Memphis World Memphis World Publishing Co. 1959-07-08 Thaddeus T. Stokes MEMPHIS WORLD The South's Oldest and Leading Colored Semi-Weekly Newspaper Published by MEMPHIS WORLD PUBLISHING CO. Every WEDNESDAY and SATURDAY at 546 BEALE—Ph. JA. 6-4030 Member of SCOTT NEWSPAPER SYNDICATE W. A. Scott, II, Founder; C. A. Scott, General Manager Entered in the Post Office at Memphis, Tenn. as second-class mail under the Act of Congress, March 1, 1870 THADDEUS T. STOKES ............ Managing Editor SMITH FLEMING .............. Circulation Manager SUBSCRIPTION RATES: Year $5.00—6 Months $3.00—3 Months $1.50 (In Advance) The MEMPHIS WORLD is an independent newspaper — non-sectarian and non-partisan, printing news unbiasedly and supporting those things it believes to be of interest of its readers and opposing those things against the interest of its readers. Summer Is Here Summer is now here, having arrived on the night of June 20th. Until September 23rd, summer will be with us. By that time you will probably be ready for the cooler winds, the dry weather, and the falling leaves, burning straw and leaves, school, football and all that goes with fall. But right now, the vacation season is yours for enjoyment. The days will be long, the nights short and swimming, camping, hiking and outdoor sports will be at their peak. Take advantage of all Mother Nature offers and find time to relax and refresh yourself spiritually and mentally. But exercise careful planning and take things slowly. Too many vacationers are killed on the highways, in swimming and in boats. The number of these summer tragedies increases each year — as more people buy boats and more people visit lakes, beaches, pools, etc. So, keep in mind these things, and protect the lives of those near, to you by doing so, and then enjoy this summer. It will never return again — the summer of 1959 — and maybe the world will have changed, or maybe we will not be at peace, or beloved ones may be gone, at some later date. Therefore, make good use of your time — not just summers alone — for every day that posses leaves you one day less. People Read, Remember, And Buy A recent nationwide survey shows that more than threequarters of the nation's retailers expect their summer business to exceed last year's, Editor & Publisher reports. Only 20% anticipate no change, and a mere 2% look for a decline. It will take a lot of good advertising to bring the expected results, about. And it's significant that newspapers will continue to be the retailers' foremost advertising medium. The survey finds that 72% of the stores surveyed plan to invest 80% or more of their summer advertising spending in the papers. And 57% will allocate at least nine-tenths of their ad budgets to the papers. All advertising media are in tough competition these days, with newspapers, magazines, TV, radio, and direct mail scrapping for a larger share of the ad dollar. But newspapers, despite the new media, hold their own — simply because newspaper ads get results. People read, remember, and buy. One Thing We Cannot Afford "If there is one thing we cannot afford any longer it is the idea that any government spending program automatically should have priority over a citizen's use of his own money," says an economic letter issued by the First National City Bank of New York. "When government feels the necessity, for example, to spend more on defense or on aid for allies, the first place to turn is not to the citizens' standard of living through tax increases but to wasteful practices and programs within Government. In other words, our ability to offord a stronger defense establishment is partly measured by wastes of public fonds on a variety of programs. It is not fair to expect the citizen to tighten his belt if Government does not tighten its own." To put this idea in another way, we need to re-learn something we seem to have forgotten — that is, the difference between what is truly necessary on the part of government and what may be merely desirable. We live in an era in which such absolute necessities as the national defense are almost unbelievably costly and, the state of the world being what it is, may become more costly still. Under these conditions, it is obvious that governmental frills, luxuries and non-essentials must be pared to the limit if the two weights of taxation and inflation are not to steadily push down our living standards. Get Well Mr. Mayor Mayor Edmund Orgill underwent surgery at the Methodist Hospital Sunday morning to "relieve an obstruction in the carotid artery," which is the main artery leading from the heart to the neck which feeds blood to the brain, and other parts of the head. We hope that the mayor in his usual energetic way, soon recover completely from this operation. We also regret to see the incumbent mayor withdraw his ht from the political ring, when everything was pointing in the direction of the first truly free election Memphis has had in many a year. With Commissioner Henry Loeb as Mayor Orgill's chief opponent, we were lead to believe that we would have had a real hot campaign between two able men. Such a campaign is always good for a city. Despite all of the signs pointing to a good mayoralty campaign, the most important thing to Mr. Orgill is his health, which we hope he will maintain. And we feel certain that we express the feelings of our many readers when we say "hurry-up and get well Mr. Mayor." Brief Comments Highway signs, reading "Slow," are put there for your protection, whether you obey them or not. Improving the standard of living of the lowest economic class is the most important job in the world today. WISHING WELL Registered U. S. Patent Office. HERE is a pleasant little game that will give you a message every day. It is a numerical puzzle designed to spell out your fortune. Count the letters in your first name. If the number of letters is 6 or more, subtract 4. If the number is less than 6, add 3. The result is your key number. Start at the upper left-hand corner of the rectangle and check every one of your key numbers, left to right. Then read the message the letters under the checked figures give you. NOT BY GUNS ALONE By E.M. Barker 1958, E. M. Barker; published by arrangement with P?\ Raynold's & Son; distributed by King Features Syndicate "Upon her arrival in New Mexico to stay at the ranch of her grandmother, Rachel Kilgore, whom she has never seen before. Martha Kilgore finds herself in the midst of a feud. For when dumped into a creek by her balky horse, she was rescued by Slade Considine and taken to the ranch of Slade's uncle Nick Considine, to get dry and warm. Hearing her name was sufficient to cause Nick to order her off his land and tell his nephew to stay away from all the Kilgores or be disowned Nick Considine and Rachel Kilgore have been bitter enemies for forty years. All the ranchers in the Chupaderos have had a common problem thurst upon them. The Government has established a new Forest Service and is taking steps to impose regulations on the use of range that the ranchers considered theirs by right of possession. Rachel Kilgore's answer was a greeting of the ranchers at Wynn Thomason's place to discuss ways and means of blocking the Forest Service's measures. Slade chosen to lead the fight to keep the Forest Rangers at a distance shocked them with his reason for refusing. He has been sworn in as the local Forest Ranger. Nick Considine is as angered by this news as the other ranchers and approved when Wynn Thomason offered to lead the resistance to the Rangers. Slade's only ally is Frenchy Quebedeaux, a sheep raiser despised by the cattlemen. Frenchy has offered Slade living quarters at his house. Frenchy's sheep are being pestered and scattered by wild bulls, and Frenchy believes that they are being driven on his land purposely from the Kilgore ranch, the Walking K. THE SMALL roan bull seemed particularly wild and vicious. As he came in close, Bacho struck out with an aspen pole. The bull swung his great horns with a parrying thrust and the pole went flying from the little herder's grasp. The bull kept coming. With a yelp of fright, Bacho turned and ran, zigzagging through the sheep, back down toward the corral. For a moment the bull paused, swung his lowered head at the nearest sheep, pawed the ground and bellowed, then came on after the little man with the unwavering momentum of a freight train headed downhill. Maybe years of hard drinking had weakened the little herder's endurance, but it hadn't slowed his running muscles any. He had a few yards lead to start with, and he kept it. With a running broad jump that would have done credit to an Olympic champion, he sailed over the corral fence to land flat on his face, the wind knocked out of him. Slade Considine touched spurs to the little sorrel and he jumped into a run. The bull saw him coming, bowed his neck and bellowed in challenge. But a man on horseback was a familiar and respected sight. For only a moment he stood his ground, then with a sudden, windy snort he whirled and ran. The sorrel was close behind. Slade slacked out a twelve-foot length of double rope, whirled it over his head once, then brought it swishing down on the bull's rump. The roan stretched his neck and showed speed. By the time they reached the spot where Ojitos Creek fanned out into a wide, open meadow, only a mile from the Kilgore house, the bull a were trotting with frothy tongues hanging out. Then as suddenly as if they had prearranged a signal, they swerved, separated, put on a little more speed, heading for opposite fringes if green timber that flanked the valley. Slade swore as his pony cut sharply to the right taking after the roan. Then he grinned and turned the sorrel back into the road. He would let them go. After all they were a good six miles from Frenchy Quebedeaux's boundary, and after the run they had had today, ha didn't think they would be in the notion to do much travelling for a few days. Bacho got up out of the dust and started to brush himself down when an increasingly familiar and agonizing pain caught him in the breast. He sat down gently and bent his head over his knees, breathing light, waiting for the pain to spend itself. Frenchy came quickly round the corner of the sheep corral to Bacho's side. "You hurt?" With an effort the little man raised his head He smiled. "A hard run and a jump like that makes a man realize the passage of time." Frenchy put a big, strong hand on his arm. "You sick," he said gently. "Come to the house. I make hot coffee." Bacho shook his head. He stood up slowly, still careful not to breathe deep lest the pain strike again. "I'm quite all right now," he said almost impatiently. "I'm going to take the sheep down to the south pasture today, Frenchy. The grass is getting short here —and that way they will be a little farther away from Mrs. Kilgore's bulls." Frenchy gave him another searching, sharp look, then nodded. "The other day I rode past, I see some poles down in the corral. Better you take some hammer an' nails an' feex. Thees morning I go to town." By the time Bacho had gathered the fence fixing tools, and packed a lunch, the sheep were well out in the first meadow, grazing quietly. Bacho took his time, walking to catch up with them. The sun felt good on a man's back and his heart was warm as he thought about Frenchy. Here on this little mountain ranch with the gruff-speaking Frenchman he had found something as close to a home and security as he would ever know again. It was nearly noon when he reached the lower sheep pasture. Here the untouched grass was already several inches long, and the sheep spread out quickly, nipping the tender shoots with fastmoving, eager jaws. The pole corrals here were sturdy and neat and practical, one corner angling down into the shallow creek to give the sheep water. It was in this corner that two poles in the fence were down —and it was here, almost hidden under quick-growing young stinging nettle plants, that he found the bottle. Bacho picked it up and looked at it. He uncorked it, and sniffed. For one angry moment he had the impulse to throw it away— or to break the bottle on the rocks at the edge or the creek. The impulse passed. He re-corked the bottle and set it down carefully, then attached the fence with determination. Bacho was no fool. He knew that bottle had no business being here. He knew that more than likely it had even been left for him to find. The fence posts weren't rotten. There was no real reason for the fence being down here—unless it had been deliberately torn down by someone who knew who would be sent to fix it. He ought to prove his loyalty to Frenchy by throwing it away. He stopped to do it, and then hesitated. The other side of his mind was giving him all sorts of logical reasons why he should cherish that bottle. He would be very careful. The bottle was almost full. By carefully hoarding it, taking just a drink or two a day, it would last a long time. He would fool whoever had left that bottle, he would show them that he was smart enough not to get drunk. The sheep were grazing quietly in the open meadow. They Wouldn't need any attention for several hours. Carrying the bottle, he headed for the shade of the big cottonwood where he had left his lunch bag. Time passed quickly. And then there was sleep. Hours later the frantic barking of the collie in the meadow awakene him. Then he heard Frenchy's deep bellow of rage. Groggily Bacho sat up. He reached for the bottle and took another quick, deep drink. Frenchy was coming toward him on the run, fleet-footed and long-legged, but with something of the clumsy-looking movement of a big bear. Bacho giggled. One part of his mind seemed perfectly clear, and it was telling him that he ought to get out there and do something about the ruckus in the meadow, but his muscles all seemed made of rubber. Frenchy reached him, stooped, grabbed the bottle and broke it over a rock. Bacho giggled again. Frenchy caught him by the shirt collar and yanked him to his feet, then swearing in French with every step, half carried, half shoved him to the creek and sat him down. Bacho yelled a little as the water struck him, and gave another silly laugh. Frenchy slapped him over and ducked his head in the water, then left him to crawl out of the creek, while he took off toward the meadow again on the run, where the dog was still barking frantically. WHAT HAS HAPPENED By E.M. Barker 1958, E. M. Barker; published by arrangement with P?\ Raynold's & Son; distributed by King Features Syndicate "Upon her arrival in New Mexico to stay at the ranch of her grandmother, Rachel Kilgore, whom she has never seen before. Martha Kilgore finds herself in the midst of a feud. For when dumped into a creek by her balky horse, she was rescued by Slade Considine and taken to the ranch of Slade's uncle Nick Considine, to get dry and warm. Hearing her name was sufficient to cause Nick to order her off his land and tell his nephew to stay away from all the Kilgores or be disowned Nick Considine and Rachel Kilgore have been bitter enemies for forty years. All the ranchers in the Chupaderos have had a common problem thurst upon them. The Government has established a new Forest Service and is taking steps to impose regulations on the use of range that the ranchers considered theirs by right of possession. Rachel Kilgore's answer was a greeting of the ranchers at Wynn Thomason's place to discuss ways and means of blocking the Forest Service's measures. Slade chosen to lead the fight to keep the Forest Rangers at a distance shocked them with his reason for refusing. He has been sworn in as the local Forest Ranger. Nick Considine is as angered by this news as the other ranchers and approved when Wynn Thomason offered to lead the resistance to the Rangers. Slade's only ally is Frenchy Quebedeaux, a sheep raiser despised by the cattlemen. Frenchy has offered Slade living quarters at his house. Frenchy's sheep are being pestered and scattered by wild bulls, and Frenchy believes that they are being driven on his land purposely from the Kilgore ranch, the Walking K. THE SMALL roan bull seemed particularly wild and vicious. As he came in close, Bacho struck out with an aspen pole. The bull swung his great horns with a parrying thrust and the pole went flying from the little herder's grasp. The bull kept coming. With a yelp of fright, Bacho turned and ran, zigzagging through the sheep, back down toward the corral. For a moment the bull paused, swung his lowered head at the nearest sheep, pawed the ground and bellowed, then came on after the little man with the unwavering momentum of a freight train headed downhill. Maybe years of hard drinking had weakened the little herder's endurance, but it hadn't slowed his running muscles any. He had a few yards lead to start with, and he kept it. With a running broad jump that would have done credit to an Olympic champion, he sailed over the corral fence to land flat on his face, the wind knocked out of him. Slade Considine touched spurs to the little sorrel and he jumped into a run. The bull saw him coming, bowed his neck and bellowed in challenge. But a man on horseback was a familiar and respected sight. For only a moment he stood his ground, then with a sudden, windy snort he whirled and ran. The sorrel was close behind. Slade slacked out a twelve-foot length of double rope, whirled it over his head once, then brought it swishing down on the bull's rump. The roan stretched his neck and showed speed. By the time they reached the spot where Ojitos Creek fanned out into a wide, open meadow, only a mile from the Kilgore house, the bull a were trotting with frothy tongues hanging out. Then as suddenly as if they had prearranged a signal, they swerved, separated, put on a little more speed, heading for opposite fringes if green timber that flanked the valley. Slade swore as his pony cut sharply to the right taking after the roan. Then he grinned and turned the sorrel back into the road. He would let them go. After all they were a good six miles from Frenchy Quebedeaux's boundary, and after the run they had had today, ha didn't think they would be in the notion to do much travelling for a few days. Bacho got up out of the dust and started to brush himself down when an increasingly familiar and agonizing pain caught him in the breast. He sat down gently and bent his head over his knees, breathing light, waiting for the pain to spend itself. Frenchy came quickly round the corner of the sheep corral to Bacho's side. "You hurt?" With an effort the little man raised his head He smiled. "A hard run and a jump like that makes a man realize the passage of time." Frenchy put a big, strong hand on his arm. "You sick," he said gently. "Come to the house. I make hot coffee." Bacho shook his head. He stood up slowly, still careful not to breathe deep lest the pain strike again. "I'm quite all right now," he said almost impatiently. "I'm going to take the sheep down to the south pasture today, Frenchy. The grass is getting short here —and that way they will be a little farther away from Mrs. Kilgore's bulls." Frenchy gave him another searching, sharp look, then nodded. "The other day I rode past, I see some poles down in the corral. Better you take some hammer an' nails an' feex. Thees morning I go to town." By the time Bacho had gathered the fence fixing tools, and packed a lunch, the sheep were well out in the first meadow, grazing quietly. Bacho took his time, walking to catch up with them. The sun felt good on a man's back and his heart was warm as he thought about Frenchy. Here on this little mountain ranch with the gruff-speaking Frenchman he had found something as close to a home and security as he would ever know again. It was nearly noon when he reached the lower sheep pasture. Here the untouched grass was already several inches long, and the sheep spread out quickly, nipping the tender shoots with fastmoving, eager jaws. The pole corrals here were sturdy and neat and practical, one corner angling down into the shallow creek to give the sheep water. It was in this corner that two poles in the fence were down —and it was here, almost hidden under quick-growing young stinging nettle plants, that he found the bottle. Bacho picked it up and looked at it. He uncorked it, and sniffed. For one angry moment he had the impulse to throw it away— or to break the bottle on the rocks at the edge or the creek. The impulse passed. He re-corked the bottle and set it down carefully, then attached the fence with determination. Bacho was no fool. He knew that bottle had no business being here. He knew that more than likely it had even been left for him to find. The fence posts weren't rotten. There was no real reason for the fence being down here—unless it had been deliberately torn down by someone who knew who would be sent to fix it. He ought to prove his loyalty to Frenchy by throwing it away. He stopped to do it, and then hesitated. The other side of his mind was giving him all sorts of logical reasons why he should cherish that bottle. He would be very careful. The bottle was almost full. By carefully hoarding it, taking just a drink or two a day, it would last a long time. He would fool whoever had left that bottle, he would show them that he was smart enough not to get drunk. The sheep were grazing quietly in the open meadow. They Wouldn't need any attention for several hours. Carrying the bottle, he headed for the shade of the big cottonwood where he had left his lunch bag. Time passed quickly. And then there was sleep. Hours later the frantic barking of the collie in the meadow awakene him. Then he heard Frenchy's deep bellow of rage. Groggily Bacho sat up. He reached for the bottle and took another quick, deep drink. Frenchy was coming toward him on the run, fleet-footed and long-legged, but with something of the clumsy-looking movement of a big bear. Bacho giggled. One part of his mind seemed perfectly clear, and it was telling him that he ought to get out there and do something about the ruckus in the meadow, but his muscles all seemed made of rubber. Frenchy reached him, stooped, grabbed the bottle and broke it over a rock. Bacho giggled again. Frenchy caught him by the shirt collar and yanked him to his feet, then swearing in French with every step, half carried, half shoved him to the creek and sat him down. Bacho yelled a little as the water struck him, and gave another silly laugh. Frenchy slapped him over and ducked his head in the water, then left him to crawl out of the creek, while he took off toward the meadow again on the run, where the dog was still barking frantically. CHAPTER 11 By E.M. Barker 1958, E. M. Barker; published by arrangement with P?\ Raynold's & Son; distributed by King Features Syndicate "Upon her arrival in New Mexico to stay at the ranch of her grandmother, Rachel Kilgore, whom she has never seen before. Martha Kilgore finds herself in the midst of a feud. For when dumped into a creek by her balky horse, she was rescued by Slade Considine and taken to the ranch of Slade's uncle Nick Considine, to get dry and warm. Hearing her name was sufficient to cause Nick to order her off his land and tell his nephew to stay away from all the Kilgores or be disowned Nick Considine and Rachel Kilgore have been bitter enemies for forty years. All the ranchers in the Chupaderos have had a common problem thurst upon them. The Government has established a new Forest Service and is taking steps to impose regulations on the use of range that the ranchers considered theirs by right of possession. Rachel Kilgore's answer was a greeting of the ranchers at Wynn Thomason's place to discuss ways and means of blocking the Forest Service's measures. Slade chosen to lead the fight to keep the Forest Rangers at a distance shocked them with his reason for refusing. He has been sworn in as the local Forest Ranger. Nick Considine is as angered by this news as the other ranchers and approved when Wynn Thomason offered to lead the resistance to the Rangers. Slade's only ally is Frenchy Quebedeaux, a sheep raiser despised by the cattlemen. Frenchy has offered Slade living quarters at his house. Frenchy's sheep are being pestered and scattered by wild bulls, and Frenchy believes that they are being driven on his land purposely from the Kilgore ranch, the Walking K. THE SMALL roan bull seemed particularly wild and vicious. As he came in close, Bacho struck out with an aspen pole. The bull swung his great horns with a parrying thrust and the pole went flying from the little herder's grasp. The bull kept coming. With a yelp of fright, Bacho turned and ran, zigzagging through the sheep, back down toward the corral. For a moment the bull paused, swung his lowered head at the nearest sheep, pawed the ground and bellowed, then came on after the little man with the unwavering momentum of a freight train headed downhill. Maybe years of hard drinking had weakened the little herder's endurance, but it hadn't slowed his running muscles any. He had a few yards lead to start with, and he kept it. With a running broad jump that would have done credit to an Olympic champion, he sailed over the corral fence to land flat on his face, the wind knocked out of him. Slade Considine touched spurs to the little sorrel and he jumped into a run. The bull saw him coming, bowed his neck and bellowed in challenge. But a man on horseback was a familiar and respected sight. For only a moment he stood his ground, then with a sudden, windy snort he whirled and ran. The sorrel was close behind. Slade slacked out a twelve-foot length of double rope, whirled it over his head once, then brought it swishing down on the bull's rump. The roan stretched his neck and showed speed. By the time they reached the spot where Ojitos Creek fanned out into a wide, open meadow, only a mile from the Kilgore house, the bull a were trotting with frothy tongues hanging out. Then as suddenly as if they had prearranged a signal, they swerved, separated, put on a little more speed, heading for opposite fringes if green timber that flanked the valley. Slade swore as his pony cut sharply to the right taking after the roan. Then he grinned and turned the sorrel back into the road. He would let them go. After all they were a good six miles from Frenchy Quebedeaux's boundary, and after the run they had had today, ha didn't think they would be in the notion to do much travelling for a few days. Bacho got up out of the dust and started to brush himself down when an increasingly familiar and agonizing pain caught him in the breast. He sat down gently and bent his head over his knees, breathing light, waiting for the pain to spend itself. Frenchy came quickly round the corner of the sheep corral to Bacho's side. "You hurt?" With an effort the little man raised his head He smiled. "A hard run and a jump like that makes a man realize the passage of time." Frenchy put a big, strong hand on his arm. "You sick," he said gently. "Come to the house. I make hot coffee." Bacho shook his head. He stood up slowly, still careful not to breathe deep lest the pain strike again. "I'm quite all right now," he said almost impatiently. "I'm going to take the sheep down to the south pasture today, Frenchy. The grass is getting short here —and that way they will be a little farther away from Mrs. Kilgore's bulls." Frenchy gave him another searching, sharp look, then nodded. "The other day I rode past, I see some poles down in the corral. Better you take some hammer an' nails an' feex. Thees morning I go to town." By the time Bacho had gathered the fence fixing tools, and packed a lunch, the sheep were well out in the first meadow, grazing quietly. Bacho took his time, walking to catch up with them. The sun felt good on a man's back and his heart was warm as he thought about Frenchy. Here on this little mountain ranch with the gruff-speaking Frenchman he had found something as close to a home and security as he would ever know again. It was nearly noon when he reached the lower sheep pasture. Here the untouched grass was already several inches long, and the sheep spread out quickly, nipping the tender shoots with fastmoving, eager jaws. The pole corrals here were sturdy and neat and practical, one corner angling down into the shallow creek to give the sheep water. It was in this corner that two poles in the fence were down —and it was here, almost hidden under quick-growing young stinging nettle plants, that he found the bottle. Bacho picked it up and looked at it. He uncorked it, and sniffed. For one angry moment he had the impulse to throw it away— or to break the bottle on the rocks at the edge or the creek. The impulse passed. He re-corked the bottle and set it down carefully, then attached the fence with determination. Bacho was no fool. He knew that bottle had no business being here. He knew that more than likely it had even been left for him to find. The fence posts weren't rotten. There was no real reason for the fence being down here—unless it had been deliberately torn down by someone who knew who would be sent to fix it. He ought to prove his loyalty to Frenchy by throwing it away. He stopped to do it, and then hesitated. The other side of his mind was giving him all sorts of logical reasons why he should cherish that bottle. He would be very careful. The bottle was almost full. By carefully hoarding it, taking just a drink or two a day, it would last a long time. He would fool whoever had left that bottle, he would show them that he was smart enough not to get drunk. The sheep were grazing quietly in the open meadow. They Wouldn't need any attention for several hours. Carrying the bottle, he headed for the shade of the big cottonwood where he had left his lunch bag. Time passed quickly. And then there was sleep. Hours later the frantic barking of the collie in the meadow awakene him. Then he heard Frenchy's deep bellow of rage. Groggily Bacho sat up. He reached for the bottle and took another quick, deep drink. Frenchy was coming toward him on the run, fleet-footed and long-legged, but with something of the clumsy-looking movement of a big bear. Bacho giggled. One part of his mind seemed perfectly clear, and it was telling him that he ought to get out there and do something about the ruckus in the meadow, but his muscles all seemed made of rubber. Frenchy reached him, stooped, grabbed the bottle and broke it over a rock. Bacho giggled again. Frenchy caught him by the shirt collar and yanked him to his feet, then swearing in French with every step, half carried, half shoved him to the creek and sat him down. Bacho yelled a little as the water struck him, and gave another silly laugh. Frenchy slapped him over and ducked his head in the water, then left him to crawl out of the creek, while he took off toward the meadow again on the run, where the dog was still barking frantically. SEEING and SAYING By WILLIAM FOWLKES World's Managing Editor ONE OF THE WORST spectacles of all time is to see a man forced to walk this world without dignity and respect. The best writings and oratory of all ages conclude that a man must walk this world with the dignity that God ordained His highest creature of the universe. Otherwise, such a man loses, selfrespect, becomes a slave, is tread upon, spat upon and twisted and turned against any manliness he might have inherited in his very being, or that he might have acquired by painstaking trial and error, education and experience. IT WAS SUCH spectacles of race and personality that Baptist Congress speaker Dr. Benjamin Mays pointed out in Memphis recently, when he urged the leadership to fight to the last ditch "segregation by law." THE NEGRO must achieve this total freedom by emancipating the soul, mind and heart, the speaker said, adding: "The Supreme Court cannot rule that for us." And, so right Dr. Mays was. It is up to the minority, through its schools, its businesses, its churches, its leadership and every individual among us to struggle hard for this total emancipation. "Talents must not be wasted," nor must time be frittered away in these days of propaganda and counter-propaganda. Tell everybody you know, and you, yourselves, adopt the slogan: "Walk This World With Dignity." 'Walk This World With Dignity' By WILLIAM FOWLKES World's Managing Editor ONE OF THE WORST spectacles of all time is to see a man forced to walk this world without dignity and respect. The best writings and oratory of all ages conclude that a man must walk this world with the dignity that God ordained His highest creature of the universe. Otherwise, such a man loses, selfrespect, becomes a slave, is tread upon, spat upon and twisted and turned against any manliness he might have inherited in his very being, or that he might have acquired by painstaking trial and error, education and experience. IT WAS SUCH spectacles of race and personality that Baptist Congress speaker Dr. Benjamin Mays pointed out in Memphis recently, when he urged the leadership to fight to the last ditch "segregation by law." THE NEGRO must achieve this total freedom by emancipating the soul, mind and heart, the speaker said, adding: "The Supreme Court cannot rule that for us." And, so right Dr. Mays was. It is up to the minority, through its schools, its businesses, its churches, its leadership and every individual among us to struggle hard for this total emancipation. "Talents must not be wasted," nor must time be frittered away in these days of propaganda and counter-propaganda. Tell everybody you know, and you, yourselves, adopt the slogan: "Walk This World With Dignity." Adequate Plan his approval a plan for desegregating the school system. They also said he may order a child admitted to a white school if he thinks the pupil has been discriminated against because of race. The motion was filed by Frank D. Reeves of Washington, D. C., and Otto L. Tucker of Alexandria and bore the names of three other NAACP lawyers. They are Oliver W. Hill and Spottswood W. Robinson III of Richmond and James M. Nabrit III, formerly of Washington but now of New York City. Javits Needles equal protection of the laws to every citizen." Javits has introduced an antilynching amendment to the civil rights bill sponsored by Senator Johnson and to the Administration civil rights proposals, of which he is a co-sponsor. He said he intends to call up his amendment if and when civil rights legislation reaches the Senate floor. While the Congress has been standing still, Javits said, seven states have passed 30 laws, 25 of them in the field of education, to defeat public school desegregation. Javits compared the "timetable of inaction" on civil rights at this session with the legislative history of the 1957 Civil Rights Act to "point up the gravity of our predicament, this year." The House passed the 1957 Civil Rights Act on June 18, 1957. This year the civil rights bill has not yet been reported from the House Judiciary' Committee. The Senate in 1957 voted on June 20 to bypass the Senate Judiciary Committee and place the House - approved bill on the Senate calendar. The Senate began 24 days of debate on the bill on June 19, 1957 and passed a watered - down version on Aug. 7. The House concurred in Senate amendments on Aug. 27, 1957, completing Congressional action. If debate were started immediately on a civil rights bill, and a similar period of time was devoted to its consideration, Javits predicted, it would be mid-September before the Congress could adjourn. Since 1953, the latest adjournment date for a regular session was Aug. 30, 1957. STATE ACTION equal protection of the laws to every citizen." Javits has introduced an antilynching amendment to the civil rights bill sponsored by Senator Johnson and to the Administration civil rights proposals, of which he is a co-sponsor. He said he intends to call up his amendment if and when civil rights legislation reaches the Senate floor. While the Congress has been standing still, Javits said, seven states have passed 30 laws, 25 of them in the field of education, to defeat public school desegregation. Javits compared the "timetable of inaction" on civil rights at this session with the legislative history of the 1957 Civil Rights Act to "point up the gravity of our predicament, this year." The House passed the 1957 Civil Rights Act on June 18, 1957. This year the civil rights bill has not yet been reported from the House Judiciary' Committee. The Senate in 1957 voted on June 20 to bypass the Senate Judiciary Committee and place the House - approved bill on the Senate calendar. The Senate began 24 days of debate on the bill on June 19, 1957 and passed a watered - down version on Aug. 7. The House concurred in Senate amendments on Aug. 27, 1957, completing Congressional action. If debate were started immediately on a civil rights bill, and a similar period of time was devoted to its consideration, Javits predicted, it would be mid-September before the Congress could adjourn. Since 1953, the latest adjournment date for a regular session was Aug. 30, 1957. Civic Club Head Diggs of Michigan and the educated Uncle Tom is the worst of the three. Watch for that Uncle Tom in the coming election. You will see him and when you mark him down, you will always know him. "In closing, we admonish, our people to get to the court house and register. The well-thinking and self-respecting Negro will direct you in the right channel. Beware of the three Uncle Toms — this should be our slogan in this campaign. FORMER HEAVYWEIGHT HELPS BROWN BABIES A former American heavyweight contender has organized a welfare agency to aid the thousands of "Brown Babies" fathered by Negro GI's during World War II. The figher is AI Hoosman, who campaigned against boxing's best during his career in the United States. Hoosman is the founder of H. F. E. K., which is dedicated to providing assistance to between 80,000 and 100,00 Brown Babies, between the ages of 12-13, who were left in the grim 'wake of Germany's surrender following World War II. Through H. F. E. K., Housman hopes to intercede in every possible way to improve the living conditions for these children and aid in adoptions for others. Hoosman admits that laws and red tape will be a major barrier to hurdle, but he plans to reach an agreement whenever possible with German officials to better the lot of these children, who through no fault of their own are homeless. H. F. E. K. (Help for Colored and Parentless Children) became a legal and state registered welfare agency April 19, 1958. The agency hopes through publicity to bring the plight of the "Brown Babies" to the very doorstep of the United States. Hoosman notes: "It is my task to bring open doors and open hearts for as many of these wafs as possible. This monstrous American cooperated and sometimes forced calamity should be better known. Hoosman during his year as a topflight boxer fought some of the game's best. A Los Angeles and Pacific Coast Golden Gloves champion, he campaigned against some of America's best including former heavyweight champion Joe Louis. He served in World-War II, toured Australia as a boxer, and once out of the ramy beat Lee Savold in Madison Square Garden and once ranked No. 6 in the world according to Nat Fleischer's Ring Magazine. Hoosman, in announcing his new agency, pledged to be as much mother and father as humanly, possible to the youngsters. Hoosman states: "It is the personal belief of the H. F. E. K. that once this grave matter is brought to the attention of the American public, servicemen and ex-servicemen, they will readily answer with much needed financial aid as such a momentous task demands. Aside from the German government that is paying the upkeep for many orphanages there are also many private German citizens and organizations helping to provide aid to these children. The H. F. E. K. feels too that the German citizens will heartily support us in our efforts to befriend this army of unfortunates. Summer jobs and vacations will be a great need of many and eventually to be worked into the normal trend of employment, civil, government and private. After all, these future adult citizens are presently all German and must be accepted and greeted warmly into coming adult life and associations. The H. F. E. K. also points with pride to the fact that working as ambassadors of goodwill it is our fond hope that the warm relationship existing between our two great countries of America and Germany will be drawn tighter as the German people realize how quickly the American will endeavor also to shoulder this great financial burden and work for greater harmony." TO PAINT PICTURE A former American heavyweight contender has organized a welfare agency to aid the thousands of "Brown Babies" fathered by Negro GI's during World War II. The figher is AI Hoosman, who campaigned against boxing's best during his career in the United States. Hoosman is the founder of H. F. E. K., which is dedicated to providing assistance to between 80,000 and 100,00 Brown Babies, between the ages of 12-13, who were left in the grim 'wake of Germany's surrender following World War II. Through H. F. E. K., Housman hopes to intercede in every possible way to improve the living conditions for these children and aid in adoptions for others. Hoosman admits that laws and red tape will be a major barrier to hurdle, but he plans to reach an agreement whenever possible with German officials to better the lot of these children, who through no fault of their own are homeless. H. F. E. K. (Help for Colored and Parentless Children) became a legal and state registered welfare agency April 19, 1958. The agency hopes through publicity to bring the plight of the "Brown Babies" to the very doorstep of the United States. Hoosman notes: "It is my task to bring open doors and open hearts for as many of these wafs as possible. This monstrous American cooperated and sometimes forced calamity should be better known. Hoosman during his year as a topflight boxer fought some of the game's best. A Los Angeles and Pacific Coast Golden Gloves champion, he campaigned against some of America's best including former heavyweight champion Joe Louis. He served in World-War II, toured Australia as a boxer, and once out of the ramy beat Lee Savold in Madison Square Garden and once ranked No. 6 in the world according to Nat Fleischer's Ring Magazine. Hoosman, in announcing his new agency, pledged to be as much mother and father as humanly, possible to the youngsters. Hoosman states: "It is the personal belief of the H. F. E. K. that once this grave matter is brought to the attention of the American public, servicemen and ex-servicemen, they will readily answer with much needed financial aid as such a momentous task demands. Aside from the German government that is paying the upkeep for many orphanages there are also many private German citizens and organizations helping to provide aid to these children. The H. F. E. K. feels too that the German citizens will heartily support us in our efforts to befriend this army of unfortunates. Summer jobs and vacations will be a great need of many and eventually to be worked into the normal trend of employment, civil, government and private. After all, these future adult citizens are presently all German and must be accepted and greeted warmly into coming adult life and associations. The H. F. E. K. also points with pride to the fact that working as ambassadors of goodwill it is our fond hope that the warm relationship existing between our two great countries of America and Germany will be drawn tighter as the German people realize how quickly the American will endeavor also to shoulder this great financial burden and work for greater harmony." MOTHER AND FATHER A former American heavyweight contender has organized a welfare agency to aid the thousands of "Brown Babies" fathered by Negro GI's during World War II. The figher is AI Hoosman, who campaigned against boxing's best during his career in the United States. Hoosman is the founder of H. F. E. K., which is dedicated to providing assistance to between 80,000 and 100,00 Brown Babies, between the ages of 12-13, who were left in the grim 'wake of Germany's surrender following World War II. Through H. F. E. K., Housman hopes to intercede in every possible way to improve the living conditions for these children and aid in adoptions for others. Hoosman admits that laws and red tape will be a major barrier to hurdle, but he plans to reach an agreement whenever possible with German officials to better the lot of these children, who through no fault of their own are homeless. H. F. E. K. (Help for Colored and Parentless Children) became a legal and state registered welfare agency April 19, 1958. The agency hopes through publicity to bring the plight of the "Brown Babies" to the very doorstep of the United States. Hoosman notes: "It is my task to bring open doors and open hearts for as many of these wafs as possible. This monstrous American cooperated and sometimes forced calamity should be better known. Hoosman during his year as a topflight boxer fought some of the game's best. A Los Angeles and Pacific Coast Golden Gloves champion, he campaigned against some of America's best including former heavyweight champion Joe Louis. He served in World-War II, toured Australia as a boxer, and once out of the ramy beat Lee Savold in Madison Square Garden and once ranked No. 6 in the world according to Nat Fleischer's Ring Magazine. Hoosman, in announcing his new agency, pledged to be as much mother and father as humanly, possible to the youngsters. Hoosman states: "It is the personal belief of the H. F. E. K. that once this grave matter is brought to the attention of the American public, servicemen and ex-servicemen, they will readily answer with much needed financial aid as such a momentous task demands. Aside from the German government that is paying the upkeep for many orphanages there are also many private German citizens and organizations helping to provide aid to these children. The H. F. E. K. feels too that the German citizens will heartily support us in our efforts to befriend this army of unfortunates. Summer jobs and vacations will be a great need of many and eventually to be worked into the normal trend of employment, civil, government and private. After all, these future adult citizens are presently all German and must be accepted and greeted warmly into coming adult life and associations. The H. F. E. K. also points with pride to the fact that working as ambassadors of goodwill it is our fond hope that the warm relationship existing between our two great countries of America and Germany will be drawn tighter as the German people realize how quickly the American will endeavor also to shoulder this great financial burden and work for greater harmony." S. Carolina's First Death Term For A White In Attack On Negro A judge who cited history for examples of equal justice for whites and Negroes in South Carolina Thursday pronounced the first death sentence ever received by a white man for raping Negro in this state. It was believed the first time in the South and perhaps in the nation that the death penalty has been pronounced for rape committed against a Negro by a white man. An appeal already has been filed by the defendant, a young Parris island, S. C., Marine, and the death sentence will be stayed automatically pending appeals. Judge J. Henry Johnson sentenced Fred J. Davis, 24, of Atlanta to be executed in the electric chair at Columbia Friday, Aug. 14, for raping a 47-year-old Negro woman here. At the session, Johnson also pronounced the death sentence on the same date for a Negro Israel Sharpe, 20, convicted Tuesday of attempted rape of a young white woman. Johnson, a veteran of 40 years on the bench, passed sentence on the slim, crew - cut Davis, after turning down a motion for a new trial. This followed, seventy minutes of arguments by defense attorney Ben Carter of Beaufort. An all-white jury Monday night convicted Davis and did not reccomend mercy, making the death penalty mandatory under South Carolina law. Johnson delayed formal sentencing until Thursday to permit Carter to perfect his arguments for a new trial. The U. S. Justice Department in Washington has said it believes no white man has ever been executed in this country for raping a Negro. Davis stood silently before the judge for sentencing after Johnson had overruled the new trial motion. He shook his head in the negative when Johnson asked him if he had anything to say. Carter made nine points in his argument, the main point being a charge that Beaufort County Sheriff Ed McTeer prompted witnesses during the trial. McTeer, who with 33 years in office as South Carolina's senior sheriff, was sworn and denied under oath that he gave any such signals to any witnesses in the case. During the trial McTeer testified Davis admitted raping the Negro woman and the sheriff said the defendant told him he was subject to "uncontrollable" sex urges and enjoyed using force with women. Davis denied admitting the attack and said the woman submitted voluntarily. TURNED DOWN MOTION A judge who cited history for examples of equal justice for whites and Negroes in South Carolina Thursday pronounced the first death sentence ever received by a white man for raping Negro in this state. It was believed the first time in the South and perhaps in the nation that the death penalty has been pronounced for rape committed against a Negro by a white man. An appeal already has been filed by the defendant, a young Parris island, S. C., Marine, and the death sentence will be stayed automatically pending appeals. Judge J. Henry Johnson sentenced Fred J. Davis, 24, of Atlanta to be executed in the electric chair at Columbia Friday, Aug. 14, for raping a 47-year-old Negro woman here. At the session, Johnson also pronounced the death sentence on the same date for a Negro Israel Sharpe, 20, convicted Tuesday of attempted rape of a young white woman. Johnson, a veteran of 40 years on the bench, passed sentence on the slim, crew - cut Davis, after turning down a motion for a new trial. This followed, seventy minutes of arguments by defense attorney Ben Carter of Beaufort. An all-white jury Monday night convicted Davis and did not reccomend mercy, making the death penalty mandatory under South Carolina law. Johnson delayed formal sentencing until Thursday to permit Carter to perfect his arguments for a new trial. The U. S. Justice Department in Washington has said it believes no white man has ever been executed in this country for raping a Negro. Davis stood silently before the judge for sentencing after Johnson had overruled the new trial motion. He shook his head in the negative when Johnson asked him if he had anything to say. Carter made nine points in his argument, the main point being a charge that Beaufort County Sheriff Ed McTeer prompted witnesses during the trial. McTeer, who with 33 years in office as South Carolina's senior sheriff, was sworn and denied under oath that he gave any such signals to any witnesses in the case. During the trial McTeer testified Davis admitted raping the Negro woman and the sheriff said the defendant told him he was subject to "uncontrollable" sex urges and enjoyed using force with women. Davis denied admitting the attack and said the woman submitted voluntarily. ACCUSE SHERIFF MCTEER A judge who cited history for examples of equal justice for whites and Negroes in South Carolina Thursday pronounced the first death sentence ever received by a white man for raping Negro in this state. It was believed the first time in the South and perhaps in the nation that the death penalty has been pronounced for rape committed against a Negro by a white man. An appeal already has been filed by the defendant, a young Parris island, S. C., Marine, and the death sentence will be stayed automatically pending appeals. Judge J. Henry Johnson sentenced Fred J. Davis, 24, of Atlanta to be executed in the electric chair at Columbia Friday, Aug. 14, for raping a 47-year-old Negro woman here. At the session, Johnson also pronounced the death sentence on the same date for a Negro Israel Sharpe, 20, convicted Tuesday of attempted rape of a young white woman. Johnson, a veteran of 40 years on the bench, passed sentence on the slim, crew - cut Davis, after turning down a motion for a new trial. This followed, seventy minutes of arguments by defense attorney Ben Carter of Beaufort. An all-white jury Monday night convicted Davis and did not reccomend mercy, making the death penalty mandatory under South Carolina law. Johnson delayed formal sentencing until Thursday to permit Carter to perfect his arguments for a new trial. The U. S. Justice Department in Washington has said it believes no white man has ever been executed in this country for raping a Negro. Davis stood silently before the judge for sentencing after Johnson had overruled the new trial motion. He shook his head in the negative when Johnson asked him if he had anything to say. Carter made nine points in his argument, the main point being a charge that Beaufort County Sheriff Ed McTeer prompted witnesses during the trial. McTeer, who with 33 years in office as South Carolina's senior sheriff, was sworn and denied under oath that he gave any such signals to any witnesses in the case. During the trial McTeer testified Davis admitted raping the Negro woman and the sheriff said the defendant told him he was subject to "uncontrollable" sex urges and enjoyed using force with women. Davis denied admitting the attack and said the woman submitted voluntarily. Kaiser Says from Federal sources." Kaiser was unable to appear in person at the convention of the National Education Association, but his address was delivered for him by William Beaumont, director of executive programs for Kaiser Industries. Kaiser, said that speaking as a businessman and a layman, he thought it shocking that teachers were asked to get along on an average salary of $4500 a year. Teachers, he said, should be among the highest paid people in our society, if we want quality education. "Once you have the volume of teacher-applicants going your way, which will happen if the returns are high—then standards of teacher selection must also be raised," Kaiser said. "High standards, requiring exacting discipline to achieve, will not only give us better teachers, but will help raise the dignity of the profession in the public eye." Money alone, Kaiser said, would not solve the problems of education. It will be necessary to make wiser use of the money provided, by the Federal, State and local governments. He urged the educators to take the lead in developing a sense of national purpose. Too much of our thinking, he said, has been expressed in terms of what is necessary "for survival." This is negative and defensive thinking, he said, when what is needed is positive and creative thinking. "One of the great tasks remaining to us in the Twentieth Century," he added, may e not in the direction of super weapons, but in the discovery of new political meanings, and new moral and human goals. "We have whole new cities to build New tasks, new professions for our workers yet to be created. Instead of quailing before this challenge we should be exulting in the opportunity to throw our national energies into action, for the sheer joy of achievement." FOR SALE HOUSEHOLD Moving to smaller home. Must sacrifice massive carved oak dining room suite, table extends banquet size. Formica breakfast suit, living room furniture. JA. 5-9746 after 6 P. M. Mrs. Harry Wener No Dealers Many Invited Supreme Liberty Life Insurance company; Mrs. Edith Sampson, assistant city corporation counsel, and former alternate Delegate to the UN; and the Rev. J. H. Jackson, president, National Baptist Convention USA, Inc., and pastor of the local Oliver Baptist Church. They will hobnob with many wealthy and distinguished Americans, included Adlai E. Stevenson, 1956 Democratic Presidential candidate and former governor of the State of Illinois; the Most, Rev. Albert G. Meyer, Roman Catholic Archbishop of Chicago; the Rt. Rev. Gerald Francis Burriell, Episcopal bishop of Chicago; the Rt. Rev. Charles W. Brashares, Methodist Bishop of Chicago; Homer Livingston, president, First National Bank; and Joel Goldblatt, president, Goldblatt Department store. Ambassador Daniel A. Chapman of Ghana was included among the diplomatic corps. NEWLY CONSTRUCTED HOMES 3 BEDROOM BRICKS Gas Forced-Air Heat Immediate Possession See These Homes At EDWARDS & UNIVERSITY Open Daily Other Homes Available Terms To Suit Will Accept Trades FHA or Conventional Financing Agents: Phone JA 6-4317 or HORNE REALTY CO. 1936 Chelsea BR. 6-6194 'Volunteer Ticket' department and is being assisted by Mrs. Josephine Wimbish, advisor to Junior Civic Clubs. Two major projects are being planned for the Volunteer Ticket. One is a Victory Banquet, and the other is an open-air mass meeting in Martin Stadium. Efforts are being made to bring Mahalia Jackson, the gospel singer, and the Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr., here for the meeting. Attorney Sugarmon, who has caught the eyes of the nation, began active campaining last Sunday. He addressed a Men's Day breakfast at Mississippi Boulevard Christian Church, and then spoke at the 11 o'clock services conducted at Pentecostal Temple Church of God in Christ. Elder Blair T. Hunt is pastor of the Christian Church, and Bishop J. O. Patterson is pastor of Pentecostal. All of the candidates are mapping back-bending schedules that will keep them occupied up to the time of the election. MEMPHIS WORLD Want Ad Information Call JA. 6-4030 Deadline For Classified Ad Is Tuesday for Saturday's Edition and Saturday for Wednesday's Editions REPAIR SERVICE Call us for Refrigeration Repairs, Air Conditioners, Washing Machines, Electrical Appliances. — Fast, courteous service. SAM'S APPLIANCE SERVICE 1922 Madison Phone BR. 2-7617 REMODEL—REPAIR—PAINT ADD-A-ROOM On FHA terms. Free estimates, easy payments — Carports, dens garages, rooms, enclosures, painting, roofing, concrete, brick paneling, siding, additions. Phono for estimate. Home Builders Supply Co. 820 S. Willett BR. 5-8128 BUSINESS WOMEN — SELL To fellow employees on lunch Hour and breaks. Add $20-$30 a week to present income. Avon Cosmetics are in demand everywhere. Call JA 5-6933. NEWSBOYS WANTED To Sell the Memphis World Tuesday and Friday. JA 6-4030. GET YOUR VITAMINS Vitamins Add Years To Life Add Life To Tears. Buy your vitamins wholesale and save. 40% Moneyback guarantee. Phone FA. 7-5742. REPAIRS All types of gas appliances installed and repaired. Williams Repair Shop, 1232 N. Bellevue. Ph: JA. 3-1494. Licensed and Bonded. Day or night service. O. C. Williams. HELP WANTED — FEMALE Houseworkers for live-in positions. Mass., Conn., N. Y. — $30 to $50 References required. Carfare advanced. Barton Employment Bureau Great Barrington, Mass. HELP WANTED MALE - FEMALE Man or Woman, no experience needed to teach new course. Ragans, 118 Looney Avenue. HOMES FOR SALE In Walker Homes Subdivision, this 2-bedroom house, newly decorated Can be bought at reasonable price and easy terms. Make offer, Vacant move right in. BR. 5-7234 or BR 5-8638 FOR SALE 48-INCH ATTIC FAN Good Condition UTILITY CABINET-FRIGID AIR Call BR 8-1791 FOR SALE 3 lots with 3 houses on them. One business place on the 3 lots which will pay for itself. 2017 Castex St., Memphis, Tenn. Phone WH 6-0882 FOR SALE 2 1/2 ACRES OF LAND at 3674 Weaver Road with two new houses. WH. 6-0882 FOR SALE THREE Cushion Sofa Beds, 2 display shelves, bed, linoleum. BR. 6-1511 FOR SALE HOUSEHOLD GOODS Apt. Gas Range, $30; Sewing Machine, Utility Cabinet, Chest of Drawers, Porcelain top table, misci. Ex 8-1533 Whitehaven FOR SALE LAMAR PIANO SALES Spinet ........ $295 Small Piano ...... $115 Big Piano ........ $ 95 —Also— Piano Tuning and Repairs 1726 Lamar BR 2-2862 CAFE FOR SALE Fine, industrial location Now serving white and colored, can convert to all colored ... add ins beer, can make some real money for high type colored man and wife. BR 5-5727 after 5:30 P. M.