Indianapolis Times, Indianapolis, Marion County, 7 May 1943 — Page 17
FRIDAY, MAY 7, 1943
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Hoosier Vagabond
. IN THE FRONT LINES BEFORE MATEUR (By \Vireless) —Rest periods for our front-line troops in Tunisia are few and far between. And when they do come they are only for a day or two, and subject to being ended at any moment. The infantry battalion that I've attached myself to had its rest cut short just after dark on the second evening. Word came to move again into the lines, which were only a mile and a half away. Our battalion marched in two sections. The first left early, with orders to attack a certain forward hill at 3 a. m. The other half was to start after midnight, reach a certain protected wadi before dawn, dig itself in and stand by for use whenever needed. I went with the second batch. The men weren't upset about going into the line again so soon. They just accepted it. They feel they have already done more than their share of this war's fighting, but there is in their manner a touchjnery simple compliance with whatever is asked of em.
Plow Through Bomb-Craters
IN COLUMNS of twos we plowed down a halfmile slope waist-high in wild grass. The slope was full of big bomb craters. There were big rocks hidden in the grass, and soldiers would stumble and fall down awkwardly in their heavy gear, and get up fussing. Finally we hit a sort of path and fell into a single fine of march. It was very slow at first, for we were crowding, the last stragglers of the first section. After a couple of hours the route ahead seemed to clear up. We walked briskly in single file. You had to keep your eyes on the ground and watch every step. We made a couple of brief unexplained stops, and then suddenly word came down the column: “No more talking. Pass it back.” From then on we marched in silence except for the splitting crash of German artillery ahead and of ours
By Ernie Pyle
behind. There would be thé heavy blast of the guns, then an eerie rustle from each shell as it sped unseen across the sky far above pur heads. It gave the night a strange sense of greatness. It did have its lighter touch, if you were inclined to hunt for a laugh, One soldier with a portable radio had been trying since early evening to get contact with our leading column. He was having static trouble, and kept walking around trying various locations all night long. Wherever you turned, wherever vou stopped, you could always hear this same voice, gradually growing pitiful in its vain quest, calling softly: “Lippman to Howell. Come in, Howell." As the night wore on and this voice kept up its persistent wandering and fruitless calling for its mate it got to be like a scene out of a Saroyan play, and I had a private giggle over it. Shells from both sides kept going far over our heads. They were landing miles away. Then all of a sudden they weren't. With the quickness of an auto accident a German shell screamed toward us.
Dig In at Dawn, and Sleep
INSTINCT TELLS you, from the timbre of the tone, how near a shell is coming to you. Our whole column fell flat automatically and in unison. The shell landed with a frightening blast 200 yards to our right. We got up and started, and it happened again, this time to our left. Then off to the left we heard German machine-gun fire. We got to where we were going half an hour before dawn. It was an outcropping of big white rocks, covering several acres, just back of the rise where the earlier half of our unit was already fighting.
The commanding officer told us to find good places |
among the rocks, get well scattered, and dig in immediately. We had now been without sleep for 24 hours, and we lay in our holes and slept wearily, oblivious of the bedlam around us and the heat of the bright early sun. Just as I fell to sleep I heard a low voice just behind my rock, pieading, it seemed to me now, a little hoarsely, but still determinedly: “Come in, Howell, Come in, Howell."
Inside Indianapolis By Lowell Nussbaum
Al. FEENEY, who retired as sheriff Jan. 1, has
been tinkering with the idea of getting a job. Yesterday the white-haired bachelor was telling a friend about taking an I. Q. test. Said Al: “You'd never guess what they asked me! One of the questions was: ‘Do the girls close their eyes when you kiss them'?” Al blushed in telling this but didn't reveal what his answer was. ... Fred Hayoz was in Wasson's restaurant Wednesday afternoon and heard a commotion on the other side of the room. Looking up, he saw a maternal-ap-pearing, grey-haired woman with her hat ablaze. Another woman jerked it from her head. Apparently the woman's veil had become ignited by a cigaret and had ignited a feather on the hat. The woman didn’t seem to be injured. . . , Otto K. Jengen, chief examiner of the state board of accounts, ) has been elected president of the board of directors of Wittenberg college, at Springfield, O.
Buzz Buzz Dept.
REPUBLICAN CIRCLES are buzzing over the abgence of Lieut, Gov. Charles M. Dawson, the highest ranking Republican statehouse official, from the G. O. P. state committee luricheon Tuesday at the Claypool. ie was practically the only high statehouse Republican not there. Charley, a potential candidate for governor, says he wasn't invited by State Chairman Ralph Gates, who hap)ens to be an almost certain candidate for the same office. Mr, Gates says he instructed his secretary to invite Mr. Dawson, along with other officials. What happened after that is uncertain. Anyway, the already none too cordial relations between ‘the lieutenant governor and the state committee chairman weren't improved any by the incident. ... . Roy Niehus of the I. A. C. reports seeing probably the first straw hat worn in the city this year. It was on the head of H. T. Bratton when he arrived here Sunday from gunny Texas (Harlingen) to attend the Eli Lilly sales school. + «+ » The Indianapolis C. of C. has a 1943
Sweden
STOCKHOLM, May 7 (By Wireless).—One reason for the unpopularity of the axis in Sweden is Germany’s continual refusal to let Sweden receive limited shipments of foodstuffs and other urgent supplies from the outside world. This attitude on the part of Germany does not seem to make much sense, from the Nazi viewpoint, because it is aggravating the anti-Nazi feeling in Sweden without getting Hitler anything in return. The refusal of the Nazis to permit resumption of shipments into Sweden from the outside world is attributed by some to the natural bullying tactics of the Nazis toward their weaker neighbors, but by others to the fact that German officials are unable to agree among themselves—some favoring the Swedish case while others oppose it. Unless this traffic is resumed soon, Sweden will be gompelled to tighten food rationing still more. When the war began Sweden was caught in a double blockade. The Germans and the British both ‘blockaded all traffic. Later, after earnest appeals, the Swedes were alfowed to operate a limited number of ships in and out of Gothenburg, under safe conduct, to bring oil cake, cotton, wool, leather, coffee, tea and vitamin concentrates, Early this year Germany suspended this agreement. No ships are now permitted to come in from outside.
Swedish Rations Scanty
THUS SWEDEN'S only source of outside supply is now through Germany, which is unable to supply much. She does get some oranges from Spain, some fertilizer nitrates from Germany, and some oil cake from Rumania.
My Day
WASHINGTON, Thursday.—VYesterday morning Madame Chiang left us, and in the afternoon the _ resident of Bolivia arrived. The cabinet received th us on the lawn, and then we had tea on the south portico. I have begun to breakfast on the porch every morning and to have tea there every afternoon, but I am not quite sure that my desire to be out of doors does not outrun the season a little, for I notice that everybody else shivers! Washington is a funny place. You jump from really cold weather into mid-summer weather. From wondering whether it is warm enough to eat out of doors, you suddenly find it is too hot at noon even to sit on the porch. The president gave a stag Sin. MN
auto license tab found on a downtown street. The owner can have it by identifying it by number. Just phone LI-1551,
Another “Go” Date
SOME OF THE BOYS are passing along the rumor that “certain clubs” are going to get the go-sign for restoration of their slot machines next week. All such rumors in the past have proven erroneous. , . . One of our agents reports that there are signs of
renewed activity at the Old Plantation, on road 67, over in Hendricks county. It was shut down several months ago. . . . Frank McCain, clerk in superior | court 5, reports seeing a scene Tuesday reminiscent’ of years ago, About 7:30 a. m, at Illinois and Washington, a horse hitched to a wagon became frightened at something and demonstrated an old-fashioned runaway. The animal raced eastward on Washington, swinging right and left to avoid traffic and safety zones. The driver sawed on the reins without avail. At Delaware, the horse quit its foolishness and returned to its normal gait.
Nurses in New Garb
ARMY NURSES have discarded their blue winter uniforms and donned summer outfits of olive drab tropical worsted. They have russet brown: accessories, streamlined caps and wear the caduceus insignia— the winged serpent entwined staff. The reason we're telling you all this is so you won't mistake one of them for a WAAC. It seems the nurses get mad as the dickens when someone mistakes their organization. . . . Incidentally, there's a campaign going on to recruit more nurses for the armed services. First Lt. lean Moore has Been assigned to the officer procurement office and is working with the Red Cross nurse recruiting secretary, Miss Lillian Adams, . . . Civilian defense trainees listened to a couple of lectures on traffic safety and safety in the home yesterday at the war memorial. Just as one of the speakers, Bill Evans, finished speaking, the class received a first-hand demonstration. First there was the screech of tires, then a terrific bang. The class looked out the window and saw a cloud of dust arising from two cars that had collided.
By Raymond Clapper
Minister of Supply Axel Gjores says that unless the Gothenburg safe-conduct shipping is resumed Sweden must cut her food rations. I saw in his office the food supply that is allowed to one adult per week. It was laid out on a small shelf. Except for the bread, it seemed scarcely more than one day's food for a husky American youth. The meat for a whole week was on one small plate —a piece of sausage about the size of a hot dog, two strips of bacon, a piece of steak smaller than your hand, a couple of slices of baloney. People are switching to a milk diet. Consumption of milk has doubled since the war started, although the number of cattle has declined 15 per cent. The
supply of drinking milk has has been increased by cutting cheese and butter production and abolishing cream production. Vitamins are badly needed.
Pigs Won't Eat the Stuff
CELLULOSE FROM wood pulp is going into everything. It is used for fodder, although the Swedish pigs refuse to eat the stuff, and you can’t blame them, because it looks and tastes like shredded blotting paper. Cellulose and leather scraps are being mixed for synthetic leather, which will be on the market in two months. This can be used for resoling shoes, of which a person can now buy only one pair in 18 thonths. Beer is diluted down to under 3 per cent, to save barley. The Swedish national drink, aquavit, is being made of cellulose instead of potatoes. Soap is so short an adult gets a piece one-third the size of a “guest” ivory or Lux bar once a week, for toilet purposes and laundry combined. Yet Sweden has no food queues. She is far better off than England and other belligerent countries.
By Eleanor Roosevelt
gether. Then I went to speak on the radio program put on by the National Safety countil, which is trying to bring home: to all that accidents which occur in the home should be prevented as a patriotic duty.
I had really not given it much thought until I read the statistics and discovered that one of my hus-
band’s pet remarks about many people dying in the)
process of taking a bath, is not a joke but a reality. As we think back, it is quite interesting to note how our whole attitude toward health and the place of medical science is gradually changing. We used to think that the science of medicine was chiefly useful to cure the human ills and our public health service was largely ‘devoted to the prevention of great epidemics. Now I think we realize the science of medicine should find ways of building up resistance in human beings and of keeping them well, in order that they , succumb to many of the dangers which sur-
es
e Indianapolis
River Swallowed Wicked Natchez-Under-Hill
Left Only a Single Street With Nine Old Buildings Clinging Tightly to Bluff
This is the last story in a series of five, retracing the route of the famous old river packets that plied between Cincinnati and New Orleans, written by a special writer for this newspaper who recently made the 1500-mile trip on the Steamer Gordon C., Greene,
By ROBERT TALLEY
Times Special
Writer
NATCHEZ TO NEW ORLEANS.—In the winding Mississippi river 30 miles below Natchez is Dead Man's Bend, so named because it was there that the bodies of the luckless victims who were knocked in the head and thrown in the river at Natchez-Under-the-Hill often were washed ashore by some freak of the current. In marked contrast to the wealthiest and most genteel of the Old South's families, who lived in the storied and pillared mansions that still adorn the high bluff, were the motley crew of gamblers, cut-throats, dive-keepers and whatnot who dwelt in Natchez-Under-the-Hill in the long ago. It was called, with obvious justice, “the wickedest place in the world,” and, like Sodom and Gomorrah, it was destroyed for its sins—not with fire and brimstone as were its biblical predecessors, but by the Big river itself,
Many years
ago the river swallowed it.
When the Steamer Gordon Greene tied up to the muddy, unpaved landing in the shadow of the lofty bluff on which Natchez stands, the first sight that met our eyes was a single street of nine ramshackle old brick buildings that seemed to be competing with each other in point of
dilapidation. Backs to the wall, they clung tightly to the base of the bluff as if fearful that the river, which had washed away the rest of the town, would
claim them, too. A hundred years ago, when the flatboats were drifting downstream and the big steamboats were puffing around the bends, Natchez - Under - the - Hill was a town of considerable size. Its dozen streets were filled with saloons, brothels, gambling dens and vice of every description; it even had a hig hotel and a race track. Its scores of barrooms resounded with noisy brawls and bloody fights, and painted women of every hue and race tapped invitingly upon window panes as newly-landed bogtmen from the upper river strode the split logs that half floated in the muddy streets as they served for paving. ® 8 8
Murders Commonplace
MANY RIVERMEN who entered these dens were never seen again . that is, until their bodies were washed up on the big sandbar at Dead Man's Bend some days later. No coroner ever bothered to investigate a bashed-in skull, a bullet hole through the forehead, or the tell-tale mark of a Kkeenbladed stiletto in a corpse's back; such things were too commonplace to merit attention. At last, however, the Big River got its fill of the wickedness of the town that was preying upon its children. Slowly, but surely, it turned its scouring current against Natchez-Under-the-Hill, and bit by bit the old town began to fall into the stream . . . the saloons, the brothels, the gambling dens and even the racetrack itself. Finally, nothing was left but the single street of nine old brick buildings that cling so tightly to the bluff today as if fearful of a similar fate. When we stepped from the Gordon Greene's stageplank we found ourselves almost directly in front of these weather-worn old structures whose rickety iron balconies testified to the Spanish and French influence of the early days and whose tightly shuttered windows seemed to hint of dark secrets hidden within, A few of the old buildings are occupied now by Negro families, but some are vacant. Peering through the shutters of what was obviously once a saloon, we saw evidence of a church inside. The long dust-coated bar with cracked and broken mirrors still ranged the right-hand wall, but in the middle of the big room were wooden benches for the worshipers, the parson's raised pulpit, and even a mourner's bench where the troubled could obtain release from their sins.
‘Wit a Church Now’
“YAS, SIR,” explained an old Negro woman who lived in the building next door. “H'it used to be a saloon what was powerful wicked, but h'it is a church now.” The questioner suggested that it was an odd place for a church. “Yas, sir,” the aged woman continued. “That's what the parson said; he tole me they was goin’ in there to drive the devil out, but jedgin’ from all the hollerin’ they makes in there sometimes, I jedge they ain't got him out yet.” The winding road up the hill, now caving dangerously on the river side, leads to another world. Here, in the city of Natchez and in the low, rolling hills which surround it, are the great old mansions that breathe the wealth, the ease, the luxury and the power of the Old South that flowered before the Civil war, Their tall old Corinthian and Dorie columns look down on 1943 as complacently as they looked down upon 1843, and even before. Their great hallways seem to echo the soft swish of hoop-skirt and crinoline and the tread of Confederate cavaliers, The graceful handcarved stairways, some of rosewood, climb above the old oil paintings to the upper floors where the great four-poster beds still wear their silken canopies and the marble-topped washstands with bowl and pitcher hide behind screens adorned wilh prints of fetching belles from Godey's Lady's Book. uy 4 4
Many Old Mansions
IN THE FORMAL gardens the neatly clipped green hedges line the weathered brick walks that lead to the old sun-dial, the rambier roses tumble over their supporting arbors, the flaming azaleas and the bright camellias parade nature's beauty and the air is sweet with the perfume of magnolia and honeysuckle. It is like a page from the long ago. Natchez has many of these historic old mansions—28 all told— some of which are still occupied by the descendants of the rich cotton planters who built them. The owners’ greatest problem now is servants, for many of the Negroes who formerly served the household and tended the spacious grounds and gardens have left for the army or war jobs. Of all these great old homes, the most intriguing, perhaps, is unfinished Longwood, ' with its six stories and 32 rooms, which stands in ghostly silence a few miles from town as a sad reminder of shattered hopes and frustrated dreams. The venerable, uncompleted mansion appears today exactly as it did on that April day in 1861 when the first guns of the civil war boomed at Ft. Sumter and the workmen laid
This old picture shows “Natchez-Under-The-Hill” as it appeared about 50 years ago, after most of The scene is little changed today, except that the old bulldings now
the town had fallen Into the river,
appear more dilapidated,
down their tools and marched away to join the army. The walls were up, and so was the great 75-foot dome that peers at the visitor from behind the tall trees, draped with . Spanish moss, but the interior was still unfinished. The tools, the paint brushes and the overalls are there just as the workmen left them 82 years ago. ” ” ”
Grandson There Now
THE BUILDER was Dr. Haller Nutt, who pioneered in the breeding of better cotton seed for the South, and thereby made a fore tune which crashed on the rocks of the civil war. On the spacious grounds he was planting a 10-acre rose garden and preparing an are tificial lake that was to be graced with black swans imported from Australia. Today the 10-acre rose garden is lost in the tangled underbrush, and the lake is but a memory. In the basement of the old home, in what was intended to be the billiard room, Dr, Nutt's grandson, now a man past middle age, lives alone. A sign painted on the gate announces he will show visitors through his ancestral mansion—for the modest sum of 25 cents per person. Across the river from Natchez is old Vidalia, La., founded by the Spanish, which has had to be moved back several times in its long history. The last’ occasion was a few years ago when the Natchez bridge was built, and the west approach came and squatted down on the city hall. The WPA and the bridge owners helped Vidalia to move again, Leaving Natchez after a visit of several hours, the Gordon Greene continued downstream, and just before dark the steamer passed the old site of Ft. Adams, formerly on the river, but now sev eral miles inland. Here it was, according to Bdward Everett Hale who wrote “The Man Without a Country,” that Philip Nolan was tried and sentenced never to see again his native land that he had cursed— which was a good yarn, even though it was pure fiction. Next day our steamer paused at Baton Rouge, where the passengers went ashore to visit Loulsiana's skyscraper state capitol, strongly resembling New York's Empire State building in its architectural lines, which the late Huey Long built to appease his vanity. ” ” ”
Where Long Was Shot
THE GUIDES will show you the spot in the marble corridor in front of the governor's office, and in the huge bust of La Salle, where Long was shot to death in a political feud soon after the building was completed. The guides will tell you, too, that the magnificent 34-story building cost $5,000,000, and then they will hint suspiciously that figure was merely where Huey stopped counting, It contains 26
Two of the pilots on the Gordon C. Greene were Capt. Thomas
Posey, at wheel, and Capt. Lawrence Allen, in rear.
Both are river.
men of many years’ experience who know every foet of the channel
different kinds of marble and materials imported from all over the world, and from practically every state in the Union, but oddly enough, the only Louisiana product used in its construc tion is a sound-proof -celling, made of bagasse, which is the leafy refuse of the sugar cane. Its foundations rest on cotton bales sunk 300 feet into the swampy soil, A gigantic statue of Long stands above his grave on the capital grounds, where he now sleeps under 22 tons of stone and bronze. Such is the last resting place of the most colorful figure in Louisiana's history since the Civil war, who began life as a flour salesman who traveled from door to door by horse and buggy and baked delicious cakes in the kitchens of housewives to prove the quality of his wares, Below Baton Rouge, the bayous branch out from the broad river to embrace the semi-tropical Louisiana countryside with its moss-bearded live oaks, its big sugar plantations, its wealth of flowers, its sweet-scented magnolias and its wide-spreading live oaks. Sea gulls dipped alongside our boat for morsels tossed by passengers, emitting their plaintive cries, and occasionally flights of pelicans wheeled high overhead as they flew in perfect formation. ” ” ”
Stop at Plantation
FIFTY-BIGHT miles above New Orleans the Gorden Greene thrust her stageplank on a clover= carpeted levee and the passengers went ashore to visit the ancient Oak Allee plantation with its huge old mansion that faces the river at the end of a long avenue of magnificent live oaks, These 225-year-old trees, set out by an early French sugar planter, had lived a half century when the Declaration of Independence was signed, had reached the ripe age of nearly three score and 10 years when George Washington died in 1799, Owners of the 2000-acre planta« tion today are Mr. and Mrs. Andrew Stewart, formerly of New Orleans, who permit visitors to tour the grounds and mansion for 50 cents to raise funds for a war charity. Adding to the patroitic atmosphere are the Negro pick«
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RR second of
gninnies living on the plantation who line up and sing “God Bless America” for visitors—in return for nickles and dimes, I'he stately old home, whose 28 tall Dorie columns completely ens circle it, and whose quaint dormer windows peep from the sloping roof, is an odd combination of the past and the present, Skilfully concealed so as not to detract from the ancient beauty, are such modern conveniences as steam heat, tile bathrooms, electric refrigeration, and even a small elec trie elevator which carries the host to his second-story porch. ” » »
Around the Bend
IT WAS ALMOST dark when the Gordon Greene backed away from the little landing. A group of plantation darkies of both sexes and all ages watched her from the top of the grassy levees until she disappeared around the bend. As the steamer’s captain did not care to enter New Orleans’ con« gested harbor at night, we went a little ways downstream and tied up to the bank until morning came. Almost within hailing distance of the spot was historic old Red church, a landmark for Mis« sissippi river pilots for more than a century which, incidentally, has just been repainted, At breakfast time, we landed at New Orleans—six days and seven nights out of Cincinnati.
WINDSORS TO VISIT NEW YORK FRIENDS
NEW YORK, May T (U. PJ). The Duke and Duchess of Windsor ' will arrive here this week-end for an indefinite stay, a friend of the couple revealed today. The duchess is expected to spend most of their visit here privately, while the duke was reportedly ine terested in further extending eco« nomic relations between the Bae hamas, of which he is governor, and the United States.
HOLD EVERYTHING /