Indianapolis Times, Indianapolis, Marion County, 18 August 1936 — Page 14

{EYWOOD BROUN

NEW YORK, Aug. 18.—Of all national campaigns this is the strangest, for with the election many weeks away every‘body is running except John D. M. Hamilton and Franklin D. Roosevelt.

At any rate, the Republican nominee, Gov. Landon, is tossing snowballs at Peggy Ann in Colorado, Mr. Hearst is in Europe, Borah is in eclipse and the campaign is left to Roosevelt,

Coughlin, Col. Knox and Gerald Smith. Evidently Hamilton intends to let the Hessians do most of the fighting for his side, and why not? In Cleveland, Gerald L. K. Smith promised to recruit an army of a ‘I million storm troopers to insure “| fair dealing in the defeat of Roosevelt. Chaos is just around the corner, according to the Rev. Smith, and he wants to be ready when the great day comes. He and his trained million are going to proMr. Broun tect the Constitution and our forms of government, At a N¢w York showing before the Dutch Treat Club, Gerald winked in the middle of a tirade and, grinning at his audience, said, “How am I doing?” It was the same speech which he delivered at the National Press Club a little later. But this time Gerald L. K. Smith gave the correspondents the gtraight, or radio, version of his sales talk, One of the commentators told me last week: “I was really shocked. Gerald went very well with a lot of the boys. They. really took him seriously, and he. got quite a hand. After all, maybe there's no political sap like a political reporter.”

Converts Mark Sullivan

HOPED that my friend spoke more in sorrow than in accuracy, but it turns out that the upstanding orator who can lay them in the aisles down in the red clay parishes of Louisiana was not without success along the banks of the Potomac. He made at least one notable convert. Mark Sullivan, in the Herald Tribune, finds that G. L. K. Smith is the mouthpiece of the Forgotton Man. According to Mr. Sullivan, the preacher put himself in right with his press club audience at the start by telling ~a comic story. “He told it superbly,” writes Mr. Sullivan, “It was the story of the widow at the funeral who, in the midst of the laudatory_eulogistic sermon, got up and walked over to the coffin to make sure it was really her husband who was in the box.” Of course, it isn’t a very funny story, but perhaps the preacher did it with a brogue and maybe gestures. “He was much of Bryan,” writes the Tribune's big view-with-alarm boy. “And the part of him that is comparable with Bryan is as good as Bryan except that he has not Bryan's range of voice.”

J ”

Finds ‘Something Fine’ TILL, he is able to swing from the gay anecdote about the funeral to a solemn presentation of the political issues and carry the Tribune's Mr. Sullivan along with him. Somebody must have tipped the veteran journalist off to the fact that some people think that Gerald is a rabble rouser because Mark ‘Sullivan. defends him on that score. “Under the spell of his oratory,” he observes, “one felt that there : something fine and to some extent justified in the indignation with which he answered those who call him a rabble rouser.” Indeed, Mr. Sullivan goes on to be more definite on this. “something fine” quality in the speech of the Rev. Gerald L. K. Smith. 4 “He thinks,” Mark Sullivan explains, “the Rooseelt Administration is taking America into communism, and he thinks of himself as leading a counterrevolutionary movement to--hold - America to its. old form of society and government . . . it is in behalf of religion that the Protestant Rev. Mr. Smith and the Catholic Father Coughlin have united.”

I wonder whether Mark Sullivan ever heard the

story of the farmer who asked the hired man whether his dog would like some stale taffy candy. “I don’t know,” said the hired man. “He never had any, but he goes down to the pig pen and eats. If he can stand that I guess he'd just go crazy over ”

My Day

BY ELEANOR ROOSEVELT

YDE PARK, N. Y., Monday.—¥ have always known that I am not as good a night owl as either my husband or my children, I can get up in the morning very much more easily, in fact it is a standing joke that I often have to remind people who have been called when I was, that the time really has arrived to get up. When evening comes, however, and I have been up since 6:30, out in the air most of the day swimming or riding, I can hardly keep awake. The rest of my family is wider and wider awake as the evening goes on and no amount of hinting on my part -will move them toward bed. Last night we were discussing the ever present question of what is going. to happen during the next few years in this troubled world of ours. The result was that 11 o'clock and 12 o'clock went by and it was 12:40 before I could get my husband staried for bed. I was deeply interested in the discussion, but like Martha of old, somewhat concerned about the practical details of life. Two of us had to make early trains on Monday morning, and I will say that 7:30 breakfast this morning seemed very. close to 1 a m, . We all went out to the main highway this morning to see the Sixty-second Coast Artillery, U. S. A, go by. Col. Ferguson had one of the anti-aircraft guns driven into our big field, and the men unlimbered and showed us how it was operated. The day was hot, the sun was full upon them, and I didn’t blame the boy I heard murmuring under his breath: : . “Gee, it wouid be us!” { The President, however, was very much interested in seeing all the latest developments and the children wanted to know what every thing was for. I realized my own terrific ignorance when some things went by which looked like inverted speakers and I discovered they were listening devices. . At last all the excitement was over, the state trooper had succeeded in keeping the traffic going and preventing accidents in spite of the regiment's rolling by. Passing cars noticed the President’s car parked and as they discovered him would slow up to wave, or go by looking annoyed because they could not understand why the traffic was being held up. (Copyright, 1936, by United Feature Syndicate, Inc.)

New Books

THE PUBLIC LIBRARY PRESENTS—

ize recent reactions from our were slight compared with those of

Famed Singer Recalls ‘Exciting Days in ‘Bohemia.’

CHAPTER TWO OOKING back, at that memorable first day in New York, realizing the meager assets I had to offer in my quest for success, how can I, today, fail to sympathize with the many eager beginners who write to me and bare their own brave plans and golden dreams? Who will dare to discourage them? Who can discourage them, if they

keep courage high and ambition aflame? I possessed a ‘good natural voice, an exaggerated valuation of the little training I had received, a wealth of self-confi-dence and a profound faith in the kindness of fate. I had nothing more.

My life had been spent in a little mountain town, “a miliion miles - from Broadway.” The theatrical world, with its jealousies, its fierce competition and its sensationalism, was as unknown to me as it would be to 2 visitor from Mars. I had no influential friends. I had cut myself off from - parental backing. I had only a few dollars. I had no practical experience in living, for even the schools I had attended, convent-like, prevented their students from brushing elbows with life. Blanche and I found a little apartment in Greenwich Village —the “Sodom” of my Sunday school teacher’s warnings. I was both delighted and afraid. The perils and pitfalls of New York had been dinned into my ears from childhood and my imagination had exaggerated them. I longed for friendships—and yet I distrusted people. In all probability, I was the most naive person in all NewYork. The friendliness of the pecple I met soon disarmed me, however, and I quickly slipped into the stream of the village's life. And a delightful, carefree, stimulating life it was! . 2 2 a DISCOVERED that Bohemianism, my Sunday school teachers notwithstanding, is a state of mind; not a mede of misconduct. It is the extreme simplification of living, the worship of freedom, the glorification of the mental and the subjugation of the merely physical. It implies the elimination of every responsibility excepting the development of a talent. Walter Pater, great essayist and philosopher, wrote: “Not the fruit of experience, but experience itself, is the end. A counted number of pulse beats is given to each of us. We have an interval in listlessness, some in high passions, but the wisest at least among the art and song. Art comes to you proposing frankly to give nothing but the highest quality to your moments as they

pass. . . . That, I think, is the philosophy of the true Bohemian. I made it mine. I began to understand that the trail I had undertaken might be long, but I also found the joy of toiling to develop, a talent. Without losing sight of my ultimate goals, I learned to prize each day and each moment as a precious fragment of the whole—

~ TUESDAY, AUGUST 18, 1936

‘ist at all.

-Cat Cafe.

an interval to be spent in glorious living. “Soon there were four of us sharing that drafty, dank half-furnished apartment. One was a dancer, one was a secretary, one was a sculptress, one was a 4 singer. And I think that any one of us, hearing “Rudolfo” in La Boheme sing the : aria, “Your Tiny Hands Are Frozen,” will always think, instinctively, of that Greenwich Village apartment. . ” 2 ” E were so poor that we lived from hand to mouth and counted ourselves lucky to exMore than once, we had to dodge our landlord, and we learned all the tricks of cooking on gas jets and ironing on window panes. But we were in Bohemia, where poverty is no disgrace. If we could not give chairs to our guests, they were content to sit on the floor; if we could not serve them banquets, they. were well satisfied to eat cheese and crackers. I learned the folly of false pride and the stupidity of pretense. It is interesting to note, in passing, that all four of us have had interesting careers. The dancer became a js segretary married: no y = S today os of Europe : mous hostesses; and the sculptress won an outstanding position in her art—and with it the love of many men, two of whom committed suicide because she could : not return their love. wr Of the four, then, I was considered the most fortunate, for I was assured of one full meal every day. I had a job! Every night I sang for my supper in the Black It was a dingy little place, reeking with odors of Italian condiments and cigaret smoke —but it is one of the important milestones in my career. It of= fered my first professional employment. It gave me confidence, for with it I crossed the line of demarcation and became a ‘‘performer,” rather than an’ amateur. Meanwhile, I haunted every casting office in New York, employing every argument that popped into my mind in the search for a chance on the stage. I had many chorus offers, but I rejected them all with hauteur.

“I can sing!” I maintained.

I announced myself as “Miss

LET'S. EXPLORE YOUR MIND

BY DR. ALBERT EDWARD WIGGAM

2 = =

SO A leading writer main-

tains in a book on character ; 1 don’t agree 1 or

e's. most fa= | = : | stands in the

A song floats from the throat of lovely Grace Moore as she appears in the motion picture, “The King Steps Out.” With her in this picture is Franchot Tone.

Grace Elizabeth Moah of Jellico, Tenn,” and invariably the an.nouncement brought smiles, for my Southern accent, in those days, was so-prondunced that the average Yankee hardly could understand me. For the benefit of one of the larger offices, I remember I concocted an elaborate fable about my “professional experience.”

2 2 ”

“Y WAS starred in California in ‘The Lilac Domino’—I was very successful on the Pacific Coast,” I insisted—and, for weeks, could not understand why every one in that office howled with glee whenever I made my claim. Then—imagine my embarrassment!—I discovered that that very agency had actually supplied. the entire cast for the far-Western road company of “The Lilac Domino!” Finally, my persistence was rewarded by the ingenue lead in the touring company of “Suite Sixteen.” To my joy—and hers— Blanche Le Garde also found a joh-with that. e _company.:And what a tour W& had! One-night t were played before apathetic audiences in barnlike theaters only one degree warmer than the blizzards outside. Sometimes we travéled on jerkwater trains, sometimes we trav-

“the hardships of

eled - by :: truck—but always we traveled. And I hope I may recall without being accused of vanity that the outstanding hit of the show was my solo, an immortal gem entitled, “First You Wiggle and Then You Waggle!” Or did the waggle come first? I could remember then. I can’t now.

» ” #

E seldom played to enough” business to pay our salaries, but we all pulled together and made every sacrifice to keep the show going. And. I was intoxicated

with ‘the thrill of +. ab last, a trouper, able to accept ighéerfully a“touf through

“The sticks” and go on with the show. - Our manager, however, was less: willing to accept hardships. One . dreary morning in the snowbound hinterland of North Dakota, we discovered that he had absconded with all of the ‘company funds. And there were we, stranded, until the Actors’ Equity Association came to the rescue, - paigiour: hotel bills and provided. ) with transportation back East. 8 #0 % LANCHE and I arrived in New York on a snowy, blustery Christmas morning. We were

iting

cold; we were hungry, and we had

® MOORE

exactly 25 cents between us. But we still had the courage—or the folly, if you prefer—to laugh. at our plight and call ‘it adventure. A warm .apartment and a Christmas dinner, a veritable banquet, must be found, we decided, and forthwith put our wits to work. Fortunately, it was Christmas, and the fact that the banks ‘were closed provided us with a sound alibi for our lack of. cash. We donned our best patrician manners and soon succeeded in renting an apartment—the rest to be paid as soon as we could cash checks. And then I telephoned Reubens, the famous “sandwich man.” ’ “I am Miss Grace Elizabeth Moore,” I announced. Apparently he was not at all impressed, so I hastened to cite a number of Broadway's most famous bonvivantes as references. “Please send a full course turkey ‘dinner to our apartment—and we must ask you to charge it, since we have just returned to the city and the banks are closed.” Those “references” decided the issue. We ATE—and Reuben, who had a sense of humor, was good sport enough to wait for nearly three months for payment. He and I have been the best of ever since. ¥4& pan days, to be sure, but there were more to come;

(To Be Contintied)

JOHNSON FLAYS BOONDOGGLING

minus the requirement of the latter

that the workers must need. relief. It is like hundreds of WPA projects,

except that it is on priyate land. It is like CCC, except that it is not exclusively for boys. ”

(Gen. Johnson writes thrice weekly.)

BY HUGH S. JOHNSON | ETHANY BEACH, Del, Aug. 18.—The owner of much of this stretch of beach at Bethany, Del.,] holds the original parchment proprietary. deed. It is dated 1688, and is a grant to a man named Daisey. Daiseys, Bennets, Rickfords, MecGees—all are original grantees, all are names continuously repeated on local tombstones for 250 years, and scores of them are still living hereabouts.

I met some of them today. They are, among some 70 others, workers for Dr. Tugwell’s Resettlement project No. 8 on Assawoman Creek—an

-junpeopled wooded peninsula between

shallow tidal estuaries. - There are. hundreds of acres of second growth bull-pine, enveloped: to seaward by thousands of acres of marsh, Landward are abandoned farms, ruined houses, and some of the tombstones I have ‘mentioned, hidden in the slashings or half-con-cealed by sweetbriar.- For several miles before you come to the rich inland acres it is a ' thin-seiled, worked-out land that will never produce again. ‘ : 2.8 8, : timber is knotty, resinous: and not merchantable—not even for firewood, because it is too re-

few livings were eked out on this thin spil. The marshes are as waste as ever, but the ownerless livestock

is gone, the fish are fewer, and bad | |croppage has left

these acres sterile forever. A man can’t earn a living right here, and nobody tries it any more. : : Yet, Doctor Tugwell is here. 70 resettlement workers get $33 a month for 126 hours in seven-hour days. They have cleated t

: ah Ail

“What's the big idea?”

with brush to about five inches off the ground. The idea is that a rabbit pursued by a fox can dodge under, like a kitten scampering under a chest of drawers to escape a dog —and the fox can't follow! I asked about rabbits and one

man had seen two this season. They showed me a fox-hole, but it was ologged for a foot of depth by cobwebs. } They have planted various seedproducing grasses for quail and other Jirds, but I saw not one bird nor any signs of birds. «This was not, until recently, relief labor, and it is not now to any great extent. There isn’t much need for relief around. here. One small farmer inland took $6000 wortlr of lima beans in one picking last ‘week. Furthermore, all this land which is being thus improved is private land, some owned by big landowners. I asked the natural question: The only answer was: “Well, it makes nice easy employment for anybody who ‘wants to go out in the woods and pick up a few dollars.”

” » s 3 HAT is absolutely all. This is neither “resettlement” . nor

“relief.” It is Doctor Tugwell asserting himself vs. CCC and WPA,

In the meantime, there is a dearth of farm labor around here which is sorely needed now. There are plenty of farm jobs going begging. But farm labor is much harder work at only a little more pay, and Tugwell’s workers are loyal to the Doctor. . . By any stretch of imagination, is this ineffable nonsense of making Assawoman Creek a safer place for

rabbits doing this Administration, or anybody or anything, any good? It

is wholly useless. The woodland will

ceases. It is incredible cedented waste.

rock-ribbed Republican territory.

take it in a year or two when work and unpreYet, it is non-political. This ‘is Even Hoover carried it. I. asked a

rare Democrat—a farmer: “Many of us Democrats around here?” “Mighty

few,” he said, “and they’ll mostly be Republicans this fall.” Not even many of these rabbit re-

settlers will vote for Roosevelt. To most of them the Assawoman proj-

ect is just a pleasant joke.

(Copyrigh 1938, by _ United Copyziams, Syndicate, Inc.) Pasture

by Lichty

> +

GRIN AND BEAR IT Pr fe

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I BR hh ly :

Entered ss Second-Class Matter at Postoffice. Indianapolis.

PAGE 1

Ind

Fair Enough WESTBROOK PEGLE

EW YORK, Aug. 18.—I have been wol dering what will become of those wax babies, apparently dead but only dé “which the old women carried in their sha on the streets im Barcelona at night as the

prowled among the cafe tables and through the crowds on the Ramblas, peddling lottery tick They were rented babies, out on the streets amon the chattering throngs until 2 or 3 o'clock in the morning. Begging was forbidden : 2 and the donor as well as the beggar a could be arrested, so the professional moochers had turned to the lottery game as a substitute. This was better for all concerned. It promoted . the lottery, thus raising revenue for the governmeni.- It discouraged mendicancy, which is bad for the mendicant and a waste- | ful form of charity, and it removed | the unconscious babies from a disreputable trade into a dignified status. But even so they seemed to be oF. ® 3 Teimer bad start in life, eeping la ours so early in the : ; game and taking dope. y Mz, Pegler There were other children in Barcelona whose future seemed no less cloudy, boys and girls fro: 3 to 8 or 9 years old, who played shrill games, laugh« ing away childhood’s happy hours on the dark stones steps of the brothels, all night long. Sailors, sol diers and civilians, the scum of the world, washed into a foul and reeking seaport, picked their way - among children born of the women upstairs. :

» »

Different in Kentucky

RUE, they appeared to be at home in their sure roundings and to have

eat their spinach. moral - environ seemed questionable and one wished they might : a better chance. In a fairer and more civilized land. instead of obscene doggerel, they might have learned to sing, “My Old Kentucky Home,” their mothers, for the good of their character, ave turned them out at dawn to watch the a Negro and the inspiring scuffle of thei souvenir fragments of the hangman'’s cap and rope. I have been wondering about the young hotel keeper, a capitalist of Fascist tendency, who carried a little automatic pistol and ruled his help by bluff and force. The kitchen hands would burn the food of the patrons and ball up the orders and they even threatened to put ground glass in the local stew. They stole his provisions and when he fired a thief the union. threatened to bomb the house. Once caught them in the act of removing a bolt from elevator so it would fall and, God willing, kill passengers, and give the house a bad name.

» » #

Fat Geese Tempting

I SAW a news-picture of the park before the and Colon Hotels in Barcelona, where the old n sat feeding grains of cracked corn to the p: 2nd Sariows ih would sometimes take the etween ps, and selling little envelopes of grain to the children of the well-to-do out wri nurses. There was a beautiful ‘marble figure o Rneclng Zilia a bea of white chrysanthemums in park, the recent news-pjcture showed only dead mo Sead horses, and the pigedns Fa ny I wonder if, in the fighting and looting, an : finally got away with the big, fat. geese ny os te “tain pool ‘in the cathedral courtyard, geese w descended many generations from an original h presented to the church by some rich nobleman rstitude for divine- deliverance from some pressing nconvenience. A great temptation, those a neighborhood where - poverty, . ma have made animals of people nobility of soul wrought by « hygiene in Owensboro, Ky. :

Merry-Go-Round:

BY DREW PEARSON AND ROBERT S. ALLEN

VV ASHINGTON, Aug. 18—The President's inspec tion of flood control projects has obscured

by contrast with the mfort, education

administrations trol. Chief dispute is between the Army ‘engineers one hand, and agriculture and conse gre Land, : rvation experts The Army claims that the most practical means Joa So i BY butiding dikes ual me chan= els in order to choot the flood wate i ler ui ; r through to the Conservation experts, on the other hand, claim tha reforestation, dams and artificial reservoirs to stor the water are the best flood solution. Between these groups, Roosevelt is inclined to with the conservationists—so also is Congress.

5 » FE 28 voplroversy of experts continues, however, th : y engineers making the following points: © ' 1. That reservoirs are too expensive, pois r 5 illions of dollars to buy dam sites and land to

i" = sis, Gams are IneRective because the inhabif g in towns just below th pe; a heayy load Jo accuinulate, = odin . orestation, aceordin Army engin A is the bunk. Worst floods he oe when the ground is frozen solid and incapable of absorption. Also, the worst fidods on record ha occurred when the land was covered with forests particularly the Mississippi flood of 1844. oe Conservationists retort that the Army's plan quick run-off of water through deep channels wo carry millions of tons of irreplaceable top soil into

sea. The last flood control bill voted by Congres $310,000,000—sided with the conservationists. It pi