Indianapolis Times, Indianapolis, Marion County, 25 June 1951 — Page 9
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3 erie a | By Robert C. Ruark '_ CHAPEL HILL, N. C., June 25—0ld Dr. Brack Lloyd died last year, which might be the reason
the University of North Carolina is put in a four-year medical school ‘and its own
hospital. They got to do something to take up the
slack Dr. Lloyd left, - . Loyd was one of the last eoun doctors. He: wore a pinched-up black« hat, slept in his clothes and had dirty fingernails. If he had an office, it was on the sidewalk of Franklin St. or in Eubanks drugstore. But he was a mighty good doctor, The big boys called him in on the tough cases. He was & using sulfa drugs on pneumonia before its use was sanctioned * by the State Medical Assoclation. His obstetrical record was the best in the state, Dr. Lloyd was picturesquely profane, irreverent
+ and he never sent out a bill in his life. He would
just as leave take a pint of whisky as a check for delivering a baby, and often did. He always wore his black hat when he was operating. Said he couldn't see to cut without it. He loved animals, and his hogs were always fatter than anybcdy
else’s. ¢ © 9 : WHEN ONE of the university's most revered, venerable sages died, to the accompaniment of much written and spoken elegy, Dr. Lloyd spat nd said: “He's a-sittin’ in a front pew in hell right now. Any man who'll let his livestock perish to death ut of pure stinginess is duty bound to go to aell.” The departed professor had been notorious lor his bony horses and emaciated dogs. friend of mine once had a huge ulcer on the pacdk of his neck. Dr. Lloyd looked at and said: ‘That thing needs cuttin’. Wait'll I get my hat.” He went outside to his car, and came back with a mustard jar full of surgical instruments In his. hand, his old black hat on his head. He straddled the patient, wiped a scalpel on his
It Happened Last Night
By Earl Wilson
NEW YORK, June 25—New York has a new sight for sightseers, to compete with France's Eiffel Tower, Italy’s Colosseum, Switzerland's Matterhorn and Texas’ sombreros and oil millonaires— I refer to 8th Ave.'s Bus Terminal, I'm not ®exactly kidding. This Temple of Travel is the tempo of today. I roamed through its newness. People who go to Europe NOT to see museums and cathedrals, will enjoy ‘riding the new escalators to the suburban loading level three floors above 8th Ave. The 20 to 25 inrushing busses are of all colors —green, blue, tan, red, pink, purple. They form a kind of bedquilt before your eyes. Hustling and bouncing past me by the scores were the prettiest women in the world—the Amerfcan working girls. A New Jersey commuter with a bouquet for his wife—and an East Indian with an airling overnight bag. Some proud West Point cadets—and some GIs back from Korea being reassigned to Camp Kilmer. People going places! Fresh back from a Paris week-end, I was very travel conscious.
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I'D FOUND you can fly to Paris Friday night, arriving Saturday afternoon, stay till Sunday night, fly back for work Mogday. But on the Rue de la Paix or the Cafe Drap D’Or with its violins you wouldn't find the efficiency and crispy newness we Americans worship. How clearly the bus-caller summons you to busses for Chicago, Houston, San Francisco, St. Louis, Philadelphia] There are lounges, bowling alleys—and above all— : The “control tower”—on the first floor—that shoots the busses in and out. Those five banks of escalators rolling at the same time were, I insist, Art—of the utilitarian school. And that big roof—with its auto parking in the sky! Why, a guy and his gal could almost spoon inthe moonlight here, right in Times Sq.! I saw a fat man who seemed to be trying to get into a phone booth unsuccessfully.
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SIDNEY RUBIN, 325-pound dispatcher for the Mohawk and Lincoln Lines, was just too big to get into the booth. “It's so new and so big that we're still lost in it,” he said, speaking of the terminal—not the phone booth. = “Tonight we'll handle about. 3500 GIs going back to camp .. .” A First Army M. P. sat at a desk. He has a psychological effect on soldiers returning merrily to camp. . The escalators used to go 120 feet a minute. They were slowed down because some people fell.
June Havoc
About People—
\
Villagers Mourn : Country Doctor
sleeve, and commenced to cut. The patient's wife “Don't worry,” the doctor said, hacking away. “I was born sterilized. I eat germs.” The patient got well in a hurry. . ¢ ¢ &
DR. LLOYD loved. to play poker, and he always carried a straight flush of cards in his pocket. It was signed by the cronies who were present when he hit the flush, and was greasy and tattered from handling. But his fondness for poker deprived him of sleep. On a maternity case one time, he decided it would be at least an hour before baby came, and he was yawning. It was pretty late at night. “You got another bed in this house, sister?” he asked the expectant mother. He called all women, from professors’ ladies to servants “sister.” “No, Doctor Brack,” she said. “This is the only one.” ¢ “Then move over a mite, sister,” said Dr. Lloyd. “1 aim to ketch me a little snooze.” Although Dr. Lloyd had topped off his medical instruction at a famous eastern university—and had, I believe, headed a big hospital up North before he came home-—he was not an admirer of finehaired education especially when it concerned women, He once remarked to a lady who was acquiring knowledge somewhat late in life: “Cut it out, sister. It'll make you no money and get you no friends.”
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THEY SAY an early, unfortunate love affair |
turned Dr. Lloyd sour, made him into a character, and perhaps accounted for his disinterest in formal religion. It- is interesting that there were three preachers of different faiths at his funeral. They tumbled over themselves to excuse him for his lack of surface Godliness, and at least one dominje turned and upbraided the congregation, He said maybe Dr. Lloyd would have joined the church if the people in the church had been better people. -
N.Y. Bus Terminal a “City Within City”
On the walls are red “stop” buttons to which a cop or attendant leaps if anybody falls on the esky. That stops it quickly. Frankly, the new Porth Authority Bus Terminal, finest in the world, impressed me more than old world castles. Only thing I didn’t like about it was a than on the outside toting some signs. They said, “Saloons Are a Doorway to Hell.” ¢ & @ THE MIDNIGHT EARL... WHAT ABOUT Sen. McCarthy and TV genius Martha Rountree? . . . An official estimate says NY narcotic addicts—excluding casual reeferpuffers—number 15,000 to 20,000! . . . Joe Louis’ Cafe Society date was Chicago's beautiful Angelle Stratton. Are they already married? If Nancy agrees to divorce details, she'll probably file first in California, then Frankie'll file in Nevada, and the Frank-Ava merger could happen
real soon. ... Won't Vandenberg Jr. seek his late father’s Senate seat? ¢ & ©
GOOD RUMOR MAN: Mel Torme, opening ve Slcely indeed at the Versailles, claimed he overheard a stagehand saying, “Whose voice is that?” Another one said: “It's Mel's” —translated, “It smells.” (The crowd loved it.) . © o WISH I'D SAID ‘THAT: “On my vacation I'll go golfing or motor-boating—threre’s not much . difference, one is put, the other putt-putt.”— Garry Moore. ¢ © B'WAY BULLETINS: Police claim to know who gave the order to bump off Abe Reles (to save some political necks). Looks bad for him. + « Paulette Goddard's guess-which birthday passed unnoticed. , . . Although the hottest new comic around, Orson (Blue Angel) Bean had no agent—till Jerry Rosen signed him. , . . Elaine Gilder dances at Havana-Madrid. . . . Midnitem: Diana Lynn aad Bob Schuler the ad man. .. . Oh, what is so bare as a dame in June? ¢ © 9 ALL OVER: Mrs. Impellitteri subs for Abe Burrows on Laraine Day's ABC show Saturday. . . « Louis Sobol's working up to his first plane ride. . . . Donald (Comeback) Novis is off to Australia on a big engagement Aug. 6... . Joe E. (“Courtin’ Time”) Brown, says Maurice Turet, made a fortune NOT keeping his big mouth shut. > ¢ & TODAY'S BEST LAUGH: Cheesecaké Queen Geene Courtney defines a perfect gentleman: A bore. ¢ © + EARL'S PEARLS . . . June Havoe, at Major's Cabin, warned girls about late wild parties. Said she: “Better be safe than soiree.” * < SOMEBODY SAID IT long ago: A music lover is a guy who, when he hears a beautiful girl singing in a bathtub, puts his EAR to the keyhole. . . . That's Earl, brother.
This Lady Prefers Them Bald
Men who use washrags instead hunters in the Beverly Hills auc-
of combs can take heart from the tion gallery. words of movie actress Beverly Tyler. She says bald-headed males have “strength of character and a certain straightforwardness.” What's more, the shapely Hollywood starlet says she wouldn't mind marrying a gent with a shiny dome. Omitting bald film actors because “most of them are coy and wear toupees so they can be perennial leading
|Hat, Alberta,
Gen. Eisenhower jured.
| Included in the $250,000 collection are four wedding rings, | causing much speculation since the ecstatic beauty is now honey-|
{mooning with her fourth husband,|is in the bi town for - ‘Ernest Stauffer, at Carmel; 8 a three
Late Breakfast
| -Flag-pole, sitter (didn’t get her breakfast until {lunchtime yesterday in Medicine
{table than on the battlefield,” he |said during a “welcome home” Jewelry tjoker-tape parade down Broadway to New York's City Hall. The Ecuadorian chief executive
Cal. day visit. His first stop was the {small Greenwich Village hotel {where he was born 45 years ago.
Sick Songbird
Maxene Andrews of the singing
Vera Allen
| The rope used to hoist food be- {Andrew Sisters was under treat{came tangled and two firemen ment for an undisclosed ailment who tried to shinny up the pole today in Santa Monica Hospital. with the Canadian miss’ toast and| The sisters’ publicist said’ the coffee fell and were slighlty in-|
{33-year-old songstress was forced |to leave a singing engagement in
men,” Miss Tyler named her “10! About 5000 spectators in front|{New, York and fly to the West mo 8 t interesting bald-headed of City Hall cheered when ‘the|Coast.
men’: Gen. Dwight D.
said, “give him a tender quality! under his great strength.” Ex-postmaster James Farley! and industrialist Henry Kaiser
|rope was untangled and Mrs.| Eisenhower, Allen's breakfast was hoisted to whose hairline and shy smile she her perch atop the 65-foot pole.
‘War of Nerves
Fred Allen predicts the Far because “their heads have some- East conflict will'soon be over
Walk Away—
Herbert W. Todd woke up yesterday and rubbed his eyes a second time,
Someone had stolen part of
thing imposing, something im-| perious” about them. | Finnish composer Jan Sibelius’ “smooth, massive head makes! him Jook as fascinatingly rugged as his wild music,” she said, Miss Tyler also named Winston Churchill, President Vincent Auriol of France, Gen. Omar Bradley, Spanish painter Pablo Pioasso, Georgia's Democratic Sen. Richard Russell and philosopher George Santayana,
Million-Dollar Peek
The curtain will fall on another scene in Heddy Lamarr’s glamor-! ous career tonight when a million| dollars worth of her “intimate effects” go-on the auction block.
A dummy of her famed ‘figure, all her home furnishings, nearly 500 suits and dresses, 75 pairs of shoes, 12 fur coats and wraps— and an evening gown with builtin sponge-rubber falsies—opened wide the eyes of browsing bargain
—Jack Benny leaves tomorrow = for a five-week tour of military bases in Korea. Comedian Allen thinks comedian Benny's violin playing wil scare the Reds out of Korea. Also in the star-studded theatrical troupe Benny are screen hero
Errol Nigam, singer Beaay Venuta and actress Marjorie Reynolds.
Better to Talk
On the serious side, Ecuadorian Presfdent Galo Plaza sald yesterday he believed Russia's proposal for arranging a cease-fire Korea “might lead to a final solution.”
“It is much better ta talk Bn at the conference
Mr.
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in|
the brick wall that leads from his home at 1310 Golden Hill Dr. to the tennis courts at the Woodstock Country Club.
The thief didn’t bother with
laid in concrete, but he did steal about 100 bricks which were laid in the ground in a pattern between the conérete rows,
What's Up
A small monkey is living in the treetops near Meadowbrook Dr. Nine-year-old Victoria Cole of 1250 Meadowbrook Dr. was picking wild- strawberries yesterday ° when she heard a strange noise in a tree. She looked up and saw the monkey, Her father, C. M. Cole, tried to catch the monkey but failed. Last night the Coles again heard the mols? in the tree.
the two outside rows of brick |
! MONDAY, JUNE 25, 1951
Tippecanoe and Fishing Too—
An Adventure
ie
4
FINALLY LANDED—After a good fight.
Several years ago Ben East, field editor for OUTDOOR LIFE magozine, made a float trip down Indiana's Tippecanoe River. With him on the junket were Heinie Moesch, of the State Conservation Department and Lieter Ford and Walt Kelsey, of Monterey. In the years since the trip was made neither the bass, the Tippecanoe nor Henie Moesch has changed. The Times is
pleased to reprint it today.
THE STOREKEEPER at Leiters Ford; Tid, looked up from the soup meat he was wrapping and shook his
head.
“You're too late,” he told us gloomily. been here last week you'd have caught some bass.
“If you'd But
they're just about through for the summer now.” It was an old story, one I'd heard a hundred times
before. All my life I've been either too late or too
early on fishing and hunt-
ing trips. On more occasions than I can remember some local expert had said, “Too bad you didn’t come yesterday!" or has reported after I got home, “They started rising the day after you left and there's been no let-up since.” I ould be used to it by now. All the same, that forlorn forecast in the general store was a big disappointment. River fishing with a fly rod for small-mouth bass rates close to the top in my book. There are many reasons, I like the slow drift of the current, the willows growing on the bars with their feet in the wafer, the elms and sycamores leaning out from the bank. I know no music sweeter than the bell-like notes of a wood thrush coming from the thorn thickets in the still hour just before sunrise, when such trips are properly getting under way. I even enjoy the restless, unmusical talk of crows in the river timber as the morning goes along. I like the fishing itself, too. For me a river holds out a lot more promise than a lake. There is something new beyond each bend — quiet eddies around stumps and logs, deep places ere bass shelter under driftwood, dark holes beneath the roots of a leaning tree at the water's edge.
” » s NO METHOD of angling satisfies me more than laying a bass fly into a spot like that. No fishing experience excites me mote than the smashing rise of a smallmouth, his first savage surge to take the fly home with him, and the antics that follow when he comes tight-roping out of the river -o’ his tail or makes hard, stul
born battle down among tr snags. 1 had thought of those thing all the way across northern In diana, and my mouth ha watered with anticipation. Fo if my advance information wa: dependable I was in for some smallmouth fishing I'd remember the rest of my life. The Tippecanoe River, Heinle Moesch had told me, was the finest bass stream in the state. He was even willing to bet there wasn’t a better one in the coun-
y. “No pollution,” Heinle explained proudly. “Clean water all the way down!” And that, he added, is a situation lamentably uncommon with Hoosier
| rivers, as with those of many
|
another state. Bass water, Heinie said. Cold and clear. Fast runs and shallows, deep holes and snags, and shaded pockets by the mile. A fair pike and catfish river, with some goggle-eyes—but a small-mouth stream above all, the answer to a fly fisherman's dreams. Thas was how Heinie described the Tippecanoe. 5 s » 1 WARNED myself not to let my hopes run too high. The weather was against us, for one thing. It was mid-July and hotter than the door latch of Hades. But Heinie said the weather didn’t mean much on the Tippecanoe. The bass were usually willing to do business whether the day was sunny or overcast, "sultry or cold. Those small mouths never went on hunger strikes, he contended. And I believed all* he told me. This was ore trip that would pay off, 1 said to myself. Then I met Heinle at Leiters at suppertime, and the storekeeper threw cold water in our faces. You can see why I felt let down. “They've quit biting,” he declared flatly. “A week ago today one boat took fifteen. Another come in with seven bass and a pike. But hardly a boat has got any since Sunday.” “I thought fishing . al-
<
ways good in the Tippecanoe,” I protested: The storekeeper was loyal, but he stuck to his guns. {Catfish are biting,” he retorted. “Neighbor of mine got a couple of channel cats and a big beaneye down below the bridge last night. But the bass fishing’s gone to pot. They'll hit it up again in a month or so, though,” he predicted. “Soon as the weather turns cool.”
o = - I DIDN'T bother to tell him that in a month I'd be a long way from the Tippecanoe, on other business, and that good bass fishing then would do me no good, » Heinie bought the supplies we needed and we drove out to his camp a few miles downriver. He put a big mulligan on the stove for supper. “Things don’t look too proms ising for us, do they?” I observed, £ RA He chuckled. “At your age,” he said, “you should know better than to ask questions when you're going fishing. Wait till morning and see for yourself, I promised you smallmouths, and if you dop’t get ‘em I'll take you down to Monticello tomorrow might and. buy you the best catfish dinner you ever sank a toothy in! Fiddlers, Little channel cats about 10 inches long. They're real eating. But you won't get to try 'em. The old Tippe never failed me yet!”
= = = WE DROVE UP to Walt Kelsey’s place in Monterey the next morning, as the summer dawn was breaking over the sleeping village. At the last minute I remembered a bottle of mosquito dope on the back seat of my car and went back up the bank to get it.
“Any mosquitos on this tream?” I asked Walt, “No mosquitoes,” he prom- .
ad. “But you might need yme dope, at that. Some days ie deerflies get sort of pesky.” Looking back on it now, J sn’t think I can recall a neate: cample of understatement. We pushed out into the cursent of the Tippecanoe. Streamers of mist curled up from the still surface of the water. Around the first bend the village of Monterey and its bridge disappeared, and we drifted quietly along between green, tree-lined banks. We were as remote from the neighboring world of cornfield and pasture land as if we ‘had been on a river in the wilderness 500 miles north of the Tippecanoe.
5 » 5 WALT was at the oars, steadying the boat, holding it within reach of promising spots along first one bank and then the other.. Heinle was in the stern, working a small red-and-white surface plug on a casting rod. I had the bow for my domain, with my fly rod and a medium-size bass fly in skunk pattern, We skirted a gravel bar where submerged green weeds waved in the current. There
On A Hoosier R
“ BEN EAST a + +4
This story, an adventure in Indiana, is reprinted through the courtesy of OUTDOOR LIFE. 2
THE LUCK CHANG
were riffiles below, and then a deep hole with a couple of waterlogged stumps to split the river and make ideal eddies. Next came an overhanging bank where a fallen sycamore leaned far out, with its top in the water. My fly was drifting into a dark pocket under the low branches of a willow. Ten minutes of fishing had produced no action and I was listlessly watching the fly. I twitched it a little to keep it clear of snags— and then it wasn’t there. It went out of sight as if by magic, and a dimple spread on the water to show where it disappeared. My wrist whipped up in instinctive motion born of long experience. I felt the solid shock of a hooked fish resisting me and knew I was fast to my first Tippecanoe smallmouth. The bass wasn’t big, but he gave a lively account of himself. He tried first for the shelter of a sunken log farther back under the willows. When Td have none of that he came out and walked on his tail three or four times his cwn length. after that. he hammered and rolled and jumped, but he lacked the weight for a real battle.
. o ~ I KIDDED HIM along and let the rod deal its steady punishment, and in a couple of minutes he was within reach of Walt and the net. There were 11 inches of him, dark bronbe along the dorsal fin, pale on the belly, for his size 8 nice a bass as a fisherman ould wish to see. We put him on the stringer, lowered him over the side of the boat, and went on . . And then the smallmouth population of the Tippecanoe proceeded to lock their front doors and stop speaking to us. I went from my skunk pattern to a squirreltail, tried a couple of bugs, and finally turned the rod over to Walt and took a turn at the oars, reasoning that he knew the river far better than I . It was all no use. We fished as patiently 2nd as hard as we knew how, and when we had been on the river two hours my smallmouth still held his place on the stringer all by himself. Not another bass had shown us a rise. “Well, let's go on down to. the next bridge and get it over with,” Heinie suggested. “We're skunked anyway, as far as bass are concerned.”
” o » WALT shook his head. “I don't think so,” he said. There's
“i
Ben East
almost always a time toward the middle of the day when they rise. If they lay off in the morning, when fishing should be best, I've found that it's worth while to try 'em around noon. There ought to be one over there behind that snag right now.”
He laid his fly in the pocket he indicated, twitched it a couple of times, and the river parted under it as if a small depth bomb had let go. The fly vanished in a shower of bubbles. I saw Walt flick the rod up, then a crater opened in the dark water and a big bass went raging skyward, rolling over and over like an angry porpoise. ” ” ” THE FISH had Walt in a tight corner, He was’ behind the snag, with plenty of water to play around in, and he used it all. He charged for bottom,
sawed the line across the sunken log, fouled it, and fought it at close range like a wild bronco snubbed to a post. He leaped twice more, high and handsome, with a full foot of daylight under his belly. The s&écond time he snapped the leader and was gone.
The commotion on the water died away and Walt let out a loud groan. “Great jumpin’ catfish!” he exclaimed ‘That bass would go five pounds or better! He was bigger than any I ever landed! Oh man, oh man, oh man!”. I heard Heinie mutter something in consolation, and then I felt my arms and neck burning and realized suddenly that the deerflies had swarmed over us once more. In the torture of their attack we almost forgot our excite. ment over Walt's fish. While
PHOOIE TO BASS—The kid wanted catah.
i Ra
now, ore Bearing him out, almost immediately Heinle got action on
a deep-running plug. The bass good one, but
; f
§ g 5 i : i 8
i o% Hiss
fracas, laid a bucktail pocket close to the bank, rest it briefly, twitched it, and a ba came at me like a hungry | jumping a deer. I drove the hook into him and turned him back from the leafy of a newly fallen tree at shore. He came reluctantly, weaving and fighting deep down, and I knew I was fast to a solid chunk of Tippecanoe smalls mouth. I led him my way for maybe five yards, and then I felt him turn. I saw my rod tip bow down in unwilling homage. He made a short, fierce run to the top and corkscrewed out of the water, shaking his big gaping mouth from side to side in rage and panic. On that first leap I guessed him at three pounds, and learned later that he was not far off. He submerged and played bulldog, hunting for some root» shod lair he knew about on the bottom. I lost line, but net too much, and after a minute he took the aerial way once more. He was giving me as sweet a scrap as any bass I had ever hooked, and I was having fun. Then the deerflies pounced on us again. : It stayed like that for more than an hour, The smallmouths were feeding and so were the deerflies. We had as good basa fishing as I can remember, good enough to fix the Tippecanoe forever in my mind as a great stream-—and at 5 to 10-minute intervals we passed through a nest of flies and suffered the agoniés of the damned. » ~ - ABOUT NOON the files faded away as-swiftly as they had appeared. We found a breeze. swept stretch of grassy bank and went ashore for lunch. Walt had brought along three big T-bone steaks. i We broiled them over an opén fire and never lifted a hand to brush the flies away. Every now and then, while the steaks were cooking, I looked down over the bank at the string of bass floating in shallow water
58
beside the boat. ; I was up to my ears bone and very content when enie brought up