Kankakee Valley Post, Volume 10, Number 47, DeMotte, Jasper County, 10 October 1940 — Page 2

Sportlight

by GRANTLAND RICE

T-X OW good a swinger is Sammy 11 Snead compared to the best of ail time? Snead has yet to win a national crown and yet many, in-

cluding Bobby Jones, pick the West Virginian as one of the top stylists since the first Scotchman socked a rock with a shepherd’s crook and complained of the greens. Snead may be the “dream swinger” to many, but he isn’t to Jimmie Donaldson, an able stylist of his own and one

of the top instructors of the game. In rating Snead as highly as we have, Jimmie thinks your correspondent is a trifle curious in the cupola—as follows— An Expert Disagrees Dear Grant: I happened to see your article about Sammy Snead. How a man like you who has seen as much golf as you have can compare Sammy Snead’s swing, which has a decided loop (which is preventing him from winning big tournaments), with a great swing like Harry Vardon’s baffles me. What do you mean about Hagen, Sarazen and J. H. Taylor being swingers? They certainly were not swingers, but decided hitters. And if you are writing on the subject of swingers, how can you possibly overlook Byron Nelson who, I personally think, is a much better swinger, and better grooved, than Snead has been last two years. To the layman your article might appeal, but to someone like myself who knows a little about it, it is really funny. Sincerely yours, Jimmie Donaldson And in Rebuttal — Dear Jimmie — I know of few golfers who swing l a golf club better than you do —or few who know as much about the old game. But I can’t agree with you about Sammy Snead. You say he has a loop in his swing? So did Bobby Jones. Do you know a better swinger? Yet only a few days ago Bobby Jones told me that in his opinion Snead had the best all around swing with every club that he had ever seen—and Bob played with Vardon as far back as 1920. Bobby Jones was referring to the physical of Snead’s swing, not to his mental attitude in a championship. Snead gets amazing results with little show of effort, of extra effort. Snead’s downfall has never been due to any fault in his swing—only to his inability to concentrate —only to his mental attitude, which as you know is 70 per cent of golf. I played with Bobby Jones four days ago and he had a 65. I still got a thrill from the slow, smooth beauty of his swing. Bob still insists that Snead is the top. The difference is that Bobby could always concentrate and keep full control of his mental and nerve resources. Snead can’t. Yet remember this — in his last four big tournaments, Snead has won three and reached the final hole against Nelson in the last P. G. A. I have seen Snead hit many a golf ball, but I have yet to see any “decided loop.” Hagen and Nelson Continuing our correspondence, I hate to disagree with an expert of your rank. But to my mind Walter Hagen is a better swinger than most. Hagen in his prime was one of the ideal swingers. Sarazen, with his stocky build, is more of a hitter than a swinger. We agree here. Sarazen doesn't think Snead has any loop, but he is afraid Snead is getting a trifle flat in his back swing. “The greatest fault in golf today,’’ Sarazen says. As for swingers—how about Henry Picard? Winning temperament—no. But a great golfer and a great swinger. Snead has had a better three or four-year record than MacDonald Smith. Did you ever see a finer swinger than Mac Smith? Yet Mac Smith through 25 years never won a national title. Here was the great crime of all golf. Mae Smith with the golfing temperament of Walter Hagen or Byron Nelson would have won at least six championships. Imagine Sammy Snead with the mental attitude of a Hagen or a Nelson—or the tremendous concentration of a Bobby Jones — Even as it is, I believe Sammy Snead will still astonish the world of golf. Watch him! Swing Still Secondary If you are thinking in terms of swingers I’ll give you my list—Bobby Jones, Harry Vardon, Sammy Snead, Walter Hagen, Mac Smith, Henry Pieard and Paul Runyan. It also so happens that winning championship golf belongs even more in the heart and above the shoulders than it does in the technique of any swing. What about Byron Nelson, one of our best through many years? Nelson is a good swinger, who once in a while gets his left wrist tied up.

Grantland Rice

TRAILER GIRL

© Ledger

THE STORY THUS FAR

Lynn Morrow, beautiful blonde New York flrl, is stranded in Palm Beach in her jathing suit with only 50 cents when her »mployer, Mrs. Helen Warren, disappears with car and trailer from a camp where she. Buddy, her son, and Lynn had been living. A note from Mrs. Warren advises Lynn to call at her New York attorney’s office for her clothes and wages. She is rescued by Terry McNair, whom she met at the beach. She goes to his home, where ne has a maid provide her with some of his sisters evening clothes. They then go to a beach club. His sister appears and a quarrel ensues. Lynn accepts the help of a stranger to escape. He takes her to his home where he identifies himself as Raymond (Wild) Austin. He accuses her of trying to blackmail him. Greatly incensed, Lynn flees. Stopping at a coffee shop, she meets a young artist, Rene Bouchier. who is returning to New York by trailer and offers to take her there. They enjoy roughing it along the road. She finds Rene to be a decent sort of a fellow. Lynn tells Rene her story. He knows McNair and Austin as moneyed playboys. The car breaks down. They are forced to stay at the Lovell farmhouse during repairs, the Lovells believing them newlyweds. The Lovells discover they are not married and insist a marriage take place. There being no way out. Lynn and Rene agree. They decide their marriage is to be one in name only, with a divorce to follow'. The wedding takes place.

CHAPTER Vlll—Continued —6—

Rene went out to settle up with the garage man and Mrs. Lovell began bustling about. “Now, my dear, since you’re not staying for dinner, I’ve got some things together for you to take along. There’s pie and plenty of fresh eggs and take along some of this canned fruit, and there’s homemade bread.” Mrs. Lovell carried the food down to the trailer, while Rene hitched on the rejuvenated automobile. They said their good-bys, and with deep relief the newlyweds started on up the road north. Hardly were they on to the road when Rene grabbed her hand, took off the wedding*ring and threw it out into the ditch. “Damn them!” He pounded the wheel of the car with his fists. “How could they be such fools!” He kept his eyes straight ahead. “They should have known by looking at you, you’re not that kind of person!” Lynn felt sorry for Rene, for she knew he blamed himself for their difficult position. “You’re a swell kid, Lynn. If I have to steal the money, I’ll see you get a divorce. There isn’t anybody you want to marry now, is there? It may take a little time for me to get the cash together.” “No, there isn’t anybody, Rene.” It was while they were eating their “wedding dinner” that they talked, for the last time in many a day. about the forced marriage. “I haven’t an idea of one word that old parson said, Lynn,” Rene said suddenly, his mouth full of Mrs. Lovell’s homemade bread. “But I’m making a vow to you right now.” He held up his right hand: “Never will I tell anybody about this whole silly thing! It’s between you and me. If you find a chap you want to marry, step out and marry him. He’ll never know from me that you and I were virtually stood up at the point of a gun and married!” “I promise the same to you Rene.” “It might break some boy’s heart if he fell in love with you and then learned about all this. How’d you make anybody understand? We do, but nobody else could!” “I don’t suppose so. I’m a little vague about it myself,” and they went off into gales of laughter. “If I’d only had sense enough to say that you were my brother!” Rene laughed. “Yes, we look so much alike!” They were moving north rapidly and both of them found they were suffering from the sudden cold after weeks of warm sunshine. They dug up all the clothes which the trailer offered and wore most of them, but, even so, they found it cold. “Well, we’ve got a little cash left, enough for ground rent for the trailer. I’m going to stay in a new camp at the edge of the Bronx for the time being.” Rene explained his whole financial difficulties. “I figure if I have rent paid, I can go and try to peddle some of my pictures. There’s a lot of food aboard, thanks to the Lovells. Although that’s all we have to thank them for. “You’ll sell your things, I know!” Lynn said positively. “They’re fine.” “Wish I had your optimism. But, at least, there’ll be a roof over my head—and yours, too—until you get on your feet, if you need it.” “Thanks, Rene. You’re kind. I’ll see Mr. Mortimer the first thing. Then when I get clothes, I’ll go job hunting.” “You’ve got a place to live as long as I have one,” Rene answered. As they came closer to New York both of them were excited and thrilled. It was “home.” That night they decided to drive on after dark. They were only 100 miles from New York. “We’ll push on. I want to get this over with!” Rene said. “There’s no use our both freezing. You go back and lie dowti. I’ll drive through if I can. Then we can pull ourselves together and start going places.” It must have been w r ell on toward midnight when he could see the glare of the sky over Manhattan. Joy filled his heart. This w*as his town, his Life! Deep in his heart he knew he had real talent. If he could ever click. Maybe then he could do something for the sleeping girl inside the trailer.

By VERA BROWN

She should marry some nice guy who’d be kind to her r give her a fine home. It was while Rene so dreamed along that a late comer, hurrying into the city, pushed Rene off on to the icy shoulder of the road. Rene acted quickly. There was a squeak of brakes, a clatter of dishes and away they went. The other driver was far dowfi the road. He did not stop. The rear end of the trailer was in the ditch and the car at right angles across the road. Rene, swearing softly, struggled out of the car and rushed back to the trailer to rescue Lynn. He found her in a pile of blankets, dishes and loose oranges, struggling to sit up and rubbing a bump on her head. “Oh! Oh!” Lynn was a bit dazed. “What happened?” “I don’t know. But we’re in the ditch. Are you all right?” “I guess so. I bumped my head.” “Thank the Lord it’s no w r orse!” Rene tried to see whether any damage had been done to the trailer, but the deep snow hid the rear wheels. Then he heard Lynn call out to him: “Rene! Rene!” CHAPTER VIII Rene put his head into the trailer door. “All right, Lynn? There’s a car coming. I’m going to see if I can get help.” A truck came along, and the driver got out. Together the two men looked over the situation. Finally the truck driv-

Suddenly Lynn gasped. The check was for $200.

er got out a chain from his tool box, hooked it on to the front of Rene’s car. There was much pulling and struggling. Finally, with a big plunge, up came the trailer on to the road. It was not until then that he stopped and went back to see how Lynn fared in the trailer. He found her sitting on the couch, rubbing her ankle. “I think I hurt it,” she said, sticking out her ankle. It was already puffed up to twice its size. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Rene demanded in dismay. “I didn’t realize I’d hurt it until I tried to stand on it,” she said apologetically. She also had a big lump on her forehead. As they came nearer New York, he stopped at a drug store, bought some two-inch bandage and took it back to Lynn. Rene, chilled to the bone, his trousers wet with snow to his knees, set his jaws grimly and drove on. It was a sadly bedragged couple who limped into the almost deserted tourist camp up in the Bronx about 2 o’clock that morning. Rene unhooked the car and took it over to a nearby garage, for he Was afraid the car would freeze in the bitter cold. Lynn managed to get a fire built in the little stove, and the trailer was cozy and warm. But the ankle was painful, and there was no more sleep for her that night. It must have been 9 o’clock Rene finally roused. When he opened his eyes his head felt heavy and his throat sore. He; was burning up. But he called to Lynn: “How’s your ankle?” “It’s pretty sore. But I can hobble around here.” “Then find me some aspirin.” “Are you sick?” she asked in terror. “I’ve got a terrible cold.” It was not a cold, but a severe attack of influenza that Rene had. The next week was difficult for Lynn. She, herself, could hardly walk, but she had to care for Rene somehow. The second day he was delirious and she tried to arrange to get him into the city hospital, but the wards were full and they refused him admittance. The man who operated the tra.lei camp was kind, and his wife helped Lynn all she could. They ran errands, and together they managed. “This is homecoming,” Lynn thought bitterly as she sat beside Rene the first day he was delirious. Their money was running danger-

THE KANKAKEE VALLEY POST

ously low, but Lynn was quite unable to go to Mr. Mortimer’s office. Lynn hunted through Rene’s pockets and found all the money she could. He had paid the rent for a month on that first day before he got so ill, but they had only $lO left. There were medicines to buy. Mr Arthur, the manager of the camp, had got his family doctor for Rene. Lynn paid him for his two visits and the money disappeared. On the sixth day Rene was rriuen better. Lynn was still hardly able to walk, but they had only 50 cents left. “I’ll go downtown tomorrow. * I’ll have to,” she said as she gave Rene an accounting of how she r d spent the last $lO. “I’ve got a surprise for you, Lynn. Go get my belt.” Lynn brought it to him. “See this?” he said as he opened up a little pocket on the under side. There were two $1 bills. He tossed them to Lynn. “You’ve been a brick. Don’t try to go until you feel equal to it. Or better yet, take a taxi.” Lynn was horrified at such wild extravagance. “You could drive my car down but you’d have to pay the garage rent to get it out.” 1 The next day Lynn was able to get down to a drug store and she telephoned Mr. Mortimer’s office. His secretary made an appointment for the next day. Lynn came home and began to check over the clothes available. Mrs. Lovell had given her a dark gingham dress, and she decided to wear that, one of Rene’s heavy sweaters and a blue beret.

“I look like a ragamuffin,” she said as she dressed behind the gingham screen. “You’d look all right in anything,” Rene assured her. “I’ve got to hurry and get well so I can get down to some of the magazines and peddle some of this stuff.” Rene was still very weak and sick. The doctor spoke to Lynn about it. “You should take your brother back down South,” he told her. To go back to Florida was impossible, Lynn told the doctor. If that was the case, he w’arned, Rene must be very careful for a long time. “He should stay in bed for another two weeks,” was the ultimatum. “If I can get that money and my we won’t have to worry,” Lynn said as she put the finishing touches on her scant costume. The whole place smelled of shoe blacking, for Lynn had tried to black the white sandals she wore in Wild Austin’s Palm Beach house, what seemed to her, ages ago. “They look pretty bad,” she. said in a discouraged voice as she brought them for Rene to see. “I don’t care how they look,” Rene remarked, eyeing her handiwork, “but I hope you don’t get pneumonia. There’s nothing to the things.” When Lynn was finally dressed, she pulled aside the gingham curtain. “How do I look?” she demanded. “Fine,” said Rene, but his throat contracted as he saw her in the toolarge blue sweater, the thin Summer dress and the makeshift shoes. “Well, anyway, I’m respectable. Now for Mr. Mortimer.” “Be sure and take the bus over from the subway at Thirty-fourth Street.' Don’t try and walk in those so-called shoes and buy yourself some when you get the money.” There was a long wait for a bus at Thirty-fourth Street, but soon she was being shot up to the fortieth floor of tlie Empire State Building. When she came into the'reception room of Mr. Mortimer’s big office, she was almost overcome at its grandeur. A gorgeously dressed woman in silver foxes was sitting there. Lynn asked for Mr. Mortimer and gave her name to the pretty girl receptionist. She was ushered into a high ceilinged office with many windows, and deep chairs. A man sat at a mahogany desk. i “Here is Miss Morrow, Mr. Mortimer.” “How do you do?” Mr. Mortimer held out his hand, took in Lynn’s shabby, inadequate clothing. His conscience smote him, but there was nothing else he could do. “Sit dow r n, Miss Morrow. My secretary will bring your suit case. I’m sorry I had to put you to all this inconvenience, but at the time you wired I was not sure Mrs. Warren owed you any money. I had not had her letter.” Lynn nodded. None of this seemed strange to her. “Where are you living?” he asked. “In a trailer up at a Bronx tourist camp.” “Will you remain in town?” Mr. Mortimer handed her a check. Lynn did not look at it at first. “I am giving you this on one condition—that you keep me informed where you live. Mrs. Warren liked you and wants to get in touch with you when she comes back North.” “Yes, but I hope to get something besides housework to do.” Mortimer’s face remained unchanging. “Maybe I can help you to get a job.” He was frankly surprised at the girl’s apparent beauty, and he had sudden misgivings Was everything as it seemed? Then suddenly Lynn gasped. She looked at the check. It was for S2OO (TO BE conn MED)

WNU Service

Apples hold a place of welldeserved popularity today, for they have been widely used as food from the earliest times. What other fruit has such a long season, tastes so good, keeps so well, can be served in so many different ways, and yet is relatively inexpensive? Do you want apples for cooking, or for baking? Or do you want them for eating apples or dessert? Apples should be selected according to the purpose for which you are to use them. A good cooking apple should be tart, or at least medium acid, wfith a juicy, fine-grained flesh. A good cooking apple, however, should have a distinct apple flavor. You are, no doubt, familiar with such names as Rome Beauty, Winesap, Black Twig, Grimes Golden and Mclntosh. Have you ever hud the sad experience of baking apples only to find that they have remained hard and lack juiciness? Or did you use a variety that became so watery upon baking that you couldn't quite tell what it was? The Wealthy, Mclntosh, Grimes Golden, Jonathan, Rhode Island Greening or Northwestern Greening, the Rome Beauty, the W r inesap and Black Twig are all varieties of apples which may be used for this purpose. A good dessert apple should have a prominent and distinct apple fla-

vor, mildly acid, and with a fineflesh texture. Here again you may select the Mclntosh, the Grimes Golden, the Jonathan, the Rome Beauty, the

Black Twig, or the Delicious. A bowl of shining apples will appeal to the children when they come home from school. There will be no need for them to say, “Mom, I’m hungry; what can I have to eat?” The Wealthy, the Delicious, and the Rome Beauty are all popular eating apples. There is nothing more delicious than a baked apple, apple pie, or a raw apple salad, but have you ever tried apples in fritter batter, or combined them with green peppers for a salad? Here are some such recipes from my own test kitchen which are not only simple to prepare, but also include that much-longed for variety in recipes when we have plenty of apples to use. Norwegian Apple Pudding. (Serves 8) Vi pound prunes (about 9) { -• 2 cups cold water 1 inch cinnamon stick IV2 cups boiling water % cup cornstarch 1 cup sugar Va teaspoon salt 1 tablespoon lemon juice Vi pound apples (about 3) (quartered) (cooked in®a syrup of V 2 cup water and V 4 cup sugar) Cover prunes with cold water, bring to a boil, and stew until soft.

ly. Remove cinnamon stick, and add lemon juice and apples. Place in greased molds and chill. Scalloped Apples de Luxe. (Serves 6 to 8) 2 Vi cups graham crackers (about 26) (crushed) Vi cup sugar Vi- teaspoon cinnamon V\ teaspoon nutmeg Vi teaspoon salt 4 tablespoons butter (melted) 1 quart apples (6 apples) (sliced) % cup pineapple juice Vi cup marshmallow's (quartered) Combine graham cracker crumbs, sugar, spices, salt and butter. Place half of the crumb mixture in a wellgreased IVi quart casserole. Add half of the sliced apples, moistened with part of the pineapple juice. Cover with the remaining crumbs, and top with apple slices. Pour the remaining juice over all. Bake cov-

Household News

AN APPLE A DAY—SERVED IN A DIFFERENT WAY (See Recipes Below)

Remove stones and return the prunes, stick cinnamon and w’ater to kettle. Add boiling water. Slowly stir in thin paste made of cornstarch, sugar, salt and a little cold water. Boil 20 minutes, stirring frequent-

by Eleanor Howe

ered in a moderate oven (350 degrees) for 45 minutes or until apples are tender. Remove the cover. Arrange marshmallows over the top and browm in the oven for 3 to 5 minutes. Serve with cream. Apple Fritters. (Makes about 12 fritters) 113I 1 3 cups flour 1% teaspoons baking powder 1 4 teaspoon salt 2 3 cup milk 1 egg (well beaten) 2 apples (medium size) (1 cup, sliced) Mix and sift dry ingredients. Combine milk and egg, and add to dry ingredients, gradually, stirring constantly. Wipe, core, and pare apples, and cut into eighths and then slice. Stir into the batter. Drop by spoonfuls into deep fat which has been heated to 360 degrees. Fry until golden brown (4 to 5 minutes). Drain on brown paper and sprinkle with powdered sugar. Applesauce Doughnuts. (Makes 2*4 dozen) 2 tablespoons butter lVa cups brown sugar 2 eggs 1 cup applesauce 4 cups all purpose flour Vi teaspoon salt 1 teaspoon soda Vi teaspoon nutmeg Vz teaspoon cinnamon 4 teaspoons baking powder Cream buttes and add sugar while beating constantly. Beat eggs and add. Add applesauce. Mix and sift together the flour, salt, soda, nutmeg, cinnamon, and baking powder, and add. Roll, cut with doughnut cutter and fry in deep fat (heated to 365 degrees). Drain and roil in mixture of powdered sugar and cinnamon. Dixie Apple Sauce Cake. 2 cups cake flour Vi teaspoon salt 1 teaspoon soda 1 teaspoon cinnamon V\ teaspoon cloves Vi teaspoon mace J /3 cup shortening 1 cup sugar 1 egg (unbeaten) 1 cup seedless raisins 1 cup thick apple sauce Sift dry ingredients. Cream shortening, add sugar gradually o l heat

well. Add unbeaten egg and raisins and mix well. Add dry ingredients alternately with the apple sauce. When thoroughly blended pour into

greased loaf pan. Bake in a moderate oven (350 degrees) for 40 to 50 minutes. Apple Torte. (Serves 5 to (i) 1 egg (beaten) % cup sugar Vz cup flour 1 teaspoon baking powder Vh teaspoon salt 1 tart apple (about 1 cup, cut fin ) Vz cup nut meats (cut fine) Beat egg thoroughly and gradually add sugar, beating well after each addition. Sift together the flour, baking powder and salt, and foie into the first mixture. Add app and nut meats cut fine. (If desired a dash of cinnamon may be adde< here). Place mixture in a well greased pie pan and bake in a moderate oven (350 degrees) for about 40 minutes.

FEEDING FATHER

Has “Dad” asked you to bake a Deep Dish Apple Pie, or to stir up his favorite Chocolate Cake lately? Probably not, but he will. Once he sees the nice, luscious red apples on the market, and feels a slight tang of frost in the air, he will remember all of his old favorites. Why not be prepared by having reliable tested recipes of the ones he likes the best? Miss Howe’s book. “Feeding Father,” will give you just such recipes, and others, including “Spareribs with Apple Stuff ing,” “Mulligan Stew’” and “English Currant Bread.” You may secure your copy by writing to Eleanor Howe, 919 North M v i gan Avenue, Chicago, Illinois, enclosing 10 cents, in coin. (Released by Western Newsp, tvi' (', n. >