Indianapolis Times, Indianapolis, Marion County, 22 May 1947 — Page 21

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pm pn: THAT BRIEF May 31st day , . ." and * 20 heads in the garage area at the Speedway snapped skyward. Ol' Man Bol peeked and retreated. Newspapers

were snapped hy bored ‘men who wal to go to

, work yesterday morning ~when and if the track dried,

the sun came out and the temperature went up. Otherwise it was wait and wait and wait, Dr. Ben Merkle was sitting in the front seat of the ambulance reading an appropriately titled magane—Time. Dr, Dale King was lying on the stretcher in the réar of the ambulance, Harvey Brown iof the Jordan Funeral home and driver of the ambulance was taking his umpteenth glance at the clouds, Dr. Merkle told how easy it was té spot the doctors at City hospital who had been at the track the day before by their sunburn, Dr, King raised his weary head and said: “Everybody but us.”

Grandstands Are Empty

MR. BROWN thought the weather would clear up fn the afternoon. ) “I hope 80," Dr. King said, rolling over on his back. The grandstands were empty except for some piles of wet newspapers, The city fire truck was covered to protect it from the rain. The emergency track car across from the ambulance presented a smoky interior. When I opened the car door, cigaret smoke rolled out to match the overhead clouds. Leonard Cox, jovial landmark of the Speedway and ‘the man who will direct the ambulance corps May 30th, said; “Pretty dreary place when it rains.” “It's a dreary place until Cox comes around,” popped Lew Storm, driver of the emergency track car who was also sweating the weather out. “Mr. Cox, where's the driver of the wrecker?” I

sy”

"TIME ON OUR HANDS" —Emergency crew members (left to right) Lew Storm, William Rib-

ble and Leonard Cox, kill a little time at the Speedway while they wait for the sun to come

out.

Poor, Poor Max

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“That's him in the back seat there smoking up the doing,’ Mr, Cox answered taking bg putt on hia cigaret. Stan Haggard, Pennsylvania Motor Inn driver, straightened up. ‘That's a lot of stu The stuf flew fast and heavy for eral minutes. What else a'e every race car is locked up in the garages? “Where's the fire safety engineer this morning?” Mr, Cox !Goked surprised. “You mean Ribble? Aw — he’s our + Chasing a conflagration. Hey —I'm wrong, here he comes.” William Ribble, dressea in a long black raincoat, was high-stepping over puddles of water as he walked towards the track car. He never made it. City fire department Lt, CUff Atkins torpedoed him in the center of the garage area. I heard Mr. Ribble telling Lt. Atkins “to stay away from the {rack on your day off.” It sounded like a ripssnortin’ argument but that stuff goes on all the time when time hangs heavy. “I came to look at my truck,” Lt, Atkins was saying. ‘Boy, oh, boy, these visiting firemen,” Mr. Ribble sald, shaking his head. “Did you ever get a close look at my truck?” Lt. Atkins asked me. 1 admitted I hadn't. “Come vn over and I'll show you some real equipment.” “No you non't,” Mr, Ribble interrupted. your day ff.”

Mechanic Injures Hand

JUST THEN Ross Page, mechanic, came out of the garage holding his hand in the alr, It was bleeding slightly. Immediately a clamor arose for “Dr. Cox.” “Calling Dr. Cox—Dr. Cox wanted in surgery.” Mr. Cox opened the door of his emergency track car and vellrd that “Dr, Brown” would take care of the “amputation.” Before the din died down, Drs. Merkle and King had Mr. Page's cut all fixed up. “Come on.” Mr. Ribble said to me, “let's hop in the fire truck and pay Nafizger a visit. Poor guy is probably pre.ty lonely in the hospital.” : “Not in my truck,” Lt. Atkins said, trying hard to keep a straight face. “Lt. Atkins, must I remind you again that this {s your day off?” Mr. Ribble practically yelled. We took off across the muddy fields in the Jeep fire wagon lke a frightened. isck rabbit... Corp. Hairy Naftzger gave us a hearty welcome. There were few visitors at the new hospital that morning. Corp. Nafizger told us he didn't like the weether and we agreed with him, and took off. ~ As Mr, Ribble drove the Jeep fire wagon under the shelter again, Lt. Atkins asked if we had seen any conflagrations on the way. ’ “In this weather?” Mir. Ribble called. “It's clearing and I'll bet you it will wind up being a pretty good day,” prophesized Lt. Atkins. The. clouds looked pretty black — but who knows around here?

“This 1s

By Frederick C. Othman

WASHINGTON, May 22.—Let us shed a tear today for Max Ziegler, who thought he could trust his Uncle Sam. He may go to jail for it. Max told the senate small business committee the sorry story of his pre-fabricated house factory at Long Island City, N. Y. He related the cock-eyed sequence of events which have put him in jeopardy of a prison cell and then, when the hearings were over, he turned to me. “What would you have done?” he asked. “What if you'd been me?” Max was heavy of jowl and worried of brow. He waited for my answer and I had to admit that if I'd been in the toils of the housing expgditer, the civilian production administration, the steel mills and the Pat. man act, I'd probably have broken the law, too. This made him feel better, but not much. He ‘is on a spot and the spot is hot.

House Termite-Proof AS PRESIDENT of Krieger Steel Sections, Inc, Max built $18 million worth of war-time truck and trailer bodies for the army and the navy. At war's end he took over patents for a prefabricated house to be built of steel girders, sidings and roof. If ever a house was termife-preof, it was Max's. “The office of the housing expediter assured us of a guaranteed market,” he testified. “There'd be no troubles getting materials, or financing. A bright picture was painted for us.” That was last year. Max got priorities for thousands of tons of steel to build his houses. Soon it was piling up in his warehouses, but it wasn't exactly what he’d ordered. He never did get girders for the roofs. A few other pieces were missing, too. He wasn't able to build even ‘one complete house. - Then something happened in Washington, he aL Bomebody changed his mind. He learned that the federal housing administration could not guarantee his sales. .He had nothing to sell, anyway.

All he had was a pile of steel, mostly cut in the wrong sizes; a debt of $265,000 contracted for erigineering in the house of the future, a factory full of people who wanted their pay, and an empty till. “So in February and March,” he said, “we were at wit's end. Only asset we had was our steel, which we'd bought and paid for. So to meet our payrolls we sold 2000 tons.” ’

Oh, oh, and another oh. Max's trouble became

double-trouble. The CPA said didn't he know it was a violation of the Patman act to sell steel he'd bought on & housing priority?. And what did De mean using some of it for truck bodies? Max gulped. The CPA ordered him to use none of

his steel except for houses. It telegraphed the mills}. »

to ship him no more metal under priority, and it slipped the word to the district attorney. . The latter popped a criminal indictment on Max and associates.

Discharged 200 Employees “THIS PUT US in a very shakey position, ” he said. “We had to discharge 200 employees. We could not get any more steel. Another lawsuit was put on us because we hadn't delivered any houses. We had no ‘houses to deliver because we never did get the right pieces.” > After all,this had happened, with his plans on the blink and the jailhouse door yawning in his eye, his money gone, his employees working for somebody else, and no possibility of getting steel anywhere, Max said a strange thing happened on last April 8: The federal housing administration approved his pre-fabricated houses for. guaranteed marketings. Max looked pleadingly at Senators Edward Martin of Pennsylvania and Harry P. Cain of Washington. He showed them water-colored paintings of the house that he never built. He doubted now if he ever would. He said his was a sick corporation. He was a sick man. Gobbledegook did it, Max said; double-talk from his Uncle Sam.

Kiss Power

By Erskine Johnson

HOLLYWOOD, May 322—Susan Hayward, I'm gorry to report today, does not have K. P,, the Uni-versal-International publicity department to the contrary. Or else Susan wasn't in the mood or else I just wasn’t her type. “Susan,” her press agent said over the telephone, “has K. P.” —*Is it serious?” “Oh, no,” said the agent, “she isn’t sick. She has K P.—kiss power. Come out and. try it.” So I went out and tried Susan's K. P. on the set of “The Lost Moment,” the new Walter -Wanger epic. But as far as I'm concerned, it was a lost hour. Busan didn’t put her heart into it, even after Robert Cummings doused me with cologne and gave me a shot of breath sweet. Bob was dunking himself in the stuff just before doing a love scene with Susan. Susan finally got around to kissing me to prove, as the press agent insisted, that she has K. P, It was Just a peck. “A nice motherly kiss,” Susan said. Susan may have K. P. but to me it means kiss paltry. Maybe it was that cologne.

Meets Honest Chiseler

I'VE FINALLY met the only honest chiseler in Hollywood.

. —

RT —

His name is Thomas Sherbloom. He's an ice

carver, the only one in the world, he guesses, who chisels the cold stuff on a full-time basis. Everything from movie stars to mermaids. Half a million pounds of ice a year, 180 masterpieces a month. “Usually they order swans or nudes,” ‘Sherbloom said. “But Hollywood likes tricky things.” Cary Grant and Jimmy Stewart gave a party once. They called up Sherbloom and ordered two men in top hats and shorts, & nude holding an apple and another nude with a real lobster in her hand.

Adds Caviar Touch \ THERE WAS a party for Darryl Zanuck, the poloplaying producer. Sherbloom carved out a fellow with a pole mallet in his hand about to hit-a ball. The ball was hollowed out and filled with caviar. Sherboom takes it philosophically. “I guess,” he said, “my art work is something like fame in Hollywood. It doesn’t last very long (four to five hours). But it’s nice to look at while it lasts.” | Sherbloom has been chiseling ice for 10 years. Before that he was a sign painter, window decorator and amateur sculptor. He works fast, averaging an “hour on each 300-pound masterpiece. But he can carve out a dog or a bear in 10 minutes. “There's no trick to it,” he says. “You just have to know how hard to hit it.”

We, the Women

ARE WOMEN beginning to take pride in the number of husbands they've had? . Lately I've noticed how often in newspaper interviews a woman casually mentions “my first husband and £ ...” or “that was when I was married to so-and-s0.” A former husband is mentioned just as ostentaciously as “one of my three fur coats. "

Bragging Could Start Race YOU WOULD think that in deference to her present hushand and in an effort to live down past mistakes a woman married more than once would avoid such mentinn, If bragsing about numerous marriages becomes the

'Mars' Radio Signal Was Only Ham Operator ..

Gene Darlington, one of the early code signals and not untifthe next “ham” operators and a General|day did we discover our error,” he Electric Co. employee, admitted that said. . back in 1924 which newspapers re- the strange signal emanated from a ferred to as “a possible signal from |iest transmitter which he and an [of our mistake and so far as I know . Mars” has been revealed by a radio |assistant forgot to turn off. : “It kept on sending out automatic

SCHENECTADY, N, Y. (U. P.)— The origin of a strange radio signal

By Ruth Millett

fashion, the divorce rate is sure to go upward because certain women just HAVE to keep up. And once women start trying to out-do each other in the number of husbands they can drag into their ccnversation, the race will be on.

Possibilities Are Frightening

BY REDECORATING her home one woman can get all the rest bored with the same old walls. One woman collecting antiques can turn- all her friends into curio hunters. So there is the frightening ‘possibility that one woman boasting about her former husbands can make other women a pit bored with having only one to talk about.

times

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. WAX WORKS—Tommy Dorsey and his orchestra take the first step in making a popular recording which in time js mass produced for record players the world over. In the foreground an RCA recording engineer in New York controls the cutting and the piece.

PRESSING PROBLEM With two Stampings in the press, Mrs. « Mary Phillips inserts a glob of material which i record. It is much like making a waffle. The goo hat squirts outside . the press is knocked off by hand. Later the record's edge is smoothed by machine.

TESTING TIME—Trained to pick flaws, Miss Dorothy Simion is one of many who spend their days listening to the latest platters. Tests are made every so many records to determine whether the stampings

n good shape or rieed changing.

Carnival—By Dick Turner

"squished"!

THURSDAY, MAY 51 TT

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The Heart of America—

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the mysterious signals from another “Well, how do you like that! * The end of the

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1947 BY NE

sing you're a suspicious character in

} | This is & Welsh community.

town’ s schools, and more than 1000 of them were competitors in the recent eisteddfod. That gives you some idea. The eisteddfod goes on for several days, with competition for all ages and kinds of voices—solos, duets, trios, quartets and so on.

» » » ASIDE from that fixation about singing the town is really broadminded. Republican voters, for instance, have a majority of about 700 over the Democrats. Yet, the mayor, Prank Pritchett, is a Democrat. Many Republicans decided that Mr. Pritchett, retired railroad man, would make a good mayor, and they helped elect him. The mayor modestly explains that

doesn't make speeches.

alo not ¢ one word said shect me getting ‘A’ in history!"

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news broadcast and

ing. Records are packed in boxes of 25 for shipment to dealers: Shown. * are (left to right} Miss Dorothy Randall Mrs. Gladys Jaynes and Mrs... Mildred Spears.

FOR THE PUBLIC—It s a long trail from the original’ cutting to listening pleasure. Here Ozzie Osborne, WISH disc jockey for’ Musi-* cally Yours, prepares to play the Dorsey tune born in New York and manufactured at the RCA plant here. A

In Jackson, Residents Break Into Song. Even When They're Breaking 1

Ohio Town Is the Singingest Place In U.S., but Broadminded on Other Things

By ELDON ROARK, Scripps-Howard Staff Writer JACKSON, O., May 22.—~I'm not lingering long here. If you can't

ing towns are the singingest places in America. Do you know what an eisteddfod is? That is a Welsh word mean- | ing’ “song festival.” Eisteddfods have been held here annually for years. sing when

There are 1580 pupils in the [owned and published by Ed Chap-

both sides like him because he

Two semi-weekly riewspapers pub-| t lished here also are an example of the town’s broad-mindedness. The

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LOCAL ANGLE_A! the RCA p Taylor inspects a stamping of the original cutting a comes from a nickel bath which builds. up thickness : strength necessary to withstand the ;

FOR M) RKET—Spindles of records flow from : s edge achine in the ‘background down assembly lines far uri i

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MR. CHAPMAN {is a Democrat, so he employs a Republican editor, Art Farrar. They work side by side, but don’t have any arguments—not even during "a political campaign. There is not much duplication of names in the subscription lists’ of)

the. two papers, they say Jacksonians boast that She local} A blast furnaces produce the world’s, La finest silvery: pig iron. That, they say, is due to the that the No, 1 coal mined near h