Indianapolis Times, Volume 47, Number 241, Indianapolis, Marion County, 17 December 1935 — Page 17

It Seems to Me mil BROUN \ N excellent sermon on security was printed the other day on the editorial page of the Intelli-gencer-Journal, Lancaster. Fa. Here the case against the Manufacturers’ Association was set forth not only simply but specifically. “The National Manufacturers' Association,” says the editorial writer, “went on record and adopted a creed which is strictly anti-New Deal. Among the active men at that convention was Mr. H. W. Prentis Jr., president of the Armstrong Cork Cos., this city. In introducing the resolutions

Mr. Prentis spoke sternly and to the point. Among other things he is quoted by the Associated Press as saying, ’Let us reduce our message to those people who today have jobs and own property. Let us show that we are just as qualified to plan for social welfare and justice as those in government.’ "We agree with Mr. Prentis that ‘those with jobs and those with property are just as qualified to' pl.'O for social welfare and justice as those in government.’ But do we do it? “Let us look at the record.

Heywood Broun

“We have before us a letter of recommendation from an official of Mr. Prentis’ company to a man who was let out. It recommends him highly and concludes in substance that the man does no longer fit into the scheme of things at Armstrong Cork. tt tt u What About the Man? “XJOW us look at that man - He is past 60. His chance of getting another job is slight. It only takes one glance to agree that his fingers are not as nimble as they were once r.or could he stand a pace too often required in this mechanical age. If it were not indirectly for the WPA that man would be on the breadline. He is a derelict of returning prosperity. He is a human being with scarcely a place to lay his head. “Was it the duty of Mr. Prentis’ company to provide for this man under the theory that ‘those of us who have, jobs and own property’ know what to do? No. That man had not given the best years of his life to his company. He had been an employe for only three, maybe five years. Any internal setup would be an imposition on all the rest of the employes if social security were provided. “Right there Mr. Prentis misses the point and the idea of the New Deal, which is to provide a social security for a fellow man, no matter by whom or why he is bufleted into penury in his declining years. “To do this the start is going to cost a good deal. But after a while, let us say a full decade, the situation will right itself and the man from Armstrong, w'hose fingers are no longer nimble and whose body will not stand the pace, can be discharged wiih the knowledge of those at the top that none of their employes, who have given even a few years of fine service, will have to go wandering about, hither and yon, without knowing where the next meal is coming from. V tt tt tt Wrong Place for Politics “TT does seem to us that there is or ought to be Ano politics in such a matter. ‘I am my brother’s keeper,’ says the Good Book. There is no better time for the material salvation of that brother than now. “The gulf between the Manufacturers’ Association and the New Deal is: Shall we in fact become our brother’s keeper, or shall we, reading that sacred passage, ‘I am my brother’s keeper,’ go on, smug in our jobs and in the ownership of our property while gray hairs and stiffened fingers seek a place to rest?” I have far less confidence in the New Deal than the Intelligencer-Journal possesses, but I have cited the editorial as an instance of the fact that there is nothing radical in the necessity of legislation for social security. It can not be left to the benevolence of the individual boss. Mr. Prentis has said that the man of property is just as capable as the government of attending to these matters. But the pertinent query is, When is he going to get around to them? (Copyright, 1935)

Your Health -BY DR. MORRIS FISIIBEIN

EAT a well-balanced diet containing portions of all the nutritious food substances, and you needn't worry about getting the proper variety of proteins in your system. Furthermore, if a child will drink a quart of milk a day, and an adult a pint, the proteins of the milk will supplement those of all the other foods. Dietary experts classify the proteins into animal and vegetable types. They also separate the complete from the incompelte proteins. But you should know that the same food may have several different proteins, some complete, others incomplete. Eggs, cheese, nuts, and lean meats of all sorts contain a great quantity of complete proteins. So does milk. Cereals do not provide much in the way of complete proteins, but we eat so much of these foods that they “add up” in quantity. Peas and beans al&o are fairly good sources of protein. Now, you may ask. if a well-balanced diet is all that we need to provide us with protein, why does the Eskimo, for example, go to one extreme and stuff himself with an oversupply of this substance by confining himself to a meat diet, and on the other hand what happens to people who go on starvation diets? tt U * WELL, the Eskimo eats so much meat because he does not get bread, fresh vegetables, fresh fruits, salt and sugars in other forms. The meat—estimated to amount to 4000 pounds a year for a family of four—takes the place of all the other foods. In the case of the person on a starvation diet, the nitrogenous or protein material stored in his body begins to be used up. The protein is deprived of its nitrogen and converted into sugar, to keep up the sugar supply in the blood and thus permit the body to have sufficient fuel. Under conditions of starvation. 58 per cent of the weight of the protein in the body may turn to glucose and be burned, along with the fat, to supply the body with fuel. And when the fat supply is exhausted. the protein becomes the sole source of bodily fuel. Here is the danger of the starvation diet. As the protein is used up for glucose, the nitrogen output is raised, and the tissues undergo serious changes, which eventually may lead to death.

Today's Science BY DAVID DIETZ

MAN possesses free will. This is the latest opinion of science, according: to Dr. Arthur Compton, professor of physics at the University of Chicago, and world-famous authority upon cosmic rays and the quantum theory. Dr. Compton bases his opinion upon one of the newer developments of quantum theory, the so-called Heisenberg ‘ principle of uncertainty,” first enunciated by Dr. Werner Heisenberg. Is a man a machine? A few years, ago Clarence* Darrow went up and down the land, debating the question with clergymen and other scholars. But the question is much older than Clarence Darrow. ana DURING the Nineteenth Century, the answer to the question became increasingly “yes.” The structure of the universe, according to Nineteenth Century science was a mechanistic one in which the law of cause and effect ruled supreme. But the Twentieth Century scientists are no longer certain that cause and effect rul; so supreme in the universe that one can imagine an unbroken series of causes extending from the events of today back (o the events which took place when the solar system took shape. It is possible. Dr. Compton says, that we live in a world of chance m which man has free will and control of his own actions.

Full Wire Service of tti® Fnif®d Press Assooiafion.

MY RENDEZVOUS WITH LIFE

In her Initial article the author dwelt upon the boundlessness of life. Today she recounts and draws wisdom from childish fears of life's end. tt tt tt CHAPTER TWO “IV/f Y work is only beginning.” In other words, the exIVi. penences in each particular life are just the series of related incidents that go to make up all experience. When we compare the 20 or 40 or 80 years of one life span with the eternity through which each one of us as immortal souls shall live, it is only like a passing moment; one to be used as profitably and happily as possible, bat never considered as all there is to expect. I wish such things had been explained to me when I was a child. Somewhere, probably from my religious instruction, a ghastly fear of death was instilled in me. That dreadful little prayer, “Now I lay me down to sleep,” terrified me. “If I should die before I wake” filled me with a horror of passing away in my sleep. I had hell-fire and the pictures in Dante’s “Inferno”—those dismal inky engravings—and a lot of other old-school bugaboos mixed up in my young mind. And even as a tiny girl I began to dread the time when I must lose my mother. I loved Mama so very much; we were not only mother and daughter, but the greatest friends, who worked and laughed and played together. We always talked things over. But I never told her of my fear, though many nights I sobbed myself to sleep over it. All my life, even in my happiest moments, it would stab through me like a knife. And when the time came when she finally went away, my first thought was, “It has happened. The thing that has tortured me all these years is here!” Now that childish ignorance was all wrong. Babies shouldn’t be allowed to suffer like that. If I had a little girl she would be taught from the beginning that life on this plane is a game, a thrilling adventure. And that when she and I and all the others have lived this experience just as well as we know how, there will be only more thrilling adventures lying ahead, and nothing to fear, ever. There were times in my mother’s life that were very

He's Probably a Miser, Ernie Reminds Self as He Tries to Forget Pitiful Old Man Seeking Better Price for Poor Tobacco at Sale

BY ERNIE PYLE GREENEVILLE, Tenn., Dec. 17. —I don’t know why I'm always going around crying about old men, but here’s another one that practically got me down. You couldn’t really call this old fellow cross-eyed, because when he was facing north one eye was going northwest, and the other was headed for the blue sky above. You couldn’t even begin to guess what his optical intentions were. He had a rather kindly square face, cleanly shaven. He just had parts of several teeth. He had on bibbed blue overalls and a tan flannel shirt without a tie, and the coat from his good brown suit and his new hat. He was poor looking, but he was clean as a pin. Sometimes I think there's nothing that makes poverty so pitiful as when native cleanliness shows through the rags. This old fellow had four baskets of tobacco in a warehouse in Greeneville for the tobacco auction. The auctioneer and the buyers and checkers swept past his tobacco, sold it in two shakes of a quick lamb's tail, and went on. They left the old man standing there. He stepped over and picked up the card on top of each pile. He looked at each one. Then he took and tore a half-circle in the bottom of two of the four cards. \ man with papers on a clipboard looked back and shouted to another man. “There’s a fellow tearing his card.” The other guy said. “O. K.” “What does that mean?” I asked one of them. “That means he wasn't satisfied with the price. They'll auction it over again when they get through.” a a a T STOOD there looking at the tobacco. Even I, who had never seen raw tobacco close up till a half-hour before, could tell it was mighty poor grade. J' looked like dried weeds. The old man was there all alone with his tobac-o. The swarming crowd 1 passed on up the line. He was going from one pile to another, picking up bunches and

The Indianapolis Times

“When I was a child, that dreadful little 'prayer,'Now I lay me down to sleepterrified me.”

looking at them, as if he liked them. Finally he straightened up and started talking to somebody behind me, and to a fellow up in the rafters. I looked around and there wasn't anybody within 200 feet. Then I said “Oh, yes,” and paid attention. “I’d let it go if they’d paid 20 cents,” he said. “I worked too hard to let it go for this.” I looked at the card. It was marked 15 cents. Other tobacco was bringing 30 cents a pound. He pointed to another basket. “I didn't expect much for them tops, but it looks to me they’re worth more than 7 cents.” They didn’t look worth anything to me, but then, of course, I never saw raw tobacco till a half-hour before. So I said, “Yes. it looks like it.” He just stood there waiting, as if he didn't know for what.

LAZY PLAYER WOULD LOSE WITH THIS HAND

Today’s Contract Problem Here is an interesting hand selected from the recent Georgia state tournament. Try to make six diamonds for South, 4A9 6 4 VAK Q 4 ♦A9 7 2 ♦ J AKS r. 14-71075 VJBS 3 N 3 ♦ J 10 S 5 W E v 109 7 6 4 S 4 Void * lO3 Dealer |Q9 7 4 4Q2 V 2 ♦KQ $ 3 4AKB 6 5 2 None vul. Opener—<V 3 Solution in next issue. 10

Solution to Previous Contract Problem BY W. E. M'KENNEY Secretary American Bridre Learne BRIDGE is a highly educational game, giving the best of training to the faculties of memory, observation and logical

INDIANAPOLIS, TUESDAY, DECEMBER IT, 1935

...by MARY PICK F O R D hard—times when she suffered privation and trouble and pein. But though I once raged bitterly against the injustice of such experiences coming to her, I realize now that this was not the sum and total of her life. She has progressed; and to progress means to advance toward a better state. Her span here u T as only a moment in eternity—as if she had fallen asleep in her own lovely garden and dreamed that she had spent years in a dank prison only to awaken a moment later to find herself safe and secure in her own place. tt tt THAT isn’t just a fairy tale to comfort a child. It is what the great thinkers of all times have assured us. “Death is not a journeying into an unknown land,” Ruskin tells us, “it is a voyage home. We are going not to a strange country, but to our Father’s house, and among out kith and kin.” You see, he didn’t mind making the journey. And I don’t believe any one else does when the time actually arrives. When I was 18 years old I was so gravely ill the doctors said I couldn’t live. I knew this; and I remember when the moment came that I was slipping away, I had the most marvelous feeling of lightness and well-being and peace. I thought, “So, this is it.” And I was glad. But all of a sudden a terrible clamor disturbed me. It drew me back. And when I opened my eyes I saw that it was Mother crying and taking on at a great rate. I was very much annoyed. But I looked sweetly up at her and murmured, “God bless you, Mama, darling.” Then I closed my eyes again. Now I suppose if I had really gone ahead and made

T SUPPOSE I imagine too much -*■ about people like that. You let your imagination get going, and you gat to feeling sorry for an old man, and you think how cruel the world is to one individual, and how helpless he is, and it wouldn’t have been so bad if he hadn’t been so cockeyed, and so clean, too. If you’ve got a lot of nerve you can find out all about anybody like that, and maybe ease your mind. But somehow I can’t just walk up and say “What’s your name and middle initial, old man, and how much income tax do you pay? Have you ever been up in an airplane, and do you cut your own hair or does your wife cut it?” I never could go up and find out all about a guy quick, the way some reporters do. So my imagination gets going, and I see the poor old man with

deduction, besides developing the imagination and teaching practical psychology. To enjoy bridge thoroughly, you have to learn how to analyze a hand from several different angles. You must not take things for granted, and then have something go wrong and blame it on bad luck. Have you carefully studied today's hand? You are in a four heart contract and the opponents have cashed the first three tricks. West makes a very good play by knocking out your ace of spades. You now' have to take the rest of the tricks. The lazy player would immediately pick up the trump, hoping that the diamonds would break three-three, but the student of the game would go further. He would say to himself, “I can still make the hand, even if the diamonds are not evenly divided.” In analyzing the hand, you can see that it can be made, even with the diamonds divided four-two, by establishing the fifth diamond; but the trump entry must be conserved. Declarer should win the spade lead with the ace of spades and cash the ace nnd king of hearts and then the king of diamonds.

the journey, my family would have remembered me as a pious little angel whose last thought was to bless her dear ones. But the truth of the matter was, I was simply trying to trick Mother into being quiet so that I could get away without any fuss. And when my plan didn’t work and she kept on sobbing, I decided that it might, after all, be wrong to go away and leave her. And so I came back and got well. tt tt tt MIND you, I am not saying that separation isn’t pretty terrible for the ones who are left behind. No one knows that better than I do. And yet when my mother went happily away on a trip to Europe I was perfectly satisfied to remain in Hollywood, busy with making a new' picture. Mama was on the other side of the W’orld, but because I loved her so much she seemed nearer to me than the people I could reach out and actually touch. After all, it is not the separation that puts us on the rack so much as it is our doubts over what may be happening to the departed one. And, besides this torturing uncertainty, there is always that demon, Self-Pity, who comes to every bereaved person and slyly robs him of his last shred of courage. Not long after my ow'n sorrow a friend of mine, a famous comedienne, whom I shall call Ann, lost her mother. They had been inseparable companions and her grief was terrible. A mutual friend called me on the telephone and said, “Mary, try to help her. She may listen to you because she will know you understand. Anyway, we must get her out of this, or I don’t know what may happen.” When I arrived at her home I was told she was prostrated—too crushed to see any one. But the doctor came out of her room just then and said. “Go in, Miss Pickford. You may know what to say to her.” TOMORROW: The Folly of Grief. (Copyright, 1935, by the Pickford Corp. Distributed by United Feature Syndicate)

his four little baskets of tobacco that he’s been grubbing away at since last spring, fertilizing and hoeing, and curing in his old barn all these months, and his old hillside not fit to raise cockleburrs, and then he dresses up and brings his harvest to town and puts it alongside all those other men’s baskets, and he walks along and sees tobacco selling for 22 and 28 and even 33 cents a pound, and they get to him and the buyers pick up a bunch and throw it back down almost without looking at it, and knock it off for 15 cents and it’s all over. His whole year's work, it’s all over just like that. And the old man stands there and looks at it with his crazy eyes. I don’t know why I have to worry about old men like that. If I looked him up I’d probably find he w*as an old miser with $30,000 in the bank, and so stingy he never got married. That’s what

4 J 9 V Q 10 3 ♦AQ 7 4 * . 4jlo 4 4QO 5 [4K1084 V 8 6 2 W r 2 ♦96 W c fc V 7 4 4AKQSS ♦ J 10 8 3 5 Dealer 47 2 4 A7 3 VAK J 9 5 ♦ K 5 *963 Duplicate—None vul. South West North East IV 24 24 Pass 3 V Pass 4 V Pass Opening lead—4 K. 10 A small diamond should be played, winning in dummy with the ace. At this point declarer must not make the mistake of leading back the queen of diamonds, but must lead a small diamond and trumji high in his own hand. Now a small heart can be led and won in dummy with the queen. Declarer’s two losing spades can now be discarded on the queen-seven of diamonds. (Copyright, 1933. NEA Service. lac.)

I’ll bet he is, and I hope they take his runty tobacco and ram it down his throat and throw him out in the road. That’s what I hope. Only I wish I could get rid of that vision of him standing there all alone after the others had gone on, picking up bunches of his tobacco and feeling of them, and looking at them as though they meant something to him. INDIANA SOCIALISTS LINE WITH THOMAS Opposing Faction Is Denounced by State Secretary. Allegiance of the Indiana Socialist Party to the national faction led by Norman Thomas, 1932 presidential nominee, was announced today by Forrest S. Rogers, state executive secretary. Charging that the faction opposing Mr. Thomas “sought to tear down the party it could no longer control,” a statement over Mr. Rogers’ signature declares an overwhelming majority of party branches joined the new national central committee controlled by Mr. Thomas. FHA CONTINUES CLINIC IN ARCHITECTS BUILDING No Date Set for Closing; 1200 Persons Visit Offices. Federal Housing Administration clinic is to continue indefinitely in the Architects and Builders Building, Pennsylvania and Vermont-sts, R. Earl Peters, state FHA director, announced today. Hours are from 1:30 to 4:30. The clinic opened Dec. 4, scheduled for four days, and was continued 10 days. Then directors decided to make the duration indefinite. Applications for loans for constructing and modernizing homes and for insured mortgages total nearly $1,500,000. Approximately 1200 persons have visited the clinic.

Second Section

Kntered m Second-ClM* M*U®f at Indianiipol . Ind.

Fair Enough MM HER ROME, Dec. 17.—0f all the eminent American* who prospered during the big boom there was none more deserving to be called the perfect flower of the era of wonderful nonsense than the late Sidney Smith, the comic artist, who drew the Gumps. Sidney was Andy Gump himself. He was a moneylover at heart, and as he made money beyond his own most fabulous dreams he expressed his joy by raising Andy from modest circumstances to vast wealth. Early in the game, as his own earnings increased, he put Andy into the

stock market and won him a fortune. Not content with that he presently invented a long-lost uncle from Australia, Bimbo Gump, the billionaire. Sidney took a childish delight in depicting Bimbo Gump surrounded by huge stacks of curency and strong-boxes bursting with jewels and gold. From time to time, out of Bimbo’s incalculable horde, he passed out new fortunes to Andy and the family. Money was a subject that was always on his mind. His work was autobiographical, so he used riches as the theme

of his long continuity. To describe Sidney as a money-lover is not to say that he was uncommonly stingy or greedy. It startled him to find the money pouring in on him after many years of experimenting with comic strip characters on the Chicago papers. His amazement grew as his royalties mounted. Sid erected a statue of Andy Gump on his estate. He had likenesses of Andy and Min Gump emblazoned on his automobile which was the most luxurious that money could buy. He took a house in Palm Beach, and on one side of the foyer hung a plaster plaque of Andy, on the other side a plaque of Min. He hired a retired prizefighter to box with him, for he was a good-sized man with a childish desire to punch people on the nose and boast of fist fights that he had won. tt a They Thought He Could Fight night in Ne\y Orleans he spent a. whole hour V-/ going over his conquests for the entertainment of a dark-brown tactful listener. There had been a waiter in Toledo, a fresh bellhop in Miami and a taxi driver who had tried to short-change him in New York. Sock-sock-sock! Sidney had socked them all and left them for dead. Is that so? ’ exclaimed Jack Dempsey admiringly. “Those certainly must have been wonderful fights. I certainly wish I could have seen those fights.” On his fiftieth birthday Sidney gave a party for about 50 persons in Palm Beach. He led off with caviar at $3 a copy and wound up with black cherries in burning brandy, also at $3 per head. And from start to finish of the long evening, the waiters were bringing in champagne at $25 a quart. “I make so much money I don’t know what to do with it,” Sidney said. “I’ve got a yacht, too. But, God, Im tired! I do five miles of road work every morning, but this morning I did seven miles. How is that for a man 50?” Turning to the woman sitting next to him Sidney switched around in his chair, placed her hand on his leg and said, “Feel that! How is that for a man 50 years old! Feel my arm, too. How is that for an arm?” Sidney suffered a painful social and professional rebuff that winter when the artists and writers’ golf tournament was held in Palm Beach. Meaning no harm, he called around to meet the New York artists in the tournament and soon was telling them how much money he made. He made more than any two of them together. But the New York artists had a low opinion of his art and the humorists thought his humor horrible. “Flagg—” Sidney began, addressing James Montgomery Flagg, a man of poisonous moods. “Mr. Flagg to you, Smith,” said Mr. Flagg, and turned away. Sid couldn’t understand the aloofness of the New York men. He never went back. a a tt Andy Presidential Timber WHETHER Andy Gump was humor or not he became a famous American character. If there was anything humorous in Sidney’s favorite exclamations, “Oh, Min!” and “Soup’s on!” it was very obscure to the intelligentsia, but they became popular expressions and millions of people thought they were funny. Andy Gump received nominating votes in two national party conventions and isolated popular votes on several election days. Sidney himself became a celebrity, in demand as a speaker or guest at Babbitt luncheons. State Legislatures invited him to honor them with a visit. He loved it. He was a great American big shot, growing richer all the time, and the routine by which he manufactured situations and drawings was now so well organized that he became almost an absentee comic artist. He had a continuity man to write his material and a forger or ink-monkey to go over the penciled outlines with ink. And strangest of all in Sidney Smith’s career was that his creature, his personality on paper, Andy Gump, was a flagrant violation of the original character as it had been handed to him in 1917. His instructions were to keep Andy Gump in moderate circumstances, the typical, socially clumsy, suburban American husband of a commonplace wife and father of a brat child. As this character began to bring in rich royalities Sidney correspondingly improved the fortunes of Andy Gump until Andy, like Sidney himself, was rolling in money. So Sidneys career was the realization of the ambition of the greatest number of Americans. He never got education or refinement. He just got enormously rich.

Times Books

FISH ON THE STEEPLE,” by Ed Bell (Farrar and Rinehart: $2.50). is an unusual sort of novel—and rather a good one, to boot. It takes precisely the sort of material which furnishes such a writer as Erskine Caldwell with material for grim tragedy and builds a comedy about it; not a rib-tickling farce, but a broadly tolerant tale which is comedy in the old sense, with an understanding and a quiet humor which can take life's ugliness right in its stride. Mr. Bell tells about a small town in the Ten nessee mountains. His people are neither “mountain whites,” as we outlanders understand them, nor ordinary small-towners, but a sort of half-and-half mixture. nan THEY live in poverty, ignorance, and superstition, and primitive emotions are close to the surface; but instead of looking down on them as a subhuman species. Mr. Bell understands them, sympathizes with them, and makes us do the same. His p’ot has to lo w-ith a young giant of a brickyard hand who falls in love with the town belle and, after many tribulations, wins her. Woven into it are a gorgeousu fire, a Ku-Klux whipping bee, fights, drunkenness, and enough everyday cussing to stock an old-fashioned livery stable. The book is outspoken, and your Aunt Anna might find it pretty shocking and deplorable. You get the feeling, however, that Mr. Bell hasn’t tried to be shocking; he has simply tried to present a faithful picture of a rude, plain-spoken, and frequently brutal people. (By Bruce Catton.)

Literary Notes

Anew magazine, called New Frontiers, will be launched Jan. 1 by the League for Industrial Democracy, whose object is education for anew social order based upon production for use and not for profit. New Frontiers is announced as “periodical studies in economics and politics.”

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Westbrook Peglcr