Memphis World Memphis World Publishing Co. 1954-02-02 Mrs. Rosa Brown Bracy 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 Mrs. Rosa Brown Bracy Acting Editor Charles W. Hairgrow, Jr. Circulation Manager The MEMPHIS WORLD to 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) A Salute To Our Sport Side It is gratifying to note from time to time the long due consideration given the deservedness of the Negro group, in big league baseball and other ventures in sports. In this field there has been such progress made by our sport devotees, that world attention has been drawn to the brain and brawn of these strong men on the frontier of amusement and entertaining. Too often we neglect these men and their prowess, for other conspicious things happening in the realm of churches, politics and schools. Jackie Robinson and others of our racial group have been entering wedges for these deserving boys. It is no uncommon thing to see colored players on baseball and football teams. We note with pride, how these players are cracking into rockribbed teams who a decade ago would not think of countenancing these players. The city of Birmingham only recently repealed a standing ordinance to the effect that not only in baseball, colored fellows were prohibited from shooting dice with white fellows. Seeing that the big teams went right on using colored players with their being bypassed by these teams, Birmingham did not like to see such a condition in which such an ordinance proved a liability. In the realm of boxing, the colored boxers are well taking care of their end of the bargain; they are seen nearly every night; contending without regard to race, for various boxing titles. And they are winning. Let us not forget to extol our sport devotees; they are carrying on in the realm of culture and that education in endurance and— as the race boys in the face of every opposition ever encountered in an enterprise, have been able to wipe out segregation on the frontier of sports, let those whom we play up every day for having made a great speech or preached a great sermon, try their tactics in wiping it out in Christian circles and the educational institutions. A New Era In Housing With the recent recommendation of one of the largest appropriations ever, by President Eisenhower there is seen the far vision of human welfare as well as further affording employment for the vast multitude of mechanics as well as those engaged in every avenue of processing and shipping building material. This by no means is a work program per se. It is an answer to the far cry for more and better housing facilities. The housing authority is practically new on a governmental scale; for many years such provisions were left for private interest and at the outset, it found much opposition from those who felt that the government was encroaching upon the field of private industry. It is encouraging to observe how private industry seized upon the idea and in cooperation with the government, has carried on itself in a commendable way. Despite the rise in prices of building material with its attendant increase in wages, the housing industry has kept steadily on. So, what first started out as a slum clearance and a work proviso, has emerged as a permanent fixture in the sinews of American economics. It need not be said that thousands have been lifted from the status of slum-dwellers and for the first time, given modern living facilities. This awakening has been one of the most important factors in causing landlords to have more interest in their tenants than collecting rents. It has brought them to the fore of more concern about the happiness and health of those who pay them rent. The Roosevelt Administration seized upon this capital idea and to it will ever go the credit for that one beginning that will receive credit from home owners and tenants all over the land who never before had the opportunity to own a home for themselves or decent renting quarters. This administration has gone on record for expanding the housing program, it has shown an unselfish willingness to maintain and expand one of the greatest strokes ever enunciated by this country for the enjoyment of all citizens alike. Up From GEORGIA With My Banjo BY T J F GROUND HOG DAY BY T J F 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. REVIEWING THE NEWS By WILLIAM GORDON Managing Editor, Atlanta Daily World. It was early and cold when the gentleman came into the office. After a quick hand-shake one could almost judge the level of the temperature outside. "I don't know if this is news," he said. "But I have just spent part of my first week on jury duty." He paused for a mement, sat down and began telling his story. The gentleman had received a notice for jury duty. Anxious to share in civic responsibility, he was thrilled at the idea even though it meant less pay as compared with with his regular wage. "Up to this point," he said, "this was one of the most enjoyable experiences I have ever had as a citizen. There is something about the people you meet while on jury duty. Many of them seem to have the same interest and points of view." At this point he paused again and looked away for a moment seemingly to give himself enough time to collect his thoughts. When he began to talk again, he told about the cordial conversations he had had with other members of the jury panel. Although they were all southerners, he was deeply impressed with the freedom of discussion, and association within the group. This went on, he said for several days with no one taking, any particular notice of race. The fact is, as he indicated, the atmosphere was so cordial that all feelings he had previously maintained on race seemed to completely vanish. But sometimes behind every cloud there is no "silver lining." It took less than a week for this gentleman to discover this fact. "We ran into a deadlock," he said "and we had to be held over for several hours." When there was time to serve food, we were ushered into a small down-town restaurant under guard. The place was fairly neat and as far as I can recall, it was run by a Greek or Italian." He stopped again to get his thoughts together. There were apparent signs of disgust and his emotions were about to get ahead of his words. But finally he went on. "We entered the restaurant in a body," he said, "but before I could take one of the seats, I was ushered into the rear of the place and finally ended up in the kitchen along with two other Negroes also members of the jury panel." "Once there, we were approached by the owner of the restaurant, who spoke in broken English." "Do you boys want some hamburgers"? he asked. I said no and went straight to the officer who said. "There is a state law, and we can't do anything about it." Unfortunately, the gentleman said, the other two friends sat in the kitchen munching hamburgers. But this gentleman was too proud to submit to the status quo. "It was funny," he said, at first "but the more I stood there looking through the small window from the kitchen into the restaurant dining room, a feeling of pity hit me. It was pity not for myself, but for many white people who find themselves caught in the riptide of tradition and customs. Confused and victimized by a heritage handed them by generations past, many of them today are facing a pitiful plight, he went on to say. The gentleman recalled the statement made by one of our well known educators recently and he quoted the statement to me. "Can the United States, perhaps the leading Christian nation on earth—certainly the nation with the highest percentage of church attendance, afford to tell the world that we place race above ability and color above character?" He said this was a dominant thought running through his mind as he stood looking at the white jurors eating in a free atmosphere while two of his friends munched hamburgers in a steaming kitchen. But contrary to what was expected, he said, the feeling of hostility within him was not evident. Through this "peep hole" out of the kitchen, he saw a world of white supremacy constantly being narrowed to a small island. Each time the United States Supreme Court hands down a ruling on civil rights this isle becomes smaller and smaller. When his fellow jurors finished their meal in the restaurant dining room and his friends their hamburgers, they all went back to duty sitting and talking together. But what had been a normal discussion took a different turn. Jurors too have a conscience which may account for the time they took trying to apologize for what had happened. Victims Of A Heritage By WILLIAM GORDON Managing Editor, Atlanta Daily World. It was early and cold when the gentleman came into the office. After a quick hand-shake one could almost judge the level of the temperature outside. "I don't know if this is news," he said. "But I have just spent part of my first week on jury duty." He paused for a mement, sat down and began telling his story. The gentleman had received a notice for jury duty. Anxious to share in civic responsibility, he was thrilled at the idea even though it meant less pay as compared with with his regular wage. "Up to this point," he said, "this was one of the most enjoyable experiences I have ever had as a citizen. There is something about the people you meet while on jury duty. Many of them seem to have the same interest and points of view." At this point he paused again and looked away for a moment seemingly to give himself enough time to collect his thoughts. When he began to talk again, he told about the cordial conversations he had had with other members of the jury panel. Although they were all southerners, he was deeply impressed with the freedom of discussion, and association within the group. This went on, he said for several days with no one taking, any particular notice of race. The fact is, as he indicated, the atmosphere was so cordial that all feelings he had previously maintained on race seemed to completely vanish. But sometimes behind every cloud there is no "silver lining." It took less than a week for this gentleman to discover this fact. "We ran into a deadlock," he said "and we had to be held over for several hours." When there was time to serve food, we were ushered into a small down-town restaurant under guard. The place was fairly neat and as far as I can recall, it was run by a Greek or Italian." He stopped again to get his thoughts together. There were apparent signs of disgust and his emotions were about to get ahead of his words. But finally he went on. "We entered the restaurant in a body," he said, "but before I could take one of the seats, I was ushered into the rear of the place and finally ended up in the kitchen along with two other Negroes also members of the jury panel." "Once there, we were approached by the owner of the restaurant, who spoke in broken English." "Do you boys want some hamburgers"? he asked. I said no and went straight to the officer who said. "There is a state law, and we can't do anything about it." Unfortunately, the gentleman said, the other two friends sat in the kitchen munching hamburgers. But this gentleman was too proud to submit to the status quo. "It was funny," he said, at first "but the more I stood there looking through the small window from the kitchen into the restaurant dining room, a feeling of pity hit me. It was pity not for myself, but for many white people who find themselves caught in the riptide of tradition and customs. Confused and victimized by a heritage handed them by generations past, many of them today are facing a pitiful plight, he went on to say. The gentleman recalled the statement made by one of our well known educators recently and he quoted the statement to me. "Can the United States, perhaps the leading Christian nation on earth—certainly the nation with the highest percentage of church attendance, afford to tell the world that we place race above ability and color above character?" He said this was a dominant thought running through his mind as he stood looking at the white jurors eating in a free atmosphere while two of his friends munched hamburgers in a steaming kitchen. But contrary to what was expected, he said, the feeling of hostility within him was not evident. Through this "peep hole" out of the kitchen, he saw a world of white supremacy constantly being narrowed to a small island. Each time the United States Supreme Court hands down a ruling on civil rights this isle becomes smaller and smaller. When his fellow jurors finished their meal in the restaurant dining room and his friends their hamburgers, they all went back to duty sitting and talking together. But what had been a normal discussion took a different turn. Jurors too have a conscience which may account for the time they took trying to apologize for what had happened. MY WEEKLY SERMON REV. BLAIR T. HUNT, PASTOR MISSISSIPPI BLVD. CHRISTIAN CHURCH, MEMPHIS There should be much intercessory prayer for others. We should pray for all classes and conditions of men Pray for the heathen that they may be evangelized: for the wicked and crimnal that they may turn from their wicked way; for the unconverted that they may accept Christ as their savior; for the sick that they may have the healing grace of God; for the sorrowing that they may be comforted; for the old that they may have a sense of God's presence, for children that they may become true children of God; for ourselves that we may be unresisting instruments in God's hand. But in our text, it occured to the apostle, inspired of the Holy Sppirit, that the ought to praydu HAA3ffff that he ought to pray for Christian people. So Paul tells the Christians at Colossae that he has been praying for them ever since he heard of their faith in Christ and their love for all saints. It may seem to some that we do not need to pray for Christians. They are saved. Why pray for them? But Paul thought differently. Paul has them on his prayer list he prays for them Do You?. It is not enough that souls be converted. It is not enough that names be added to the church roll. For example, it is not enough that a babe should be born At birth the babe is a most helpless and dependent little bundle of human flesh. The babe must be nursed and nursed for weeks, for months, for years. So with the child of God.. he is just a little child in Christ... drinking milk.. pray for Him. Revivals are joyful times We see loved ones we have prayed for converted and added to the church. It seems our prayers have been answered. But somehow or another we take them off our prayer list. We cease to pray for them. We have a long list of back-sliders, inactive church members. It strikes me we may make a list of our inactive members, place this list on a bulletin board in the church's vestibule and ask all good church members to put them on their prayer list. Christians need your prayers.... your pastor, your choir need your prayers. Christians sometime become discouraged. Their lamp of faith flickers. They wonder, "Do other Christians care for my soul ...is anybody praying for me?" We read, "the effectual, fervent prayer of a righteous man availeth much." We need to know and feel and practice this man. There is a divine mental telepathy. When we know somebody is praying for us, it warms our souls and strengthens our spiritual-moral fibre. Let our fellow Christians know we are praying for them and in some strange, psychological, magical miraculous method they become instruments in the hand of God, helping to answer our prayers One of the grandest intercessory prayers ever prayed, yes, the grandest, was prayed by Jesus as recorded in the 17th chapter of the Gospel of St. John Christ's days in flesh were nearing an end. The shadow of the cross darkened his pathway. He knew the cruel fangs of sin would soon snatch his body away from his beloved disciples. He would be railroaded to the cross as public enemy number one. He knew His disciples would be bewildered, lonely, and alone.... bounded and hunted like helpless victims before the hungry hounds of hell. So, in anguish He cries to His heavenly father. His only father, praying for His disciples, for you, and for me. Again Jesus says, "I am praying the father that he will send you another comforter.... that he may abide with you forever." Christ prayed for us Christians that we may not be left comfortless. Let us... too like Christ like Paul... pray for Christians. The Quest by ELSIE MACK Copyright 1953 by Elsie Mack Distributed by King Features Syndicate "Trumpet at Noon," a novel on which Kelly Fraser had long worked, was about to be published in New York. But Kelly would not be present to sign the contract for it, because Kelly Fraser was dead. Now Dale his loyal and faithful young widow would have to sign it for him. Their marriage had been happy and brief Looking back, it seemed to Dale only yesterday that Kelly Fraser had first come to her grandfather's house where she met him. He'd fallen in love with a little white cottage on Grandfather's land. And so he moved into it, and set up his typewriter to work undisturbed on his script. It was to this same little house that Dale had come as Kelly Fraser's bride. To live with him here in rural Swanscombe, in serene content, for two short years. Then tragedy struck. A dark winter night, a blinding snow storm, a miscalculation at a railway crossing, combined to snuff out Kelly Fraser's life, and a great deal of Dale Fraser's life, too. Now she must put the dark past behind her. Kelly needed her signature on that contract for his book. She must seem alert, even gay when she faced his publisher in New York. WHAT strange telepathy had relayed Dale's desperate need to him all those miles away? For she was ready, now, to face the interview with Steven Carruthers. She gathered up her gloves and handbag, put on the new beige straw hat with its arrogant thrust of feather. Yesterday she had felt herself to be the only dowdy woman on Park Avenue, and she had walked into one of the stores and bought the hat and a new printed silk dress. Her hair was suddenly all wrong. To a competent hair stylist, she had said, "Do what you like with it!" She had closed her eyes while he snipped and shaped. He'd certainly shorn her! Dale bent to the mirror. For a long time it hadn't mattered how she looked or what she wore. Here, it seemed pressingly important, it only because everyone else made it so. Besides, it gave her courage for the unavoidable hew contacts. Out on the street, the wind almost blew off er hat. She took it off and waved its feather at a taxicab. The man grinned and pulled over with a flourish. She got in and leaned back against the upholstery. After today, what was she going to do with herself until it was time to go home? There were a dozen of Kelly's friends within reach of her voice on the telephone. Yet without Kelly, where did she fit into their lives? They had accepted her as Kelly's wife, had genuinely liked her, but what bond had she now with any of them? The thought of reminiscences made her flinch. She put her hat on again, using her compact mirror, noting her pallor, but afraid to apply rouge hastily for fear of overdoing it. The taxi drew up before a skyclimbing office building. Dale got out, paid the fare, went into the lobby. Among the firms alphabetically listed on a brass plate was that of Carruthers and Scott. As the rode up in the elevator to the eleventh floor, Dale noticed that someone had on a sprig of real lilac. Its perfume assaulted her senses, and she thought rebelliously, Even here! "Eleven!" She stepped out, not sure which way to turn. A girl carrying a stenographer's pad said, "That way," in answer to Dale's query, and pointed. "Last door, end of the corridor." "Thank you." She stood irresolutely before the door. Well, here you are, Dale! And whether you like it or not, you are going to have to talk about Kelly. The receptionist's face lighted with flattering recognition when Dale gave her name. "You're to go right in, Mrs. Fraser." She pressed a button on her desk. A responsive buzz came from behind a closed door. The girl inclined her head toward it, and then Dale was opening it, was inside. Steven Carruthers, a tallish, middle-aged man, was offering her a chair and smiling at her. The interview was not difficult, after all. Dale realized that Steven Carruthers was putting himself out to be considerate and thoughtful, although excitement over Kelly's flashed in and out of his friendliness. Finally, opening a drawer of his desk, he took out the contract. "Take this along and read it carefully," he said. "Before we're through with this, there's going to be a lot of money involved. And," he added "publicity." Kelly hadn't Known that she would be a celebrity's widow. "The money doesn't particularly interest me," Dale said. "Nor the publicity." "It interests us." But it was kindly said, softened with a smile. Dale folded the contract across and stuffed it into her handbag. "I've misplaced your address, Mrs. Fraser." She mentioned the name of her hotel and he jotted it down on a pad. Then, coming around the desk to shake hands again, "Swanacombe—where's that?" he asked. "Never heard of it before." "It's not even a dot on the maps," she said. She was suddenly filled with homesickness for it. Already she felt the city pushing at her from all directions. She shrank from going out on the street, hailing another cab, fighting off the violent surges of energy and activity everywhere about her. Carruthers accompanied her to the receptionist's desk, where a man was sitting astride a chair, his arms resting along the back. A long-legged man with a lean face and astonishingly dark eyes under his blond hair. He was on his feet in one swift motion at their approach. "Hi, Steve." "Oh, hello, Phil. You here again?" "Haunt you, don't I? I just stopped by for this." He ducked his head at a manuscript lying on the desk. With a quizzical grin, his dark eyes twinkling, he asked. "Did you read it yourself, or one of your hirelings?" "Three of my hirelings," Carruthers said amiably. "The tenor of their reports was distressingly identical. Shall I quote it for you?" "Don't bother. Eleven other publishers already have. Verbatim." He shoved his chair back in place under the table. "In a word, the thing's a dud. I shall ride the ferry and drop it in the river. And then I shall go back to my desk, dust off the name plate, and start in selling houses again. Would you," he turned unexpectedly to Dale and smiled disarmingly at her, "be interested in buying a house? We have all the newest sizes and shapes and colors." He appealed to Carruthers. "Introduce me to the lady, Steve." "Mrs. Fraser, this brash young man is Philip Parrish. He thinks all it takes to write a book is a Remington, a Roget, and a Winston." "And I am not alone! Besides," Phil Parrish said aggrievedly, "every man is entitled to his one big mistake. And you might add that I'm a first-rate real-estate man." "That you are." Carruthers slapped him heartily on the back. "Stop being an incompetent author, you lug." Phil swung to Dale again. "If you are ever tempted to write a book, Mrs. Fraser—" He checked himself with mock dismay. "Or have you?" She shook her head. "Wise girl. Publishers have a sterner No than Joe. Look, let's get out of here, you and I, and find a drink, shall we? We'll leave Steve to fret over the rising publishing costs of engraving, inks, maintenance, and machinery. I need a good stiff hooker of Scotch to wash away the taste of defeat." He took her arm. "So long, Steve. No hard feelings." Carruthers handed him the manuscript. "You forgot this." "Oh, foul up one of your wastebaskets with it!" He made a flip salute and, still grasping Dale's arm, piloted her out to the elevator. Lightness, she thought, his guard. He's trying too hard to be cheerful. She did not really want a drink. Still less did she want to be left alone. Phil Parrish was a buffer between her and the thrusting city. SYNOPSIS by ELSIE MACK Copyright 1953 by Elsie Mack Distributed by King Features Syndicate "Trumpet at Noon," a novel on which Kelly Fraser had long worked, was about to be published in New York. But Kelly would not be present to sign the contract for it, because Kelly Fraser was dead. Now Dale his loyal and faithful young widow would have to sign it for him. Their marriage had been happy and brief Looking back, it seemed to Dale only yesterday that Kelly Fraser had first come to her grandfather's house where she met him. He'd fallen in love with a little white cottage on Grandfather's land. And so he moved into it, and set up his typewriter to work undisturbed on his script. It was to this same little house that Dale had come as Kelly Fraser's bride. To live with him here in rural Swanscombe, in serene content, for two short years. Then tragedy struck. A dark winter night, a blinding snow storm, a miscalculation at a railway crossing, combined to snuff out Kelly Fraser's life, and a great deal of Dale Fraser's life, too. Now she must put the dark past behind her. Kelly needed her signature on that contract for his book. She must seem alert, even gay when she faced his publisher in New York. WHAT strange telepathy had relayed Dale's desperate need to him all those miles away? For she was ready, now, to face the interview with Steven Carruthers. She gathered up her gloves and handbag, put on the new beige straw hat with its arrogant thrust of feather. Yesterday she had felt herself to be the only dowdy woman on Park Avenue, and she had walked into one of the stores and bought the hat and a new printed silk dress. Her hair was suddenly all wrong. To a competent hair stylist, she had said, "Do what you like with it!" She had closed her eyes while he snipped and shaped. He'd certainly shorn her! Dale bent to the mirror. For a long time it hadn't mattered how she looked or what she wore. Here, it seemed pressingly important, it only because everyone else made it so. Besides, it gave her courage for the unavoidable hew contacts. Out on the street, the wind almost blew off er hat. She took it off and waved its feather at a taxicab. The man grinned and pulled over with a flourish. She got in and leaned back against the upholstery. After today, what was she going to do with herself until it was time to go home? There were a dozen of Kelly's friends within reach of her voice on the telephone. Yet without Kelly, where did she fit into their lives? They had accepted her as Kelly's wife, had genuinely liked her, but what bond had she now with any of them? The thought of reminiscences made her flinch. She put her hat on again, using her compact mirror, noting her pallor, but afraid to apply rouge hastily for fear of overdoing it. The taxi drew up before a skyclimbing office building. Dale got out, paid the fare, went into the lobby. Among the firms alphabetically listed on a brass plate was that of Carruthers and Scott. As the rode up in the elevator to the eleventh floor, Dale noticed that someone had on a sprig of real lilac. Its perfume assaulted her senses, and she thought rebelliously, Even here! "Eleven!" She stepped out, not sure which way to turn. A girl carrying a stenographer's pad said, "That way," in answer to Dale's query, and pointed. "Last door, end of the corridor." "Thank you." She stood irresolutely before the door. Well, here you are, Dale! And whether you like it or not, you are going to have to talk about Kelly. The receptionist's face lighted with flattering recognition when Dale gave her name. "You're to go right in, Mrs. Fraser." She pressed a button on her desk. A responsive buzz came from behind a closed door. The girl inclined her head toward it, and then Dale was opening it, was inside. Steven Carruthers, a tallish, middle-aged man, was offering her a chair and smiling at her. The interview was not difficult, after all. Dale realized that Steven Carruthers was putting himself out to be considerate and thoughtful, although excitement over Kelly's flashed in and out of his friendliness. Finally, opening a drawer of his desk, he took out the contract. "Take this along and read it carefully," he said. "Before we're through with this, there's going to be a lot of money involved. And," he added "publicity." Kelly hadn't Known that she would be a celebrity's widow. "The money doesn't particularly interest me," Dale said. "Nor the publicity." "It interests us." But it was kindly said, softened with a smile. Dale folded the contract across and stuffed it into her handbag. "I've misplaced your address, Mrs. Fraser." She mentioned the name of her hotel and he jotted it down on a pad. Then, coming around the desk to shake hands again, "Swanacombe—where's that?" he asked. "Never heard of it before." "It's not even a dot on the maps," she said. She was suddenly filled with homesickness for it. Already she felt the city pushing at her from all directions. She shrank from going out on the street, hailing another cab, fighting off the violent surges of energy and activity everywhere about her. Carruthers accompanied her to the receptionist's desk, where a man was sitting astride a chair, his arms resting along the back. A long-legged man with a lean face and astonishingly dark eyes under his blond hair. He was on his feet in one swift motion at their approach. "Hi, Steve." "Oh, hello, Phil. You here again?" "Haunt you, don't I? I just stopped by for this." He ducked his head at a manuscript lying on the desk. With a quizzical grin, his dark eyes twinkling, he asked. "Did you read it yourself, or one of your hirelings?" "Three of my hirelings," Carruthers said amiably. "The tenor of their reports was distressingly identical. Shall I quote it for you?" "Don't bother. Eleven other publishers already have. Verbatim." He shoved his chair back in place under the table. "In a word, the thing's a dud. I shall ride the ferry and drop it in the river. And then I shall go back to my desk, dust off the name plate, and start in selling houses again. Would you," he turned unexpectedly to Dale and smiled disarmingly at her, "be interested in buying a house? We have all the newest sizes and shapes and colors." He appealed to Carruthers. "Introduce me to the lady, Steve." "Mrs. Fraser, this brash young man is Philip Parrish. He thinks all it takes to write a book is a Remington, a Roget, and a Winston." "And I am not alone! Besides," Phil Parrish said aggrievedly, "every man is entitled to his one big mistake. And you might add that I'm a first-rate real-estate man." "That you are." Carruthers slapped him heartily on the back. "Stop being an incompetent author, you lug." Phil swung to Dale again. "If you are ever tempted to write a book, Mrs. Fraser—" He checked himself with mock dismay. "Or have you?" She shook her head. "Wise girl. Publishers have a sterner No than Joe. Look, let's get out of here, you and I, and find a drink, shall we? We'll leave Steve to fret over the rising publishing costs of engraving, inks, maintenance, and machinery. I need a good stiff hooker of Scotch to wash away the taste of defeat." He took her arm. "So long, Steve. No hard feelings." Carruthers handed him the manuscript. "You forgot this." "Oh, foul up one of your wastebaskets with it!" He made a flip salute and, still grasping Dale's arm, piloted her out to the elevator. Lightness, she thought, his guard. He's trying too hard to be cheerful. She did not really want a drink. Still less did she want to be left alone. Phil Parrish was a buffer between her and the thrusting city. CHAPTER SIX by ELSIE MACK Copyright 1953 by Elsie Mack Distributed by King Features Syndicate "Trumpet at Noon," a novel on which Kelly Fraser had long worked, was about to be published in New York. But Kelly would not be present to sign the contract for it, because Kelly Fraser was dead. Now Dale his loyal and faithful young widow would have to sign it for him. Their marriage had been happy and brief Looking back, it seemed to Dale only yesterday that Kelly Fraser had first come to her grandfather's house where she met him. He'd fallen in love with a little white cottage on Grandfather's land. And so he moved into it, and set up his typewriter to work undisturbed on his script. It was to this same little house that Dale had come as Kelly Fraser's bride. To live with him here in rural Swanscombe, in serene content, for two short years. Then tragedy struck. A dark winter night, a blinding snow storm, a miscalculation at a railway crossing, combined to snuff out Kelly Fraser's life, and a great deal of Dale Fraser's life, too. Now she must put the dark past behind her. Kelly needed her signature on that contract for his book. She must seem alert, even gay when she faced his publisher in New York. WHAT strange telepathy had relayed Dale's desperate need to him all those miles away? For she was ready, now, to face the interview with Steven Carruthers. She gathered up her gloves and handbag, put on the new beige straw hat with its arrogant thrust of feather. Yesterday she had felt herself to be the only dowdy woman on Park Avenue, and she had walked into one of the stores and bought the hat and a new printed silk dress. Her hair was suddenly all wrong. To a competent hair stylist, she had said, "Do what you like with it!" She had closed her eyes while he snipped and shaped. He'd certainly shorn her! Dale bent to the mirror. For a long time it hadn't mattered how she looked or what she wore. Here, it seemed pressingly important, it only because everyone else made it so. Besides, it gave her courage for the unavoidable hew contacts. Out on the street, the wind almost blew off er hat. She took it off and waved its feather at a taxicab. The man grinned and pulled over with a flourish. She got in and leaned back against the upholstery. After today, what was she going to do with herself until it was time to go home? There were a dozen of Kelly's friends within reach of her voice on the telephone. Yet without Kelly, where did she fit into their lives? They had accepted her as Kelly's wife, had genuinely liked her, but what bond had she now with any of them? The thought of reminiscences made her flinch. She put her hat on again, using her compact mirror, noting her pallor, but afraid to apply rouge hastily for fear of overdoing it. The taxi drew up before a skyclimbing office building. Dale got out, paid the fare, went into the lobby. Among the firms alphabetically listed on a brass plate was that of Carruthers and Scott. As the rode up in the elevator to the eleventh floor, Dale noticed that someone had on a sprig of real lilac. Its perfume assaulted her senses, and she thought rebelliously, Even here! "Eleven!" She stepped out, not sure which way to turn. A girl carrying a stenographer's pad said, "That way," in answer to Dale's query, and pointed. "Last door, end of the corridor." "Thank you." She stood irresolutely before the door. Well, here you are, Dale! And whether you like it or not, you are going to have to talk about Kelly. The receptionist's face lighted with flattering recognition when Dale gave her name. "You're to go right in, Mrs. Fraser." She pressed a button on her desk. A responsive buzz came from behind a closed door. The girl inclined her head toward it, and then Dale was opening it, was inside. Steven Carruthers, a tallish, middle-aged man, was offering her a chair and smiling at her. The interview was not difficult, after all. Dale realized that Steven Carruthers was putting himself out to be considerate and thoughtful, although excitement over Kelly's flashed in and out of his friendliness. Finally, opening a drawer of his desk, he took out the contract. "Take this along and read it carefully," he said. "Before we're through with this, there's going to be a lot of money involved. And," he added "publicity." Kelly hadn't Known that she would be a celebrity's widow. "The money doesn't particularly interest me," Dale said. "Nor the publicity." "It interests us." But it was kindly said, softened with a smile. Dale folded the contract across and stuffed it into her handbag. "I've misplaced your address, Mrs. Fraser." She mentioned the name of her hotel and he jotted it down on a pad. Then, coming around the desk to shake hands again, "Swanacombe—where's that?" he asked. "Never heard of it before." "It's not even a dot on the maps," she said. She was suddenly filled with homesickness for it. Already she felt the city pushing at her from all directions. She shrank from going out on the street, hailing another cab, fighting off the violent surges of energy and activity everywhere about her. Carruthers accompanied her to the receptionist's desk, where a man was sitting astride a chair, his arms resting along the back. A long-legged man with a lean face and astonishingly dark eyes under his blond hair. He was on his feet in one swift motion at their approach. "Hi, Steve." "Oh, hello, Phil. You here again?" "Haunt you, don't I? I just stopped by for this." He ducked his head at a manuscript lying on the desk. With a quizzical grin, his dark eyes twinkling, he asked. "Did you read it yourself, or one of your hirelings?" "Three of my hirelings," Carruthers said amiably. "The tenor of their reports was distressingly identical. Shall I quote it for you?" "Don't bother. Eleven other publishers already have. Verbatim." He shoved his chair back in place under the table. "In a word, the thing's a dud. I shall ride the ferry and drop it in the river. And then I shall go back to my desk, dust off the name plate, and start in selling houses again. Would you," he turned unexpectedly to Dale and smiled disarmingly at her, "be interested in buying a house? We have all the newest sizes and shapes and colors." He appealed to Carruthers. "Introduce me to the lady, Steve." "Mrs. Fraser, this brash young man is Philip Parrish. He thinks all it takes to write a book is a Remington, a Roget, and a Winston." "And I am not alone! Besides," Phil Parrish said aggrievedly, "every man is entitled to his one big mistake. And you might add that I'm a first-rate real-estate man." "That you are." Carruthers slapped him heartily on the back. "Stop being an incompetent author, you lug." Phil swung to Dale again. "If you are ever tempted to write a book, Mrs. Fraser—" He checked himself with mock dismay. "Or have you?" She shook her head. "Wise girl. Publishers have a sterner No than Joe. Look, let's get out of here, you and I, and find a drink, shall we? We'll leave Steve to fret over the rising publishing costs of engraving, inks, maintenance, and machinery. I need a good stiff hooker of Scotch to wash away the taste of defeat." He took her arm. "So long, Steve. No hard feelings." Carruthers handed him the manuscript. "You forgot this." "Oh, foul up one of your wastebaskets with it!" He made a flip salute and, still grasping Dale's arm, piloted her out to the elevator. Lightness, she thought, his guard. He's trying too hard to be cheerful. She did not really want a drink. Still less did she want to be left alone. Phil Parrish was a buffer between her and the thrusting city. Outstanding Act Of Citizenship One of America's far-reaching organizations, the Boy Scouts of America, is marking its 44th birthday during Boy Scout Week, Feb. 7 to 13. On this notable milestone we find the Boy Scout movement at its peak in membership. Today 2,440,000 boys are enjoying the "game of Scouting" in its three distinct programs, Cub Scouting, Boy Scouting and Exploring, each appealing to boys of various age levels. We seldom stop to think that this great work is made possible largely through the active sponsorship of the church, the school and other community institutions. But perhaps even more significant is the fact that some 860.000 adults share their time as volunteer leaders with boyhood of America. There is a devoted service A large number has served many years. Boy Scout Week this year has been dedicated to honoring the Cubmasters, the Scoutmasters and the Explorer Advisors—the men who bring Scouting directly to the boys. To them has been entrusted the care and guidance of our boys and young men. It is their influence upon the Scouts of today, with whom they work and play, that help mould these boys and young men into better citizens and better proponents of the American way of life. These unselfish men who give leadership in Scouting are performing an outstanding act of citizenship. Our nation owes them much. The nation's 3,300.000 Cub Scouts Boy Scouts. Explorers and their adult leaders will observe the 44th birthday of the organization during Boy Scout Week. Feb. 7 to 13. The theme of the observance is "Forward on Liberty's Team," the current major emphasis of the movement which seeks to produce a greater functioning manpower and provide a higher quality program for its ever-increasing boy membership. The anniversary is to be observed by 89,000 units in all parts of the nation, its possessions and also in other part of the world where American families reside. A principal activity of Boy Scout Week will be paying tribute to the volunteer adult leaders of the 89,000 units for the contribution they are making to the boyhood of the nation. "The Boy Scouts of America is one of the largest volunteer adult education or training groups of the nation said Mr. Arthur A. Sehuck, the Chief Scout Executive. Almost 200,000 of our leaders took training courses in Scouting and leadership techniques last year." When the Boy Scouts of America was incorporated in Washington, D. C., on Feb. 8, 1910, it was founded as the voluntary movement it still remains. There are now 860,000 Scouters "who take time from their own careers to give service in Scouting in order to help their, communities do a better job of building citizens." "Scouting belongs to the American people who have made it possible." 'This is thoroughly in accord with our democratic ideals and the American way of life. As a voluntary movement its doors are open to every boy of every race and religious belief who wants to come in. It is dependent upon men who care enough about boyhood and American institutions to volunteer their time in Scouting.' Recognition of the leaders of the 89,000. Units of Scouting will take many forms. Generally, the Cub Scouts, 8, 9, and 10-year-old members who follow a home-centered program in their homes and backyards, will honor their Cubmasters at "Blue and Gold Banquets." Many will present small, useful gifts they have made in appreciation for their leadership. A Cub's dad or mother will speak for the other parents. There are about 30,000 Cubmasters. Boy Scouts who are 11 to 13 years old will have 'Open House' evening meetings at which they will introduce members of their family to fellow Scouts. Former Scouts will be welcomed and pay tribute to the Scoutmaster. Many Scouts will present handicraft items to their Scoutmaster. Parents will speak on the wholesome benefits their sons get through the Troop. About 48.900 men are Scoutmasters. Explorers are members 14 years of age and older who follow a program of adventuring in the open: getting along socially with others; being of service to others and exploring lifework possibilities. Many will hold a "progressive party." Meeting in the home of a Post Committeeman they first present corsages to their young ladies. Fruit and canapes are served at the first home. A salad course, served buffet style, follows at the home of another Committeeman. Small gifts for the ladies are presented in the name of the Explorer Post at the third home. The main course follows at the fourth residence with all Committee men and their wives serving. At the fifth home there is dessert and a "thanks a million" gift from the members to the Post Advisor and his wife. In many instances the Explorers themselves will be hosts at their homes to the "progressive party." More than 10,500 men are Explorer Post Advisors. Boy Scout Week is the largest annual single observance by young citizens. Since 1910 more than 21 million boys and men have been identified with Scouting, and local, state and national leaders share in observing how the program has indeed become an important element in community living. London Notes An appeal for instruction on political and civil rights of the northern region of Nigeria was made by Fenner Brockway, M. F., during a long speech on Colonial Affairs in the House of Commons. He spoke of repression and physical violence against the minority party, NEPU. He said in part: "One of the little parties in Nigeria which was represented at the London Conference was the National Elements Progressive Union from Northern Nigeria. From all I have heard, the representative of that party at the London Conference, Mr. Aminu Kano, was one of the most helpful participants, yet he has gone back to the Northern Region of Nigeria to find a proposal for the repression of his party to find the members of that party being imprisoned, and to find them being beaten up by gangsters on the streets of Kano. "I ask the representative of the Colonial Office, if the future Nigerian Conference is to have good results, that he will secure that minority parties in that country, and particularly in the Northern Region, shall be guaranteed political and civil rights. That seems to me an absolute essential in any advance of Northern Nigeria towards full self-government." Other points from the speech were: Gold Coast: Legislation should be introduced in the House of Commons for the amendment of the Gold Coast constitution to provide for full self-government. Kenya: There should be a thorough investigation of reports of the shooting of Africans and conditions of prisoners. The government should seek the cooperation of Africans and look to the detention camps and prisons for Africans against Whom there has been no charge. Unused and Unoccupied land in the European reservations should be offered for African use. In addition there should be constitutional reform for parity of representation between the races to the first stage. LETTERS TO THE Editor The world is at the present time in the midst of the most momentous transition period in history. Every environment has its problems which vary with location. No longer is any one isolated Rapid transportation has brought people close together and communication is putting the thinking for a common melting pit What will be produced after the melting has been refined I do not know but any reasonable man would ex something better than we The Russians say we are Wa mongers and we say they are wa mongers; they say they want peace and we say we want peace If both nations want peace peace should be the results and if both nations, each leading a conflicting school of thought wants war, the they will not only have war but drag most of the world into the war with them. Let's confine our thinking the America for a while and the "American Way of Life" as w hear it. What way that is it is the life we are living now in various parts of the nation "The American Way' means a different way of life. We are governed not so much by law as we are by custom and practice and public policy These items have caused a great difference to be made and especialy to the Negro. For example the way of life in Massachusetts and the way of life in Mississippi are quite different. In each location the Negro is not too satisfied with injustices he has to contend with but he has become used to it because that is the custom. In many instances he has been convinced that injustices should be hi and that he deserves them because his kind is different, ba immoral and gets what they en entitled to. It is not too hard to begin to believe a thing after you live in it and experience it for number of years or for a life time. Yes, the transition is in motion within the City of Memphis and its momentum is terrific and supply without the notice or consciousness of those who not only should know and recognize it but should be doing their best to help it go for the right direction. Both the educated and the uneducated leader and the follower of Negroes in Memphis in these days of transition are traveling b horse and buggy while th change in traveling in a super je plane which travels faster than sound. What are some of the thing Negroes could do now? What would be the best course to take Should Negroes be thinking o what will happen to them alone? Education won't do what w thought it would do for Rights. The right kind of education would help a bit. People need to begin to be educated at home and the means of communication could promote it more if it were profitable. What will I get out o it idea wont help too much. One old timer here told me that all th average local Negro wants is a other quarter. I have wondered and inquired and haven't found too much evidence to the contrary. He also doesn't have too many quarters. The first thing a Negro should strive for is his civil rights those rights which are guaranteed to him by the constitution. The rights that cause this nation t brag all over the world about the constitution is fine so let us strive and get all that it guarantees u Let us get our Civil Rights First and all other good things will follow. Finally I will say lets forget the idea that 'they treat me all right or "I don't have to come in contact with them, and strive so tha all men get the same treatment a is guaranteed to Citizens of the United States. CHARLES H. FISHER, L. L. B. TRANSITION PERIOD The world is at the present time in the midst of the most momentous transition period in history. Every environment has its problems which vary with location. No longer is any one isolated Rapid transportation has brought people close together and communication is putting the thinking for a common melting pit What will be produced after the melting has been refined I do not know but any reasonable man would ex something better than we The Russians say we are Wa mongers and we say they are wa mongers; they say they want peace and we say we want peace If both nations want peace peace should be the results and if both nations, each leading a conflicting school of thought wants war, the they will not only have war but drag most of the world into the war with them. Let's confine our thinking the America for a while and the "American Way of Life" as w hear it. What way that is it is the life we are living now in various parts of the nation "The American Way' means a different way of life. We are governed not so much by law as we are by custom and practice and public policy These items have caused a great difference to be made and especialy to the Negro. For example the way of life in Massachusetts and the way of life in Mississippi are quite different. In each location the Negro is not too satisfied with injustices he has to contend with but he has become used to it because that is the custom. In many instances he has been convinced that injustices should be hi and that he deserves them because his kind is different, ba immoral and gets what they en entitled to. It is not too hard to begin to believe a thing after you live in it and experience it for number of years or for a life time. Yes, the transition is in motion within the City of Memphis and its momentum is terrific and supply without the notice or consciousness of those who not only should know and recognize it but should be doing their best to help it go for the right direction. Both the educated and the uneducated leader and the follower of Negroes in Memphis in these days of transition are traveling b horse and buggy while th change in traveling in a super je plane which travels faster than sound. What are some of the thing Negroes could do now? What would be the best course to take Should Negroes be thinking o what will happen to them alone? Education won't do what w thought it would do for Rights. The right kind of education would help a bit. People need to begin to be educated at home and the means of communication could promote it more if it were profitable. What will I get out o it idea wont help too much. One old timer here told me that all th average local Negro wants is a other quarter. I have wondered and inquired and haven't found too much evidence to the contrary. He also doesn't have too many quarters. The first thing a Negro should strive for is his civil rights those rights which are guaranteed to him by the constitution. The rights that cause this nation t brag all over the world about the constitution is fine so let us strive and get all that it guarantees u Let us get our Civil Rights First and all other good things will follow. Finally I will say lets forget the idea that 'they treat me all right or "I don't have to come in contact with them, and strive so tha all men get the same treatment a is guaranteed to Citizens of the United States. CHARLES H. FISHER, L. L. B. Mau Mau Queen Sentenced To 10 Year Term An alleged "queen' of the Mau Mau, an African organization sworn to drive whites from East Africa, has been sentenced to ten years' in prison in Kenya. The woman, Wagirl, daughter of a Kikuyu tribesman named Njeroge was charged with taking the Mau Mau oath and being chairman of a women's Mau. Mau movement. She was said to have been the r of the Thomsons Falls district for the past seven years. She was allegedly "crowned" on June 2 by local Mau Mau in an effort to divert Kikuyu attention from the celebrations in the district of the coronation of Queen Elizabeth in London. The district is 100 miles from Nairobi. Two other Kikuyu girls were crowned at the same time but all they had been forced into the ceremony, and were described as "in offensive," they were not given pri on terms. Some of Wagiri's alleged "subjects" received prison sentences ranging from three to eight year for taking the Mau Mau oath. At the hearing before the resident magistrate it was stated that when Wagiri was crowned, Mau Mau men and women chanted ritual songs and administered oaths. In another development, Frank H Wilson, 60 year old European mer, was badly wounded in farmhouse seven miles from Wachokos Saturday night, January 23, b a band of about ten Africans. He was sitting in his lounge when they rushed in and attacked him with pangas (long knives) an swords.