Memphis World Memphis World Publishing Co. 1955-05-10 Raymond F. Tisby MEMPHIS WORLD The South's Oldest and Leading Colored Semi-Weekly Newspaper Published by MEMPHIS WORLD PUBLISHING CO. Every TUESDAY and FRIDAY at 164 BEALE — Phone 8-4030 Entered in the Post Office at Memphis, Tenn., as second-class mail under the Act of Congress, March 1, 1870 Member of SCOTT NEWSPAPER SYNDICATE W. A. Scott, II, Founder; C. A. Scott, General Manager Raymond F. Tisby Managing Editor Mrs. Rosa Brown Bracey Public Relations and Advertising William C. Weathers Circulation Promotion 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 to its readers and opposing those things against the interest of its readers. SUBSCRIPTION RATES: Year $5.00 — 6 Months $3.00 — 3 Months $1.50 (In Advance) Einstein's Last Letter Dr. Albert Einstein, one of the great minds of all time, died April 18, 1955. In November of 1954, the great scientist wrote: "If I would be a young man again and had to decide how to make my living, I would not try to become a scientist or scholar or teacher. I would, rather choose to be a plumber or a peddler in the hope to find that modest degree of independence still available under present circumstances." Upon reading this, Arthur Taub of New Haven, wrote, chiding Dr. Eistein for, apparently, abandoning scholarship because of difficulties. In one of the last letters that he ever wrote, Dr. Einstein answered Mr. Taub as follows: "You have completely misunderstood the intent of my remark. I wanted to suggest that the practices of those ignoramuses who use their public positions of power to tyrannize over professional intellectuals must not be accepted by intellectuals without a struggle. Spinoza followed this rule when he turned down a professorship at Heidelberg and (unlike Hegel) decided to earn his living in a way that would not force him to mortgage his freedom. The only defense a minority has is passive resistance. Very truly yours, ALBERT EINSTEIN. The African-Asiatic Cry Little this generation might observe and current history respect, but a lasting peace has an excellent opportunity in any world-wide pattern of self examination and appeals to tolerance. Maybe the late Mahatma had something after all in his principles and practices of passive resistence. We have seen centuries of Warfare write gloomy epochs on the pages of history to be repeated in cycles all around the world. If wars ever settle anything, the things tackled, keep coming up again and again for resettlement. Maybe the key to peace lies in the gospel coming from that self-examination of people and nations into their usages and relations to mankind. Bishop Baber of Detroit Michigan, brings upon this stormy scene of cold wars and rumors of hot wars, a biting piece of philosophy, "Prejudice is a sin against God not man." Here is the broad, implication that men sink to the depth of race prejudice because of something God designed or permitted in his broad plan of creation. That men are not responsible for something they did not select and when preyed upon by others for what God is responsible, then there is a sin against God and not against man." The Bishop in speaking to Morris Brown College's Founders Day convocation a few days ago, in discussing the topic "Responsibility was upon him" left the country and the world something worthy of thought. Close examination of his subject and his attendant argument might be food for the Afro-Asiatic conferees who are writing history in the field of racial relations. We have these five races by some mysterious origin; whether it is a responsibility upon somebody or hot, it is assuredly a fact. Then for men or nations to be selected by race and singled out for penalty because of geographic or climatic reasons seem the height of foolishness. It is highly commendable in that, while the white world is in an uproar with nations virtually racing in processing atomic and unclear death-dealing implements, the darker races are set down to a rigid study toward the interpretation of individual relations and an invitation to the reason to come into the council of self-examination to the end that this generation might happen upon the real key to this terrible situation. We have had our Breton Wood, bur Geneva and our Yalta; now let us behold the mountain of Africa and Asia — and SEE WHAT WE SHALL SEE. Tax Cut Coming Tax collections are pouring into the Internal Revenue Department faster than had been anticipated, and this good news brings about the prospect of a tax reduction next year. There are several reasons why a tax reduction next year is probable. For one thing, Congress and the President will be completing terms, and elections will be due for both in November. Another reason is that cash collections for the next budget year indicate a cash surplus of perhaps two billion dollars. This surplus will probably be built up by the business boom now in progress, the resulting higher tax collections from both individuals and corporations making quarterly payments and from final tax collections for the year. There is no doubt that a tax reduction is in order, since taxes have been very high relatively since the beginning of World War II. For example, a couple with two dependents earning $10,000 a year in 1929 paid income tax to the Federal Government of $41 The tax today is about $1600 on the same income, with the same two dependents. Moreover, taxes today are higher than they were in 1948, three years after the end of World War II. The big fight in Congress next year for a tax reduction will undoubtedly be over the question as to whose taxes shall be cut. It will be a question between reducing rates on corporations, and individuals, and individuals in various brackets. It is likely that taxes for individuals and married couples might be cut to approximately pre-Korea rates and, if this is done, savings will be felt all along the line. MY WEEKLY SERMON REV. BLAIR T. HUNT, PASTOR MISSISSIPPI BLVD. CHRISTIAN CHURCH, MEMPHIS TEXT; "The Lord hath brought me home Ruth 1:21. Sunday was Mother's Day. That day brought us home. We thought of Mother. We thought of home. Mother and home seem inseparable. When we say mother, is the soul of the home, it is the language of sentiment. But it is nooly trust of the dynamics, forces that center in the home self. One such force is family af. This makes for the ire pull of home. We have to because love is there. The family is love's supreme institution. The home is the family's resting place. Another great force is family loyalty, a something that impels each member to protect the home ... a something that draws the members of the household into a league of home protection and defense. It inclines each to stand up for the rest. The three great forces, love, loyalty, and faith, are primarily home forces. Family faith is a force that inspires all to dedicate the home to God. There was a day when mothers taught their children to memorize the word of God, so that from a babe each member of the family grew up, like Timothy, knowing the sacred writings which were able to make them "wise unto salvation." Today the home is seemingly throwing up the job of Bible training. There was a day when grandfather, even out in the field, read the New Testament while the mule rested. And in the house grandmother laid the Good Book in a convenient place where she might pause occasionally for a precious glimpse as she went about her homely tasks. May we pray God that those days of unclouded faith may return to the home. Love loyalty, and faith are the great dynamic forces in the home that will make us spiritual giants, and thus save the home and the nation. The fundamental institution of our civilization is the home. No other institution means so much for the weal or woe of the human race. If one cannot find happiness in the home, he cannot find happiness anywhere. "Home is not merely four square walls, Though hung with pictures finely gilded: Home is where affection dwells, Filled with shrines the heart hath builded." Man's first home was in the Garden of Eden. His last home is Heaven. This shows what God would have the home to be. God Himself built the first and the last, but man has built all the others. God loved us supremely when He planned the home. His mighty heart must have throbbed with sympathy and good will, and His love for the sons and daughters of men must have been aflame, when He thought out the home relationship and when He conceived this place for rest, for shelter, for happiness and for love. In conclusion, may be picture someone knocking on the door of our home wanting to come in and sup with us. Upon His brow is a crown of thorns... in His hands are nail prints. From his lips pour forth these words: "Behold I stand at the door and knock: If any man hear my voice, and open the door, I will come in, and will sup with him, and he with me." Let Jesus the Christ dwell in your famiy home. For soon you and I will go to our long home. If Jesus is in our earthly home, he will be with us in that place called Heaven, the home of our soul. HOME FORCES REV. BLAIR T. HUNT, PASTOR MISSISSIPPI BLVD. CHRISTIAN CHURCH, MEMPHIS TEXT; "The Lord hath brought me home Ruth 1:21. Sunday was Mother's Day. That day brought us home. We thought of Mother. We thought of home. Mother and home seem inseparable. When we say mother, is the soul of the home, it is the language of sentiment. But it is nooly trust of the dynamics, forces that center in the home self. One such force is family af. This makes for the ire pull of home. We have to because love is there. The family is love's supreme institution. The home is the family's resting place. Another great force is family loyalty, a something that impels each member to protect the home ... a something that draws the members of the household into a league of home protection and defense. It inclines each to stand up for the rest. The three great forces, love, loyalty, and faith, are primarily home forces. Family faith is a force that inspires all to dedicate the home to God. There was a day when mothers taught their children to memorize the word of God, so that from a babe each member of the family grew up, like Timothy, knowing the sacred writings which were able to make them "wise unto salvation." Today the home is seemingly throwing up the job of Bible training. There was a day when grandfather, even out in the field, read the New Testament while the mule rested. And in the house grandmother laid the Good Book in a convenient place where she might pause occasionally for a precious glimpse as she went about her homely tasks. May we pray God that those days of unclouded faith may return to the home. Love loyalty, and faith are the great dynamic forces in the home that will make us spiritual giants, and thus save the home and the nation. The fundamental institution of our civilization is the home. No other institution means so much for the weal or woe of the human race. If one cannot find happiness in the home, he cannot find happiness anywhere. "Home is not merely four square walls, Though hung with pictures finely gilded: Home is where affection dwells, Filled with shrines the heart hath builded." Man's first home was in the Garden of Eden. His last home is Heaven. This shows what God would have the home to be. God Himself built the first and the last, but man has built all the others. God loved us supremely when He planned the home. His mighty heart must have throbbed with sympathy and good will, and His love for the sons and daughters of men must have been aflame, when He thought out the home relationship and when He conceived this place for rest, for shelter, for happiness and for love. In conclusion, may be picture someone knocking on the door of our home wanting to come in and sup with us. Upon His brow is a crown of thorns... in His hands are nail prints. From his lips pour forth these words: "Behold I stand at the door and knock: If any man hear my voice, and open the door, I will come in, and will sup with him, and he with me." Let Jesus the Christ dwell in your famiy home. For soon you and I will go to our long home. If Jesus is in our earthly home, he will be with us in that place called Heaven, the home of our soul. Know Your Library "Beauty is its own excuse." — Whittier. Does your house have personality? Does it represent the real "You"? Hundreds of textbooks have been written, covering every period of domestic architecture, interior ornamentation and furnishing, from oldest Egyptian antiquities to latest modern obliquities. But the PERSONALITY of a house, the quality that appeals not merely to our critical faculties but to our personal emotions, has been left out altogether—overlooked perhaps, or possibly taken for granted, as th a collection of valuable possessions must of themselves confer charm. Mrs. Post's "Etiquette" has long been the accepted authority on polite usage and now she has written the best and most practical treatise ever published on how to give CHARACTER to a home. Delightfully original in its new way of approaching the ever-popular subject of home decoration, no les than professional building and beautification of a house, this volume tells how to make every type of American home express, in its new way of approaching the everpopular subject of home decoration, no less than professional building and beautification of a house, this, volume tells how to make, every type of American home express, in its architecture, colors, and setting, all that is most attractive in the personality of its occupants, and especially of the woman who is its presiding genius. Mrs. Post is the daughter of the late Bruce Price, who was one of the foremost architects of his day, and she has always been noted for her knowledge of color and arrangement and for her flawless taste. Chapters on how to plan and build a new house, and chapters on how to put distinction and charm into an old house are among the especially attractive features of this work. The major portion of the book is devoted to the interior — the best decorative effects, the right furniture rugs, hangings, et cetera —and is as rich in suggestions for the apartment-dweller as for the house-owner. Style, form, and proportion mean much to the beauty of every interior, Mrs. Post says, but nothing means so much to the personality of a house as color. Her chapters on Color are superb— the best expositions of the subject ever written. With their aid, any woman of taste can plan the whole colorscheme of her house or apartment or her one room on purely artistic principles. The author tells, in her spicy fashion how she has many times transformed discouragingly ugly interiors into things of beauty at small expense—all by means of harmony in colors. The entire volume is practical and authoritative, yet written in a sparkling style which in itself is an inspiration to the reader. Call by the Vance Ave. Branch of the Cossitt Library and ask for your copy of "The Personality of a House." The Blue Book of Home Design and Decoration by Emily Post. You will be glad you did. The Inheritors JANE ABBOTT THE DOOR opened, and the little red-haired nurse stepped inside Ralph's room. I put the gun back in my pocket "Yes, doctor?" the nurse said. He said in a tight voice, "Please bring me a hypo and three hundred thousand units of pencillin." She nodded, glanced at me curiously, and left Dr. Mazzim said, "What the hell is this all about?" "Never mind." He shrugged helplessly and turned back to the bed. Ralph stirred a little and muttered something incoherently. The doctor watched Ralph, and I watched the doctor We didn't talk. Presently the nurse returned, handed him a needle. He said to her, "Will you give it to him, please?" "Of course." As she Dent over the bed, the doctor looked at me with, dark brooding eyes. As the nurse turned and moved for the door he said to her, "I'm going home now. I'll be back in the morning. It his condition changes during the night, call me. It's all on the chart. You'd better tell Miss Donovan, too." "Yes, doctor." The door clicked shut behind her. He said sardonically, "Satisfied?" "For now." I backed to the door. "Why, in God's name—?" he began. "Doctor," I broke in. "If I'm wrong, I'll apologize. Do you mind it I Keep your hypo?" "Would it make any difference to you it I did?" he asked bitterly. "No," "It's loaded with venom," he said mockingly. "Or maybe arsenic. If you hadn't stopped me in the nick of time. Ralph would be dead by now I suppose, being a famous detective, you know my motive." "Yes," I said. He gazeo al me silently. Then e smiled and moved to the door "You're wrong," he said quietly. I signed "Maybe I am I hope I am. If Ralph lives, let's just forget the whole thing." "And if e dies?" I shrugged. "Bennett." he said in a level voice "I should beat you to a pulp." He was big enough to do-it, and much younger besides, but I said, "You re welcome to try. We'd better go outside, though." For a moment I thought he was going to take me up on it. But he didn't. "That wouldn't prove anything," he said. He smiled now, a bitter twist of his lips, and went out, leaving the door ajar. When I stepped to the corridor, I saw him talking to the nurse, on the desk. Then he left, without looking at me. The little red-haired nurse swished past me. I touched her arm. "Miss." She stopped and turned. Her eyes were sky-blue and she had freckles over her short nose. I took a twenty-dollar bill from my wallet and handed it to her. "Take good care of him tonight, will you?" She glanced at the twenty, and then at me. "Of course, but you don't need to pay me." "Just stay with him." I tucked the twenty into a pocket of her white uniform, beside the clip of a thermometer. "Thank you," she said. "Are you a relative or Ralph's?" "Just a friend. What's your name?" "Mary Lou Doyle." "I'm counting on you, Doyle," I said, thinking that there should be someone I could count on. I left her standing there and went out into the windy night. Dr. Mazzini was turning into the drive at Daisy Brown's house before I caught up with him. I cut my lights and coasted to a stop in front of the church and watched as he put the Ford in the garage and entered the house by a rear entrance. Light showed at an upstairs window, and a blind came down. Dr. Mazzini was home at last, but too late for Daisy Brown to give him my message. I turned on the Mercury's lights, swung around in the street, and drove back to the square. The lights in Dan's Place were still bright. I parked at the curb and went inside, thinking that a little bourbon might boost my sagging spirits. There were several men at the bar, a few couples in the booths. The juke box was turned low on the old Bunny Bengan recording of a long-time favorite of mine. "Well, sir?" the bartender said. "Bourbon and soda." He nodded, and then squinted at me. "Ain't you the guy that asked for Earl Seltzman tonight?" "Yep." "Find him?" "Hope." "He musts left the card game." "Yes," I said. "Had some" excitement tonight Shooting. A trash can out in the alley is full of bullet holes. Happened right after you was in here. Some city hunter, drank, I suppose, and—" "Bourbon," I said gently. "And soda," "Yes, sir." He turned away. A big man three stools down swung to See me. He had been talking to two other men in overalls. "Hello, there," he said heartily, and stuck out a big red hand. "Remember me?" "Sure," I said, taking Jake Fortune's hand. He grinned at me, showing his big yellow teeth, and snapped his fingers. "Bennett, that's it. I never forget a name. Homer Hollis' girl works for you." "That's right," The bartender brought my drink, and I sipped at it. Jake Fortune frowned. "Too bad about Ralph; Have you heard how he is?" "No change. I was at the hospital around midnight." He shook his head. "A terrible thing. Ralph's a fine boy. He's engaged to marry my daughter, you know." "I know. Tough on her, too." He nodded in agreement "She wanted to stay at the hospital, but I took her home. Nothing she can do, and she needs her rest, If—" He paused and sighed. He nodded again, gloomily. "I made her go to bed, and I came back to town for a night cap. Can I buy you a drink?" I held up my glass. "This will do me, but thanks." He turned on the stool and said to me, "My daughter told me that Judy Kirkland hasn't even bothered to ask about how Ralph is getting along." "I know," I said. "Sandy told me." "Sandy's a good girl," he said. "A mighty fine girl. A lot like Homer, a square shooter." "Yes." I said. The bartender brought a fresh drink, and I lifted it to Jake Fortune. He held up his own glass. "Mud in your eye, and all that." Copyright. 1954. by Robert Martin. Distributed by King Feature Syndicate. CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE JANE ABBOTT THE DOOR opened, and the little red-haired nurse stepped inside Ralph's room. I put the gun back in my pocket "Yes, doctor?" the nurse said. He said in a tight voice, "Please bring me a hypo and three hundred thousand units of pencillin." She nodded, glanced at me curiously, and left Dr. Mazzim said, "What the hell is this all about?" "Never mind." He shrugged helplessly and turned back to the bed. Ralph stirred a little and muttered something incoherently. The doctor watched Ralph, and I watched the doctor We didn't talk. Presently the nurse returned, handed him a needle. He said to her, "Will you give it to him, please?" "Of course." As she Dent over the bed, the doctor looked at me with, dark brooding eyes. As the nurse turned and moved for the door he said to her, "I'm going home now. I'll be back in the morning. It his condition changes during the night, call me. It's all on the chart. You'd better tell Miss Donovan, too." "Yes, doctor." The door clicked shut behind her. He said sardonically, "Satisfied?" "For now." I backed to the door. "Why, in God's name—?" he began. "Doctor," I broke in. "If I'm wrong, I'll apologize. Do you mind it I Keep your hypo?" "Would it make any difference to you it I did?" he asked bitterly. "No," "It's loaded with venom," he said mockingly. "Or maybe arsenic. If you hadn't stopped me in the nick of time. Ralph would be dead by now I suppose, being a famous detective, you know my motive." "Yes," I said. He gazeo al me silently. Then e smiled and moved to the door "You're wrong," he said quietly. I signed "Maybe I am I hope I am. If Ralph lives, let's just forget the whole thing." "And if e dies?" I shrugged. "Bennett." he said in a level voice "I should beat you to a pulp." He was big enough to do-it, and much younger besides, but I said, "You re welcome to try. We'd better go outside, though." For a moment I thought he was going to take me up on it. But he didn't. "That wouldn't prove anything," he said. He smiled now, a bitter twist of his lips, and went out, leaving the door ajar. When I stepped to the corridor, I saw him talking to the nurse, on the desk. Then he left, without looking at me. The little red-haired nurse swished past me. I touched her arm. "Miss." She stopped and turned. Her eyes were sky-blue and she had freckles over her short nose. I took a twenty-dollar bill from my wallet and handed it to her. "Take good care of him tonight, will you?" She glanced at the twenty, and then at me. "Of course, but you don't need to pay me." "Just stay with him." I tucked the twenty into a pocket of her white uniform, beside the clip of a thermometer. "Thank you," she said. "Are you a relative or Ralph's?" "Just a friend. What's your name?" "Mary Lou Doyle." "I'm counting on you, Doyle," I said, thinking that there should be someone I could count on. I left her standing there and went out into the windy night. Dr. Mazzini was turning into the drive at Daisy Brown's house before I caught up with him. I cut my lights and coasted to a stop in front of the church and watched as he put the Ford in the garage and entered the house by a rear entrance. Light showed at an upstairs window, and a blind came down. Dr. Mazzini was home at last, but too late for Daisy Brown to give him my message. I turned on the Mercury's lights, swung around in the street, and drove back to the square. The lights in Dan's Place were still bright. I parked at the curb and went inside, thinking that a little bourbon might boost my sagging spirits. There were several men at the bar, a few couples in the booths. The juke box was turned low on the old Bunny Bengan recording of a long-time favorite of mine. "Well, sir?" the bartender said. "Bourbon and soda." He nodded, and then squinted at me. "Ain't you the guy that asked for Earl Seltzman tonight?" "Yep." "Find him?" "Hope." "He musts left the card game." "Yes," I said. "Had some" excitement tonight Shooting. A trash can out in the alley is full of bullet holes. Happened right after you was in here. Some city hunter, drank, I suppose, and—" "Bourbon," I said gently. "And soda," "Yes, sir." He turned away. A big man three stools down swung to See me. He had been talking to two other men in overalls. "Hello, there," he said heartily, and stuck out a big red hand. "Remember me?" "Sure," I said, taking Jake Fortune's hand. He grinned at me, showing his big yellow teeth, and snapped his fingers. "Bennett, that's it. I never forget a name. Homer Hollis' girl works for you." "That's right," The bartender brought my drink, and I sipped at it. Jake Fortune frowned. "Too bad about Ralph; Have you heard how he is?" "No change. I was at the hospital around midnight." He shook his head. "A terrible thing. Ralph's a fine boy. He's engaged to marry my daughter, you know." "I know. Tough on her, too." He nodded in agreement "She wanted to stay at the hospital, but I took her home. Nothing she can do, and she needs her rest, If—" He paused and sighed. He nodded again, gloomily. "I made her go to bed, and I came back to town for a night cap. Can I buy you a drink?" I held up my glass. "This will do me, but thanks." He turned on the stool and said to me, "My daughter told me that Judy Kirkland hasn't even bothered to ask about how Ralph is getting along." "I know," I said. "Sandy told me." "Sandy's a good girl," he said. "A mighty fine girl. A lot like Homer, a square shooter." "Yes." I said. The bartender brought a fresh drink, and I lifted it to Jake Fortune. He held up his own glass. "Mud in your eye, and all that." Copyright. 1954. by Robert Martin. Distributed by King Feature Syndicate. Whites Join Move To Honor "Mayor" Thornton May 18th The friends of Matthew Thornton, "Mayor of Beale Street and a 70-year resident of Memphis have lost sight of racial boundaries and are combining their efforts to make his 82nd birthday on May 18 one he will long remember. "It gives me pleasure to send a check to aid in the celebration which you are planning for Mayor Thornton's 82nd birthday. He is a fine citizen and Memphis is a better city because of his 70 years' residence in it. "Many men are better men because they have had his friendship. I am one of them. I hold him in esteem and affection." Some others who have Joined the movement include Julius Lewis, Dr. William H. Walker, Mrs. Francis C. Church, Julian Allenberg the Rev. A. Paul Candill, Miss Tyree B. Golden, Mrs. Thelma G. Hooks and Mrs. Winnie Foster Hill. DARK MILAN by MALLORY ... interpreting the popular trend toward darker colors—a Milan straw by Mallory with an original new grosgrain band... a perfect combination with your new summer clothes. 7 159 BEALE AVENUE MEMPHIS, TENNESSEE LETTERS TO THE Dear Sir: The State of Tennessee has agreed to join with the 47 other states and the District of Columbia to promote a national highway speed control program in 1955. This project has been successfully conducted by 24 Northeastern and Southern States, and in response to a Resolution adopted, by the Governors' Conference at Lake George, New York, in July 1954, the program will be carried on this year under its now-famous title: "SLOW DOWN AND LIVE" The program will be active from 6:00 p. m. May 27 to midnight September 5 (Labor Day), 1955. To be an effective means of reducing traffic deaths, injuries, and property damage, "SLOW DOWN AND LIVE" needs the full support of public officials and the civic and business leadership of the state. Without the promotional backing of the state's newspapers, radio stations, and TV outlets, the emphasis Of "SLOW DOWN AND LIVE" cannot reach the driving public. We ask your help in making this program a constructive contribution to highway safety. This letter accompanies the preliminary background material. Within a few days will place before you the full details of the program and its promotion. I anticipate your generous assistance. Sincerely yours, Nolen Puckett State Safety Coordinator. UNCF Exhibit Allocation plan or, listed in its Radio-TV Bulletin, Mr. Trent said. The purpose of the project is to give the exhibiting agencies the opportunity to meet with broadcasters from all over America who have devoted public service air time in their behalf and to demonstrate the part Radio and TV are taking in enlisting support for non-commercial and non-partisan public service campaigns. Pointing out that all major radio and TV networks had given generous cooperation to the annual campaigns of the Fund, Mr. Trent saidthat the UNCF exhibit theme would be an expression of the appreciation of the Fund's member colleges for the contributions that American broadcasters had made to the success of the Fund's yearly appeals. Now in its 12th nation-wide campaign, the UNCF is seeking $1,750,000 in 1955 in support of the current operating budgets of its colleges. The money will be used for scholarship aid, teaching salaries, classroom and laboratory equipment, and other annual expenses. REVIEWING THE NEWS BY WILLIAM GORDON Managing Editor, Atlanta Daily World His patience had almost reached the breaking point, so he went out seeking some consolation. "Don't worry about it," several young white churchmen told a young Negro minister. "Just a few more big funerals and it'll all be over," they added. The discussion came about regarding the terrible laxity in the Church to take a stand against bigotry and injustice — not merely lip service, but obvious action on the part of leaders who stand in the pulpits around the nation preaching the "Word of of God." A minister himself, the young Negro churchman has become disturbed over the business of preaching the Gospel and listening to many of his white friends who called themselves Christians. Exposed to this, he wondered how serious to take the word of those in the Church. This has really puzzled more than the minister. The real fact is, many wonder how men can stand in the pulpit on Sunday go out on Monday and join the ranks of the Citizens Councils, and hide behind the hood of the Ku Klux Klan. But like the young churchmen said, "only a few more big, funerals" and peace will be with the world. Some people had the same feeling during the days of John C. Calhoun, the brilliant Senator from South Carolina. Calhoun, waged a long fight against the forces of right wanting to free America from slavery. Before he would submit, he almost singlehanded caused the South to pull away from the rest of the nation. But one big funeral ended the career of Calhoun. The slaves were set free and the South once again became a part of the nation. There were others of course. Many came and went away, being reclaimed by the "good earth" and their words and preachings died with them. There was the late Senator Bilbo and many more of the old classical politicians whose philosophy held to "white supremeacy." Like the dew fading away in the heat of an early morning sun, they have been sapped out of existence, their works and many of their deeds dying with them. The same will be true with the current crop. Many of them have not only lost power of persuasion with the public, they have lost respect in their own immediate circles. The day of those who take the negative view about race relations, those who continue to judge people on the basis of color rather than character and ability, have a short life to live. Their's is an aisle, surrounded by a raging current, constantly cutting away on all sides. The death knell has already been sounded. All around them, the world of yesterday is a crumbling spectacle. In place of the old will emerge the new kind of leader. They will be more men like Chester Bowles, former Ambassador to India. Mr. Bowles went to India, not as just another white man, wanting to show how superior he was, but as one maintaining a common belief and a respect for people as they were. The result: The Indian people loved him and believed in him. Fortunately, there are others, like Mr. Bowles slowly emerging daily all over our great nation. There will be many more as soon as there are a few more big funerals. Just A Few More Big Funerals BY WILLIAM GORDON Managing Editor, Atlanta Daily World His patience had almost reached the breaking point, so he went out seeking some consolation. "Don't worry about it," several young white churchmen told a young Negro minister. "Just a few more big funerals and it'll all be over," they added. The discussion came about regarding the terrible laxity in the Church to take a stand against bigotry and injustice — not merely lip service, but obvious action on the part of leaders who stand in the pulpits around the nation preaching the "Word of of God." A minister himself, the young Negro churchman has become disturbed over the business of preaching the Gospel and listening to many of his white friends who called themselves Christians. Exposed to this, he wondered how serious to take the word of those in the Church. This has really puzzled more than the minister. The real fact is, many wonder how men can stand in the pulpit on Sunday go out on Monday and join the ranks of the Citizens Councils, and hide behind the hood of the Ku Klux Klan. But like the young churchmen said, "only a few more big, funerals" and peace will be with the world. Some people had the same feeling during the days of John C. Calhoun, the brilliant Senator from South Carolina. Calhoun, waged a long fight against the forces of right wanting to free America from slavery. Before he would submit, he almost singlehanded caused the South to pull away from the rest of the nation. But one big funeral ended the career of Calhoun. The slaves were set free and the South once again became a part of the nation. There were others of course. Many came and went away, being reclaimed by the "good earth" and their words and preachings died with them. There was the late Senator Bilbo and many more of the old classical politicians whose philosophy held to "white supremeacy." Like the dew fading away in the heat of an early morning sun, they have been sapped out of existence, their works and many of their deeds dying with them. The same will be true with the current crop. Many of them have not only lost power of persuasion with the public, they have lost respect in their own immediate circles. The day of those who take the negative view about race relations, those who continue to judge people on the basis of color rather than character and ability, have a short life to live. Their's is an aisle, surrounded by a raging current, constantly cutting away on all sides. The death knell has already been sounded. All around them, the world of yesterday is a crumbling spectacle. In place of the old will emerge the new kind of leader. They will be more men like Chester Bowles, former Ambassador to India. Mr. Bowles went to India, not as just another white man, wanting to show how superior he was, but as one maintaining a common belief and a respect for people as they were. The result: The Indian people loved him and believed in him. Fortunately, there are others, like Mr. Bowles slowly emerging daily all over our great nation. There will be many more as soon as there are a few more big funerals. AVON * * Dorothy DANDRIDGE — Pearl BAILEY and An All-Colored Cast —in— (In Cinemascope) PLAN TO ATTEND COTTON MAKERS JUBILEE GRAND CABARET BALL!! Plan to attend the GRAND JUBILEE CABARET BALL for the 1955 Memphis COTTON MAKERS JUBILEE Honoring The King and Queen, Members of the Royal Court and The SPIRIT of the Cotton Makers Jubilee. This Affair Will Be Held Friday Night, May 13 at the Beautifully Decorated Beale Auditorium. The Hours Are from 9 until 2. This Gala Affair Will Be A Semi-Formal Cabaret Style Dance. Invitations For This Ball Are Being Mailed Out to Various Individuals, Groups and Organizations. All Clubs, Groups and Organizations Are Invited To Participate In This Brilliant Affair and Have Their Queens or Sweethearts Presented Along With The Jubilee Royalty. For further information contact Mr. Samuel L, Jones, Chairman of the Grand Jubilee Ball Committee, 1884 Riverside Blvd., WH 8-5239 or the Memphis COTTON MAKERS JUBILEE Office, 393 Beale, Telephone 37-5419.