Memphis World
Memphis World Publishing Co.
1957-01-23
Raymond F. Tisby

MEMPHIS WORLD
The South's Oldest and Leading Colored Semi-Weekly Newspaper
Published by MEMPHIS WORLD PUBLISHING CO.
Every WEDNESDAY and SATURDAY at 546 BEALE—Ph. JA. 6-4030
Member of SCOTT NEWSPAPER SYNDICATE
W. A. Scott, II, Founder; C. A. Scott, General Manager
Entered in the Post Office at Memphis, Tenn., as second-class mall
under the Act of Congress, March 1, 1870
RAYMOND F. TISBY———Managing Editor
MRS. ROSA BROWN BRACY Public Relations and Advertising
ALYSON E. WISE Circulation Promotion
SUBSCRIPTION RATES:
Year $5.00—6 Months $3.00—3 Months $1.50 (In Advance)
The MEMPHIS WORLD is an independent newspaper—non-sectarian
and non-partisan, printing news unblasedly and supporting those things
it believes to be of interest to its readers and opposing those things
against the interest of its readers.

Attempts To Intimidate Press
Have Always Proved Futile
There is hardly any self-respecting newspaper or news
paperman who at one time or other has not been threatened
because someone or some organization look offense to some
story carried by the paper.
This weekend one of our novice reporters came, in for his
"baptism of fire."
This reporter a conscientious type with the needed "nose
for news" and facts that go to make a good journalist, ran across
a deplorable situation in the South Memphis community where in
a gang of young potential hoodlums were plaguing the neighborhood 
youths with a reign of terror.
Sensing the need for this deplorable situation to be brought
to public light our reporter commenced to interview residents in
the area to get some facts on the situation and learned that this
bunch was known as the "Knobby Gang" allegedly under the
leadership of a youth who answered to the nickname of "Knobb".
On Dec. 27 a LeMoyne College student was knocked out
ending with a alleged leader being hauled into, court.
The reporter wrote of the a rest and sought to give some
background of the gang in subsequent articles.
Saturday a youth who claimed his nickname was "Knobb"
bowled thru the door of the Memphis World's editorial office and
warned the reporter, after a wine fumed tirade, to discontinue
his article.
Remaining admirably calm the reporter sought to have him
tell his side of the story, along with a neatly veiled probe into
the psychological driving of the apparently ill fated youth.
Despite the efforts of the reporter to get the alleged gang
leader's story, he bowled out of the office challenging the reporter 
to "write anything you want. Just don't write any more
of those articles" ending with what was supposed to be an ominous 
"or else!"
We would advise the misguided youth that his efforts to
intimidate the press will end like so many others a failure.
Dictators, tryants, monarchs and hoodlums down thru the
ages have attempted 19 gag the press thru various and sundry
methods. Some succeeded temporarily, but not for long.
We again invite the young man to come and give us his
side of the story. We will gladly print it along with any due
apologies.
But as for the threats . . . bosh!
Someone wisely wrote long ago: "The Pen Is Mightier Than
The Sword"!

TV Shows Clinton Story
The conscience of a community was portrayed when Edward
R. Murrow focused television lens upon Clinton, Tenn., recently
on "See it Now."
Not all of it was pretty or complimentary on how the desegregation 
issue was handled in the small Tennessee town. Some
of the story was vocal, strident and explosive but behind the
facade of all the violence and turmoil was the true and genuine
people. They were the God-fearing, peace-loving, law-abiding
folks who told their stories in simple, motional and stirring language 
on how social change came, its impact, and its profound
influence upon the character and self-respect of their community.
The Clinton story as captured by TV was a solemn self analysis 
of a community which had seen the rabblerousers seize
control and flaunt law as its own resident struggled to comply with
the Court ruling to integrate its high school.
How Clinton freed itself from the yoke of those who would
take law and order in their own hands is eloquently related. It
symbolized the ultimate triumph of right over wrong. There ought,
to be a lesson for the South in the Clinton story. Here was a harrowing 
experience told in the retrospect of a morning after
ordeal and fire.
As the South moves towards change in its customs and laws,
Clinton, Tenn., should forever remain a symbol of what happens
when, halemongers take over in defiance of the
laws of our land.
There should be a solemn pledge by the thinking people of
the South that the nightmare of Clinton never be relived again.
And that we approach the change that is surely to come in the
South with respect for law, responsibility toward change, and a
surging spirit of faith in the people.

A Closed Door
(From The Savannah Tribune)
The Federal Home Loan Bank board by its denial of a permit
to Negro citizens of Savannah to organize a Home Loan institution, 
has given notice to young Negroes who are preparing for
business careers, especially in home building loan institutions
that that door is closed in Savannah. It well might be a notice
to all who are pursuing courses in business administration that
Savannah isn't a good place in which to start a business career
because they might not succeed, because once upon a time several
Negro institutions failed. It is interesting to note that in other cities,
even in Georgia, a-once-upon-a-time-failure was not considered
a reason why Negroes must be discouraged or prevented, from
organizing banking or loan and savings institutions. We cite the
fact that in Atlanta, a loan institution not more than 10 years old
has become a 10 million dollar concern. There have been business
failures in Atlanta. It is also interesting to note that white banking
institutions failed too, many of them at about the time Negro
banks failed, but nobody offered any opposition to a rash of
white loan and savings institutions that has broken out in the last
several years; nobody's humanitarianism objected to them on the
ground that they might hot succeed. Perhaps it is a good thing
that established concerns should show such paternal concern lest
on institution likely to compete with them might not succeed. Furthermore, 
there is a finality implied here that is against progress,
that Negroes can not accept, and lay claim to having vision. It
will never cease to be a fact that there were failures some years
ago, so we should never have another Negro banking institution
in Savannah. Moreover, in the face of the sort of opposition
banded together against them, Negroes will never be able to
show "need for another loan institution" in this area.

A GOLDEN GLEAM
LIVING — Do not worry; eat three square meals a day; say
your prayers; be courteous to your creditors; keep your digestion
good; exercise; go slow and easy.
— Abraham Lincoln

REVIEWING
THE NEWS
BY WILLIAM GORDON
Managing Editor
Atlanta Daily World
Chong, as he preferred to be called, was an example of the
kind of trained leadership being produced for the small country
of Malaya.
"The British are training people like me, who will eventually 
help throw them out of Malaya," he would often say.
Chong was articulate, aggressive, sensitive and above the
average. He was attending school in England at the time. But
two years would find him back in Malayan as a Civil servant,"
a job comparable to some of the top policy making posts in our
U. S. government.
It was a fact. He was being trained to throw the British out
of Malaya, and no one was better aware of this than the British
themselves.
This August, the people of Malaya, a small Asian country
of about 6,000,000 souls, will follow in the pattern of the Gold
Coast in West Africa. They will get their political freedom. But will
be content to remain in the British Commonwealth only for
economic reasons; an outlet for trade and the benefit of the
British Sterling. These same 6,000,000 souls burn for freedom,
political, economic and otherwise, according to Hasnul Abdul
Hadi, journalist and top political figure of Malaya. Mr. Hadi
makes it clear that the feeling of freedom, is intense in all Asia
as well as in Africa.
"This feeling did not have its inception in Malaya," Mr. Hadi
said; it can be traced to India, the Middle East and many other
countries of the world that have suffered under the boot of
colonialism."
He said the practice of colonialism had cost them a lot in
Malaya. Although, they produce as much as 55 per cent of the
world's rubber and 60 per cent of the tin. They don't even own
the land on which these items are produced. Some of their people
are still backward, superstitious, yet many of them are willing to
change to new ideas and concepts. All of Malaya is not backward, 
which accounts for the feeling of freedom.
They will even pay the British to leave the country when
their independence becomes a reality. Although many of the
techniques of know-how came from the British they will not be
content to have them remain. The stigma of slavery, imperialism
and other practices used by some of those in power will be hard
to blot out. They feel they can do a better and quicker job if the
British are out. This has been the pattern of small and large
countries that possess the growing spirit of nationalism. They want
to be free to work and govern themselves.
The feeling is more intense than some may realize, which
causes some to take note of its growth.
It is far more than regional in scope; it is international in
perspective. It is a tide of "color" rising out of the sea of bondage
and cannot be stopped by a few who have been nursed from the
bottle of out-moded concepts of racial superiority and artificial
beliefs of color. Men were born to be free; the desire burns deep
in the souls of more than two thirds of the world's population.
The 6,000,000 in Malaya will testify to this.

They Burn For Freedom . . . .
BY WILLIAM GORDON
Managing Editor
Atlanta Daily World
Chong, as he preferred to be called, was an example of the
kind of trained leadership being produced for the small country
of Malaya.
"The British are training people like me, who will eventually 
help throw them out of Malaya," he would often say.
Chong was articulate, aggressive, sensitive and above the
average. He was attending school in England at the time. But
two years would find him back in Malayan as a Civil servant,"
a job comparable to some of the top policy making posts in our
U. S. government.
It was a fact. He was being trained to throw the British out
of Malaya, and no one was better aware of this than the British
themselves.
This August, the people of Malaya, a small Asian country
of about 6,000,000 souls, will follow in the pattern of the Gold
Coast in West Africa. They will get their political freedom. But will
be content to remain in the British Commonwealth only for
economic reasons; an outlet for trade and the benefit of the
British Sterling. These same 6,000,000 souls burn for freedom,
political, economic and otherwise, according to Hasnul Abdul
Hadi, journalist and top political figure of Malaya. Mr. Hadi
makes it clear that the feeling of freedom, is intense in all Asia
as well as in Africa.
"This feeling did not have its inception in Malaya," Mr. Hadi
said; it can be traced to India, the Middle East and many other
countries of the world that have suffered under the boot of
colonialism."
He said the practice of colonialism had cost them a lot in
Malaya. Although, they produce as much as 55 per cent of the
world's rubber and 60 per cent of the tin. They don't even own
the land on which these items are produced. Some of their people
are still backward, superstitious, yet many of them are willing to
change to new ideas and concepts. All of Malaya is not backward, 
which accounts for the feeling of freedom.
They will even pay the British to leave the country when
their independence becomes a reality. Although many of the
techniques of know-how came from the British they will not be
content to have them remain. The stigma of slavery, imperialism
and other practices used by some of those in power will be hard
to blot out. They feel they can do a better and quicker job if the
British are out. This has been the pattern of small and large
countries that possess the growing spirit of nationalism. They want
to be free to work and govern themselves.
The feeling is more intense than some may realize, which
causes some to take note of its growth.
It is far more than regional in scope; it is international in
perspective. It is a tide of "color" rising out of the sea of bondage
and cannot be stopped by a few who have been nursed from the
bottle of out-moded concepts of racial superiority and artificial
beliefs of color. Men were born to be free; the desire burns deep
in the souls of more than two thirds of the world's population.
The 6,000,000 in Malaya will testify to this.

MEALTIME MELODIES!
BY LEODA GAMMON
For a satisfying luncheon or support 
baked savory mushroom caps
will really top your main dish when
you serve them on baked rice. You
will also be wise in serving this nutritious 
dish made from a generous
amount of milk, for it will help to
assure your family of the milk nutrients 
they need for the day.
Simple to serve
too is this mushroom 
dish where
several large mush
rooms served on
the fluffy rice
baked with milk
will add new taste
appeal to your
meal. The butterbrowned 
stuffing
takes o na piquant, 
flavor with
the Worcestershire
and poultry sea-soning and makes
the crown for each individual mushroom 
cap.
A quick approval after a first
serving will tell yon that you have
found a a happy combination of both
eye, appeal and good eating. This
recipe will be a last minute time

saver too as you let it bake while
you prepare a crisp green salad.
Serve with poppy seed rolls and
plenty of butter, tall glasses of cold
milk fur a beverage and for dessert
your favorite flavor of ice cream.
10 tablespoons butter
2 teaspoons flour 1-8 
teaspoon savory
2 cups milk
2 cups cooked rice
16 large fresh mushrooms
l-4 cup minced onion
2 cups soft bread crumbs
1-2 teaspoon Worcestershire
sauce
1-2 teaspoon poultry seasoning
Salt and pepper.
Melt 4 tablespoons butter; blend
in flour and savory. Add milk gradually: 
cook, stirring constantly
until thickened Add rice; add salt
and pepper according to taste Pour
into 6-1-2" x 10" baking dish. Wash
mushrooms; remove stems. Chop
stems: sauté with onions in remaining 
6 tablespoons butter until lightly 
browned. Add bread crumbs.
Worcestershire sauce and poultry
seasoning. Stuff mushroom caps on
bread mixture and place on rice.
Bake in hot oven. 400 F., 20-25 minutes. 
Makes 4-G servings.

MUSHROOM CAPS THAT
TOP THEM ALL
BY LEODA GAMMON
For a satisfying luncheon or support 
baked savory mushroom caps
will really top your main dish when
you serve them on baked rice. You
will also be wise in serving this nutritious 
dish made from a generous
amount of milk, for it will help to
assure your family of the milk nutrients 
they need for the day.
Simple to serve
too is this mushroom 
dish where
several large mush
rooms served on
the fluffy rice
baked with milk
will add new taste
appeal to your
meal. The butterbrowned 
stuffing
takes o na piquant, 
flavor with
the Worcestershire
and poultry sea-soning and makes
the crown for each individual mushroom 
cap.
A quick approval after a first
serving will tell yon that you have
found a a happy combination of both
eye, appeal and good eating. This
recipe will be a last minute time

saver too as you let it bake while
you prepare a crisp green salad.
Serve with poppy seed rolls and
plenty of butter, tall glasses of cold
milk fur a beverage and for dessert
your favorite flavor of ice cream.
10 tablespoons butter
2 teaspoons flour 1-8 
teaspoon savory
2 cups milk
2 cups cooked rice
16 large fresh mushrooms
l-4 cup minced onion
2 cups soft bread crumbs
1-2 teaspoon Worcestershire
sauce
1-2 teaspoon poultry seasoning
Salt and pepper.
Melt 4 tablespoons butter; blend
in flour and savory. Add milk gradually: 
cook, stirring constantly
until thickened Add rice; add salt
and pepper according to taste Pour
into 6-1-2" x 10" baking dish. Wash
mushrooms; remove stems. Chop
stems: sauté with onions in remaining 
6 tablespoons butter until lightly 
browned. Add bread crumbs.
Worcestershire sauce and poultry
seasoning. Stuff mushroom caps on
bread mixture and place on rice.
Bake in hot oven. 400 F., 20-25 minutes. 
Makes 4-G servings.

MUSHROOMS SAVORY
BY LEODA GAMMON
For a satisfying luncheon or support 
baked savory mushroom caps
will really top your main dish when
you serve them on baked rice. You
will also be wise in serving this nutritious 
dish made from a generous
amount of milk, for it will help to
assure your family of the milk nutrients 
they need for the day.
Simple to serve
too is this mushroom 
dish where
several large mush
rooms served on
the fluffy rice
baked with milk
will add new taste
appeal to your
meal. The butterbrowned 
stuffing
takes o na piquant, 
flavor with
the Worcestershire
and poultry sea-soning and makes
the crown for each individual mushroom 
cap.
A quick approval after a first
serving will tell yon that you have
found a a happy combination of both
eye, appeal and good eating. This
recipe will be a last minute time

saver too as you let it bake while
you prepare a crisp green salad.
Serve with poppy seed rolls and
plenty of butter, tall glasses of cold
milk fur a beverage and for dessert
your favorite flavor of ice cream.
10 tablespoons butter
2 teaspoons flour 1-8 
teaspoon savory
2 cups milk
2 cups cooked rice
16 large fresh mushrooms
l-4 cup minced onion
2 cups soft bread crumbs
1-2 teaspoon Worcestershire
sauce
1-2 teaspoon poultry seasoning
Salt and pepper.
Melt 4 tablespoons butter; blend
in flour and savory. Add milk gradually: 
cook, stirring constantly
until thickened Add rice; add salt
and pepper according to taste Pour
into 6-1-2" x 10" baking dish. Wash
mushrooms; remove stems. Chop
stems: sauté with onions in remaining 
6 tablespoons butter until lightly 
browned. Add bread crumbs.
Worcestershire sauce and poultry
seasoning. Stuff mushroom caps on
bread mixture and place on rice.
Bake in hot oven. 400 F., 20-25 minutes. 
Makes 4-G servings.

Tenn. State Quint Wins Over
Central And Kentucky State
Tennessee State University's
Hardwood team unleashed their
amazing fire-power to add two importent 
conference wins last week
Coach J. B. "Johnny" McLendon's
netburnets shelled Central State.
89-63 and blasted Kentucky State's
Quint, 95-71.
With the Mid-Western Conference 
Tournament a month away
MWAA Champs. Tennessee, ran
their conference string to 5-1 with

only four more loop games to go
and three will be-played in the
Tigers' little garden. Coach McLendon's 
sharp shooters" lone conference 
loss came at the hands of
Jackson College five in Mississippi.


Hamilton Barnett and Barphill
told down the cannonading for the
Tigers and the McLendon-Coached
blinding fast break and steal trap
defense naved the way to victory
Hamilton collected 25 points while
Barnett netted 15 and Barnhill 14.

An Open Letter To The Public . . .

These articles were written to help
expose and, if possible, to help
climinate vandalism which is frequently 
prevalent in the South
Memphis area bounded by Crump,
Linden, Wellington and Orleans.
These articles were not written to
deflame any guiltless, innocent person's 
character.
Saturday, a teenager stormed into
the Memphis World office and
charged me with "spreading lies"
about him. He asserted that his
nickname was "Knobb," and that I
said in the articles he was the
"leader" of the gang that had been
causing all the trouble. He denied
the existence of any such ganq. He
accused me of bringing his "family" 
into the issue. He furiously denied 
the comments people in the
area have said about a certain
"Knobb." He denied that he had

anything to do with attacking a
LeMoyne College student on the
night of December 27, 1956. He questioned 
the authenticity of the articles. 
He warned me to discontinue
these articles or "face the conesquences." 

In the articles I called not a
name, and designated no special
person. Yet, he claims that I did. He
says he can prove his "innocence"
— but when I offered him the
chance to present his side to the
public, he angrily departed from
the World office in a rage, saying
I could "do what I wanted to."
I have not been moved by his
accusations, for I certainly find it
most difficult to believe all of his
denials. Doesn't he know its futile
to attempt to curtail articles in a
paper without a legitimate reason?
In the articles, I repeat, I called
no name . . . . . . And if anyone was
angered by the column it was probably 
due to a guilty complex rather
than deflamation of character.
If anyone else believes that these
articles have been unjustifiable, he
can protest by writing to the Memphis 
World, especially those in the
neighborhood mentioned. If not,
then its absurd to carry this argument 
any further.

Ike Gives Rockets

for an additional two and one-half
billion dollars.
With one and one-half billion
dollars being spent on missiles in
the present fiscal year, the program 
for the immediate future now
totals six billion dollars.
The priority decree came only
four days after the U. S. presented
to the United Nations a disarmament 
plan which would clamp international 
controls On missiles and
on future stockpiles of nuclear weapons. 

The President has emphasized,
however, that the U. S. never will
agree to global controls until "a
sound and safeguarded agreement"
for an "open skies" inspection formula 
has been achieved.
Russia is standing pat on its
proposal that aerial inspection be
limited to a zone extending 500
miles on each side of the Iron Curtain. 

The air force earlier this week
announced award of more than half
a billion dollars in missiles contracts. 


Former President

N. Y: in 1915. He visited Emperor
Haile Selassie, exiled in England,
in 1936. Again in 1949 he visited
Scotland and France accompanied
By Mrs. Imes to visit the grave of
their son in North Italy. He was
killed in battle of World War II.
Dr. Imes pastored in Plainfield,
N. J. 1915-19; Philadelphia, Pa.,
1919-25; New York City, N. Y.
1925-43.
He is author of "Integrity: Meditations 
on the Book of Job." 1939;
"Free Negroes and Slaves in Tennessee." 
Journal of Negro History.
1919; "The Way of Worship in
Everyday Life," 1947 (Light and Life
Press); also author and coauthor
of many other articles, books, pamphlets, 
dealing with preaching, social 
work through the church, worship, 
and music.

Abe Scharff YMCA

brief program, including a pep talk
by a community leader who was yet
to be named at this writing; music
by the Booker T. Washington High
School Band, Prof. W. T. McDaniels
director; the YMCA Glee Club;
and two vocalists. The remainder of
the one-hour meeting, however, will
be given over to card assignments
for the community-wide Canvas.
No solicitation in this campaign
will be made except through card
assignments. This means that each
campaign worker who takes the
field will be assigned so many
cards with which lie will make
personal contacts with prospective
members.
"This method will prevent two
or more persons calling on the
prospects." it was pointed out.
L. O. Swingier, executive secretary 
of Abe Scharff Branch, said
that this type of membership campaign 
is the best possible way for
the "Y" to observe its Twentieth
Anniversary.
"It was in 1937 that the seed for
the local Negro branch was planted, 
and in the 20 years that have
followed the program has continued
to be developed as a spiritual,
moral, and physical force for community 
advancement." Secretary
Swingler said.
"But our membership in the Abe
Scharff Branch has not been representative 
of Memphis," Secretary 
Swingler added. "We should
have an active membership of 10000. 
In our twentieth year we are
out to get at least fifty per cent
of that number.

Efforts To Impress

ately to put on a "front" of apparent 
success for his friends now attending 
college.

In his criminal career dating from
early October to the first of this
year the youth: stole a car parked
near Melrose Stadium which he
kept for nearly two weeks before
wrecking it on a return trip from
a neighboring state, forged approximately 
20 checks from amounts
ranging from $18 to $33 on a well
known CME Church, stole and
pawned this newspaper's camera
and New Year's eve stole a car
belonging to a well known Beale
Street dentist in which he was apprehended. 


In making her ruling Judge McCain 
felt that the youth "is confused 
. . . . . suffering from delusions

of grandeur . . . . . . . has rationalized
his actions to the point where he
is only concerned about himself."

Thanks to the wisdom of an understanding 
judge the youth, we
hope, may someday soon emerge
from his circumstances and self
imposed cloud of befuddlement and
go on to live up to the promising
things expected of him!


by KELLEY ROOS

1. HASTILY withdrew into the
closet when I saw Mr. Bell
and Miss Webb kissing.
I tried to make myself as comfortable 
as possible. It looked as
though I might be here for some
time. It was all right for them.
You can live on love. But me, I
was without food or water.
"Darling," I heard Leone gasp,
"it's so horrible, happening now,
now when everything was going
to be so perfect for us."
"I know, my dear," Bell cooed.
"I know."
"Can't we go through with it
anyhow, just the way we planned,
no matter what happens? No one
need find out."
"But they would find out, my
angel. The papers would get hold
of it, those infernal columnists."
"What if they did? I wouldn't
care."
"But how would it look, Leone,
think of appearances. This ghastly 
business about Anita, my
school involved. And you and I
running off to be married in the
middle of it all. It would seem
so very callous."
"Yes, of course you're right,
Oliver. As usual. But can't you
come home with me? Now I
mean. My lovely apartment's
there, waiting for us."
"Please," Bell pleaded, "please,
Leone. We mustn't risk any gossip." 
His voice turned playfully,
coyly severe. "And I must say,
your behavior just now during
business hours . . . really, Miss
Webb!"
"So sorry, Mr. Bell." Leone was
mocking her own efficiency. "We
won't let it happen again, will
we? Well, just once more. Now.
for instance."
"Darling. . ."
After a long moment and some
small murmurings, I heard a
click and then the sound of a
door opening and closing. I opened 
my door and shot through the
darkened conference room. I got
my gloves, hat, coat and purse
out of my locker. I had a few
things, which might or might not
mean anything, to report to
Steve.
The elevator was so crowded
that when its operator implored
his passengers to face the front
it was all I could do to obey.
Then I wished I hadn't My nose
was practically flattened against
the back of a young man's neck.
As I pulled back my head and
my eyes focused, that neck, the
ears above it, the set of the
shoulders beneath it seemed
familiar. I tried to place them.
I was trapped too tightly in the
now descending car to edge
around for a look at the face, so
I had to be content to work with
what I could see.
Immediately, I eliminated Mr.
Bell Ear-wise, this couldn't be
he. Besides, Bell was taller, older. 
Then I eliminated Bob Spencer. 
Neck-wise, Bob was frailer,
shoulder-wise, too. This young

man had an athletic cast to him
. . . and then I had it.
This was the young man whose
voice I had first heard in Studio
J. next heard making a phony
excuse to a policeman for his
presence at 11 Rhinebeck Place.
This was a young man I wanted
to know more about.
It soon developed that this was
a young man in a hurry. Almost
before I knew it I was chasing
after him through the chill December 
night . . . up Madison
Avenue, down into an independent 
Subway Station, onto an E
train bound for Long Island. My
maneuvering to keep out of his
sight proved unnecessary. He was
slouched down in his scat. His
hat was pushed so far bock off
his juvenile, clean-cut face that
his crew cut was showing. He
was scowling at the floor as
though he disapproved of it. He
was so engrossed in his own troubles 
that I could have sat on his
lap without his noticing it.
We had a nice, long subway
ride together!
He almost missed his stop; he
came to Just in time. I was lucky
to get out between the closing
doors. We were in Kew Gardens.
I wondered, nervously, what in
the world we were doing in Kew
Gardens.
He walked rapidly through a
business district I stayed across
the street from him. In the middle 
of the last block of stores,
before the terrain went purely
residential, was a still lighted
stationery-tobacco type shop. He
disappeared into it, leaving me
with my mouth open, gasping for
air. I leaned gratefully against a
hobby shop window and waited.
Five minutes later he was still
in there. The store had no side
exits that he might have used.
I was sure that he hadn't known
I was following him, so he
wouldn't have asked to use the
store's rear exit to elude me. I
decided I had better investigate.
I crossed the street, eased up to
the, glass door and saw immediately 
that, except for the
chubby, youngish woman behind
the counter, the store was empty.
My man had gone.
I went into the store. There
was a phone booth in the corner; 
there, was no one in it.
"Yes, miss?" The lady's voice"
was sweet as Sugar. "Can I help
you?"
"I saw a young fellow come in
here a few minutes ago. I
thought I recognized him."
"You mean Jack Walston?
He's the last person came in."
"Yes! Jack Walston! I haven't
seen him for years."
"Not for years, huh? Where'd,
you know Jack?"
"We . . . we went to school together." 

"Really!" The lady was so
pleased it made me wish Jack
and I had gone to School together.
"Grade or high?"
"Grade."
"I thought it must be grade.
Because I don't remember you,
You see, Jack and I went to might
together, Flushing High. Course
he was a few years behind me.
He was in my kid sister's class."
"Imagine me seeing Jack
again!"
"Yes, after all these years!"
"He was an awful cute kid."
"And still is! Too bad you
missed him."
"Where did he go?"
"Out the back way. He just
stopped in to pick up the car
keys."
"Well, Jack's doing all right!
He's got a car now."
"No, he's borrowing my husband's. 
He's got to go to New
Haven tomorrow. Up near New
Haven."
"Oh, New Haven."
"That's right Say. what's your
name? You didn't tell me."
I said the first name that was
coming into my mind nowadays.
"Hester Frost."
"Well, Hester, maybe you could
catch Jack . . . but, no, I guess
not. It's only a little ways to
the garage."
"He'd be gone by now, you
mean."
"Yes. Too bad."
"Yes. What's Jack doing these
days?"
"He's a teacher at the Crescent
Dancing School."
"Oh. Crescent I've heard of
it."
"It's just temporary."
"And is Jack married?"
"Not yet." She smiled proudly
at me. "He's going to marry my
kid sister."
"Well, congratulations!"
"Thanks. They been sweethearts 
since high. They used to
be a dance team. Maybe you
caught their act someplace. Mostly 
in clubs around Long Island
here. Harris and Walston."
"Harris," I said.
"Dottie Harris. Don't tell me
you know her, too!"
"Dottie Harris," I said. "Dottie 
Harris."
"She teaches at the Crescent
School, too . . ."
Now I was-getting places. My
trip to Kew Gardens had been
worth while. At least I knew why
Dottie Harris had been able to
give me the runaround. It hadn't
been a student who I had overheard 
talking with her in Studio
J. Part of what she said had
been the truth; she actually had
had no lesson at that hour. She
had been speaking to a fellow
teacher, her finance, Jack Walston.
I had also discovered that whatever 
it was that Jack had wanted
in Anita's apartment, Dottie
knew about it. And whatever it
might be, it concerned in some
desperate fashion the two of
them.


CHAPTER 15
by KELLEY ROOS

1. HASTILY withdrew into the
closet when I saw Mr. Bell
and Miss Webb kissing.
I tried to make myself as comfortable 
as possible. It looked as
though I might be here for some
time. It was all right for them.
You can live on love. But me, I
was without food or water.
"Darling," I heard Leone gasp,
"it's so horrible, happening now,
now when everything was going
to be so perfect for us."
"I know, my dear," Bell cooed.
"I know."
"Can't we go through with it
anyhow, just the way we planned,
no matter what happens? No one
need find out."
"But they would find out, my
angel. The papers would get hold
of it, those infernal columnists."
"What if they did? I wouldn't
care."
"But how would it look, Leone,
think of appearances. This ghastly 
business about Anita, my
school involved. And you and I
running off to be married in the
middle of it all. It would seem
so very callous."
"Yes, of course you're right,
Oliver. As usual. But can't you
come home with me? Now I
mean. My lovely apartment's
there, waiting for us."
"Please," Bell pleaded, "please,
Leone. We mustn't risk any gossip." 
His voice turned playfully,
coyly severe. "And I must say,
your behavior just now during
business hours . . . really, Miss
Webb!"
"So sorry, Mr. Bell." Leone was
mocking her own efficiency. "We
won't let it happen again, will
we? Well, just once more. Now.
for instance."
"Darling. . ."
After a long moment and some
small murmurings, I heard a
click and then the sound of a
door opening and closing. I opened 
my door and shot through the
darkened conference room. I got
my gloves, hat, coat and purse
out of my locker. I had a few
things, which might or might not
mean anything, to report to
Steve.
The elevator was so crowded
that when its operator implored
his passengers to face the front
it was all I could do to obey.
Then I wished I hadn't My nose
was practically flattened against
the back of a young man's neck.
As I pulled back my head and
my eyes focused, that neck, the
ears above it, the set of the
shoulders beneath it seemed
familiar. I tried to place them.
I was trapped too tightly in the
now descending car to edge
around for a look at the face, so
I had to be content to work with
what I could see.
Immediately, I eliminated Mr.
Bell Ear-wise, this couldn't be
he. Besides, Bell was taller, older. 
Then I eliminated Bob Spencer. 
Neck-wise, Bob was frailer,
shoulder-wise, too. This young

man had an athletic cast to him
. . . and then I had it.
This was the young man whose
voice I had first heard in Studio
J. next heard making a phony
excuse to a policeman for his
presence at 11 Rhinebeck Place.
This was a young man I wanted
to know more about.
It soon developed that this was
a young man in a hurry. Almost
before I knew it I was chasing
after him through the chill December 
night . . . up Madison
Avenue, down into an independent 
Subway Station, onto an E
train bound for Long Island. My
maneuvering to keep out of his
sight proved unnecessary. He was
slouched down in his scat. His
hat was pushed so far bock off
his juvenile, clean-cut face that
his crew cut was showing. He
was scowling at the floor as
though he disapproved of it. He
was so engrossed in his own troubles 
that I could have sat on his
lap without his noticing it.
We had a nice, long subway
ride together!
He almost missed his stop; he
came to Just in time. I was lucky
to get out between the closing
doors. We were in Kew Gardens.
I wondered, nervously, what in
the world we were doing in Kew
Gardens.
He walked rapidly through a
business district I stayed across
the street from him. In the middle 
of the last block of stores,
before the terrain went purely
residential, was a still lighted
stationery-tobacco type shop. He
disappeared into it, leaving me
with my mouth open, gasping for
air. I leaned gratefully against a
hobby shop window and waited.
Five minutes later he was still
in there. The store had no side
exits that he might have used.
I was sure that he hadn't known
I was following him, so he
wouldn't have asked to use the
store's rear exit to elude me. I
decided I had better investigate.
I crossed the street, eased up to
the, glass door and saw immediately 
that, except for the
chubby, youngish woman behind
the counter, the store was empty.
My man had gone.
I went into the store. There
was a phone booth in the corner; 
there, was no one in it.
"Yes, miss?" The lady's voice"
was sweet as Sugar. "Can I help
you?"
"I saw a young fellow come in
here a few minutes ago. I
thought I recognized him."
"You mean Jack Walston?
He's the last person came in."
"Yes! Jack Walston! I haven't
seen him for years."
"Not for years, huh? Where'd,
you know Jack?"
"We . . . we went to school together." 

"Really!" The lady was so
pleased it made me wish Jack
and I had gone to School together.
"Grade or high?"
"Grade."
"I thought it must be grade.
Because I don't remember you,
You see, Jack and I went to might
together, Flushing High. Course
he was a few years behind me.
He was in my kid sister's class."
"Imagine me seeing Jack
again!"
"Yes, after all these years!"
"He was an awful cute kid."
"And still is! Too bad you
missed him."
"Where did he go?"
"Out the back way. He just
stopped in to pick up the car
keys."
"Well, Jack's doing all right!
He's got a car now."
"No, he's borrowing my husband's. 
He's got to go to New
Haven tomorrow. Up near New
Haven."
"Oh, New Haven."
"That's right Say. what's your
name? You didn't tell me."
I said the first name that was
coming into my mind nowadays.
"Hester Frost."
"Well, Hester, maybe you could
catch Jack . . . but, no, I guess
not. It's only a little ways to
the garage."
"He'd be gone by now, you
mean."
"Yes. Too bad."
"Yes. What's Jack doing these
days?"
"He's a teacher at the Crescent
Dancing School."
"Oh. Crescent I've heard of
it."
"It's just temporary."
"And is Jack married?"
"Not yet." She smiled proudly
at me. "He's going to marry my
kid sister."
"Well, congratulations!"
"Thanks. They been sweethearts 
since high. They used to
be a dance team. Maybe you
caught their act someplace. Mostly 
in clubs around Long Island
here. Harris and Walston."
"Harris," I said.
"Dottie Harris. Don't tell me
you know her, too!"
"Dottie Harris," I said. "Dottie 
Harris."
"She teaches at the Crescent
School, too . . ."
Now I was-getting places. My
trip to Kew Gardens had been
worth while. At least I knew why
Dottie Harris had been able to
give me the runaround. It hadn't
been a student who I had overheard 
talking with her in Studio
J. Part of what she said had
been the truth; she actually had
had no lesson at that hour. She
had been speaking to a fellow
teacher, her finance, Jack Walston.
I had also discovered that whatever 
it was that Jack had wanted
in Anita's apartment, Dottie
knew about it. And whatever it
might be, it concerned in some
desperate fashion the two of
them.


MY WEEKLY
SERMON


We have no home in this world.
We are Pilgrims and strangers
down here. There is not anything
that we can claim out-side of Jesus
Christ. We say by our actions we
seek a country . . . . . . A home . . . . .
A building of God, a house not made
with hands, eternal in the heavens.
If I were to go into some strange
country, before going I should ask
some questions. First, what kind of
a country is it? What kind of land
is it? I am told that it is a land
of rest; it is a land of sunshine;
it is a land of pure delight. Is that
land well watered? I see gushing
out from the throne of God the
river of the water of life, clear as
crystal. The man that drinks from
that river shall thirst no more forever. 
It productive? Will there
be any hungry children there?
Any men and women begging for
bread?. The tree shall bear twelve
manner of fruit. We shall hunger

no more. What about the climate?
Will there be any sickness, any funerals? 
The leaves of that tree are
for the healing of the nation and
there shall be no sickness no pain.
What about the people there? Peter,
James and John, Abraham, Isaac
and Jacob and loved ones who have
gone on before shall be our associates 
there. Best of all, Jesus himself 
shall be there. Without Jesus
it just couldn't be heaven.
On one occasion a mother was
taken ill. The neighbors came and
took the little child away. The
mother died, unknowingly to the
little child. And when they permitted
the child to return to its home, it
went through the gate, up into the
yard, calling: Mother! Mother! It
went into every room of the building 
and when it had searched the
entire house, and failed to find its
best friend, mother, it rushed out
into the yard and cried "take me
back! Take me back! It is not
home . . . . . . . Because mother is not
here!"
If we are permitted to enter into
the promised land, we might behold
all of our loved ones, who have
gone on before; but if Jesus be not
there, we shall be disappointed . . . . .
It will not be heaven. We will beg
to be taken away where Jesus lives.
When a small child, I remember
having my troubles . . . . . . Children
have their troubles too. I have gone
into my mother's room, with my
little heart broken, tears running
down my cheeks. She would take
me up, draw me close to her bosom,
kiss away my tears, and after a few
sweet and kind sentences. I would
forget all about my troubles.
We have our trials down here; We
cry, tears of grief flow down. But
it is a glorious thought to think
that in that day the Lord shall
draw us close to his bosom, throw
his loving arms about us and wipe
away all tears . . . . . . . . And we
shall cry no more. We shall be at
home, the home of the soul, redeemed 
from all the imperfections of the
world; at home with God our Father, 
Jesus Christ our elder brother
and our loved ones who have gone
on before and lost just for a little
while.
Let us follow in the footsteps of
Jesus into the eternal home of the
soul.

WE SEEK A HOME


We have no home in this world.
We are Pilgrims and strangers
down here. There is not anything
that we can claim out-side of Jesus
Christ. We say by our actions we
seek a country . . . . . . A home . . . . .
A building of God, a house not made
with hands, eternal in the heavens.
If I were to go into some strange
country, before going I should ask
some questions. First, what kind of
a country is it? What kind of land
is it? I am told that it is a land
of rest; it is a land of sunshine;
it is a land of pure delight. Is that
land well watered? I see gushing
out from the throne of God the
river of the water of life, clear as
crystal. The man that drinks from
that river shall thirst no more forever. 
It productive? Will there
be any hungry children there?
Any men and women begging for
bread?. The tree shall bear twelve
manner of fruit. We shall hunger

no more. What about the climate?
Will there be any sickness, any funerals? 
The leaves of that tree are
for the healing of the nation and
there shall be no sickness no pain.
What about the people there? Peter,
James and John, Abraham, Isaac
and Jacob and loved ones who have
gone on before shall be our associates 
there. Best of all, Jesus himself 
shall be there. Without Jesus
it just couldn't be heaven.
On one occasion a mother was
taken ill. The neighbors came and
took the little child away. The
mother died, unknowingly to the
little child. And when they permitted
the child to return to its home, it
went through the gate, up into the
yard, calling: Mother! Mother! It
went into every room of the building 
and when it had searched the
entire house, and failed to find its
best friend, mother, it rushed out
into the yard and cried "take me
back! Take me back! It is not
home . . . . . . . Because mother is not
here!"
If we are permitted to enter into
the promised land, we might behold
all of our loved ones, who have
gone on before; but if Jesus be not
there, we shall be disappointed . . . . .
It will not be heaven. We will beg
to be taken away where Jesus lives.
When a small child, I remember
having my troubles . . . . . . Children
have their troubles too. I have gone
into my mother's room, with my
little heart broken, tears running
down my cheeks. She would take
me up, draw me close to her bosom,
kiss away my tears, and after a few
sweet and kind sentences. I would
forget all about my troubles.
We have our trials down here; We
cry, tears of grief flow down. But
it is a glorious thought to think
that in that day the Lord shall
draw us close to his bosom, throw
his loving arms about us and wipe
away all tears . . . . . . . . And we
shall cry no more. We shall be at
home, the home of the soul, redeemed 
from all the imperfections of the
world; at home with God our Father, 
Jesus Christ our elder brother
and our loved ones who have gone
on before and lost just for a little
while.
Let us follow in the footsteps of
Jesus into the eternal home of the
soul.

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