Emily said. .family! Are you going to make me go through this again?” "And again and again,” said Emily. Walter Fenton stood up with all the dignity he could muster. " I,” said Walr Fenton, "am going to retrieve my hundred-dollar bill.” "You leave that hundred-dollar bill where it is,” Emily said. "E m ily!” Walter Fenton cried. " I simply cannot afford Nancy’s love affai,7*,at a hundred dollars a head!” You a in ’t seen nothing yet,” said Emdy. Wait till you pay for a wedTH E END

THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

8.3

WHO KILLED WILMA MONTESI?

come to Rome in 1952 with a letter of secretly supplied with food and shelter introduction to Giuseppe Spataro, a by Montagna. Was it surprising that Demo-Christian Party bigwig, and then the faithful friend had easy access to postmaster general. In the minister’s Pavone’s office on the top floor of the (Continued from Page 29) anteroom, someone presented her to Ministry of the Interior? Ugo, who, it was explained to her, Perhaps it was. Police officials, one parties . . . manslaughter—the Rome could do a great deal more for her than might argue, should cut their social ties district attorney, citing a law against Spataro. A close relationship ensued, with gangster friends. Even before Miss the "spreading of false and tendentious but Ugo, in the end, grew tired of the Caglio’s testimony, the communists’ statements capable of disturbing public girl. And that mistake was his undoing. official party organ, Unità, had drawn order,” started proceedings against Miss Caglio talked. In court, she attention to the fact that the nation’s Muto. recollected how, shortly after Wilma No. 1 policeman knew Montagna. Now, But who was M uto? And why did he Montesi’s death, Piccioni had confided with Pavone unable to deny that both warm over the half-forgotten case? to his friend, Ugo Montagna, that he Montagna and Piccioni had called on Talking with him today, over a bitter was in trouble. On the night of April him about three weeks after Wilma sweet vermouth, one cannot help but 29, 1953, when she and Ugo were at Montesi’s death, the party paper went feel that the clean-looking, somberly dinner, the telephone rang. It was to work on the police chief. "D oes not dressed young man did no more than Piero Piccioni, and he needed help. At Pavone sense the opportunity,” it asked what he conceived to be the duty of a once, Montagna and Miss Caglio drove the day after Miss Caglio’s revelation, free press. He’d snooped around the to the Ministry of the Interior, in front " t o leave his delicate position volun beaches, found that less than a year be of which Piccioni joined them. While tarily? ” Then, hurling salvo after salvo fore the incident a well-known dope the young lady waited in Montagna’s of invective at "Montagna’s pal” for smuggler had been arrested at a place car, both men went in to call on na four straight days, the left-wing press not far from Tor Vaianica, and, putting tional police chief Tommaso Pavone— whipped up an atmosphere so charged two and two together, had found him roughly, J. Edgar Hoover’s opposite in with public indignation that there could self with a good story. He is no commu Italy. An hour later, they emerged. be no doubt about Pavone’s fate. On nist. Those who recall that M uto’s " I ’ve straightened everything out,” March eleventh —beneath a blazing father, earlier that year, had wished to Montagna said to her, with satisfac banner denouncing Montagna as " friend be a Demo-Christian candidate for tion. of leading Demo-Christians, procurer, parliament and that he was, for un Straightened what out? It was at this spy and agent of the OVRA (the Fas known reasons, scratched from the list point of the trial that the communists cist secret police)” —the party paper by machine-politico Piccioni, Sr., be moved in—the case was theirs to ride printed a neat, three-column headline: lieve vendetta may have prompted to victory. Although the Muto hear P avone M ust Go ! Muto’s action. But such suspicions, in ings from the start had pushed most That afternoon the deeply compro this atmosphere of charge and counter other news off the front pages—and the mised, harassed police chief wearily charge, remain as airy as the allegation Red papers, in particular, had started a threw in the sponge. The communists, that Piccioni’s name was dragged into crusade against corruption in high now frankly jubilant, wasted no time the case by some of the younger Demo- places—the evidence, thus far, had in claiming credit for the victory. "P a Christian politicians whose hopes to been too vague. Now, for the first time, vone did not quit,” said Unità. "H e gain control over their party were the communists could aim their shots. was deposed by the revolt of public blocked by the old guard —personified And who would make a more inviting opinion.. . . Had it not been for the . . . by Deputy Premier Piccioni. target than Tom Pavone, the police courageous attack of the democratic At any rate, the witches’ brew was chief? press, Pavone would still be in office.” on the boil. Silvano M uto’s slander trial Italy’s Communist Party is the In the same breath, the paper crisply opened on March 4, 1954, and almost world’s largest outside the Iron Curtain. added: "One down. Now what about immediately turned into a national Its membership exceeds 2,000,000. the others?” sensation. For here, in a tense, jam- Together with its socialist subsidiary, Things presently picked up momen packed courtroom, unfolded the fan it represents more than one third of tum. Ten days after Pavone’s resigna tastic spectacleof a depraved and greedy Italy’s entire voting strength. Its ten tion, a curious document was read in group of hangers-on whose influence tacles dip into every office, every fac court. Styled as Miss Caglio’s testa reached deep into the halls of power. tory; its followers belong to every ment—she had been in fear of her life, The center of the stage was occu class. Yet this is not a happy party. It the witness cldimed, ever since Ugo pied by forty-four-year-old Ugo Mon feels oppressed, mischievously deprived tried to poison her because "she knew tagna, the self-styled marquis from of many "democratic rights” —such as too much” —it stated that Montagna the sticks of Sicily, and master of the the right to incite riots, preach revolt was the "brains” of a narcotics ring Capocotta hunt. Among the docu over the state-owned radio, plant its and that Piero Piccioni was the gang’s ments produced in court was a police agents in the army, the police and the "assassin.” Immediately, in the ensu report on his activities—a devastating government. Its cold-blooded tormen ing uproar, the flustered court sus portrait of a social climber. Described tor—and the butt of its unutterable pended Muto’s slander trial and ordered as a procurer, tax dodger, influence loathing—is the national police. a new criminal investigation into the peddler and police informer, Montagna Now, at the time of Wilma’s death, Montesi case itself. had, according to the record, made a the man in charge of the police, in his Unlike the first investigation, this career of friendship. He’d been on cor capacity of Minister of the Interior, was a serious piece of business. Two dial terms with Fascists, Nazis and Al was Mario Scelba. The first high func points, by now, had been established in lied officers in Italy, and had, more re tionary since the liberation to let the the public mind: Wilma had not died cently, moved in and out of govern party feel that there were limits to its of a foot bath, and the authorities— ment offices with the demeanor of a power, Scelba had, over a period of five presumably in order to protect impor man who knows what he can give and years, built a machine capable of cop tant persons—had stifled the original take. It was his habit to cut the sons of ing with the communists’ illegal as investigation. Piccioni, Montagna and well-known politicians in on his lucra pirations. Time and again, the party the police themselves would have to tive real-estate deals, and he had enter had attempted to dislodge him, but answer charges. Justice, at long last, tained the mighty at boar hunts on his governments came and went, and would be done. hunting preserve, which he rented, in Scelba stayed on. And when, after the The examining magistrate—Italy’s partnership with six distinguished per 1953 elections, Scelba relinquished the equivalent of a grand jury —was a 240sons, from the government. Monta Ministry of the Interior, his disobliging pounder by the name of Sepe, who pres gna’s list of personal acquaintances in rule was faithfully continued by Pa ently splashed into his big job with ob cluded aristocrats, cabinet ministers, vone, his hard-bitten police chief. It vious determination to come up with generals, ranking civil servants, and was Pavone whom the communists an indictment. Muto and his suspended the Pope’s close friend and personal now, at the time of Muto’s slander trial were forgotten. As the enormous, trial, were gunning for. physician, Riccardo Galeazzi-Lisi. grim-faced judge took statements from The ammunition was supplied by some 350 witnesses, as he drove out to Perhaps this thumbnail sketch, so coldly drawn by the police, was not Miss Caglio. As she talked, Pavone’s Capocotta to see the layout for himself, quite fair to the ambitious marquis—a flawless service record shriveled and as he had Wilma’s body exhumed for a poorly educated, lonely man, deserted went up in smoke. The only thing that more careful autopsy, Rome held its by his wife after a brief marriage, a mattered at this point was his associa breath in expectation of world-shaking uian whose ego was in constant need of tion with Montagna—and there was no news. , propping up. On meeting him today, denying that it was a friendship of long Outside the wire fence of Cap you find a cringing human being, still standing. It dated back, in fact, to ocotta, beer and sandwich stands sold desperately trying to ingratiate himself. Fascist days, when the two knew each refreshments to the Sunday throng. Ugo Montagna had a girl friend, me other down in Sicily, and was resumed Sepe hit pay dirt early last Septem lodiously named Anna Maria Moneta- with ardor during the German occupa ber—or so it seemed, at least, to a Caglio. A well-bred, elegant, vivacious tion of 1943, when Pavone, hiding from sensation-hungry public. The two main would-be actress. Miss Caglio had both Nazis and Italian Fascists, was (Contimml on I’afte 85)

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suspects were arrested. Piero Piccioni was accused of "h a v in g caused, on April 10, 1953, n ear T o r V aianica, th e d eath by drow ning of W ilm a M ontesi, by abandoning her body, which he th o u g h t already lifeless, on th e wet sand by th e sea in order to dispose of it.” T he charge: m anslaughter. T he penalty: u p to five y ears in jail. Ugo M ontagna a t th e sam e tim e was charged w ith favoritism , or unlawful intervention on behalf of P iccioni—a crim e carrying a m axim um pen alty of four years. B o th m en were tak en to R om e’s ancient prison of th e Queen of H eaven, an d th e papers delighted in printing photographs w ith x ’s m arking their barred windows. N or was it m erely th e R ed press which spiked its colum ns w ith M ontesi titb its. In R om e a daily circulation b attle is waged betw een th e powerful R ed p a p e rs—L ’U n ità, A vanti, Paese-

Sera —and their right-w ing and middleof-the-road com petitors. T he fellowtraveling Paese-Sera alone could, thanks to th e M ontesi case, increase its norm al circulation of 45,000 to 100,000 for a period of tw o m onths. W as it more th an n atu ral th a t even th e progovernm ent dailies strained th eir vocal cords to keep up w ith th e shouting on the left? Besides, there were th e weeklies. To th e tired salesgirl, th e fagged whitecollar w orker trudging hom e after a long, h ard day, Ita ly ’s com er kiosk of fers a tan talizing choice of m agazines, outdoing one an o th er w ith sensational rep o rts and garish pictures. You could n o t open one of them in Rom e last fall w ith o u t being assailed by an exclusive interview w ith a sta r witness. T he case itself h ad all it takes, and th e m acabre play was acted by th e perfect cast: a self-styled m arquis, a rakehell jazz m u sician an d a bum bling police chief—not to m ention a galaxy of witnesses, in

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eluding such erratic com ets as M iss Caglio and a M iss Bisaccia, a highstrung, p re tty model who hobnobbed w ith R om e’s a rty set and who a t tim es knew plenty and a t tim es retracted everything. T here even was, along w ith glam our, m ystery and sin, an overtone of farce. Piccioni, to th e jesters, was the pigeon; pavone m eans peacock; montagna, m ountain; and bisaccia, knapsack. Still, it was th e left-wing press which used th e juicy sto ry for som ething more th a n circulation building. T o th e com m unists, th e case lined up th eir m ajor foes like ninepins. T he o p p o rtu n ity to flatten all of them m ust n o t be missed. " P a v o n e ,” U nita observed, "w a s only one of M o n tag n a’s m any illustrious friends. A nd th e others? T he m inisters, th e D em o-C hristian P a rty function aries, th e exponents of th e V atican? . . . Are th ey to rem ain a t th eir posts? Is nothing going to happen? Will only one m an have to pay th e price? ” In F ebruary, 1954, th e h ated M ario Scelba had returned to pow er—this tim e as prem ier. In his m iddle-of-theroad, solidly anticom m unist govern m ent, Piero Piccioni’s fath er served as foreign m inister. H ere was an opening. T he com m unists exploited it. T he p a rty organ sta rte d calling for Piccioni, Senior’s, resignation in M arch, and the dem and grew more insistent as th e clouds grew dark er over Piccioni, Ju n io r’s, head. W hen, on Septem ber n inth, th e young m an ’s passport was picked up, prior to his arrest, U nita gravely m entioned th e "stu p efactio n caused in political circles by Foreign M inister Piccioni’s failure to resign.” " I t will be interesting to observe,” the paper jeered on S atu rd ay , Septem ber eleventh, " w h a t Foreign M inister Pic cioni will tell M r. A nthony E den on M onday —provided he is still in office on th a t d a y .” On the seventeenth the sixty-two-year-old m inister, who was an air-force pilot in th e first W orld W ar and who had served his country and his p a rty in m any key p o sitio n s, finally caved in. S e v e n M o n t h s T o o L a t e , announced a banner headline, P ic c io n i

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Two down. How m any m ore to go? P lotting its bowling-alley strateg y in public, the p a rty organ a t one tim e printed a c h a rt of targets: from the Piccionis, incrim inating lines shot out to Scelba, to Pavone, to M ontagna — and, thence, to D r. Galeazzi-Lisi, the P ope’s physician, and to Luigi G edda, head of I ta ly ’s influential C atholic Ac tion, whose nam es had appeared on th e roster of M o n tag n a’s num erous ac quaintances. G uilt by association was th e them e. T he w ay th e com m unists interpreted th e facts, W ilm a M ontesi’s d eath indicted th e en tire "ru lin g class.” I t proved th a t persons in high places — in R om e society, in D em o-C hristian P a rty circles, in governm ent, in th e police and in th e V atican —were sub ject to corruption; th a t som ething was ro tte n in th e s ta te of Ita ly ; th a t th e n a tio n ’s leaders had forfeited the right to lead. M ass m eetings were held under Red auspices all over the country, and city folk and wide-eyed farm ers were told ab o u t th e cesspool of iniquity, th e jungle of corruption—th e mess in Rome. I t was an adm irably organized cam paign. P arad in g as th e lily-w hite pro tectors of Ita lia ’s virtue, th e com m u nists becam e th e heroes of th e day. N ew ' m em bers joined th e p a rty right and left and, had this been election tim e, the politburo would have ridden off w ith th e results. W ith popular su p p o rt th u s g u aran teed, th e com m unists joined b attle w ith th e governm ent itself —a govern-

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March 5, 1953

ment already sorely weakened by the row victory, a new surprise hit the front loss in action of the country’s top po pages. Muto —the enterprising journal lice officer and the foreign minister. ist whose allegations started all the Premier Scelba, the party’s bugaboo fuss —had been too smart for his own from way back, was now exposed to the good. He had hired two attorneys to full fury of communist abuse. Had he defend him against the slander charge — not, as minister of the interior, made one of them a conservative; the other, Pavone national pobce chief? And what Giuseppe Sotgiu, a leading communist about his own relations with Mon and chairman of the Rome provincial tagna? The party had dug up a highly council. It was the latter who, in court, compromising photograph, showing had thrown a merciless blue light on a Scelba and Montagna as the two wit "corrupt, perverted ruling class” which, nesses at the 1952 wedding of the son Comrade Sotgiu argued with convic of Guiseppe Spataro, cabinet minister tion, was the true culprit in the case and former vice-secretary of the Demo- and would have to be replaced by a Christian Party. First published in the "wholesome working-class society.” Suddenly, last November, Sotgiu dis early stages of the case, the picture was covered that the glare had shifted to hauled out whenever it appeared ex pedient. And though the marriage cere his private life. Accused by the police mony was probably the first and last of grave moral offenses involving the corruption of a minor, the moralist him occasion on which the two men met, the self became the center of a scandal. For communists needed no further proof of once, the communists were in for a Scelba’s guilt. Scelba must go! It was in parliament, where Scelba barrage of public ridicule and con demnation. Or were they? A day or two staked his future on a vote of confi after the story broke, a Demo-Christian dence, that the dramatic battle reached and a communist, both editorial writers, its climax. "Italians are entitled to a met on the street. "Y o u nitwits,” said government which is above even the the communist. "Y o u have a lot to shadow of moral suspicion,” commu learn from us. If we had stumbled on a nist Senator Umberto Terracini told thing like this, there’d be fireworks all the Senate. "T h e presence of this pre mier constitutes an intolerable affront over Rome! ” Meanwhile, we may well ask, who to the Italian people, a mockery of all killed Wilma Montesi? The Pigeon their moral principles, a wholesale ab says he never heard of her, and has an negation of justice. The friends, the alibi to prove he wasn’t with her on the guests, the partners of Montagna can day she died—several alibis, in fact, as no longer be permitted to represent the the communists have never tired of Italian republic.__ For the good name pointing out. He was, it would appear, of Italy the day must come when the in Milan, to the north; and in Amalfi, entire government resigns.” In the Chamber of Deputies, Mario to the south, vacationing with one of Italy’s most famous movie stars; he Scelba—looking more and more like the accused—sat on the government also was at home with a sore throat. As bench in stony silence while his arch for Montagna, he assures the world enemies closed in on him with flaying that even if he had wanted to throw oratory. Intoning sentence after sen dope parties at Capocotta, there would tence, most of them beginning, " You, have been no place to hold them —the honorable Scelba,” communist Deputy only buildings there are two small cot G. C. Paietta, chief of the party’s prop tages inhabited by caretakers. Both aganda section, shook a bony finger at men insist the charges are fantastic. Wilma herself, as far as is now known, the premier, denouncing him, entreat was not a party girl. Her reputation ing him to quit. "M ost grave suspi cions, honorable Scelba, weigh down on was. unblemished, she wore no fancy you. . . . I do not know whether Mon clothes when she was found, no traces tagna is the accomplice of a killer. But of narcotics were discovered in her I do know, because it has been proved, body. Just why she went off to the sea that this scoundrel, this procurer, this shore that April afternoon, and in informer, this adventurer, is a friend of whose company, no one may ever know. The criminal investigation, at this ministers and even of the prime minis ter. . . . We do not vote against this writing, is not finished. However, since government for political reasons. . . . Judge Sepe let Piccioni and Montagna We merely vote against an administra out of prison —Piccioni had composed tion already condemned; we vote against a jazz concerto in his cell—the feeling the friend of an adventurer, the friend of here is that the final act is bound to be Montagna___ We want a clean Italy! ” anticlimactic. Instead of ordering a The vote of confidence was a close trial, the court may find the suspects shave. Attacked, for the first time, on innocent or let them go for lack of evi moral grounds, the government squeezed dence. Already, wary Romans wonder by with a majority of eight votes in the whether Wilma’s killer might not be a Senate and fourteen in the Chamber. well-heeled, well-connected third man What would have happened had the whose identity is likely to remain as communists brought Scelba down over nebulous as that of Jack the Ripper. But crime and punishment are blot a purely moral issue, no one can say. But that the situation, from the West ted out, like footprints in the sand, by ern point of view, would have ap what the case has done to Italy. "There proached disaster is more than a hap are,” a prominent Italian communist hazard guess. For Scelba’s brittle cen explained, "few natural-bom skeptics ter coalition is all that stands between in this world. The masses must believe the communists and power. A blow in something. The masses need se such as the Left had planned might curity- Once you destroy what they be have discredited the middle-of-the-road, lieve in, you shatter their security. This pro-Western parties to the point where is what the Montesi case has done. they could not have formed another Through us, people who never knew government. Out of another long and and never cared first learned of the bitter crisis some new political alliance corruption in high places. What we might have come—a coalition ruling could show them shook their confidence with the blessing, if not with the par in the whole system. Is it not logical ticipation, of the Left. This was the that they should turn to us, the com munists—the only other force existing deeper meaning of the Red crusade. That democratic governments can in this country? Oh, yes,” he finished, never hope to beat the communists at " it is an important case. And, in the their own game was demonstrated long run, it is bound to help us.” THE E>I> when, a few weeks after Scelba’s nar-

TH E SATURDAY EVENING POST

HOW TO GET ALONG WITH TEXANS (C ontinued from Page 25)

Permission to pum p water from the rivers for his lake, as well as thousands of other permissions for this or that, had to be procured from the state gov ernment in Austin, sixty miles in the other direction. A t P ort Lavaca, 170 miles to the southeast on the Gulf Coast, where Alcoa has another plant, John very frequently had business. Ev ery week or so it was necessary for him to zip up to Pittsburgh. Occasionally he even got an opportunity to spend a day or so in Maryville with his wife and children. Yet he seldom showed weariness or nervousness—a fact which, justifiably or not, made Texans like him and feel proud of him. John was busy not merely in the day time. His evenings were often spent a t

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A cocker we have which the children adore, A dog th a t leaves footprints all over th e floor, A dog th a t is co n stantly spilling her food, A dog th a t leaves playthings untidily strewed. A nuisance? A bother? ^ ell, probably so, And yet there is one thing we th in k you should know — O ur children have h abits of sim ilar kinds B ut, at least, when we speak to our cocker—she MINDS! *

parties given in his honor by local lead ing citizens, each of which functions in a sense was, to him, a command per formance. Now it is not my wish here to create the impression th at the people of Texas use stim ulating liquid refresh m ents more than people anywhere else, though I ’d be extremely hesitant to say they use less. In any case, a t these eve ning parties, when John m ust have been dog-tired, it was often up to him to boil out his innards with the ardent. Yet, even in households where the guests are, as a m atter of course, in van ably slugged with strong drink, I never saw John bat an eye or show the faint est sign of having been, as he mus sometimes have been, virtually em balmed. I recall one particularly lavish p arty when, late in the evening, I “ f “ ’ several admiring Texans remark, y gosh, I believe the old boy’s got a hol low leg.” The next thing of outstanding im portance th a t happened was when John’s wife, Samma, arrived in town on the first of her occasional visits, bhe was pretty, markedly chic and viyacious, had terrific carriage and, like John, seemed never to tire. Everybody in town fell in love with her. At this period Alcoa’s handsome new residential addition was still abuildmg, but in order th a t " th e old town would feel they had a share in it, the townfolk were invited to erect homes there and to join in a contest to name

this newly developed area, which came to be known as Westwood. Eventually it was finished and the Harpers moved into their own delightful house—one plainly built for raising three young sters and, at the same time, doing a m arathon job of entertaining. By then, of course, the H arper children — three extremely winning boys—were in residence and the lawn was inhabited by pets. The eldest son, Rogers M cCrary, called Mac, who is now fourteen and away at prep school, was then so busy Boy Scouting th a t he hardly had time for pets. John Dickson, Jr., now aged eleven, had a beautiful collie named, of all things, Puppy Dog. The youngest son, five, whose birth certificate bears his correct name, Thomas William, but who is known to all as Stinky, had a pen of rabbits. Indeed, he had so many th a t when John made some mild re quest of friends he’d threaten th at, un less they acceded, he’d give them a pair of S tinky’s rabbits. Stinky, inci dentally, is the originator of the game locally krfown as Check. F or he was overheard one day asking a friend, " Do you play C heck?” When the other child said he didn’t know w hat th at was, Stinky said, "W hy, th a t’s sim ple. When your m other and father are having a party, you ju st run through the living room every once in a while and check w hat’s going on.” T h a t’s but one, of course, of a lot of family jokes in the busy but merry Harper ménage, the most remarkable of which probably concerns John and Sam m a’s first date, when they were youngsters back in Tennessee. John had heard about this pretty girl, Samma M cCrary, from a good many sources, just as she had heard th at John H arper was a personable fellow. On their first date, inasmuch as things were unusually quiet th a t evening in Maryville, John suggested th a t they drive over to Knoxville to see the wres tling matches. Since Sam m a had never witnessed the a rt of grunt and groan, it sounded like a lark, and off they went, duly sat through the wrestling matches, and then, of course, it was time to go home. However, as they approached the car, John asked Samma if she’d like to drive. She said yes, but not without mental reservations. Indeed, the thought th a t passed through her mind was, Now, B ig Boy, if you think you’re going to try any o f those wrestling holds on me, yo u ’re going to get punctured with a hat pin . To John H arper’s credit, it can here be officially recorded th a t he held his brute strength in check. Alas, and to Sam m a’s u tter fury, he did something much, much worse and more insulting. He fell sound asleep. As a m atter of fact, he probably needed it. For, ever since he was fifteen, Jo h n h a d b een ju g g lin g th e dual tasks of going to school and working for Alcoa. By the tim e he met Samma, however, he’d got his degree in electri cal engineering from the University of Tennessee and had .risen in the com pany to w hat is called, not very de scriptively, a switchboard operator. Actually th a t means handling a huge an d bew ilderingly com plex control room, which is the electrical brain th a t directs every facet of the operation of a powerhouse and looks pretty much like the control room on a battleship. B ut somehow, even though he worked like a Trojan, John H arper never lost his sense of hum or and he still occasionally comes up with a pun th a t would make Bennett Cerf writhe. Only recently, when he was driving with his wife through Alabama, she

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March 5, 1955

THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

Pittsburgh or Tennessee. When there and Pittsburgh. The place was span Harper and his people have extended to are, there’ll ordinarily be a coffee party happened to wonder out loud where the native Texans, surely none has so en gled with Alcoa vice-presidents: Frank name Tuscaloosa came from. chanted us, a dry-land people you will for the visiting lady in the morning, a "W h y, I thought everybody knew L. Magee, R . B. M cKee, Arthur P. remember, as his invitation in the sum lavish luncheon for twelve or so, a that,” John said. " I t was named in Hall, and that particular Rockdale mer of 1954 to come fish in Alcoa Lake. cocktail party in the late afternoon, honor of a famous Cherokee dentist favorite, Tom D. Jolly, who, by the The Texas Game and Fish Commis and a dinner party in the evening—a whose patients often arrived with the way, is a cow hand by avocation and, sion had earlier stocked this lake with schedule which would be trying enough in case you care, can bale a pretty mean com plaint,' Me tusk a-loosa.’ ” bass and bream, to say nothing of the if the Harpers had five servants. In bale o f hay. Tuscaloosa, indeed! catfish and other river species that had stead, they have a cleaning woman who It was a beautifully handled party, Since coming to Texas, John Harper come in through the pipeline. And just comes in twice a week. Samma is a spectacular cook, who has by no means been content merely worth all the careful work and imag to make sure that these fish wouldn’t to do his own complex job. He is active ination John Harper and his staff had be hungry, a local minnow ranch, the manages to make these durbars seem in civic affairs in the town, in the state put into it. Even so, this luncheon M & N, getting into the spirit of things, effortless. So is John. Once when and in the nation. He’s always been a party of 700 was, figuratively, a mi had dumped in 50,000 minnows with Samma spent a couple of weeks with her mother, John cooked for himself great believer in the B oy Scout move croscopic group compared with the out charge. and the three boys, packed a lunch for ment and probably gives more time to hordes of Texans that poured in the Excellent pier facilities had been the Scouts than to any o f his other ex next day when the plant was opened to built—a floating one for persons enter all four before they departed for school tracurricular activities, such as his the general public. Johnhad expected be ing or leaving their boats, a sloping and he went to work. Incidentally, when the Harpers are membership on the board of directors tween 8000 and 10,000visitors.By night earthen pier for the launching of boats. fall 20,000 people from all over Central invited out to Saturday-evening par of the Good Roads Association of Texas There was a commissary where almost ties, they always arrive a little late. and his presidency o f the Texas Chemi Texas had been through the plant. any imaginable fishing supplies, from Those thousands saw an industrial Reason: they’ve had to polish four cal Council, not to mention a whole architect’s happy dream. M ost fac worms to tackle, gasoline, groceries, pairs of shoes for Sunday school the raft o f memberships in other scientific and so on, could be purchased at a tories are an accumulation of append next morning. The Harpers are Presby groups. nominal,fee. An old N avy hand, W. T. ages—something tacked on here, some Meanwhile this, at least to us na Whatley, who has great enthusiasm for terians, and Samma, as it happened, tives, scarcely believable undertaking thing tacked on there, as the need fish and fishermen, and who, as you took a leading role in getting the town’s at Freeze-out, with its new rail lines arose. This plant, conceived as a whole might imagine, keeps the coffeepot go new and only Presbyterian church built. Naturally, John, as you’d expect, and other spectacular appurtenances, bold venture and built all at once with ing all day long, was put in ¿harge of had been almost completed. It was a single purpose, had beyond question the lake: all concessions, including the has had his frustrations and, like all time now for the official grand opening cogency, coherence and, to many eyes, renting and selling of boats, but with the rest of us, made some mistakes. of the Rockdale Works of the Alu a kind o f virile functional beauty. the primary purpose of seeing that as For example, back a’t the hydroelectricminum Company of America. John Standing, as it does, beyond its broad, many people as possible had a good power station in Tennessee, he had Harper invited the people of Texas, all blue lake, it amounted to a kind of in time safely. He also had jurisdiction worked with some distinguished weather prognosticators, and began to fancy of them, to visit and examine for them dustrial Taj Mahal. Now, naturally, if the truth be told, over the extremely inviting picnic himself something of a weather prophet. selves the inner workings of this tre grounds, where whole batteries of bar mendous new industrial enterprise on the ordinary Texan would rather grow becue pits had been built for the con As a result of that belief, it was he who cattle or conceivably cotton than just set the day, November 24, 1952, when April 25, 1954. venience of the public. the first aluminum bar would be Naturally, the most elaborate and stand there brewing batch after end On the first morning that this body less batch of aluminum, in however poured at the Rockdale Works, and the careful plans had to be made to keep of water was opened to fishing, there the visitors from bumping into and handsome a plant. But even Texans were 200 men warming their boat mo press from all over was invited to be on cooking themselves on high-tension don’t always get their "druthers.” The tors at five o ’clock. The rules, however, hand. It was too late to change the date wires or falling into one of the incred cow business went to hell three years said that not until the sun rose was when, three days earlier, it began rain ible number of giant stewpots and be ago, and there’s so much too much cot anybody allowed to go into action. ing and continued right on until the ing melted into aluminum bars. These ton in our warehouses that it won’t do Anyone watching these anxious fisher members of the fourth estate arrived precautions, however, were mechanical to talk about. You therefore can see men waiting for sunrise could hardly en masse. That day it rained five inches, flood and subject to relatively easy solution. that the thousands of jobs Alcoa has help being reminded of the Oklahoma ing the plant and the one room that The really delicate problem was mak supplied—plus the fact that its pres land race back in 1889. ing out the guest list for the dedication, ence has made thousands of acres o f tenSince opening day, tens of thousands had been completed where the news luncheon and inspection trip that dollar needle-grass land which hap of fishermen have visited this lake, and papermen were to be entertained and would be held the day before, April pened to have lignite underneath anybody who knows anything about briefed. Indeed the mud was so deep twenty-fourth, for special guests and worth at least a couple o f hundred dol bass is absolutely amazed at the fan that the bus which carried them had to the families of people who worked at lars an acre —has had an awful lot to do tastic growth these fish have attained be boosted along over the entire route by a bulldozer. That marked the offi the plant. Deciding whom to invite to with what and how regularly we ate. Yet in Texas there are some things in little more than two years’ time. A l cial end of John’s career as a weather the dedication-day luncheon party was ready four-pounders are showing up; a the sort of thing that makes you wake you can’t buy for money. You pay for few even weigh half a pound more. T o prophet. Again, while he’d been highly op up six times during the night and jot them with kindness and courage. While me, that seems impossible, but it is at another name on the pad. For, if the we were glad to do business with the tested by many fishermen and by Mr. timistic about soon finding a commer cial use for the tar recovered from the wrong noses got out o f joint, it would Alcoans, it wasn’t that that made us Whatley himself. probably be years before they got back like them. We liked them because they John Harper, who’s in the air going lignite coal, that dream has so far been Were friendly, considerate, entertain into normal position. someplace about as much as he’s in his almost completely unfulfilled, even Very fortunately, by this time, John ing people. And many of us would have office, seldom has time to go fishing. though research continues in various had an assistant in charge of getting- liked them merely because they so Yet he always has time, it would seem, laboratories. Perhaps the worst error of judgment along-with-Texans named William H. dramatically improved the fishing op to entertain. More often than not, Shepard, a young man of twenty-nine, portunities in our neighborhood. For of there are visitors at his house from John has made in Texas was the loca tion of Lake Alcoa on land where the who was savvy, and then some. He’d all the gestures of friendship that John mineral rights were held by a former grown up in San Antonio, attended the state senator. In order to give the lake University of Texas, served in World adequate depth, a great deal of lignite War II in a very thorough fashion, had to be scooped up and hauled out. only to receive, shortly after his return At present this man is vigorously on home, greetings from the President of the warpath and has filed suit against the United States inviting him to attend Alcoa in Federal court. Though he is the Korean ruckus, where he served as UNITY the exception that proves the rule, he is a platoon leader. Nevertheless, Opera at least one Texan that John Harper tion Grand Opening gave all concerned has failed to charm. a pretty severe case of the williwogs. Otherwise, out of the tens of thou As would be naturally assumed. G ov sands of decisions John has had to ernor Shivers was on hand, along with make since he came to Texas, this rockmany other distinguished Texans, to ribbed Republican operating in a nor tell Alcoa and its people that it and mally Democratic state has maintained they were very welcome in the Lone an almost unbelievably high batting Star State. average in gaining and holding the When the brief dedication cere friendship of the home folk. monies were over and the flags of the Perhaps, then, it’s easy to see why United States and Texas had been Texans like the Harpers and the com raised above the plant, the tour o f in pany that they represent. Not only spection began and, not too long after .% ^ have they been fun to have around and i+ ward, came to its final destination, a /Wv. amazing in their energy, versatility and huge canopy beside the lake where bar their monumental works, but they have becue and dozens o f other comestibles gone a long, long way in helping us to .A » 0 awaited the guests as Jimmy Heap and realize Stephen Austin’s inflexible his M elody Masters played old Texas I think we iinally hit bedrock. dream. That was: " t o redeem Texas songs and the Texans mingled with and T H E S A T U E D A Y E V E N IN G P O ST from the wilderness.” the end enjoyed the company o f their new friends, Alcoa folks from Tennessee

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

THE WRONG BEACH (Continued from Page 24)

book—smarter than a lot of people we’ve got around here.” "N ever mind Noah,” Sergeant Lederer grunted. "H e was quite a guy,” Opie said, paying no attention as he stretched himself more comfortably in the shade. "H e built himself an ark of gopherwood three hundred cubits long and fifty cubits wide and he pitcheth it with in with pitch and he pitcheth it without with pitch. Genesis, Chapter six. All they been doing down there this afternoon is pitcheth people into the drink.” "W e ’ll make you a general. Then you can tell everybody else how to do everything.” " I wouldn’t want the job ,” Opie an swered, not disturbed. "There’s no future in it, Sergeant First Class Lederer, sir. I ’ve got a chance for promo tion where I am. At the bottom.” Opie was nineteen and towheaded, and he attracted trouble as a magnet attracts iron filings. Not that that bothered him. He was, so he main tained, a man who went his own way, asking only to live and let live. To walk serenely on his own side of the street while others—notably First Sergeant Jughead Simpson and Captain Augus tus Herkimer, commanding Headquar ters Company —walked upon theirs. The field telephone beside him burred again. "H ello,” Opie said cheerfully. "Are you there?” Jughead Simpson’s voice exploded at him once more. "N ever mind those limey telephone manners. Where’s that fourth wave? It should have been here fifteen minutes ago, but it ain’t! ” "N op e,” Opie agreed matter-offactly, " it ain’t. It’s still right here, Sergeant Simpson, sir.” "D oing what?” Jughead yelled. " I will go inquire,” Opie told him sweetly. Sergeant Simpson’s voice sounded strangled. "N ever mind the inquiring! Go down and tell Major Whitson that the colonel is blowin’ his top because that wave hasn’t showed up. Tell him the chief of staff is sittin’ here on his big duff, lookin’ like a cat that has swal lowed the cream while he thinks up nasty things to say. Tell h im ------ ” " I know,” Opie said. " T o get that thus-and-so wave started for Beach Red One before he gets his thus-and-so in a high sling. Don’t worry, sarge. McCall will whiz right down there.” He laid the handset down and got lazily to his feet. "G o t a message for the major,” he said over his shoulder to Sergeant Lederer. After ten minutes Opie came back and picked up the phone, gave the crank a twist. He waited for a moment and then said, "Ahoy, sarge. McCall reports he gave the major your mes sage word for word.” " What! ’ ’ Jughead’s voice had a faint horror in it. "W h at’s that you’re saying —word for w ord?” "Y e p ,” Opie told him cheerfully. "T h e major says for you not to worry about the chief of staff’s big duff and that he and you will have a little dis cussion about high slings later.” "T h a t does it,” Jughead said. "Y o u and Lederer report to me here as soon as the last wave clears. In case you didn’t know it, you’ve both just volun teered for some nasty duty that we’ve got tonight.” "W hat kind of duty, sarge?” "Sea duty! ’’ Sergeant Jughead Simp son snapped.

Sergeant Lederer was close enough to hear that. "Oh, no! ” he protested vio lently. " I get seasick just washing my face! ” It was three quarters of an hour later when the last wave of boats bobbed off, the LCVP’s digging their blunt noses into seas which were get ting choppy now. A half-dozen soldiers were hanging their chins over the gun wales, being visibly sick, and Sergeant Lederer’s face became more worried. "Y o u and your big m outh!” he said morosely to Opie, who was unhooking the field phone. "Y o u talked us into it. Sea duty! ” " Y o u ’ll love it,” Opie promised. "Y o u meet such nice people in the Navy, Sergeant First Class Lederer, sir.” Sergeant Lederer grunted and they started back across the dunes to where Headquarters Company was bivouacked. Jughead Simpson was waiting for them, his craggy face grim. "W ell, if it ain’t the two merryandrews of Headquarters Company,” he said heavily. "Just the people I been lookin’ for.” "N ever mind the chuckles,” Ser geant Lederer said dourly. "Just give us the bad news.” Jughead Simpson looked almost happy. " I ’ll just do that,” he grunted. " I t seems that the chief of staff has cooked up a little night problem. At 2100 hours one of the rifle companies will load up in some of the N avy’s cute little boats and will go off to land on Beach Red Two. But first another of the Navy’s cute little boats will sneak over to Beach Red Two with a couple of heroes from Headquarters Company in it. You are them two heroes.” " I get seasick,” Sergeant Lederer said flatly. " Y o u ’ll have the whole ocean to do it in,” Jughead Simpson told him, un moved. "Y o u heroes will sneak right in under the noses of the enemy— which is a bunch of bums from one of the other regiments—and set up a couple of beacons to guide our lads in safe. Got it? ” " N o ,” Sergeant Lederer retorted. " I g e t ------ ” "N ever mind what you get,” Jug head said crossly. "O f course, if some of those tough cookies, that are sup posed to be the enemy, catch you they’ll likely beat on you a little bit. But,” he added smugly, "y ou got to remember that you volunteered for this.” " I didn’t volunteer for anything,” Sergeant Lederer retorted angrily. " I did it for y o u !” Jughead Simp son snapped. "A nd no argument! There’ll be one of those LCVP’s waitin’ for you at 2000 hours. Get your beacons from the supply sergeant and then re port to the Navy down at the practice ramp.”

"Swabbies, he makes us now,” Opie murmured. "W e ’ve been promoted as low as we can get, Seaman First Class Lederer, sir.” Jughead Simpson gave him a hard look. "T his,” he growled, "is Cap’n Herkimer’s pet scheme. You foul it up and you’ll both be in the guardhouse until you grow long white beards! ”

March 5, 1955

" I ’m afraid that we can’t do that, sir,” Captain Herkimer replied, his voice dropping conspiratorially. "B u t there’s no need to worry. I ’ve arranged to send an LCVP on ahead to the land ing beach with a couple of men from Headquarters Company who will set out beacons to guide the assault boats in —back from the beach, of course, where the general and his party can’t In the regimental CP, Colonel Adam see them from the observation post Spiller—commanding the Umpteenth— back on top of the dimes.” Colonel Spiller rubbed at his chin. slammed down the phone. The chief of staff, a mean man named Babson, had "H m ’m’m,” he said thoughtfully. been making nasty comments over the "T h e thing might work, at that.” " I t will work like a clock, sir,” Cap wire about the Umpteenth’s perform ance that afternoon, and the wound tain Herkimer said enthusiastically. "Hitting the right beach in the dark smarted. "T hat selling plater!” the colonel is three quarters of the problem. And said violently to Captain Herkimer. then I’ll be out there in a command "N ow , he sets himself up as an author boat, too, just to keep everything co ity on amphibious operations! Bah! ordinated.” The colonel said, "H m ’m’m,” again. He went ashore at Omaha Beach be "K ind of take the wind out of Babhind the nurses, even! ” " Yes, sir,” Captain Herkimer agreed son’s sails if we pull off a nice show right unctuously—he was a man who liked under the noses of his marine critiquers, to polish an apple. "M aybe the exer eh ?” " A fine feather in our caps, sir.” cises were a little ragged this afternoon, "H ow about this beacon detail? but we can make up for all that in this special problem tonight. I ’ve got every They’re good men?” "T h e best,” Captain Herkimer said. thing arranged. Yaas! ” Colonel Spiller said "H u m ph !” in a " I told Sergeant Simpson to ask for tone that indicated a low opinion of volunteers, then pick the top two.” any arrangements whatsoever that At about the same time, in division Captain Herkimer might make. "W ell, headquarters, the chief of staff was let’s have the layout.” Captain Herkimer wasn’t abashed — lighting a cigar while he looked across he was a man who abashed the hard the desk at a Major Winterholt, way. "R ight here, sir. Baker Company who was to command the enemy at will boat at 2100 and proceed to Red Beach Red Two that night. Colonel Beach Two where they will disembark Babson, the C of S, was pleased with and attack a position defended by a himself. company from one of the other regi " I doubt that you’ll have anything ments. The regiment that Colonel at all to do, Winterholt,” he said cheer Babson used to command, I believe.” fully. " The chances are that old Spill Colonel Spiller’s face darkened. er’s boats won’t even find the beach— "Then that old goat will have some probably be scattered all over the ocean sort of an underhanded scheme cooked by morning. But if they do come in, you know what I want.” up. Go on.” "T h a t’s the whole plan, sir. It will "R ough ’em up,” the major said, grinning leanly. be quite simple.” " I t was so simple this afternoon,” "N ow , not too much, Winterholt. the colonel said grimly, "that half of Just enough to let the Umpteenth find the first battalion never even got in the it doesn’t pay to tangle with any outfit boats, and the other half fell out after that Rumbold Babson has trained.” they did get in.” " We’re going to have a lot more men " I assure you that that won’t hap there than the orders specified,” the pen tonight, sir,” Captain Herkimer major mentioned a little diffidently. said smugly. " I understand that the Colonel Babson flapped his hand. general is bringing some Marine Corps "Forget it, major. What’s an extra guests to watch the show and w e------ ” company or two? Just see to it that "M arines!” Colonel Spiller inter you chase the Umpteenth back into rupted in the tone of a man who has the water.” The chief of staff paused to just discovered a snake in his sleeping chuckle; then added, " I want to see bag. "W hat are marines doing in my old Adam Spiller’s face when my pet back yard? Get ’em out, Herkimer!” marines get through with him at the "T h ey ’re experts on amphibious critique.” warfare, sir,” Captain Herkimer said soothingly. " I believe that Colonel The sun had gone and darkness was Babson plans for them to give us a not far away as Opie and Sergeant critique of some sort afterwards.” Lederer went across the dunes toward "T ell ’em to go critique some place the loading ramp. It had clouded up a else,” the colonel grunted. little now and an occasional whitecap showed against the gray water in front. The sight made Sergeant Lederer’s stomach churn a little and deepened the worried look on his face. " I don’t like the Navy,” he said. "A w , they’re not bad Joes,” Opie told him. " Except for a big, redheaded boatswain’s mate named Swazey. He and I had a little difference of opinion in town last week. About a girl.” "W h o w on?” "She preferred me,” Opie said in a smug voice; then added thoughtfully, "Boatswain’s Mate Second Class Swazey said that he would tie a knot in my neck when he saw me again. He hasn’t seen me.” They reached the loading platform and climbed the ramp to go forward and look down into a landing craft tied

THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

below. It was unmanned except for a Doc, the motor-mac, didn’t answer. squall h it—a sudden buffet of wind and and Opie hung on desperately as the He had the plates off the engine box rain which heeled the boat over at a L C V P did a crazy pirouette.skinny sailor, wearing dungarees. "Y o u the skipper of this tub?” now and was kneeling on the deck doing sharp angle. The engine gave a final " L e t g o !” Swazey yelped in a something. Opie edged forward to cough .and died, and for a moment strangled voice. Opie called down. "N a w , I ’m the motor-mac. I f you’re look. Then Doc said in a muffled voice, there was a startled silence. Then Opie couldn’t, and the two of them the two dogfaces that’re goin’ cruisin’ " I told Chief Duggan that this thing Swazey leaned far over the engine box slithered off the end of the engine was ready for the junk yard.” with us tonight come aboard.” hatch, tumbled into the troop well and to yell at the motor-mac. "Y o u better get her kicking over if "T h a t’s us, sonny,” Opie said in a "F o r cripe’s sake, get her going, rolled over and over to crash into the L C V P ’s side. There was a hollow thunk lofty tone. "Y o u don’t need to bother you don’t want to swim,” Swazey said. D oc!” with any side boys or salutes. W e’re " W e got a squall headin’ this way! ” Another swell caught them as the as Boatswain’s Mate Second Swazey’s The L C V P crawled to the top of a boat’s way died and they fell off into head came up against something solid. democratic.” He climbed agilely down the de roller, crawfished down the other side the trough. Opie grabbed wildly; felt Opie, a little dazed, struggled to his feet. barkation net, dropped into the LC V P, with a nasty corkscrewing motion, and his fingers hook into something soft. Doc’s voice lifted petulantly in the with Sergeant Lederer coming more Opie grabbed to hang on. Then the I t was the collar of Swazey’s life jacket half light. "Sw azey! Quit the foolin’ cautiously along behind. The motormac, whose name was Doc, surveyed them glumly. " Y o u got names?” he asked. Opie disregarded that. "W h o ’s skip me man wears per of this junk, M ac?” "Boatswain’s Mate Second Class Aloysius Swazey,” Doc said. "Well, why isn’t he here to meet----- ” Opie began, then stopped as though he’d been stabbed. " I could have sworn that you said Swazey,” he he k n o w s h o w to get m axim um quality mumbled then. " I did,” Doc told him, still glumly. . . . f o r the m inimum cost! " I got to go see a man,” Opie said. "See you later, sarge. I f I don’t get back in time, just sail without me.” Sergeant Lederer was about to say, "C om e back here, you,” but he was T h e man with a keen eye for value always chooses ‘ BOTANY’ ‘500’ interrupted by a burst of profanity Clothing, tailored by DAROFF. This season, ‘ BOTANY’ ‘500’ is coming from above. A bulky man with giving him (and YOU) the most exciting, most handsome red hair was climbing down the net. selection yet—featuring the new Daroff-tailored “ Natural Look” ! For a moment he squinted at Opie, hands on hips; then grinned delightedly. See them all—especially the FIRE-FLY WORSTED SUIT (at the right) "W h y , if it ain’t my dogface friend,” with its rich color accents on deep-toned, 2-ply, 100% virgin he said, as though he were chewing glass. "T h e one who steals girls. Come worsteds. Also in a lighter-weight, longer-wearing REVERSE-TWIST here, you Bluebeard! I ’m going to pick weave, wearable 10 months of the year. $65 you like I ’d pick a chicken bone! ” Then another voice came out of the dusk above. "S w a zey !” it bellowed angrily. "L e a v e that condemned dog face be—it ain’t open season on dog faces yet! And where’s Radeke?” " H e ain’t showed up yet, chief,” Doc called up. "Shove off without him,” the voice above rasped. " Y o u ’re already late. One of those dogfaces can tend the ramp —it don’t take no brains. Get goin’ , Swazey, and see that you don’t foul this detail up! ” Swazey gave Opie a long and mean ingful look. " W e will have our moment together later,” he promised. "D o n ’t run away, chum.” He stalked aft and climbed over the engine box to drop behind the wheel, and after a moment the engine roared into life and they pulled away from the loading platform. A heavy swell caught them and Sergeant Lederer moaned and grabbed for the gunwale. " G o ’way and leave me,” he mum S p o rts C o a ts and S la c ks In th e bled. " I want to die alone.” fa b r ic s an d c o lo rs t h a t m ix and " Y o u got my permission,” Opie said m a tch to p e r fe c tio n . S p o r t c o a ts , $ 3 9 .7 5 . S la c k s , fro m $ 1 4 .9 5 crossly. " W e ’re marooned with a homicidal maniac and all you can think to do about it is to be seasick.” I t was almost dark as they rounded 1 0 0 % A ll W ool F la n n e l S u i t s . . . in fla tte rin g n ew c h arcoa l shades the point and headed for Beach Red u n usu al rich n es s an d Tw o some three miles away across the d is tin c tio n . $65 bay. Their course paralleled the long white stretch of Beach Red One off the port beam and Opie, looking back, saw that other L C V P ’s were arriving at the loading platform now, circling as they waited to embark Baker Com pany. The swells were getting bigger T h e In fo rm e d M an ch ecks th e and Boatswain’s M ate Second Swazey ■ B O T A N Y ’ '5 0 0 ' X -R A Y T A G fo r th e fa c ts t h a t re ve a l th e h idden was wrenching at the wheel as he eased fe a tu r e s th a t m ake th e s e A m e ric a the landing craft on its quartering o u ts ta n d in g c lo th in g v a lu e s . course. Opie moved aft and perched F o r th e n am e o f y o u r n e a re s t on the transom. d e a le r, w r it e : H . D a r o ff & S o n s , Inc, A sea, bigger than the others, heaved 20 0 F if t h A v e ., N . Y . , N . Y . under them and the engine missed a couple of times. "W h at’s the matter with that coffee grinder of yours?” Swazey growled.

informed

B0TANY500

March 5, 1955

THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

"Guardhouse, here we come,” Ser Captain Herkimer jerking his head and get the wheel! I got the trouble geant Lederer groaned. " I knew that from left to right as he looked along fixed!” . the sand. Then his voice bellowed Opie reached down and hauled at this wasn’t going to be my night.” Opie paid no attention. They were angrily. Swazey’s shoulder. "H ey, bud,” he "Y o u confounded idiots! This is the near the far end of Beach Red One, said hoarsely. "T h a t’s y o u !” Swazey didn’t answer, and Opie, he saw; Red Two was off to starboard. wrong beach! Good Godfrey! Baker squatting beside him, saw, to his hor Well, to heck with that! He headed the Company will be piling in here any LCVP drunkenly into the creaming minute! ” ror, that the other was out cold. "Sir,” Sergeant Jughead Simpson Sergeant Lederer, seasickness for surf and she rode the top of a fat wave gotten, crawled along the deck, crouched and then sand grated beneath the said hoarsely, "Baker Company is besideOpie." What’s wrong with him?” boat’s flat bottom and the bow slammed pilin’ in here right now.” "Stop them !” Captain Herkimer up onto the sloping beach. Doc stood he mumbled. "H e bumped his head and knocked up and wiped at his forehead and then yelled. " D o something!” It was too late. Other boats were himself out,” Opie said bitterly. started back toward where Swazey still running up onto the beach to drop "T h a t’s the Navy for you —always lay. "W ell, we’re here,” he called back their ramps. Men were splashing ashore. goofing off just when you need them.” Captain Herkimer whirled on Opie and Doc was yelling again. " Get back to cheerily. "O n the wrong beach,” Sergeant Sergeant Lederer. the wheel, Swazey! I can’t nm this "Arrest those two men, sergeant! I’m Lederer mumbled glumly. bucket all by myself!” "L ook ,” Opie interrupted angrily, going to slam them in the guardhouse Opie clawed his way aft. The squall had passed as suddenly as it had "w e got to get that guy to a doctor! for fifty years! I ’l l ------ ” "C om e here, you two,” Jughead come, but that didn’t seem to help For all we know maybe he’s dying! ” "N aw ,” Doc answered, undisturbed. Simpson began grimly. much now as the LCVP wallowed in He didn’t finish, because Boatswain’s "H e ain’t dyin’. He’s just got a paper the trough. "Swazey’s out like a light,” he told jaw —I ’ve seen him knocked out plenty Mate Second Aloysius Swazey had times before. We’ll haul him out onto reeled to his feet now. He lurched Doc. "W hat do we do now ?” Doc, working with the engine, didn’t the sand and he’ll be O.K. Watch out drunkenly against Jughead Simpson look up. "G rab that wheel,” he grunted. "Y o u can explain about conkin’ Swazey later.” " I didn’t conk him !” Opie yelled angrily. " I t was an accident! I started to go overboard and I grabbed him 2 . O f Sevnin a n il S o n M ih ilh if and ------ ” "G et the wheel,” Doc said tiredly. By Peg Bracken "Y o u can explain all that to the Navy Department. They won’t like it, And now we come to the power o f perfume, dear— though.” That purely and impurely feminine Opie felt a faint hollow spot in the l-Dare-You, pulsing warm at throat and ear pit of his stomach as he scrambled into And murmuring deliciously o f sin. the cockpit. Under D oc’s direction they Oh, wear it through the winter o f your days! got the engine started and the LCVP slowly began to gather way once more. Time cannot lessen, no, nor custom stale Opie yanked at the twisting wheel, try Its infinite lure; yet mark you well the ways ing to keep the boat on a quartering A homelier scent can recreate the male. course as he had seen Swazey do. A big roller ran under them and the Though L’ Aimante speak with a thousand violins. VP fell off into the trough again and Good short ribs, daughter, browning in the pan. Opie wrenched the wheel the other Continue what the perfume but begins. way. They hauled around sluggishly Rich as heaven and home, they tell a man and salt water came over the coamings. That he can rest, take com fort, and believe. Opie mumbled under his breath, his Ask Cleo, dear. Ask Josephine. Ask Eve. mind only half on the job in front of him. To port, the white line of Beach Red One crawled slowly by. Suppose that Swazey was hurt bad, he was thinking. Suppose his neck was for when he starts to come around, and peered at him suspiciously. "Steal broken. Or he had a bad concussion. though. He’s liable to start swingin’.” my girl, will you, you Bluebeard,” he "Y o u mean he’s all right?” Opie mumbled and clipped Jughead on the Suppose the guy died before they could asked in a shocked voice. "W e don’t nose. get to Beach Red Two. Opie and Sergeant Lederer sat on the "Y o u think we ought to try to get need to get him to a medico? ” "N aw ,” D oc said. "H e gets knocked sand a little later and watched while him to a doctor? ” he called worriedly. Baker Company formed up and moved out all the time.” "M aybe he’s pretty bad off.” "N ow , you tell me,” Opie exclaimed off across the sand toward Beach Red " I ain’t paid to think,” Doc said crossly. " I ’m just paid to run this bitterly. "W h y didn’t you tell me that Two. Baker Company had had enough fouled-up engine. You don’t need to before I headed in here to the wrong of boats—it would go the rest of the way on foot as infantry should. worry none, though. They’ll hang you beach? ” "W ell, that does it,” Sergeant Led D oc grinned complacently. " I don’t if you knock off a boatswain’s mate erer mumbled in a hopeless tone. like ridin’ around in squalls with no second, M ac.” That hollow feeling got bigger in dogface pilotin' me,” he said reason "W e ’re dead ducks now. It’s been nice knowing you, McCall.” Opie’s stomach. Doc had so neatly ably. "Seaman McCall,” Opie told him They carried Swazey a little way up voiced his own thoughts. He had the feel of the wheel a little better now and the sand and lighted the beacons so hollowly. he suddenly began to haul on it and that they could see. Swazey was be In the scrub back of Beach Red Two, the LCVP’s bow swung slowly until ginning to mumble now and a quick Colonel Babson was giving final in examination showed nothing worse it was pointing at Beach Red One. Sergeant Lederer crawled aft and pulled than a lump, the size of an egg, on his structions to Major Winterholt. "O ld Spiller’s people will be all spraddled head. Opie straightened disgustedly. himself up by the engine hatch. out when they hit the beach,” he was "A n d me playing Florence Nightin "T h at guy’s still ------ ” he began, saying. "T h a t’s when you pile into then saw the line of beach ahead. gale for th a t------ ” he began. ’em. Got it, major?” He stopped suddenly as a hail came "W hat you doing? That’s not the right ' *We’ll gather ’em in like a dogcatcher from seaward, and he turned to see beach!” " It’s the nearest land,” Opie yelled the blunt bow of a second LCVP bor gathers mutts with a net,” the major back angrily. " I ’m going to land there. ing toward the beach. Behind it were promised with satisfaction. *' Fine, ’ ’ Colonel Ba bson said heartily, the dim shapes of other boats. Then We got to get that bird to a doctor! ” rubbing his hands together. " I just the leading VP slammed up onto the "Jughead Simpson said we were to go to Beach Red Two,” Sergeant sand and the ramp came down and two want to see Spiller’s face when------ ” He didn’t finish. A gruff voice, com Lederer shouted. "W e ’ll tie in the can men splashed through the surf toward ing from the brush behind him, said for the rest of our lives if we don’t go the beacons by the dunes. suddenly, "Looks like a couple of ’em "O h -o h !” Opie said. "This is i t !” there, stupid! ” It was Captain Herkimer in the here, Pete. Gather ’em in. If they give " That’s nothing to what will happen to McCall if that swabbie croaks,” lead, Jughead Simpson plowing along you any argument, bat ’em over the behind. They stopped a few feet away, head.” Opie answered hollowly. "H ang on.”

Colonel Babson jerked erect with a shocked surprise. He was vaguely aware that the night was full of shift ing shadows-Baker Company of the Umpteenth coming in to fall on the un suspecting rear of Major Winterholt’s command. Something had gone hornbly wrong. "L ook here, you,” he stuttered. You can t do this! I ’m Colonel Rumbold Babson, the chief of staff of th e ------ ” The big soldier in front poked him in the stomach with the muzzle of a car bine. I’m Alexander the Great,” the ^Idier sa'd happily. "G et goin’, Rumbold. We am t got all night.” "N eat operation,” the lanky marine general said, rattling the ice in his glass, back at division headquarters He squinted, eyes twinkling a little, toward where Colonel Spiller sat. Achieved a nice surprise too. Smart to pick a secondary beach when you found out Red Two was more strongly held than you had thought. Very smart. Colonel Spiller choked a little on his dnnk - those marines weren’t so dumb, he thought They knew that Babson had sneaked a couple of extra com panies in at Beach Red Two. He looked sideways at the chief of staff, who had just come in and who looked as though ,hf d running across the dunes and through the scrub. "R eal commando tactics,” the ma rine general was going on. "Slip in and take em from behind. Very sound. Very sound. J "W e encourage imagination and mitiaDve in the Umpteenth,” Colonel Adam Spiller murmured modestly. Pays off now and then.” 3 R was the chief of staff who choked on his drink now. bn>hie«nHicCa11’ “ rporal’s chevrons bright and new on his sleeves again, sat

ciass Led« rer and sipped his beer while he watched the couples on the dance floor. A curva ceous blonde swept by, wiggling her fingers at Opie. He didn’t seem to noe y ^ t L ° S “ back* ' I- le-

" Indeed’ 3"*. Sergeant First Class Lederer, sir. I got imaginaWms^f ” l

iat,Ve- The C° lonel “ >d 80

arSue the colonel,” Sergeant Lederer grunted. arpuimr ^ C? ptf n Herkimer tried arguing—he got chewed out,” Opie murmured. Then said, "O h -oh !” in a shocked voice and tried to slide lower S

j ^

think « - * ^

comes

Boatswain’s Mate Second Swazey ,aPProach® g. He stopped and scowled down at Opie 11 heavilvW"Th0.U he me ™mbled y* The skipper give a sevV P i n t o ° i OUi; ^ rty f° r takin8 that t ^ k ™ ^ p Ch.RedxPne ^ e r e I never Mac .. P lnto‘ Name your poison, Opie blinked dazedly. The curva ceous blonde swept by again- aeain waggled her fingers at Opie.’ Boatswam s Mate Second Swazey saw that and shrugged his shoulders in a mag nanimous gesture. “ <'<sifhe’8 aI,L y oure. Mac,” he said. Swazey withdraws.” Opie’s grin came back. "W h y I wouldn’t think of swiping your girl M r Swazey. si,,” he said! not t o t e d o ^ T r i 11 COUr‘ ®?y - " Wil1 you not sit K e r ” 8Wabb168 haVC BOt 8tick ^

T H E E.ND

THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

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THE ORCHID COMES DOWN TO EARTH (Continuer! from'Page 23) trying to make them grow, but with little luck. Scattered on wet burlap and nursed like monkeys, a few would usu ally fret into maturity. But mostly, fanciers relied on getting wild orchid plants from jungle hunters. Scarcity and loveliness promoted the notion that if you had an orchid, you were it. When Marjorie Gould married Anthony Drexel in 1910, and her dad banked the Hotel Plaza with 5000 or chids, society gasped: which was what the guy wanted. The notion persists. On wholesale markets, where most flowers are quoted by the dozen, bunch or hundred, one alone, the orchid, is quoted by the flower. As recently as thirty years ago, by reliable estimate, there weren’t ten commercial orchid growers in the United States. Then, in 1922, Dr. Lewis Knudson, a plant physiologist at Cornell Univer sity, published a paper entitled Nonsym biotic Germination of Orchid Seeds. T N T couldn’t have been wrapped in a nicer package. Growing orchids from seed, Knudson declared, wasn’t hard. He recommended a nutrient solution made of sugar and a few other things, put up in agar-agar, a gelatinous ex tract from Japanese seaweed. This, Knudson said, must be put in a sterile flask stoppered to keep out unwanted air. Orchid seeds were sowed in it, and in about twelve months, if all went well, the whitish solution would take on a surface tinge of green, and the green would be hundreds of tiny orchid plants. Knudson’s paper was read with amazement. Orchid plants by the mil lion? If the chap was right, it was a gold mine. One of the first to try Knudson’s crocky idea was an elderly market gardener whose specialty was roses grown under glass. Thomas Young, of Bound Brook, New Jersey, also kept a few orchids for fun. He and his head grower, G odfrey Erickson, a Danish ex-sailor with a genius for plants, primed a batch o f flasks with agar-agar and orchid seeds, and before they knew it, had a hundred thousand or chid plants crying for greenhouse room. It was a stumper for Young. Crowding seventy, he decided to sell out. But with an $800,000 price tag on it, the business failed to find a buyer. He either had to throw out orchid plants or build more green houses. Reluctantly, he built green houses. A few months later a Wall Street group, sensing a bonanza, paid his price. He now asked $2,700,000! Thomas Young Orchids, Inc., was something new, a manufacturing busi ness whose product happened to be flowers. The men in charge understood production, marketing and finance, and applied their knowledge to orchids. Th ey were on the right spot at the right time, and cleaned up. In 48 huge greenhouses they still produce close to a million cut orchids a year, more than anybody else. But times, they agree, have changed. Where there were fewer than ten or chid growers thirty years ago, the cen sus enumerated 290 in 1950. A. J. ("A l” ) Neill, until recently president of Thom as Young, square-jawed and Wall-Streetish rather than dreamyeyed over flowers, shows with figures that the business isn’t what it used to be. W hen he took charge o f the Cleveland office in 1930, he remembers, an average

month’s business was eight orchids. Today, to show one angle o f change, the average number of orchids sold in Cleve land is 800, not per month, bumper day. The Cleveland market is fairly typical. A fine big business, surely! But now there are dozens to share it. In 1953, Thomas Young sold 860,000 cut or chids; in 1949, their top year, 1,191,000. Others nibbled here and nibbled there, and while there was more for all there was less for each. The com pany’s net sales in 1946 were $2,021,000; net profits $367,500; the corresponding figures seven years later were $1,270,000 and $105,000. Production and producers continue to increase. Department o f Commerce figures for cut flowers grown under glass in this country put the number of orchids in 1950 at 6,750,497. In 1954, estimates indicated that 10,000,000 Cattleya and hybrid orchid flowers would be due for cutting. Dr. O. Wesley Davidson, Rutgers University profes sor and a leading orchid authority, said last spring that orchid production in New Jersey, a top orchid state, is tak ing on the status o f a farm crop. Cer tain Vanda orchids are brought by mil lions from Hawaii. In season, plane loads o f Cypripedium orchids are flown from Australia, taking only forty-seven hours from Sydney to New Y ork, at a

transportation cost of only about five cents per flower. These are some of the reasons why orchid people think it’s time for a change. Many, especially growers, are positive that cut flowers alone, as now sold, can’t save their dwindling profits. Other ways of disposing of orchids are being tried, and this could be wonder ful news for millions of people. Plants as well as cut flowers are be ing sold now. People are being told to grow their own, and thousands have already had the thrill o f trying it. Orchids as a hobby are said to offer everything. Also, ways of using cut or chids are being explored. The hooraw about growing orchids at home has a certain shock value. For a long time, orchid growing was associated with mystery, and it was more or less assumed that only the chosen few could be any good at it. This was nonsense, of course. Still, there is more to growing orchids than forking over a buck for a plant and sitting down to wait for flowers that a florist would sell you for five dollars apiece. Orchids aren’t like most of the plants grown in grandma’s greenery. People who know say they are like cats in the house: when they need at tention, give it or else! N ot a lot of attention, maybe, but their own special

---

YOU BE THE JUDGE I/U J O S E S I H O I t I t

RS. STRONGW ILL, fed up with begging her husband to move to a new home, rented a place she liked and moved everything there herself one day after her husband had gone to work. Returning home, he found the old house bare except for a note inviting him over to the new address. Instead, he angrily wrote his wife to come home and bring the furniture with her. When two years passed and she did not return, he sued for divorce on grounds of desertion. " She had no cause to leave me,” Strongwill said. " I provided her with a proper home and support. Her only excuse seems to be that she was under the delusion she was the head of the family and I had no rights of my own.” " I didn’t leave him,” Mrs. Strongwill countered. "T h e door was al ways open for him to come into our new home, but he was too stubborn to do so. Marriage is a partnership, and the wife should have a say-so concerning the kind of house she spends her life in. They’ve taken 'obey’ out of the marriage ceremony, remember? ” If you were the judge, who would you say did the deserting?

★ ★ ★ ★ ★

Mrs. Strongwill was adjudged the deserter. The court conceded that marriage is a partnership, but said that, as the husband is obli gated to provide a home, "his choice in the matter is controlling so long as it is exercised in good

faith.” It is the wife’s duty, the court added, to "live with her hus band at such reasonable place as he can, according to his means, pro vide.” Based upon a 1944 Pennsylvania decision.

THE SATURDAY EVENING POSI kind. They are choosy about humidity, photographs Lumsden showed him, temperature and light, and the darned nor for the latter’s casual remark, est things can make a difference. "T h ey ’re just some I raised at home.” A Pennsylvania advertising man who "Y o u mean,” said Savage blankly, learned about orchids during his honey "anybody can?” They were orchid moon on the island of Trinidad, built pictures, and they set him on fire. a house and designed a dining-room The first orchid Savage grew was a window as a sort of orchid greenhouse. Nun’s Orchid, Phaius grandiflorius. He For two years, orchids did fine there. saw it advertised in a garden magazine, After that, they refused to bloom. It and the ad said it was easy to grow at cost him to find out why. The walls home in dirt. He sent $4.50 to Florida were plastered. Plaster takes a long for it, and when it came, put it in one time to dry. The drying walls gave off of his wife’s aluminum baking pans enough moisture to suit the orchids, filled with gravel and water, and al but the bone-dry walls didn’t. ternately kept it on the cedar chest Most orchid people are taking steps where it got the sun and in the kitchen to disseminate such facts, since dis where it got the steam. That fall it appointed plant buyers do the orchid bloomed. His wonder grew. business no good at all. The Agricul "S o lovely a flower for m e!” he tural Extension Service of the College thought; " i t ’s the good Lord’s doing.” of Agriculture of Ohio State University He pressed it between the pages of his two years ago promulgated Orchids in Bible to keep forever. the Home, three pages of garden notes Savage didn’t stop with one orchid. that tell all that most people need to Finding that his wife needed her baking know, at least for a start. And the pans now and then, he bought a green Superintendent of Documents at Wash house, small, but big enough for him. ington, D.C., will send, for a nickel, a He now has about 400 orchids. He says solid little booklet entitled Culture of he never paid more than twenty-five Orchids (catalogue no. A1.35:206). dollars for one, and the average is about Is orchid growing expensive? It can fifteen dollars. But he pulled all the stops be, but doesn’t have to be. A glass- available to a collector of limited means. enclosed orchid case is a piece of furni At the Library of Congress he read ture twice the size of a TV set, equipped the lore of orchids. He dived into with temperature and humidity con Dioscorides, the Greek physician who trols, and may cost, ready-made, any nineteen centuries ago approved or where from $125 to $200. A greenhouse, chids as potent love medicine. He read even a small one, usually runs to several about love potions in old herbals, and times that. A transparent plastic " o r found that druggists in Cromwell’s time chid cage,” on the other hand, can be sold orchid concoctions guaranteed to bought for $2.50. make reluctant lovers love, cure broken Some orchid growers get a kick out hearts, or bring proud parents a boy or of making their own equipment. Jim girl baby, as desired. He followed the Fitchette, who lives in a modest frame trail of the black orchid and found it to house on the south side of Bartlesville, be nothing but a blackfaced clown Oklahoma, loves to garden. He was made up in the florist’s back room. He sorry when frost hit last fall, and wished learned that there are some 600 genera he still had something green to grow. and 20,000 species of orchids, making He thought of orchids. He had never this the world’s most numerous plant seen an orchid, but he had read a piece family except for one or two; and he about them. He dug up the article in an learned that orchids grow naturally in old magazine, reread it, and said to his nearly every state and country. wife, " I think I ’ll buy me an orchid.” It fascinated him. Out of the library "Y es, dear,” she sighed. "W ill you he found many interesting things to please fix the screens and put them do. He experimented, trying different away? And paint the kitchen cabinets? potting mixtures and nutrients, tem The toilet drips.” perature and humidity ranges; making Whether he ever did those chores, crosses; raising plants from seed. He Jim doesn’t say, but he admits he joined the National Capital Orchid sneaked down cellar and hammered Society and the American Orchid five storm windows together to make Society, Inc., and for years has been a an orchid case. Wholly on faith, for he trustee of the latter; in June he was had no orchid to put in it. One chilly elected treasurer and a member of the night he drove fifty-eight miles to an executive committee. But Savage’s big orchid club meeting in Tulsa, where he gest thrill began when he got his amaz saw his first live orchid, a white Bar ing idea. bara Billingsley. It was the door prize. "W h y,” he thought, "wouldn’t a Mrs. Fitchette’s luck was bad. Jim bank lobby be a wonderful place for an won it. He now has nine Cattleyas in orchid show?” their front bedroom. His immediate superiors at the bank A hair-thin line separates house- liked the idea. Would they, he asked, plant growers and hobbyists. Both, it is help him propose it to president Daniel hoped, will help the orchid business out W. Bell, former Undersecretary of the of the doldrums. Linnaeus T. Savage, United States Treasury? Well, hm! of Washington, D.C., hasn’t the big yes. But next morning they were very gest orchid collection, but he is some busy and a little guy with a shoved-up times called "M r. Orchid” for his de desk in the real-estate department had votion to the hobby and the things it to brave the front office alone. He has led him into. Eighteen years ago, talked to beat the band, and made a Savage was a clerk in the real-estate sort of a sale. department of the American Security "G o ahead,” said Mr. Bell; "use the & Trust Company, the bank that prac top of one desk.” tically looks in the front windows of How many orchids will go on a desk? the White House. Newly inducted into Savage neither knew nor tried to find the Masons, Savage was sitting one out. Given the glimmer of a go-ahead, night in a lodge meeting behind a man ahead he went. he barely knew. David Lumsden, of The show was to be sponsored by the the Department of Agriculture, half local orchid society. Fellow members turned and said to Savage: "W ant to worked at it, but it was Savage’s baby, see something pretty?” The bank clerk and his to pray over. Literally, for he had always been a gardening man, a is a praying man. With nobody else putterer with pansies and petunias. much believing in it, and not too cocky But nothing in his experience prepared himself, he said to his secretary, him for the breath-taking beauty of the "Y o u ’re a good Catholic?”

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

March 5, 1955

two varieties isn’t enough to guarantee A study of the mass selling of roses in “ Yes.” like results: the very same parents must such markets was made recently by " I ’maBaptist. Let’s both pray about be remated. It follows that stud orchid Cornell University researchers, and a this.” She did. He did. The doubleplants known to produce fine off published conclusion was: "Improved barreled attack must have helped. methods of handling and packaging cut He asked orchid people for exhibits. spring are guarded like gold. One of flowers make it increasingly feasible to The first to come across was Carl the temptations every orchid hobbyist offer them in mass market outlets . . . Beckert, then president and now presi has to resist, if he is ever left alone with for . . . impulse purchases.” If roses, dent and chairman of the board of such an orchid, is not to snitch a grain why not orchids? Thomas Young Orchids, Inc.: he prom or two of precious pollen to use on his Putting orchids to new uses is also ised beautiful blooming plants. Others own plants. Some of them don’t resist. a promising approach. Traditionally, A top-ranking orchid collector is did too. the orchid was for the dance or the When the ball got too big to be Rodney Wilcox Jones, of New Rochelle, opera —some formal occasion. "B u t,” New York, who at last account had stopped, Savage bundled up the evi says Eddie Goeppner, famous florist of dence and showed it to Mr. Bell. nine greenhouses full of orchids, many the house of Podesta Baldocchi in San from his own collecting expeditions, " L o o k !” he said —"on e desk?” Francisco, "with all the beautiful The president grinned a little. "Use and many sent him by soldiers on duty orchids now being grown, we have to on Pacific islands. Valentino Sarra, the whole lobby! ” find as many different uses as possible.” The first orchid show, in 1948, cost famous photographer, started as an He makes corsages of medium-sized amateur, but now has fifty thousand the bank sixty dollars, which was used Cymbidium orchids for tailored busi to buy refreshments for orchid-society plants and is a successful part-time ness suits. "T hey certainly help to / » 1 members when they forgathered to pro. Peter Hurd, the painter, is a be- dress up the girls who wear them! ” He celebrate the show’s whacking success. twixt-and-between hobbyist. At his sells twenty-five to forty such corsages Their equipment had been makeshift. Sentinel Ranch in New Mexico he has every day. Florist Mrs. Gil Whitten, They had no monkscloth for back only about a dozen plants, but they are of Montclair, New Jersey, uses the grounds, no real display stages: just displayed in a little wonderland, an same idea and can’t understand how r? $ *^ ^ desks shoved together. But public re orangery cut into the side of a hill, any woman could pay $300 for a tai sponse was terrific. Over 12,000 visitors where, even in New Mexico’s dry lored suit and then fail to wear the filed through the lobby to look at climate, it is possible to provide the orchid corsage that sets it off perfectly. needed high humidity. Ninety per cent orchids. She and her husband make many such The news was reported far and wide. sun-heated the year around, the corsages, as well as countless arrange Nobody knows how much business it orangery is filled with citrus and ba ments for use on bridge tables, dining brought the bank, but the biggest nana trees, papayas, guavas, mon- room tables, bedroom dressing tables, Delight your guests! Give stockholder today made his initial pur steras, and other tropical or semitrop- with Scotch broom, pittosporum, or red your home a party dress — chase of the bank’s stock because he ical plants, as well as orchids. The huckleberry as background for orchids. with colorful trimmings of was attracted by the show. Each year orangery has a small diversion of a trout The idea seems to be spreading that Dennison Crepe Paper. since 1948 it has been repeated, and stream running through it, with a per homes without flowers lack something. petual murmur of running water, and The party starts in a fes Savage makes a fine art of running it. A friend of Mrs. Whitten stayed in tive atmosphere with easyHe digs up extraordinary exhibits. He hammocks are slung in the shade. Italy last winter in a home too poor to Peter’s friends ask how he gets any to-make decorations and traced some orchid paintings made by afford anything but the cheapest bread. favors. Dennison Crepe Mrs. Benjamin Harrison and found work done, with such a place to loaf in. The woman of the house invariably He claims he plans his painting while them in the possession of a presiden Paper and Streamers come came home with flowers. "W h y ,” her tial granddaughter, Mrs. Marthena N. gardening. He is his own gardener, and American guest asked, " d o you spend in a rainbow of brilliant Williams; he induced her to exhibit says the upkeep of this oasis is under precious pennies on flowers that fade colors. them at the show, in a glass case $100 a year. Mass selling may be the most and die?” For party ideas get guarded like crown jewels. For the "W ithout flowers,” said the woman, promising attack on orchid overproduc “ p a r t ie s w it h p u r p o s e ” 1954 show, he completed negotiations " I couldn’t live.” tion. It has been tried sparingly in dime at retailers, or send 25t to: for borrowing a full-length chinchilla Many North European homes, D oc coat: only three such coats, he had and department stores and super tor Davidson points out, have flowers markets. Most commercial florists heard, are in existence— owned re constantly fresh in every room. "W e ’d spectively by Mrs. Bob Hope, Lily blast the idea, but some experts be live better,” he says, " i f we did too.” lieve that instead of hurting florists, Pons, and Sonja Henie— and he ar TH E END ranged to have the borrowed coat, said it will train new customers for them. to be worth $100,000, modeled under the protection of two detectives, and adorned with an orchid: "the only flower fit to be worn with such a coat.” The bank has spent about $75,000 on six shows. Guests have included two presidential families, most members of Congress, most of the diplomatic corps. ROTARY TILLER The last show was seen by 36,000 visi Save time . . . work! tors. Twenty other banks have since ONLY JT V Ariens Jr. prepares put on orchid shows. That’s what a < i O Q 75 ' garden without spad— ing; cultivates all sea hobby can let a guy in for! son without hoeing! Curved, swept back Nobody knows how many orchid "paring knife" tines. Tills 12" wide, up to 6" deep. 2 h.p. engine. Tip-toe tiller hobbyists there are. The American clutch. Unequalled for all-steel construc Orchid Society has around five thou tion, looks, performance, price! sand individual or institution members, For free literature, see your dealer or write: ARIENS C O ., 151 Calumet St., Brillion, Wis. the local societies have many more, and many people collect orchids without feeling the need to join anything. Hybridizing is one of the things hobby ists get a great kick out of. This takes patience, skill, patience, imagination, patience, luck—and patience. The trick is to transfer a grain of pollen W onder-Paste is different. Takes from the stamen of one blooming or the hard work out o f removing var chid to the pistil of another. Results of nish, paint, enamel, etc. Finish comes the insemination usually aren’t known off easily—not coat by coat, but in one scraping. Use it on furniture, trim, for seven years, or until the hybrid floors, etc. At paint and hardware stores. offspring of the union bloom; plants of • Write for leaflet — and advice on one famous hybrid, Laeliocattleya canyour removing problem. ham iana, made by Godfrey Erickson at Bound Brook, waited eleven years to WilSon-Imperial Co.. 121 Chestnut St.. Newark 5. N. J bloom. After the long wait, disappointment can be complete. Hybrid orchids can be delinquents or freaks, like human children. They can also bear flowers Removed by Moeco.alsoCalluses. fairer than any ever seen on earth. One Quick, easy, economical. Just rub —— "Understand you haven’ t been well?” on. Jars, 35*. 60*. At your druggist. M on ey r e f u n d cross that turned out beautifully e d i f n o t satisfied. Moss Co., Rochester, N. Y. T H E S A T U R D A Y E V E N IN G P O ST brought the successful hybridizer $10,★ CORN* 000. An oddity is that mating the same

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the moon. Yet no air that Ravenhill had sampled at Cannes or Cocha (C o n tin u e d fro m P ag e 4 3 ) bamba or Kandy, Ceylon—supposedly the cream of three continents—had "W e’ve only three chutes,” he told been more pleasant and balmy and Clancy. "T h ere’s six of us aboard.” He closer to crystal clear than the invisible indicated DeMeers’ plane. "Y o u ’ve tides now sweeping the Great Slave. got plenty over there?” More than that: At this point on the "Y es, sir,” Clancy admitted. "B u t Great Slave, at two-thirty P .M ., there I plumb forgot about ’em.” would be better than eight hours more "T hen I ’ll swing around and come of flawless sunlight. If they proceeded alongside again,” Ravenhill told him. due north in sustained flight they "B etter dash over and get three would overhaul the sun’s low northern more, eh ?” orbit and there would be no night. And "W ait,” DeMeers said, as Raven- from that lake-jeweled immensity, hill was preparing to come about. "D o around the clock without halt or inter we need chutes? Is there any actual mission, the songs of myriad nesting danger that we will crack up? ” birds would be rising up in a silvery "V ery slight,” Ravenhill admitted, anthem, warm mists would hang like leaning forward to tap on a section of gossamer veils over sheltered snow wood built in for the purpose above banks, and countless flowers seen only the panel. " I t ’s just the jolly regula by a favored few of the world’s restless tions again.” mortals would be peeping up shyly "T h en let us continue to forget the through the arctic moss. chutes,” DeMeers decreed. "W e have How had the poet phrased it? Where lost enough time. It is now two- "every prospect pleases, and only man thirty.” is vile.” It would be an all-too-brief "Y o u ’re again accepting full respon interlude. The menace of the Barrens sibility, I take i t ? ” Ravenhill asked was always there, under all this out DeMeers. ward tranquillity. Like a cougar sun "O f course,” DeMeers returned. ning itself on a high ledge, content and "L e t us get in the air. Clancy can take full fed at the moment, but its slitted his turn at the controls, y e s?” eyes following the grazing herds on the "N o t yet,” Ravenhill told him, and plain below. gave a ready excuse. "W e’re loaded And from this point on, Ravenhill now He’d better observe how the ship told himself wryly as he gunned the takes off____Safety belts, please,” he engines, the beautiful thoughts could told them. . wait. Keep his mind on the chore at Ravenhill was in genial mood, in hand, and that thousand pounds of fine fettle, as he advanced the throttles filthy, lovely gold. and wheeled away from the sand bar. Their take-off from the lake’s surface It was not that he had disregarded was without incident. The new pay load Clancy’s final warning entirely. It was merely required a longer ran, a faster only later—minutes later and yet much one, with larger plumes of spray fan too late for second thoughts—that he ning out behind the slicing floats before saw how his own supreme self-confidence they were air-borne. had entrapped him. He had entered When they had reached cruising alti many a spectacular game in the north tude and the ship was trimmed to the as blindly and blithely as the present new load, Ravenhill recalled that he one, and through daring, resourceful had not explained a detail in the take ness and perfect timing—plus the ever- off technique with which Clancy was expected smile of Lady Luck—had al unfamiliar: the manner in which the ways found a weakness in his oppo new float design—the undersurface a nent’s defenses, a chink in his armor, parabolic curve rather than the usual upon which he had somehow managed hydroplane step—made it necessary to to capitalize before the ax fell. "ro c k ” the ship once to break it free The trouble w as—and this, too, was before coming fully back on the heels a belated appraisal —he had never be of the floats for the actual take-off. fore matched wits with an opponent Ravenhill explained the point with even more ruthless and fully as re a touch of apology. Clancy grasped the sourceful as himself, one handicapped theory at once. He had noticed the by fewer creeds or codes, one accus rocking of the ship at the take-off, but tomed to gamble daily at greater odds had assumed it to be caused by slicing and for incalculably greater stakes through an all but imperceptible swell than had ever enriched Ravenhill s ex on the lake’s surface. Ravenhill also perience. He had never before, in short, mentioned that a new angle of ap encountered a DeMeers. proach was needed when setting down Thus his outlook was mellow as they with a substantial pay load, but this taxied out into the lake proper, their angle could not be learned other than backs to the sun. The game was the through actual observation or through thing, after all; and since one played the hoary method of trial and error. the game only to forget the past, and It was fortunate—as it soon devel the big pots were few and far between, oped—that this fliers’ chitchat came why not enjoy each moment of it to t e precisely when it did. Ravenhill had hilt? They were on their way now, paid little attention to the seating finally; they were heading for the arrangement of his passengers. He now rendezvous. . ... glanced directly back to check, and The sky ahead was an incredible discovered that DeMeers was standing blue, the mirrorlike surface of the lake behind him. He was leaning on the only occasionally broken by patches o radio cabinet in contemplative pose, tiny riffles in the wake of gently chin in hands, looking out over the sun wheeling air currents. As he was giving lit vast ness ahead. The two hatchetmen were in the the engines their final warm-up wit feathered props Ravenhill had time to front-row seats behind him, each lean muse philosophically on the phenome ing outward to see past DeMeers. They non outspread so placidly here—the were in singularly watchful pose, their heads inclined a httle, like terriers with sunlit Great Slave in midsummer. This was the subarctic, at the edge one ear alert for any word or sign from of the globe’s last, greatest and most their master. Babs was intent and inhospitable frontier. Beyond the im motionless in one of the rear seats. Something in DeMeers’ pose at first mense lake’s northern edge began the even mightier Barrens, in winter as annoyed Ravenhill, as usual, then desolate and lifeless as cold craters of caused a presentiment of danger to

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98 take form in his mind, like an unseen but tangible presence stealing softly upon a stage from lately empty wings. That DeMeers was unaware of Ravenhill’s scrutiny or oblivious of it made the moment more significant. DeMeers was looking unseeingly into the north through half-closed eyes. For the first time since Ravenhill had encountered him, a half-smile touched his heavy bps. That smile was more than complacent; it had in it a gloating, fierce, triumphant quality. His pose might have seemed theatrical, except that there was no slightest pretense in it. Alone with his thoughts, this strange and formidable man was plainly view ing some distant pinnacle—a summit vast and majestic in his eyes, hereto fore glimpsed only in savagely ambi tious dreams—that was now growing nearer, clearer and definitely attain able. Thus, Ravenhill thought, the Little Corporal might have looked at Ratisbon when, as Browning had it: The Chief’s eye flashed ; H is plans soared up again like fire. T o break the spell—and he was sar donically sure that DeMeers was no Napoleon —Ravenhill spoke abruptly to Clancy, indicating the gyrocompass, " W e ’re on true north at the moment. That’ll take us west of Lochiel. W hat’s our course to the rendezvous? ” DeMeers answered for him, emerging instantly from whatever dreams of grandeur had momentarily engulfed him, "N ortheast. So that we will miss Lochiel and are not observed.” Ravenhill shrugged and brought the ship around to the indicated course. DeMeers turned lazily to look back at the retreating shore line to the south, then faced north again. They would soon be over the center of the lake, with both shore lines all but imper ceptible even through the crystalline air. DeMeers said something to his hatchetmen—in French, but so rapidly and with such a provincial accent that Ravenhill could not follow it. The ship shifted to the changing weight as both stood up instantly and moved for ward. The rest of it unfolded with the pre cision o f a well-rehearsed military ma neuver. From the corner of his eye Ravenhill saw that the smiling black guard, Parker, had produced a formi dable Luger from somewhere about his person. At the same instant Ravenhill felt the hard pressure of a gun muzzle at the base o f his own neck. This was D e Meers’ weapon. The timbre o f his voice was imparted through the steel as DeMeers said, " D o n ’t move, Raven hill. Just keep on course. . . . D on ’t move, Clancy. . . . Very well, Lute.” He gave his next order in English, as though disdaining further subterfuge, "P u t the radio out o f commission.” The muffled drone of the engines throbbed through the momentary si lence. Ravenhill looked at Clancy with a raised eyebrow. Clancy stared back, scowling and incredulous. It was plain that he, too, had been taken by sur prise. The taciturn Lute had moved through the division in the cabinets and to his left, behind Ravenhill. He knelt there, out o f Ravenhill’s sight, but Ravenhill heard the clinking o f metal, as though a folding tool kit was being outspread. "W a it, DeM eers,” Ravenhill said coolly. "A ll this is most impressive, but completely unnecessary. I’m not armed. I ’m sure Clancy isn’t.”

THE SATURDAY EVENING TOST

"W e will insure that in a moment,” DeMeers returned with equal coolness, "Meanwhile, do not move, please.” "B u t why damage the ra d io?” Ravenhill asked. "Just have Lute take out the power tubes and a condenser or two. Then it’ll be dead as a mackerel.” "W e pay all damages,” DeMeers reminded. " I t is in the charter, remember? . . . Destroy all circuits, Lute. We take no chances.” Ravenhill risked turning his head slowly to the right, so that DeM eers’ bulk was at least partly in view. This caused him to face Clancy more fully, and Clancy was also facing partly to ward him. In a pinch Clancy was no longer twittery, Ravenhill noted with approval. His hard, probing glance said plainly, Well, this is it. I warned you. What now ? " M a y I ask, DeM eers,” Ravenhill said, "ju s t what this is all a b ou t?” " I n a moment,” DeMeers said. "B e patient. . . . Y ou are finished, Lute? The radio is now completely d ead?” "C om pletely, sir,” said Lute, rising up. "Then search Ravenhill and Clancy,” DeMeers directed. " I think they are unarmed, but we must make sure.” ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★

CHARGE AND COUNTERCHARGE Each sex has one irksome trait The opposite vents its hate o n : W omen were made to make men w ait— And m en were made to wait o n ! — IVAN J. COLLINS. ★

★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★

Lute was more than a skilled radio technician; he had apparently had con siderable training as a sleuth. Raven hill had been frisked often before, but never more deftly than now. Clancy was given the same rapid treatment; then Lute stepped back, awaiting fur ther orders. "Perhaps you have a query or two, Clancy? ” Ravenhill suggested. " Y e s ,” Clancy said. He scowled up at DeMeers. " Y o u don’t trust Raven hill, maybe, but why has this yegg got a gun on m e ?” " 'Y e g g ,’ sir?” Parker repeated, in his pseudodeferential way. It was wholly synthetic now. "R em em ber your manners, Mr. Clancy, or I ’ll be obliged to clip you across your peas ant’s ear.” "Q u iet,” DeMeers told Parker, though without reproof. It was merely an order. If anything, he was coldly amused. " D o not be alarmed,” he told Clancy. "A ll this is insurance only, so that m y plans will be carried out step by step. The first step is to destroy the radio, so that Ravenhill can send no signals from the air. The next step is to dispose of Ravenhill. Until that is ac complished -------” "Ju st a second,” Clancy objected. " G o slow on this disposing business, DeMeers. There’s only two o f us who can fly this ship. Run out o f pilots, and where are y o u ? ” "W e take that risk,” DeMeers said. "S om e risks we do not take. And let us understand each other now, Clancy, so that we waste no more time. Y ou will do nothing except at m y command, and when m y order is given, you will obey at once, without debate. Is that clear to you, C la n cy?”

" I ’ll match that,” Clancy returned. He was fighting an uphill battle and knew it, but he stated it bluntly. " Get too funny with us, DeMeers, and I ’ll remind you of something you’ve over looked. I ’m the only one who knows where the rendezvous is. Without me, you can’t find it.” "A n d I will match that,” DeMeers said, almost gently. "T h e rendezvous is o f importance only if we arrive there, as planned. If we fail to arrive there for any reason whatsoever, Clancy— what you know, and Babs, must die with you. Then I find another pilot and we establish another rendezvous. That delays me only; it does not alter the re sult. So your bluff now has no mean ing.” He raised his heavy voice a little, " Y o u will confirm this, Babs? That it is best for you —for all of us—that he does exactly as I command? ” " H e ’s right, Clancy,” Babs said at once. The matter-of-fact quality in her voice sounded a little strained. " I ’ve approved his plans. D o as he says, please. D on ’t argue. It’s best for us, really.” "T e ll me this much, Babs,” Clancy insisted doggedly: "N e x t we dispose of Ravenhill, the man says. Y ou ’ve agreed to that t o o ? ” " N o ,” Babs returned. " W e didn’t discuss that detail. But you ’ ve mis understood him, I ’m sure. He only meant that Ravenhill represents a problem to be disposed of. . . . Isn t that correct, Mr. D eM eers?” " O f course,” DeMeers agreed. " R a venhill and I must have a final meeting of minds. H e’s an intelligent man. He knows that under certain circum stances, certain decisions are inevi table. . . . Eh, R avenhill?” " A gun at the base of one’s neck, Ravenhill conceded, "outweighs all other forms o f logic. . . . Relax, old chap,” he told Clancy. "T hese appear to be necessary dramatics. Take your cue from me and wait in dignified silence” - h e risked a slight grimace to give point to his words —"u n til D e Meers enlightens us on this disposal business.” He intended this merely as a stop gap, a means o f reaffirming DeMeers certainty that he was in complete mastery o f the ship, that there was plenty o f time for prolonged debate. Also, Ravenhill wanted Clancy he d m check, under his own control, until the actual showdown was at hand. _ It was closer than he suspected. D e Meers led into it neatly. H e said to Parker, "V e r y well, then. Put your Luger away, but remain alert. Parker’s gun disappeared smoothly inside his coat —a shoulder holster, no doubt —but he remained balanced and ready, his finger tips resting on the cabinet before him. Then DeMeers said to Clancy, You are ready to take over now as p ilo t?” Ravenhill answered for Clancy, " N ot yet. I f you don’t mind a suggestion, I should stay at the controls until we ar rive at the rendezvous. Setting the ship down with this load’s a bit tricky.” " S o ? ” DeMeers said. " I heard you discussing that. Then Clancy should gain the experience at once.” He leaned forward to scan the sky ahead and on each side and to the rear. W e are alone on the lake,” he said. "T h ere is no one to watch and wonder----- So you will take over, Clancy, and set the ship down. . . . Y ou will give him the neces sary instructions, Ravenhill. Or is it best that you set it down while Clancy observes?” W ith Clancy’s sidelong, intent gaze upon him, Ravenhill hesitated only an (Continued on Page 100)

March 5, 1955

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instant. On the face o f it, he was neatly trapped. He could not now refuse to set the ship down, having himself raised the point o f the landing tech nique. And on the other hand, what ever impended could better be met on the water than tw o thousand feet above it. Some trick could be devised while they rode the surface. With dual controls and a gun at his back, there was none in the air. He shrugged carelessly. " I ’ll take it down. . . . Keep your fingers on the stick, but lightly,” he told Clancy. " W e ’ll hold our course for a moment while I brief you. . . . The rest o f you should resume your places,” he told DeMeers. "S a fety belts, please.” His casual tones apparently dis armed DeMeers. He, too, hesitated only briefly. Then he said, "V e ry well. . . . Y ou will stay with me here, Parker.” While they were disposing them selves, Ravenhill said to Clancy, in tones loud enough for the others to hear, "N o tice how the stabilizer is set. That’s for level flight. But our center of balance is low, so, as we come in for the landing, with flaps d o w n -------” During this, Clancy had apparently been forced to lean toward Ravenhill, the stabilizer control being at Ravenhill’s left. Its counterpart was also be tween them, at floor level, but their passengers were unaware of that. C lancy said, in a low voice, " D o n ’t do it, sir. I f you ’ ve got a trick left in your bag, fetch it out now. Y ou ’re a dead man if we set down here.” Ravenhill did not debate it. From DeM eers’ viewpoint it was the simplest solution: shoot his unwanted guest, toss his body into the immensity o f the great lake, and proceed. But what Ravenhill must learn now, he decided coolly, were DeM eers’ true and compelling reasons for such a drastic gesture. N ot the gold alone, certainly, since even DeM eers’ influence had a final limit. Flouting the regulations was one thing, but murder was another. Particularly in the presence o f Babs and Clancy. And with the M ounted Police un doubtedly aware at this moment that he, Ravenhill, had joined DeM eers’ ex pedition. H e said swiftly to Clancy, to strike to the heart o f it, " D id you know we have a half ton o f gold aboard?” This shook Clancy. The whites o f his eyes fairly glistened. " I knew it,” he said. "B a b s told me, but only a half hour ago. H ow did you know i t ? ” " I guessed it. So tell me the rest o f it, Clancy. It can’t harm you or Babs now. I f they leave me down there, the information dies with me. I f I manage to stay aboard, I can’t turn back. So I ’m one o f you. R ig h t?” Clancy considered it, nodded and spoke tersely, "R ig h t. N ow ask ques tions. It’ll make it faster—and this has to be fast.” "W h ose gold is i t ? ” "D eM eers’ . Half o f it goes to Babs.” " W h y is he taking gold up to the rendezvous? ” "O n an international deal,” Clancy said. " W h o ’s receiving i t ? ” Clancy hesitated briefly. Ravenhill saw why in the next breath: Clancy’s answer tossed Babs’ welfare —perhaps her chances o f survival —into the pot. " I don’t know their names,” Clancy said. "T h e y represent Soviet Russia.” " H ’m -m ,” Ravenhill said. That ex plained the basis o f Babs’ questioning on the way to the fort. "W h ere’s the rendezvous?” "Ju st short o f the arctic. W e swing east o f the Great Bear.”

March 5, 1955

Clancy did so, and deftly added the he able to manage these enormous ar obvious reason for caution. I f the regu rangements with such suspicious conlarly scheduled southbound passenger nivers as the Soviet top brass?” "T h a t’s simple, once you know the plane should see them on the lake sur face, they would assume them to be answer.” Clancy spoke with a touch o f bitter irony. " I learned this myself, disabled and would so report it. It was a flimsy enough device, but it just thirty-two minutes ago. After be apparently appealed to the caution ing on DeM eers’ payroll for eleven that underlay DeM eers’ daring as a months. And with Babs in m y corner— I thought. H ow dumb can a man b e ? ” gambler. "V ery well,” he conceded, but added, It was a rhetorical question, but it " W e are in the middle o f the lake. brought a shamed flush to his almost There are no landmarks. How do we comically lugubrious features. "M r . know we are near the course followed DeMeers, sir, is one o f the top Soviet agents on this side of the Iron Cur by the passenger plane?” Ravenhill answered that as he tain.” Ravenhill whistled silently. This was brought the ship around from north less astounding than the previous dis east to east, " I know m y position. D ’you see that patch of light-colored closure—it fitted into the larger pic water ahead, just on this side of the ture—but its implications were far horizon? That’s a well-known shallow more sinister. "A n d this poker-faced spot in the lake. The passenger line’s Lute person? And Parker?” " T o p men in the M V D ,” Clancy ten miles this side of it. W e can set down near the shallows safely enough. said. "Assigned to check DeMeers every step o f the way, but now D e Three minutes more, perhaps.” "V e ry well,” said DeMeers. "T h ree Meers’ men, body and soul. DeMeers bragged about this to Babs.” H e was minutes, then.” studying Ravenhill with a strained If he was suspicious of the maneuver, he gave no hint o f it. But Clancy sidelong intentness. " W e ’re almost to leaned closer again, pretending to scan those shallows. Are you swinging north to set d o w n ?” the instrument panel. "Im m ediately,” Ravenhill said; and " I ’m sorry, sir,” he warned, "b u t Babs comes first. D on ’t you figure on began a wide, shallow bank into the damaging the ship in the shallows. north. "A n d the reason I ’ ve told you this W e’ve got to get through to the ren dezvous or all three o f us foot the bill. m uch—which is all there is— ” Clancy pointed out urgently, " is that we’ll be DeMeers isn’t fooling.” " D o n ’t worry,” Ravenhill assured down there in a minute more. If D e him. " I won’t damage the ship. W e’ll Meers tells me, I ’ ve got to take over; I can’t argue, sir.” all make it through, I ’m quite sure.” "P ostpon e it as long as you can,” They were now heading due east. Ravenhill told him, leveling off at true The shoal waters broadened rapidly ahead. Within this area the blue-green north and looking over the side. "T e ll of the deep water changed abruptly to me this: is Babs tarred with the same a lighter, yellowish hue. The line o f brush? She’s a Soviet agent t o o ? ” " I don’t think so,” Clancy said. " M y demarcation was plain, stretching far hunch is she’s got a bear by the tail and into the north, and presently white specks began to take form beyond the is too stubborn or too scared to let go.” Ravenhill looked hard at him as he line. They were too large for sea gulls, throttled back a little and nosed the too small for tiny white sails. Ravenhill explained what they were: ship over gently. "A n d you, C lan cy?” Clancy shook his head. " I ’m the low the tips o f scattered pinnacles project ing from a vast, submerged plateau. man on the totem pole, sir. Just tag They would swing due north, short o f ging along.” DeM eers spoke impatiently, "W hen the shallows, and com e down alongside. That would fix their positions in their do we set down?” "Im m ediately,” Ravenhill told him log, if they bothered to keep a log. Then Ravenhill returned guardedly "Forthwith. We are setting down now,” to the subject o f DeM eers, "A propos and he beckoned Clancy closer. " O b o f this gold ran o f DeM eers’, how was serve, Clancy. W e’re nose-heavy at once. So we compensate, thus.” "W h a t I mean is,” Clancy pleaded, his lips scarcely moving, "w h at do you aim to do after we’re set down? T o save Ravenhill’s scalp?” I Jove, that’s righ t!” Ravenhill snapped his fingers as though emerging ------- — from a reverie. " I must think o f some th in g -a n d at once, e h ? ” He blinked at Clancy and raised his voice, "F la p s down, C la n cy!” Clancy shrugged his complete resig nation and reached automatically to the control. "F laps down, sir.” W ith Clancy alert and watching closely, as a good copilot should, R a venhill brought the ship down at a long, gentle angle. The placid surface o f the lake grew closer. The field o f white rocks broadened on their right, like a disorderly array o f military pup tents outspread in enormous bivouac. The submerged plateau was edged with shallow water before it dropped off precipitously into unplumbed depths. The,line of demarcation was plain from above. A t one moment the bottom could plainly be seen through twentyodd feet o f clear water—grayish-white, a solid rock floor pockmarked with * * * " GOL patches of sand —then suddenly there "N ewlvweds.’ was nothing but limpid blue-green T H E S A T U R D A Y E V E N IN G PO ST space below.

"B u t why so far north? W h y -------” Then the impact of it shook Ravenhill to the heels. He had always prided him self upon his astuteness in deducing the right answer from even meager data. This had eluded him entirely." Clancy,” he said, "th ose Soviet agents are based in Siberia? Th ey’re crossing the Pole to the rendezvous?” "T h a t’s right.” It was plain Clancy had already assimilated this enormous morsel and had his teeth fixed in new worries. "O u r boys cross the Pole as many as three times a week. They call it 'weather reconnaissance.’ So do the Soviets. Neither side is supposed to go deeper than a hundred miles. But our radar line up there has holes in it.” " Gold has been shipped this way be fo re ?” " N o , sir; this is the trial run. It took months to work it out, Babs says. From both sides.” Ravenhill was entranced. H e felt the astonishment and pleasure o f a trailwise beagle that has sniffed a supposed rabbit into the thicket, and then flushes out a very large, shaggy and evilminded grizzly. This was a historic moment. Far-reaching designs, both political and economic —international, global in significance—could hinge upon the events of the next few hours. And he, Ravenhill, with the luck o f a fool, was in the thick o f it. DeM eers’ whole project was now crystal-clear. All the lately scattered pieces of the puzzle had moved smoothly into place. Soviet Russia needed gold; it was one o f the important weapons of the cold war. They produced only fourteen per cent o f the world supply. DeM eers’ operations were world-wide, both inside and outside the Iron Cur tain. He was doubtless receiving some sub rosa but enormous trade advantage in exchange for the gold. DeMeers broke in at this point, as though alerted by thought transfer ence. "W h a t is the d ela y?” he de manded ominously. " W h y do we not set d ow n ?” Ravenhill was ready for that, stag gered though he had been by Clancy’s revelations. "T e ll him it’s dangerous here,” he told Clancy quickly. "W e should swing due east for a few miles first. W e’re directly on the line for the passenger run from Lochiel to Edm on ton.”

lili

THE SATURDAY EVENING I'OST Ravenhill brought the ship well over stream; push the sometimes heavy item this shallow area, with the nearest up o u t—and all the while hold the ship on thrust rocks some two hundred yards course with the wind drift in mind, so to their right, or eastward, before com that the precious and sometimes life ing down to the surface. If Clancy saving item suspended under its tiny noted this detail, he gave no sign of it. parachute would fall within accessible He admitted afterward that he did distance of the tense watchers below. not; that his attention was fixed entirely All the while the stick might be buck upon two immediate details. First was ing like a hooked salmon, and until the the landing technique—which, puz- load was released the harassed pilot zlingly, was no different from hundreds must close his mind to the steep bank, of previous routine landings in his ex or chandelle—or on rare and blood perience. The second detail had to do curdling occasions a full Immelmann — with Ravenhill’s chance o f survival which represented his own chance of after the landing—and that, in Clancy’s considered and resigned view at the moment, was nil. " I knew you were a cutthroat gam bler,” he later confessed, in somewhat awed retrospect, "a n d a fast talker to boot. But you just didn’t know DeMeers. T o him you were nothing more than a ground squirrel that had popped up in the path of a road grader and figured it could outbluff it.” During those same moments, how ever, Ravenhill was not proceeding blindly. He was—and now knew it well—facing the most formidable gam bler of his experience. He knew, there fore, that at the instant o f landing and during measured seconds thereafter he would be facing the greatest risk of his risk-studded career. It was a calculated risk, however. And he was proceeding on a basic prem ise upon which he had more than once wagered his life, as he was wager ing it now: that all men, regardless of their alleged or proved caliber, were merely men. There were no supermen. Therefore, somewhere in their out wardly invincible armor or their ap parently matchless resourcefulness was a vulnerable p o in t - a key factor which controlled the plans of this seemingly irresistible conqueror. Identify and control that factor and all the maraud er's massive schemes came down m ruins - as Marlborough had proved tac tically at Blenheim. And Wellington at Waterloo. Yes, and two thousand years before Waterloo, Hannibal at Cannae. In this instance the key was the gold. Control the gold and DeMeers was under control. Here was the trump card, a marked card o f whose existence even Clancy was unaware; and it was at Ravenhill’s finger tips. He had en visioned the coup vaguely, earmarking it for some future emergency the mo ment he had identified the gold during the loading, back at the fort, and ha seen to it that the gold had been loaded exactly as he wanted it. It was loaded directly above a device in the floor whose hydraulic controls had caught Sergeant M cC ord’s trained notice, back at Lochiel, though Raven hill had perversely and successfully diverted the M ountie’s attention from it. It had escaped Clancy’s even more seasoned glance—Clancy had actual y piloted a bomber in two war th ea terssolely because his inspection of t e freight compartment had been the briefest possible and in poor light. It was not a sinister device, but a practical one which many a bush pilot had visualized but could not afford—a bomb bay through which small but sometimes heavy items of freight could be released to parachute down to snowchoked mountain camps completely inaccessible to other means of transport. Enlivening bull sessions of veteran bush pilots were accounts o f those hairraising moments in the swirling air currents o f an all-too-narrow canyon when the pilot must do several things at once, with split-second timing: lean far to his right, with one hand on the stick; open the door against the slip

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survival in a blind canyon or with sheer, onrushing cliffs ahead. B y contrast—and Ravenhill had often envisioned it complacently, though he had as yet made no winter flights with this ship —the bomb bay would permit the pilot to remain comfortably at his controls, with all his attention on the flying problem alone. Having made his run, he had merely to give a quad rant on the lower panel a quarter turn, close it again after the load was re leased, and proceed merrily, if still somewhat hazardously, on his way.

A V IN G made contact with the water so deftly as to impart scarcely a tremor through the knifing floats, Ravenhill did not throttle back completely, but cruised on for a space. Though he knew Clancy was watching him with a sort of horrified and help less intentness, and that DeMeers and Parker, immediately behind him, were throwing off their safety belts, Raven hill kept his attention upon the navi gational problem at hand. When the gyrocompass indicated true north, he held it there and checked

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March 5, 1955

tension of the preceding moments had two more items quickly. A glance over Meers’ weapon extended flatly and been like a draught of heady wine. Gad, rigidly across the cabinet, and D e the side told him the shallow water was what a glorious day! It reminded him holding to a uniform depth below Meers’ hand lay heavy and motionless of his fledgling flight when he had upon it, his finger on the trigger. him—a good twenty feet, certainly no In such a moment the cards simply transferred to wings from Sandhurst. less. Then he looked past Clancy and The Great Slave below could have been selected a certain rock far to the east fell right or didn’t, and Death was the the sunlit moors. H e’d been a stripling ward, and fixed the characteristics of dealer. then, his record unblemished, the future Ravenhill said cheerfully to Clancy, this rock in mind as viewed from this fair and proud, with the previous "Simple, wasn’t it—the take-off, I angle. Another rock was approaching, night’s taproom ballad still ringing out close to their course, perhaps half a mean? And by the way, Clancy, just in semi-blotto harmony: when did DeMeers instruct us to stop mile distant. He mentally photographed this rock’s contours also. Directly op back there? Did you hear any such Ride high, you falcon men, ride high. posite this latter rock was the spot orders? ” Let those who blooming must DeMeers disregarded this pretense. marked X on his mental blueprint. He Slog it in the bleeding dust. was on a true north bearing. The east- He appeared unruffled, which was bad. Your place is in the sky. "Y o u have tricked me—again,” he west bearing fixed the spot marked X . said. " I t is the last time. . . . You will If he could pass that spot safely, no He said daringly to Clancy, gam living person but Ravenhill could re take over, Clancy.” "First, DeMeers ------ ” Ravenhill bling that the others would take it turn to it. only as a technical exchange, "N o te "W e ll? ” DeMeers demanded. There began, but DeMeers overrode him, his the new stabilizer setting? Neat trim, voice hardening. was a rougher texture in his voice. "Y o u have taken over, Clancy?” he eh?” " W h y do we not slow down?” H e and Clancy nodded and gambled with asked. Parker had both risen and now stood him, his twisted grin touched with awe, Ravenhill was about to state per immediately behind the radio cabinets, "Look s like the bombs are away.” emptorily, perhaps with his last breath, leaning over them. "Correct,” said Ravenhill. He got that the gold was gone, that DeMeers Ravenhill kept his attention upon up, stepped back. W ith the fingers of his gyrocompass and the approaching must go slow. But Clancy, like a prize his left hand on the stick, he saluted n r Guaranteed by VGood Housekeeping , rock. He did not need to look around to fighter still balmy from a previous briskly with his right. "S h e’s yours, iL% -y’#» S know that DeMeers and Parker either knock-down blow, came up swinging sir.” A n yon e can repair had their Lugers out or their hands feebly. water faucets with an "T h an k you, sir,” Clancy responded " I can take over any time,” he said O ’M ALLE Y Faucet Re upon them. It would be touch and go correctly, returning the salute. Then pair Set. O ’MALLEYS during the next few seconds—only until to DeMeers, his voice croaking a little. he slid into the pilot’s seat, taking over really repair. Remove corrosion, pits and cuts DeMeers recalled that Clancy could so deftly that the sensitive ship flew on that chew up washers. now take over the controls without ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ Make faucets like new! without a quiver. Look for the repair further sparring. A dead man in the DeMeers was less than impressed set with the GOOD pilot*8 seat would cause no complica with this byplay. He said to Clancy, HOUSEKEEPING seal I . . . O ’M ALLE Y kits — tion. From DeMeers’ line of fire the " W e are embarked on important busi I fr o m 70tf to 53.29. crashing bullet—and a Luger bullet ness. There will therefore be no further Difficulties tongues fail to solve, I (N o . 3 De Luxe set, I illustrated, S I.) Pays would pass through Ravenhill’s body nonsense. What is your estimate of the Let lips dissolve. B fo r its e lf firs t tim e ' as easily as a needle through soft fab time required to the rendezvous?” -M AYH O W AR D ■ used. Lasts a lifetime. ric— would not damage the delicate |1 At hardware, variety, plumbing and autoClancy glanced at the ground-speed AUSTIN McEACHERN. Wm supply counters. Also Sears Roebuck. panel instruments. indicator, at his watch and made a W rite for FREE illustrated "W a it ,” Ravenhill said, tilting his rapid calculation. " I f no headwinds Bilk descriptive folder and price list ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ head a little, as though checking the develop, four hours, maybe.” sustained throbbing of the engines, but DeMeers checked his own watch. O ' M A L L E Y V A L V E CO. "B u t I ’m wondering if it wouldn’t be his glance darting from the compass to 1 1 9 4 8 -5 0 S. H o iste d Street, C h ic a g o 28, Illin o is "S o, we are there before seven. That best for us to postpone this little the approaching ‘ rock. It was only is good. W e have plenty of time for — seconds distant. " I ’d better come up party? ” what must be done at that time. . . . To Ravenhill’s infinite relief, D e and break out once, Clancy. This time And as for you, sir,” he said to Raven Meers took time for a single word, you’ll get the feel of it.” " W h y ? ” And, equally important, he hill, who had been waiting politely in A t the same instant he gunned both M A R K I N G P E N C IL the division between the cabinets, "w e waited for the answer. engines. The ship reared up on its "Because,” Clancy said, "Ravenhill take no further chances. Hold out your Uttifo &H/ heels at once. " N o w ,” Ravenhill told isn’t going anywhere. W e ’re in the air. hands, please.” Clancy, extending a hand low on the Ravenhill complied, and was not N o use setting down again. W h y not panel. He drew his hand back and greatly surprised when Parker, without wait till we get to the rendezvous?” pulled back on the stick; then rocked There was a momentary pause. Then a spoken order from DeMeers, pro it roughly. DeMeers said, " Y o u are a simpleton, duced a pair of thin-metaled but highly The ship shuddered, surged once efficient handcuffs -*•of the type known Clancy. But sometimes the simple ones REFILLS IN 6 COLORS deeply, then rose up cleanly and was as colettes, in the jargon of Parisian gen see a course that is good because it is Black Blue Green air-borne. The maneuver forced De darmes—and clapped them almost Brown Red Yellow simple. You are right. W e waste no Meers and Parker to grip the edge of more time here. I am annoyed at soundlessly upon his wrists. the cabinet to keep themselves from Ravenhill made no protest. His man Ravenhill because he is so persistent, falling backward. Casually but quickly, but I am also curious about this man. ner was unruffled as he examined the Ravenhill spun the quadrant back to handcuffs curiously, noting their ma So we go on to the rendezvous.” the closed position, smiling past the It was a momentary lull, at least. To terial and workmanship. The metal was stick at Clancy. The bomb bay was Ravenhill it was a new grip on life. tool steel, apparently; the workman closed now. They were in the air and Time was his dearest friend now. Each ship excellent and precise. The clamp climbing fast. The gold was gone. turn of the propellers was taking them ing jaws were so narrow as to permit And Clancy knew it. Ravenhill At Voriely ond Stolionery Stores Everywhere I farther from the gold. The greater their little free use of the hands without dis could tell from the dazed look in his LISTO PENCIL CORPORATION • ALAMEDA, CALIF. distance from the gold, the more secure comfort, and outright struggle would eye and the slightly green pallor of his be painful. face. It was an eventuality Ravenhill his hold on DeMeers. DeMeers’ measuring glance indi " Y o u will take over now, Clancy,” hadn’t foreseen —the sensitivity of a DeMeers said. " I n the pilot’s place. I cated that he found Ravenhill’s non trained bomber pilot to the sudden re want Ravenhill back here, so I can talk chalance surprising and perhaps sig SILVERFISH WATERBUGS CRICKETS lease of a half-ton load, regardless of to him. You will also wish to set your nificant. Ravenhill decided it would be K i ll t h e m th e clean, easy w ay. N o how that release might be camouflaged m e ss or odor. Place H ive s w here i n course to the rendezvous.” His polite good strategy to camouflage his own at the take-off. At this point much de sects c a n fin d th e m . T h e y eat b a it ness had a touch of mockery in it as he inner confidence with at least a show of in protective tu b e a n d die. M o n e y pended on Clancy’s caliber. concluded, " Is that satisfactory to you protest. b ack gu aran te e . T h r ift y . A sk for Clancy— inadvertently, perhaps— G a to r. If sto re h a s none, send S I for He asked, " I s this sort of thing nec 9 Hives. D eSo to C h e m ic a l C o met the first test well. H e was plainly both?” essary? I ’m unarmed. As Clancy Clancy glanced at Ravenhill, who D e p t. T -4 , A rc a d ia , F lo rid a . stricken dumb by the enormity gf what nodded cheerfully. "Everything’s tip pointed out, I ’ve no choice but to go had happened, and its probable con top,” he told Clancy, wavingtoward the along.” sequences. H e merely waited, wordless DeMeers disregarded this. " G o back instruments. "T h is is a good cruising and teeth set, leaving the lead to altitude and speed. There are sectional to the rear seat,” he directed___ " Lute, Ravenhill. maps in this lower compartment, if you take your place beside Clancy. . . . DeMeers had pulled himself to need them. W ill you proceed on a com Babs, you will sit in the second row gether and was again leaning massively with Parker.” Again DeMeers spoke Hurting You? on the cabinet. Ravenhill checked this pass bearing?” "L e a v e that to Clancy, please,” D e rapidly and briefly to Parker in French. Immediate by glancing back as he swung the ship Meers said. " H e will perhaps use refer Parker nodded with a curious, faintly ________ Relief! into the east again. They were climbing ence points which do not concern you.” mocking glance at Ravenhill. A few drops o f O U T G B O A brine blessed relief from at full throttle, directly above the rocktormenting pain o f Ingrown nail. O U TO R O tough Ravenhill nodded, shrugging. In ens the skin underneath the nail, allows the nail to studded shallows. DeMeers had his (T O B E C O N T IN U E D ) be cut and thus prevents further pain and discom wardly he was in high good spirits. The fort. O U T G R O Is available at a ll drug counters. Luger out now, as did Parker. D e

KISS AND MAKE UP

UGTO

KILLS ROACHES!

INGROWN NAIL

THE SATURBAY EVENING POST

RACE AT MORNING (Continued from Page 26)

big old buck got killed today, I knowed that even if he had put it off another ten years, he couldn’t ’a’ picked a better one. And sho enough, as soon as we come to the bayou we seen his foot in the mud where he had come up out of the river last night, spread in the soft mud like a cow’s foot, big as a cow’s, big as a mule’s, with Eagle and the other dogs laying into the leash rope now until Mister Ernest told me to jump down and help Simon hold them. Because me and Mister Ernest knowed exactly where he would be —a little canebrake island in the middle of the bayou, where he could lay up until whatever doe or little deer the dogs had happened to jump could go up or down the bayou in either direction and take the dogs on away, so he could steal out and creep back down the bayou to the river and swim it, and leave the country like he always done the day the season opened. Which is jest what we never aimed for him to do this time. So we left Roth on his horse to cut him off and turn him over Uncle Ike’s standers if he tried to slip back down the bayou, and me and Simon, with the leashed dogs, walked on up the bayou until Mister Ernest on the horse said it was fur enough; then turned up into the woods about half a quarter above the brake because the wind was going to be south this morning when it riz, and turned down toward the brake, and Mister Ernest give the word to cast them, and we slipped the leash and Mister Ernest give me the stirrup again and I got up. Old Eagle had done already took off because he knowed where that old son of a gun would be laying as good as we did, not making no racket atall yet, but jest boring on through the buck vines with the other dogs trailing along be hind him, and even Dan seemed to know about that buck, too, beginning to souple up and jump a little through the vines, so that I taken my holt on Mister Ernest’s belt already before the time had come for Mister Ernest to touch him. Because when we got strung out, going fast behind a deer, I wasn t on Dan’s back much of the time nohow, but mostly jest strung out from my holt on Mister Ernest’s belt, so that Willy Legate said that when we was going through the woods fast, it looked like Mister Ernest had a boy-size pair of empty overhalls blowing out of his hind pocket. So it wasn’t even a strike, it was a jump. Eagle must ’a’ walked right up behind him or maybe even stepped on him while he was laying there still thinking it was day after tomorrow. Eagle jest throwed his head back and up and said, "There he goes,” and we even heard the buck crashing through the first of the cane. Then all the other dogs was hollering behind him, and Dan give a squat to jump, but it was against the curb this time, not jest the snaffle, and Mister Ernest let him down into the bayou and swung him around the brake and up the other bank. Only he never had to say, "W hich w ay?” be cause I was already pointing past his shoulder, freshening my holt on the belt jest as Mister Ernest touched Dan with that big old rusty spin- on his nigh heel, because when Dan felt it he would go off jest like a stick of dynamite, straight through whatever he could bust and over or under what he couldn’t.

The dogs was already almost out of hearing. Eagle must ’a’ been looking right up that big son of a gun’s tail until he finally decided he better git on out of there. And now they must ’a’ been getting pretty close to Uncle Ike’s standers, and Mister Ernest reined Dan back and held him, squatting and bouncing and trembling like a mule having his tail roached, while we lis tened for the shots. But never none come, and I hollered to Mister Ernest we better go on while I could still hear the dogs, and he let Dan off, but still there wasn’t no shots, and now we knowed the race had done already passed the standers; and we busted out of a thicket, and sho enough there was Uncle Ike and Willy standing beside his foot in a soft patch. "H e got through us all,” Uncle Ike said. " I don’t know how he done it. I just had a glimpse of him. He looked big as a elephant, with a rack on his head you could cradle a yellin’ calf in. He went right on down the ridge. You better get on, too; that Hog Bayou camp might not miss him.” So I freshened my holt and Mister Ernest touched Dan again. The ridge run due south; it was clear of vines and bushes so we could go fast, into the wind, too, because it had riz now, and now the sun was up too. So we would hear the dogs again any time now as the wind get up; we could make time now, but still holding Dan back to a canter, because it was either going to be quick, when he got down to the standers from that Hog Bayou camp eight miles be low ow n, or a long time, in case he got by them too. And sho enough, after a while we heard the dogs; we was walk ing Dan now to let him blow a while, and we heard them, the sound coming faint up the wind, not running now, but trailing because the big son of a gun had decided a good piece back, prob ably, to put a end to this foolishness, and picked hisself up and soupled out and put about a mile between hisself and the dogs —until he run up on them other standers from that camp below. I could almost see him stopped behind a bush, peeping out and saying, "W hat’s this? What’s this? Is this whole dum country full of folks this morning?” Then looking back over his shoulder at where old Eagle and the others was hollering along after him while he de cided how much time he had to decide what to do next. Except he almost shaved it too fine. We heard the shots; it sounded like a war. Old Eagle must ’a’ been looking right up his tail again and he had to bust on through the best way he could. "P ow , pow, pow, pow ” and then "P ow , pow, pow, pow,” like it must ’a’ been three or four ganged right up on him before he had time even to swerve, and me hollering, "N o ! No! No! N o ! ” because he was ourn. It was our beans and oats he et and our brake he laid in; we had been watching him ever year, and it was like we had raised him, to be killed at last on our jump, in front of our dogs, by some strangers that would probably try to beat the dogs off and drag him away before we could even git a piece of the meat. "Shut up and listen,” Mister Ernest said. So I done it and we could hear the dogs; not just the others, but Eagle, too, not trailing no scent now and not baying no downed meat, neither, but running hot on sight long after the shooting was over. I jest had time to freshen my holt. Yes, sir, they was run ning on sight. Like Willy Legate would say, if Eagle jest had a drink of whisky he would ketch that deer; going on, done already gone when we broke out

103

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104 of the thicket and seen the fellers that had done the shooting, five or six of them, squatting and crawling around, looking at the ground and the bushes, like maybe if they looked hard enough, spots of blood would bloom out on the stalks and leaves like frogstools or hawberries. "H a v e any luck, b o y s ?” Mister Ernest said. " I think I hit him,” one of them said. " I know I did. W e’re hunting blood now.” "W e ll, when you have found him, blow your horn and I ’ll come back and tote him in to camp for you ,” Mister Ernest said. So we went on, going fast now be cause the race was almost out of hear ing again, going fast, too, like not jest the buck, but the dogs, too, had took a new leash on life from all the excite ment and shooting. W e was in strange country now be cause we never had to run this fur be fore, we had always killed before now; now we had come to H og Bayou that runs into the river a good fifteen miles below our camp. It had water in it, not to mention a mess of down trees and logs and such, and Mister Ernest checked Dan again, saying, "W h ich w a y ?” I could just barely hear them, off to the east a little, like the old son of a gun had give up the idea Vicksburg or New Orleans, like he first seemed to have, and had decided i . have a look at Ala bama; so I pointed and we turned up the bayou hunting for a crossing, and maybe we could ’a’ found one, except that I reckon Mister Ernest decided we never had time to wait. W e come to a place where the bayou had narrowed down to about twelve or fifteen feet, and Mister Ernest said, "L o o k out, I ’m going to touch h im ” and done it. I didn’t even have time to freshen m y holt when we was already in the air, and then I seen the vine—it was a loop of grapevine nigh as big as my wrist, looping down right across the middle of the bayou —and I thought he seen it, too, and was jest waiting to grab it and fling it up over our heads to go un der it, and I know Dan seen it because he even ducked his head to jum p under it. But Mister Ernest never seen it atall until it skun back along D an’s neck and hooked under the head of the saddle horn, us flying on through the air, the loop of the vine gitting tighter and tighter until something somewhere was going to have to give. It was the saddle girth. It broke, and Dan going on and scrabbling up the other bank bare nekkid except for the bridle, and me and Mister Ernest and the saddle, Mister Ernest still setting in the saddle holding the gun, and me still holding onto Mister Ernest’s belt, hanging in the air over the bayou in the tightened loop of that vine like in the drawedback loop o f a big rubber-banded sling shot, until it snapped back and shot us back across the bayou and flang us clear, me still holding onto Mister Ernest’s belt and on the bottom now, so that when we lit I would ’a’ had Mister Ernest and the saddle both on top of me if I hadn’t dum b fast around the saddle and up Mister Ernest’s side, so that when we landed, it was the saddle first, then Mister Ernest, and me on top, until I jumped up, and Mister Ernest still laying there with jest the white rim of his eyes showing. "M ister E rnest!” I hollered, and then d um b down to the bayou and scooped my cap full of water and dum b back and throwed it in his face, and he opened his eyes and laid there on the saddle cussing me.

THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

" G o d dawg it,” he said, "w h y didn’t you stay behind where you started o u t? ” " Y o u was the biggest!” I said. "Y o u would ’a’ mashed me fla t!” "W h a t do you think you done to m e ?” Mister Ernest said. "N e x t time, if you can’t stay where you start out, jum p clear. D on ’t climb up on top of me no more. You hear?” "Y e s , sir,” I said. So he got up then, still cussing and holding his back, and dum b down to the water and dipped some in his hand onto his face and neck and dipped some more up and drunk it, and I drunk some, too, and d um b back and got the saddle and the gun, and we crossed the bayou on the down logs. If we could jest ketch Dan; not that he would have went them fifteen miles back to camp, because, if anything, he would have went on by hisself to try to help Eagle ketch that buck. B ut he was about fifty yards away, eating buck vines, so I brought him back, and we taken Mister Ernest’s galluses and m y belt and the whang leather loop off Mister Ernest’s horn and tied the saddle back on Dan. It didn’t look like much, but maybe it would hold. "P rovided you don’t let me jum p him through no more grapevines with out hollering first,” Mister Ernest said. "Y e s , sir,” I said. " I ’ll holler first next time —provided y o u ’ll holler a little quicker when you touch him next time too.” But it was all right; we jest had to be a little easy getting up. "N o w which-a-way?” I said. Because we couldn’t hear nothing now, after wasting all this time. And this was new country, sho enough. It had been cut over and growed up in thickets we couldn’t ’a ’ seen over even standing up on Dan. But Mister Ernest never even an swered. He jest turned Dan along the bank o f the bayou where it was a little more open and we could move faster again, soon as Dan and us got used to that homemade cinch strop and got a little confidence in it. Which jest hap pened to be east, or so I thought then, because I never paid no particular at tention to east then because the sun —I don’t know where the morning had went, but it was gone, the morning and the frost, t o o —was up high now.

And then we heard him. No, that’s wrong; what we heard was shots. And that was when we realized how fur we had come, because the only camp we knowed about in that direction was the Hollyknowe camp, and Hollyknowe was exactly twenty-eight miles from Van Dorn, where me and Mister Ernest lived—just the shots, no dogs nor nothing. If old Eagle was still be hind him and the buck was still alive, he was too wore out now to even say, "H ere he comes.” " D o n ’t touch h im !” I hollered. But Mister Ernest remembered that cinch strop, too, and he jest let Dan off the snaffle. And Dan heard them shots, too, picking his way through the thickets, hopping the vines and logs when he could and going under them when he couldn’t. And sho enough, it was jcct like before—tw o or three men squatting and creeping among the bushes, looking for blood that Eagle had done already told them wasn’t there. But we never stopped this time, jest trotting on by. Then Mister Ernest swung Dan until we was going due n orth . " W ait! ” I hollered. " N o t this w ay.” But Mister Ernest jest turned his face back over his shoulder. It looked tired, too, and there was a smear of mud on it where that ’ere grapevine had snatched him off the horse. " D o n ’t you know where he’s head in g ?” he said. " H e ’s done done his part, give everybody a fair open shot at him, and now he’s going home, back to that brake in our bayou. He ought to make it exactly at dark.” And that’s what he was doing. W e went on. It didn’t matter to hurry now. There wasn’ t no sound nowhere; it was that time in the early afternoon in N o vember when don’t nothing move or cry, not even birds, the peckerwoods and yellowhammers and jays, and it seemed to me like I could see all three o f u s - m e and Mister Ernest and Dan —and Eagle, and the other dogs, and that big old buck, moving through the quiet woods in the same direction, headed for the same place, not running now but walking, that had all run the fine race the best we knowed how, and all three of us now turned like on a agreement to walk back home, not to gether in a bunch because we didn’t want to worry or tempt one another,

M a rch 5, 1935

because what we had all three spent this morning doing was no play-acting jest for fun, but was serious, and all three o f us was still what we was —that old buck that had to run, not because he was skeered, but because running was what he done the best and was proudest at; and Eagle and the dogs that chased him, not because they hated or feared him, but because that was the thing they done the best and was proudest at; and me and Mister Ernest and Dan, that run him not be cause we wanted his meat, which would be too tough to eat anyhow, or his head to hang on a wall, but because now we could go back and work hard for eleven months making a crop, so we would have the right to come back here next N ovem ber—all three o f us going back home now, peaceful and separate, until next year, next time. Then we seen him for the first time. W e was out o f the cut-over now; we could even ’a’ cantered, except that all three o f us was long past that. So we was walking, too, when we come on the dogs—the puppies and one of the old ones—played out, laying in a little wet swag, panting, jest looking up at us whon we passed. Then we come to a long open glade, and we seen the three other old dogs and about a hundred yards ahead o f them Eagle, all walking, not making no sound; and then sud denly, at the fur end of the glade, the buck hisself getting up from where he had been resting for the dogs to come up, getting up without no hurry, big, big as a mule, tall as a mule, and turned, and the white underside o f his tail for a second or two more before the thicket taken him. It might a been a signal, a good-by, a farewell. Still walking, we passed the other three old dogs in the middle o f the glade, laying down, too; and still that hundred yards ahead o f them, Eagle, too, not laying down, because he was still on his feet, but his legs was spraddled and his head was down; maybe jest waiting until we was out of sight of his shame, his eyes saying plain as talk when we passed, " I ’m sorry, boys, but this here is all.” Mister Ernest stopped Dan. "Ju m p down and look at his feet,” he said. "N othing wrong with his feet,” I said. It 8 his wind has done give ou t.” "Ju m p down and look at his feet ” M ister Ernest said. So I done it, and while I was stooping over Eagle I could hear the pump gun go, "Snick-cluck. Snick-cluck. Snickclu ck ” three times, except that I never thought nothing then. M aybe he was jest running the shells through to be sho it would work when we seen him again or maybe to make sho they was all buckshot. Then I got up again, and we went on, still walking; a little west of north now, because when we seen his white flag that second or two before the thicket hid it, it was on a beeline for that notch in the bayou. And it was evening, too, now. The wind had done dropped and there was a edge to the air and the sun jest touched the tops of the trees. And he was taking the easiest way, too, now, going straight as he could. When we seen his foot in the soft places he was running for a while at first after his rest. But soon he was walking, too, like he knowed, too, where Eagle and the dogs was. And then we seen him again. It was the last tim e—a thicket, with the sun coming through a hole onto it like a searchlight. He crashed jest once; then he was standing there broadside to us, not twenty yards away, big as a statue and red as gold in the sun, and the sun (C on tin u ed o n Raae 106)

THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

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105

THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

106 (Continued from Page 104)

sparking on the tips of his horns—they was twelve of them —so that he looked like he had twelve lighted candles branched around his head, standing there looking at us while Mister Ernest raised the gun and aimed at his neck, and the gun went, "Click. Snick-cluck. Click. Snick-cluck, Click. Snick-cluck” three times, and Mister Ernest still holding the gun aimed while the buck turned and give one long bound, the white underside of his tail like a blaze of fire, too, until the thicket and the shadows put it out; and Mister Ernest laid the gun slow and gentle back across the saddle in front of him, saying quiet and peaceful, and not much louder than jest breathing, " God dawg. God dawg.” Then he jogged me with his elbow and we got down, easy and careful be cause of that ere cinch strop, and he reached into his vest and taken out one of the cigars. It was busted where I had fell on it, I reckon, when we hit the ground. He thro wed it away and taken out the other one. It was busted, too, so he bit off a hunk of it to chew and throwed the rest away. And now the sun was gone even from the tops of the trees and there wasn’t nothing left but a big red glare in the west. "D o n ’t worry,” I said. " I ain’t going to tell them you forgot to load your gun. For that matter, they don’t need to know we ever seed him.” "M uch oblige,” Mister Ernest said. There wasn’t going to be no moon to night neither, so he taken the compass off the whang leather loop in his button hole and handed me the gun and set the compass on a stump and stepped back and looked at it. "Jest about the way we’re headed now,” he said, and taken the gun from me and opened it and put one shell in the britch and taken up the compass, and I taken Dan’s reins and we started, with him in front with the compass in his hand. And after a while it was full dark; Mister Ernest would have to strike a match ever now and then to read the compass, until the stars come out good and we could pick out one to follow, because I said, "H ow fur do you reckon it is?” and he said, "A little more than one box of matches.” So we used a star when we could, only we couldn’t see it all the time because the woods was too dense and we would git a little off until he would have to spend another match. And now it was good and late, and he stopped and said, "G et on the horse.” " I ain’t tired,” I said. "G et on the horse,” he said. "W e don’t want to spoil him.” Because he had been a good feller ever since I had knowed him, which was even before that day two years ago when maw went off with the Vicksburg roadhouse feller and the next day pap didn’t come home neither, and on the third one Mister Ernest rid Dan up to the door of the cabin on the river he let us live in, so pap could work his piece of land and run his fish line, too, and said, "P u t that gun down and come on here and climb up behind.” So I got in the saddle even if I couldn’t reach the stirrups, and Mister Ernest taken the reins and I must ’a’ went to sleep, because the next thing I knowed a buttonhole of my lumberjack was tied to the saddle horn with that ere whang cord off the compass, and it was good and late now and we wasn’t fur, because Dan was already smelling water, the river. Or maybe it was the feed lot itself he smelled, because we struck the fire road not a quarter below it, and soon I could see the river, too, with the white mist laying on it soft and still as cotton. Then the lot, home;

and up yonder in the dark, not no piece akchully, close enough to hear us un saddling and shucking corn prob’ly, and sholy close enough to hear Mister Ernest blowing his horn at the dark camp for Simon to come in the boat and git us, that old buck in his brake in the bayou; home, too, resting, too, after the hard run, waking hisself now and then, dreaming of dogs behind him or maybe it was the racket we was making would wake him. Then Mister Ernest stood on the bank blowing until Simon’s lantern went bobbing down into the mist; then we dumb down to the landing and Mister Ernest blowed again now and then to guide Simon, until we seen the lantern in the mist, and then Simon and the boat; only it looked like ever time I set down and got still, I went back to sleep, because Mister Ernest was shak ing me again to git out and climb the bank into the dark camp, until I felt a bed against my knees and tumbled into it. Then it was morning, tomorrow; it was all over now until next November, next year, and we could come back. Uncle Ike and Willy and Walter and Roth and the rest of them had come in yestiddy, soon as Eagle taken the buck out of hearing and they knowed that deer was gone, to pack up and be ready to leave this morniijg for Yoknapatawpha, where they lived, until it would be November again and they could come back again. So, as soon as we et breakfast, Simon run them back up the river in the big boat to where they left their cars and pickups, and now it wasn’t nobody but jest me and Mister Ernest setting on the bench against the kitchen wall in the sun; Mister Ernest smoking a cigar—a whole one this time that Dan hadn’t had no chance to jump him through a grapevine and bust. He hadn’t washed his face neither where that vine had throwed him into the mud. But that was all right, too; his face usually did have a smudge of mud or tractor grease or beard stubble on it, because he wasn’t jest a planter; he was a farmer, he worked as hard_ as ara one of his hands and tenants—which is why I knowed from the very first that we would git along, that I wouldn’t have no trouble with him and he wouldn’t have no trouble with me, from that very first day when I woke up and maw had done gone off with that Vicksburg roadhouse feller with out even waiting to cook breakfast, and

March 5, 1955

the next morning pap was gone, too, and it was almost night the next day when I heard a horse coming up and I taken the gun that I had already throwed a shell into the britch when pap never come home last night, and stood in the door while Mister Ernest rid up and said, "Com e on. Your paw ain’t coming back neither.” "Y o u mean he give me to y ou ?” I said. "W h o cares?” he said. "Com e on. I brought a lock for the door. We’ll send the pickup back tomorrow for whatever you want.” So I come home with him and it was all right, it was jest fine —his wife had died about three years ago —without no women to worry us or take off in the middle of the night with a dum Vicks burg roadhouse jake without even wait ing to cook breakfast. And we would go home this afternoon, too, but not jest yet; we always stayed one more day after the others left because Uncle Ike always left what grub they hadn’t et, and the rest of the homemade com whisky he drunk and that town whisky of Roth Edmondziz he called Scotch that smelled like it come out of a old bucket of roof paint; setting in the sun for one more day before we went back home to git ready to put in next year’s crop of cotton and oats and beans and hay; and across the river yonder, be hind the wall of trees where the big woods started, that old buck laying up today in the sun, too—resting today, too, without nobody to bother him until next November. So at least one of us was glad it would be eleven months and two weeks before he would have to run that fur that fast again. So he was glad of the very same thing we was sorry of, and so all of a sudden I thought about how maybe planting and working and then harvesting oats and cotton and beans and hay wasn’t jest something me and Mister Ernest done three hundred and fifty-one days to fill in the time until we could come back hunting again, but it was something we had to do, and do honest and good during the three hundred and fifty-one days, to have the right to come back into the big woods and hunt for the other fourteen; and the fourteen days that old buck run in front of dogs wasn’t jest some thing to fill his time until the three hundred and fifty-one when he didn’t have to, but the running and the risk ing in front of guns and dogs was some thing he had to do for fourteen days to

"This will give you some idea o f how it will look on you, madam.” T H E S A T U B D A Y E V E N IN G P O S T

have the right not to be bothered for the other three hundred and fifty-one. And so the hunting and the farming wasn’t two different things atall—they was jest the other side of each other. "Y es,” I said. "A ll we got to do now is put in that next year’s crop. Then November won’t be no time away.” "Y o u ain’t going to put in the crop next year,” Mister Ernest said." You’re going to school.” So at first I didn’t even believe I had heard him. "W h a t?” I said. "M e ? Go to school? ” "Y es,” Mister Ernest said. "Y o u must make something out of yourself.” " I am,” I said. " I ’m doing it now. I ’m going to be a hunter and a farmer like you.” "N o ,” Mister Ernest said. "T hat ain’t enough any more. Time was when all a man had to do was just farm eleven and a half months, and hunt the other half. But not now. Now just to belong to the farming business and the hunting business ain’t enough. You got to belong to the business of mankind.” "M ankind?” I said. "Y es,” Mister Ernest said. "S o you’re going to school. Because you got to know why. You can belong to the farming and hunting business and you can learn the difference between what’s right and what’s wrong, and do right. And that used to be enough—just to do right. But not now. You got to know why it’s right and why it’s wrong, and be able to tell the folks that never had no chance to learn it; teach them how to do what’s right, not just because they know it’s right, but because they know now why it’s right because you just showed them, told them, taught them why. So you’re going to school.” " I t ’s because you been listening to that durn Will Legate and Walter Ewell!” I said. "N o ,” Mister Ernest said. " Y e s !” I said. "N o wonder you missed that buck yestiddy, taking ideas from the very fellers that let him git away, after me and you had run Dan and the dogs dum nigh clean to death! Because you never even missed him! You never forgot to load that gun! You had done already unloaded it a pur pose ! I heard you ! ” "A ll right, all right,” Mister Ernest said. "W hich would you rather have? His bloody head and hide on the kitchen floor yonder and half his meat in a pickup truck on the way to Yoknapatawpha County, or him with his head and hide and meat still to gether over yonder in that brake, wait ing for next November for us to run him again?” "A n d git him, too,” I said. "W e won’t even fool with no Willy Legate and Walter Ewell next time.” "M aybe,” Mister Ernest said. "Y e s,” I said. "M aybe#’ Mister Ernest said. "T h e best word in our language, the best of all. That s what mankind keeps going on: Maybe. The best days of his life ain’t the ones when he said 'Y e s ’ be forehand: they’re the ones when all he knew to say was 'M aybe.’ He can’t say Yes ’ until afterward because he not only don’t know it until then, he don’t want to know 'Y e s ’ until then. . . . Step in the kitchen and make me a toddy. Then we’ll see about dinner.” "A ll right,” I said. I got up. "Y o u want some of Uncle Ike’s corn or that town whisky of Roth Edmondziz?” "C an ’t you say Mister Roth or Mister Edmonds?” Mister Ernest said. "Y es, sir,” I said. "W ell, which do you want? Uncle Ike’s com or that ere stuff of Roth Edmondziz?” t h e eno

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THE SATURDAY EVENING ROST

I KNOW W H A T IT M EANS TO BE P U N C H -D R U N K (Continued from Page 30)

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into me on the street two days later. "H arry ,” he said, " I would have stopped it in the fifth round if you hadn’t so suddenly lost the use of your left hand. What happened?” There wasn’t anything I could tell him except what B oo Boo had told me. I thought I was ahead and shouldn’t push my luck. I know now, and it isn’t ego, that I was "carryin g” a champion whom I could have stopped that night in the fifth or sixth round. Anyway, there was the usual dress ing-room hysteria after the fight, and a small glint of triumph in the cold brown eyes of Hoff. Boo B oo’s stable of prize fighters, among whom I was the most prominent at the time, was pretty much a cover-up for his bootlegging, gambling and hi jacking rackets. Jails weren’t built to hold B oo Boo, who perennially was branded as Philadelphia’s No. 1 public enemy. An estimated $5,000,000 passed through his hands in a single year, yet he was to die broke of an overdose of sleeping powders on April 27, 1941, in his Larchwood Avenue apartment in the Quaker City, where he was bom. In 1928, however, both Boo B oo and I seemed to have the world by the tail. "N ic e going, kid,” B oo Boo told me. "N o w you go get some rest. W e’ll have Benny Bass hooked for a bout by Sep tember, and when you beat him, T on y’s gotta fight you for the title.” That, I knew, was the setup—an elimination between Bass and myself for the title shot. There was no one in the country happier than I that night when, about 11:15 P .M ., I checked into the Adelphia Hotel. I was asleep in ten minutes. A t 2:15 a . m . the telephone rang. It was B oo B oo calling from his Turf Club, on Spruce Street near Broad. The club was Philadelphia’s gaudiest gam bling joint, with roulette wheels on three floors and the sky the limit on bets. "G e t dressed and come over,” H off said.'' There are some guys here—some important guys—who want to meet the next champ.” It was useless to tell him that I was tired, that m y body hurt, that I needed sleep. When the little m an—B oo Boo was five-tw o—said come, you came. He always carried a .25 caliber Colt re volver in each hip pocket, and he would use them, even on his friends. I wound up the night of m y victory over Canzoneri—and most o f the next d a y—in the Turf Club, more drunk with adulation than with champagne. There was no doubt about it. Blitman was a Golden Boy. I was not only allowed but I was urged to tell a score of important peo ple how I started in the fight game. Of course, I embellished most o f it, but, the embroidery aside, I stuck pretty close to the main facts. There are exceptions in boxing to day, but there were not many then. I was about typical. I was something of an underprivileged kid, and I was small. A runt in a tough neighborhood either has to fight his way to some considera tion among the bigger boys of his age group or be submerged. I didn’t want to be submerged, and I fought. There was an amateur-boxing enthu siast in m y neighborhood by the name of Ted Sloan. Philadelphia water then— and even n ow —was notoriously un

M arch 5, 1955

palatable. Mr. Sloan made his living by going to the city’s great Fairmount Park early in the morning to bottle spring water, which he sold from door to door, huckster fashion. Mr. Sloan would see me running through the park every morning to get in shape for the street battles a small boy encountered, particularly if he was cocky. He also had seen one or two of m y curb affairs. He talked me into bouts being sponsored by the A.A.U. So, at fifteen, I finally moved into padded-glove instead of bare-knuckle fighting. This, essentially, was the story I told at the Turf Club. And, essentially, it is true. I was in my glory then. It wasn’t until after the papers for the Bass fight had been signed that I began to thmk at all. Some o f m y family’s old friends in North-Central Philadelphia took a dim view of Boo B oo Hoff, who had vaulted from cigar salesman to alky king in an incredibly short time. And while I was in training for the Bass fight, I began to hear that I was overmatched. " Y o u ’re still green, Harry,” Jimmy Coster, a former lightweight, told me one day. " Y o u ’re a perfect setup for Bass. Y ou ’re just a growing boy and Boo Boo is pushing you too fast. He don’t care. Y ou ’re not his meal ticket. Y ou ’re just window dressing.” I can’t say I paid much attention to Coster—then. He had been my first professional manager, having signed me up as a sixteen-year-old when I was training for amateur bouts at his South Philadelphia gym. Secretly I used to laugh at Jimmy Coster because he was "p u n ch y.” The biggest proof of this at the time was the fact that he had sold m y contract to H off in Atlantic C ity in 1927 for $2000, plus what Coster thought was 10 per cent of m y future gates. Jimmy had read the contract painfully and laboriously, but the paper he signed wasn’t the one he read. Boo B oo was like that. When I signed for Bass, I weighed 142 pounds and I was still growing. Our contract read that I had to make the 126-pound featherweight limit or we would forfeit $5000 to Bass and his manager, Phil Glassman, also of Phila delphia. There had been a feud o f long stand ing between H off and Glassman. I didn’t know the reason then and I don’t know the reason now. But Boo B oo said to me, about a week before the fight, "H arry, you gotta make that weight. It’s not the forfeit so much. It’s Glassman. H e’ll never get a stinking dime of m y money so long as I live.” I was training in Springfield, Penn sylvania, at the time. Three days be fore the weighing in I was around 132. There were stories in the newspapers that I could never make the weight. But Boo B oo took care of that. He started drying me out. This, as every fighter and trainer knows, means do ing without all liquids. In those seventy-two hours, the only water I got was the quickly snatched handfuls I could scoop from a toUet bowl. The faucets of the washstand in the bath room had been thoughtfully plugged by Boo B oo’s entourage. At weighing-in tune on September 10, 1928, I made the limit with half a pound to spare —125 I didn’t feel too good, but, even so, I felt I could beat anybody in the world my weight. There were approximately 25,000 fans in Shibe Park —now Connie Mack Stadium —for the fight. Boo B oo and I had a $25,000 guarantee in my name. On the record, my cu t—after training

THE SATURDAY EVENING POST expenses— was 65 per cent. I was sure the United States M int and Harry Blitman would soon be partners, with Blitman on the long end. B ut I didn’t have this dream very long. Just before the bell at the end of the second round, Bass caught me on the jaw with a thunderous right. I was dropped for the count of seven, when the round ended. For the first two minutes of the third, following instructions in a sort of ani mal way, I was able to make Bass miss repeatedly. I was pumping uppercuts against his chin, but not hard enough to do any real damage. The fourth was m y round. I smashed m y left into Benny’s m outh and nose time after time. I had him dazed and reeling for two minutes. Y e t I could not put him away, and he came back like the great fighter he was. The fifth round was all Bass. It was a case of a good right hand usually beating a good left hand. I don’t like to think about the punishment I took in that round or the firry I felt with m y self because m y timing was off and I couldn’t seem to land. It was all over at 1:04 in the sixth round. W ith the exception of the ten seconds it required to count me out, Benny was punching me at will. I got up at the count of eight on the last knockdown, but I couldn’t stand and slumped to the canvas. I tried to push myself up by m y finger tips, but I couldn’t do that either. A fter I had sobbed m y heart out in m y dressing room, and after Boo Boo and his gunmen had gone, I took what stock an eighteen-year-old boy could take under the circumstances. I had, for the first tim e, a feeling of utter lone liness. Even the fact that a hard brown arm was suddenly placed around m y neck didn’t help. It was T y Cobb, play ing bis last year of baseball, with the

Philadelphia Athletics. I guess he was feeling lonely, too, coming to the end of his great career. H e grinned at me and said, " D o n ’t take it too hard, Harry. Y o u ’re young. Y o u ’ll snap back.” I made two resolutions that night. I was determined to fight m y way into the championship after all, and to come out of the ring sound in body and mind. These are the goals of every young fighter. But too few ever achieve either one. I know. I never won the championship. But when I hung up m y gloves six years later, at the age of twenty-four, m y features were not too badly smashed. The fact that I am not on Queer Street is another matter, partly luck, partly a combination of shame and pride, but mainly the patient understanding of m y wife, family and friends. A ll that came later. The morning after the Bass fight, H off sent two of his boys to m y hotel. Since the guar antee was in m y n am e— Boo Boo was having some financial trouble in the bursting Florida land boom — I was told to go by the old Franklin Trust Com pany at 15th and Chestnut streets and pick up the purse— in cash. The left side of m y face was badly swollen. M y body, particularly m y stomach and ribs, was a corset of pain. B ut what really alarmed me was that m y hands wouldn’t behave in the job of putting on m y socks. And when I stood up on one leg to slide the other into m y trousers, I fell on the floor. One of the gunmen who helped me up laughed and said, "T h a t was some going-over you got last night! ” H e was so right. Y e t for one murder ous instant I wanted to kill him. Then m y anger died and I began to shake, not outwardly, but deep inside. It was the first time it had ever happened to me. I was sure it would pass as soon as I was rested up.

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M arch 5, 1955

I had to learn to live with my condi went into the offices of the old Phila Somehow I got to the bank and got occasional glimpse of myself in shop tion—to build a protective armor delphia Record, where I knew most of the cash. Before Boo Boo and I windows. I didn’t like what I saw — against insults, real and imagined. the sports writers. I wound up getting whacked it up, I had figured my share the shaking head and the bouncing Those first months I tried my best to a chance to break in as a leg man on the at around $15,000. But after Hoff had walk. For the first time, I wanted to keep away from the old crowd and to city-news side of the paper. With the submitted his list of "expenses,” I get away from it all. Record’s top rewrite men going out of I took what I thought was the easi steer clear of the sports pages. Next to their way to help me, I was trained not came out with $9500. Even so, it was boxing gloves, books had always been a fortune for a kid in 1928. I proceeded est escape. I joined the Army. A year closest to my heart. I buried myself in only in reporting news stories but also to rip through most of it, particularly later I was out, thanks to some political in writing them. I have been a news them. when my shakes died out in a day or so pull I still had in Philadelphia. I went paperman ever since, and have sold I consulted doctors who remembered and Hoff assured me we would fight right back into the fight game. How me from my better days and wanted to occasional fiction pieces. much of it was pride, how much of it Too many fighters aren’t so fortu back to the top again. help. I pored over scientific journals. Yet, aside from his troubles with the was wishful thinking and how much of I’m certainly no medical authority, but nate, as I can testify from firsthand ob law, or the small segment of it he could it was just a reversion to old ways, I I did get some understanding of my servation. Of the boys who were topnot buy, Boo Boo had a growing num don’t know. How much of it was punch- problem. I learned that in the severe notchere during my own fighting days, ber of highly illegitimate irons in the drunkenness, I don’t know either. All I head thumping a boxer sometimes I could name a dozen who died young. fire. I fought under his management do know is that things were not good. takes, tiny arteries in and around the A couple died in the ring. The others I got married to a girl who was born only twice more, against second-raters died away from it, but as a direct re next door to me. She made things easier brain surface may be severed. This can sult, I am convinced, of ring injuries. whom I figured to whip —and did. lead to blood clots which, sooner or A New York stockbroker named for me, but I didn’t make them easier later, may cause anything from death, Jimmy Coster, my old manager, has Robert North bought up my contract for her. For two years I kept promising been in a mental institution for years. just as I was growing into the light There are others. The biggest group of weight class. Under him, I beat Babe casualties, though, and in some ways Herman, former lightweight champion the most pitiable, consists of the realH AZEL of Portugal, and had three fights with life Cauliflower McPugs—men who Lew Massey, one of the best boys in my have trouble holding onto the most new division. I won one and lost two. menial of jobs. One of the defeats came on a technical These tragic cases aren’t the fault of knockout —I had failed to get in condi anybody in particular. Looking back on my own experience, I can’t honestly tion. In 1931, and back in Philadelphia, I feel bitter toward any individuals. We got a curious sort of pleasure in grin were all out to make a buck, just as ning down at my old manager, Boo everyone is in the boxing business to Boo, after knocking out A1 Gordon, day —the promoters, the managers, the then the star of his stable, in the first fighters and even the referees, who sometimes cater to the box office by round of a ten-rounder that Gordon letting a fight continue after one man is was favored to win. But something was happening to me, helpless, because the fight fans love to and I knew it. In addition to momen see knockouts. All these things are in tary loss of co-ordination, brief mental herent in the nature of the fight game. blackouts and sudden waves of anger Then, can anything be done to re with no valid basis, I was coming to a duce the future toll of premature dis point many have come to in a declining ablement—and death? I believe so. It would require stricter boxing regula career. M y purses were getting smaller. The tions and rigid enforcement by boxing commissions. blackouts were getting longer. I was having lapses of memory both in the For one thing, commissions should ring and out. On at least two occasions make every effort to prevent mis I "came to” in the dressing room think matches. Of course, there can never be ing that I had been knocked out, only a scientifically exact way of grading to learn that I had kept on fighting— fighters. Even when a fight is in prog and won. I’ve found that a lot of people ress, very few persons see it alike. don’t believe this. I can only say that it That includes the officials, the boxing was not an experience peculiar to me. writers and the old pros at the ringside. There is hardly a veteran pug who However, what I mean is this: A hasn’ t gone through it. fighter on the definite downgrade Yet it never occurred to me that I should not be fed as so much meat to a might be heading in the same direction rising youngster unless he has passed "Y o u ’ve been took."’ as the broken-down ex-fightere I some muster in the most intensive sort of I B l S A T U R D A Y E V E N IN G P O ST times saw around. That couldn’t hap medical examination. pen to me, Harry Blitman. I was still I believe that more intensive medical the same Harry Blitman of whom Dr. examinations are the best hope for all paralysis and blindness to impairment Abe Baron, a neuropsychiatrist asso her that each fight was going to be my of physical or mental processes. fighters, young and old. It isn’t enough ciated with the Pennsylvania State last. Before her, I was, ashamed of my to check blood pressure, heart action, This last is the condition commonly trembling hands; the sharp, blind Athletic Commission, had written: eyes and ears. I think every available known as punch-drunkenness. Some " Blitman possesses a super-ego that headaches that jarred like sledge times it improves with the passage of medical tool should be used, such as hammer rights; the dizzy spells, the dominates his personality and indicates time. I was one of these lucky ones. I the electroencephalograph. This is an he takes advantage of every opportu sudden jerkiness and the ringing in my came back almost all the way physi instrument that charts brain-wave pat ears. Above all, I was ashamed of the nity to fight an opponent and over terns, much as the electrocardiograph way people stared at me on the street, cally, and my mind remained whole. whelm him.” charts heart action. It can often detect I decided that, with boxing behind Doctor Baron wrote this a few days and small boys sometimes pointed and me, what I wanted to do most was to symptoms of brain damage locked in before my Bass debacle in 1928, but it jeered, "H i, punchy!” side a man’s skull. I’d like to see the In 1934 a young boxer named Mike write. M y first chance was with the held true for as long as I was a fighter. Camden Courier-Post, across the river electroencephalograph used on every Marshall did me the great favor of con M y attitude wasn’t changed by de in New Jersey. I wrote a series of so- fighter, both before and after every feats. M y first disillusionment with the vincing me that I was finally washed called nostalgic pieces about old-time bout. up. It was at the Cambria Club, in fight game came over something else. In some resfleets a boxer is like an ring greats. It was strictly filler ma It was in 1930. I was living at a New Philadelphia, where I had fought often terial, but I was earning thirty to alcoholic. The alcoholic never believes on my way to the big time. The bout York hotel in Central Park West, fight thirty-five dollars a week and enjoying he is going to get drunk. He’s just go ing under Robert North and going very was a ten-rounder. M y puree was $300. it. ing to have one more, and he’s sure it well. I had had two fights with Harry Mike, I knew, couldn’t have carried my However, there are just so many won’t hurt him. In the same way, a bucket and towels six years before, but Carlton, a Jersey City favorite. We had in the last two rounds he gave me a ring greats. The material had to run out fighter never expects to get beaten, let each taken one decision. sometime. When it did, I was out of alone seriously hurt —not if he is level A third Blitman-Carlton fight had terrific beating and took the decision. work again. I caught on for a while as a ing and the apple of cowardice hasn’t When it was over, I said, "M ike, been scheduled. I had a guarantee of the last man who will ever lick stevedore at the Ford Motor Com come up in his throat. $5000 for the rubber match. I was you’re Like the alcoholic, the fighter doesn’t pany’s river-front plant in Chester, „ 99 loaded with debts, including hotel bills. me. Pennsylvania. Then at the outbreak of know when to stop. That’s why there Mike didn’t know what I meant. But North was getting tired of passing out World War II, I enlisted in the Navy should be more thorough medical ex five or ten bucks to me every day. Then my wife did when I repeated it to her as a physical-training instructor. After aminations—and more fighters retired at the last minute Carlton took sick. that night. I told her that this time I a year I was given a medical dis for their own good. More than any really meant it about retiring. She cried, The fight was canceled. thing else, a fighter needs to be pro charge. I walked along Broadway for hours, and she believed me. I had now been away from the fight tected from himself. He can be his own More than that, she got a job to keep trying to think. What could I do now game for ten years, and I still hadn’t worst enemy. How well I know! to square my financial obligations? I food on the table while I was getting re re-established myself. Then one day I T H E ENH adjusted. It wasn’t an easy adjustment. had no other trade. I would catch an

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POSTED the street in Barnard College, and, before that, Deutsch was born, in New York. How refreshing it is to do a biography backward for a change, or don’t you think so? NEVER A DULL T R IP R S. N E IL C LA RK often goes with her husband on articleresearch trips, and usually she finds this charming—and sometimes not charming. Example on the not side: the Clarks, who get their blood all thinned out living in Cedar Crest, New Mexico, are permanently im pressed by the way they nearly per ished from cold in a well-known hotel in a large city in New England (this sentence is nearly over) in winter. The bedrooms in this public icebox were air-conditioned, the windows, when closed, ushered in wind blasts around the edges. Mrs. Clark’s tech nique for surviving was to sit right beside the radiator, wearing a sweater, a jacket, an overcoat, and around her legs a blanket. After a while the weather turned real cold outdoors, and then the Clarks dwelt both day and night in their room with the shades down, drapes drawn, and blan kets overdraping the drapes. Ju st as Clark’s work was done, he wrote, " Last night, for some inexplicable reason, it got so ghastly hot in the hotel we feared we would melt. A reporter’s life is ju st one D TAA.” On the delightful hand, a fine time was had by Mrs. Clark when her husband interviewed orchidgrowers, page 22. A woman derives much joy from frequently being given orchids by gentlemen. And on this trip it was a poor day when Mrs. Clark did not garner a t least one orchid, compli ments of some courtly orchidologist. Once, in a hotel elevator, the oper ator glowed, "Flow ers, th at’s a nice lady you got o n !” If this story had been done in the New England hotel, the orchids would have lasted much longer.

L a s t-s u m m e r scen e a t W e stp o rt, C o n n e c tic u t: th e J o h n K o h le rs.

W IIA T A N IG H T! R O P H E T JO N E S , D etroit’s ex traordinary religious sect leader, will see an interviewer only when God tells him to. " In my case,” says John Kobler, page 20, "G od told him to keep me waiting five hours for our first talk.” During this period Kobler stored up quite a supply of restless ness. On the last day of his research— a task in which the Prophet’s publicrelations man, Ulysses Boykin, proved genially helpful—the writer attended Prophet Jones’ birthday celebra tion, being invited for 11:00 p .m . When, at 3:00 a .m ., the Prophet had not yet showed up, Kobler, who had been told he might borrow a copy of the sect’s ritual book, picked up one and de parted for his hotel, quite overwhelmed by restlessness. At 4:00 a .m . a disciple of the Prophet phoned Kobler to come right back with that book, and Kobler, who was typing notes from it so th at he could catch a morning plane, cried, " N O !” in capital letters. At 5:00 a .m . several disciples arrived and beat upon his bedroom door, filling him with rage. Refusing admittance, Kobler gal lantly typed on. At 5:15, hotel offi cials moved the besiegers down to the lobby. At intervals until 7:30 an as sistant manager kept phoning Kobler that they were camping out omi nously down there. When the disciples left, Kobler left for the airport, fast.

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B e h in d ap in g C h ia n g K a i-s h e k is th e G e n e r a lis s im o 's so n , s tro n g , e n ig m a tic a l C h in g k u o . H e lived in R u ss ia 1 2 y e a r s ,b u t now is a sw orn en em y o f th e R e d s. Is h e a m a n to d is t r u s t —o r o n e o f th e W e st's a s s e ts in R e d -b e s e t A sia?

There the author mailed the book to the Prophet, registering it and specify ing a delivery receipt. The book presently came back to him; the Prophet wouldn’t sign a receipt. Kob ler still has it. He says, "Although I was somewhat terrified in th at hotel room, it was a point of pride not to unlock the door.” All veteran Post authors are noble men like that.

IN TH E J E T LABO RATORY

U ST to keep a true perspective on scientific developments, let’s note J that Ronald Deutsch, when study ing the ultramodern Cal Tech Je t Lab oratory, page 36, met a science-fiction writer who is a calculating-machine operator a t the lab, and Deutsch re marked, " I guess you get lots of ideas working here.” The science writer, a lady named Mari Wolf, seemed ap palled. "F ro m this place? Too oldhat. Why, they’d laugh me right out of the society!” Deutsch thanked her and left without pausing to ask which society. Deutsch endeavors to be very blasé about his first Post article; says it’s really his twenty-third—" I ’ve been in Post Scripts twenty-two times, and an old hand like me ju st takes these things in stride.” He adds, "A lm ost” as if he meant to spell it, "Y ip p e e !” Deutsch free-lances out of Los Angeles with his wife, Patricia, who helps on research and is "blonde, lovely and remarkable.” Mrs. D. fell down a bit on the J e t Lab work, though; on the first day they were given a concen trated briefing on nuclear physics, higher mathematics and molecular chemistry (" I think th at’s what they were talking about”), and the lady threw up her hands in dismay and never went back again. Before Deutsch leaped into free-lancing, the Army, yanking him out of the Reserve, put him in a public-information headquar ters and " I did hazardous duty on Sunset Boulevard in Hollywood.” Be fore that, Deutsch, a t Columbia Uni versity, met Patricia, who was across

SO TH A T’S SE T T L E D

OL. J . A. B A R C L A Y , of the Ord nance Corps, writes that author Stanley Frank has cleaned up the cat situation at Picatinny Arsenal. In a January fifteenth article Frank ex plained that a tiny spark could cause a ghastly explosion a t the arsenal, and on this page he reported, very mod estly, that he had asked safety officials there whether a cat (a dandy gen erator of static electricity) might not stroll into a volatile area, and spark. Colonel Barclay says, "A truly valu able suggestion! In fact, it hit us like a ton of catnip.” Result: residents of the post ordered by Barclay to confine all cats. " Frank’s article was wonder ful,” the colonel glows. " I n fact, the cat’s miaow.”

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