Memphis World Memphis World Publishing Co. 1955-04-05 Raymond F. Tisby MEMPHIS WORLD AMERICA'S STANDARD RACE JOURNAL The South's Oldest and Leading Colored Semi-Weekly Newspaper Published by MEMPHIS WORLD PUBLISHING CO. Every TUESDAY and FRIDAY at 164 BEALE—Phone 8-4030 Entered in the Post Office at Memphis, Tenn., as second-class mail under the Act of Congress, March 1, 1870 Member of SCOTT NEWSPAPER SYNDICATE W. A. Scott, II, Founder; C. A. Scott General Manager Raymond F. Tisby Managing Editor Mrs. Rosa Brown Bracy Public Relations and Advertising William C. Weathers Circulation Promotion 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) NAACP and You Put Up Of Shut Up On this matter of civil rights the fat, so to speak, "is in the fire" and Memphians are now, in the words of an editor; "going to have to Put Up Or Shut Up." It's simply a matter of dollars and sense. We are going to have to "put up" our money in support of organizations that are in the vanguard of the fight for citizenship without humiliating strings or either "shut up' harping of our desire for human dignity. Right now the Memphis branch of the NAACP, the number one champion of human dignity, is in the midst of its membership drive and how well that organization will be able to bring pressure to bear in our behalf depends on how You dig into your pocketbooks. A laudable rejuvenated Memphis NAACP has set its sights high and aims at 10,000 general members, 5,000 youth members and 100 life members. Needless to say this goal should be reached as living testimony that the Memphis Negro recognizes values and truly desires to be free. Of course there are some persons in sensitive type jobs who because of found or unfound fears of being pressurized if they become NAACP members disdain from becoming listed NAACP members, but who, if they only would render valuable service to the NAACP through "anonymous" donations. Freedom costs and now is the time to "Put Up" our money in support of the Memphis NAACP or "Shut Up" harping about wanting first class citizenship. Join or Give to the Memphis NAACP Today! Another Great Loss To The Farmer The record drought of last year, which carried with it dried wells, creeks and ponds as the farmer witnessed the longest seige of a rainless summer within our recollection, was o terrible stroke on the farmers. Millions were lost and the pinch of scarcity of those commodities dependent upon good crops, was fell in every section of the land. The farmers were unable to retrieve their losses; they were the brave patriots who often go back and try over again where nature and fortune fall them. The lesson of this long seige renewed discussions around irrigation and the farmer is leaning toward artificial means in offsetting crop failures. While the government and the banks are giving out information on irrigation and offering help to the distressed farmers, little can be done when the late freezes Come along and kill out the peach, corn and pecan crops. These must be trusted to providence, and man's ingenuity cannot handle this phase of the weather. Fortunately, the freeze came early enough for the farmers to replant much of their food crops. While the peach and pecan crops cannot be replanted, it is felt that there are enough of the late varieties to offset much of the loss due to the late March freeze. The early coming of spring, with its warm days of sunshine lured out the blossoms and leaves which foreran the corning of fruit. Clean Up, Brush Up Now that spring is well on the horizon, with its vistas reveling in the newness of life, let all of her favored worshippers, catch the spirit of mother nature and join the clean up, brush up brigade. Ours is one of the finest cities in the nation; it is loved and praised everywhere for its trend of progress. Its businesses, colleges and nice homes are nationally known. Being a pivotal convention city, we are ever subject to the tours of sighseers attending meetings from time to time. It must be said and with praise, the many eyes sores and slums are fast disappearing from among us. We come into the sunlight of a new day, and, however humble a cottage and unprententious its grounds, there is room for flowers and shrubbery which index the soul spirit of the dweller. So, in the mood of the spring, let there follow a new awakening in the clean up and brush up spirit. This is your town; your taxes support it, and the flood of people passing your way are your guests. Your cottage is your castle and however humble, it deserves that the papers, rubbish and litter be cleared away for more seemly sights. Yes, this is spring, the "stage of new life and new vigor and there is something that everyone can do to help the good cause along. Clean up, brush up and be springy. Eisenhower And Patriotism President Dwight D. Eisenhower gave an example of his high sense of patriotism recently when he spoke to the Republican National Committee. The President spoke after the committee had set the date and place for the 1956 Republican Convention. The President warned fellow Republicans not to lose their "balance" in political struggles in the United States. He said it was not right, even in an effort to win elections, to link, the Democratic Party with the Communists. Mr. Eisenhower pointed out that the greatest enemy of this country is Communism and that our present struggle was one to free those parts of the world now under dictator-rule and to keep the rest pf the world from falling under Communist influence. If Republicans build up the picture that the worst enemy anyone can have is a Democrat, he said, they are dividing the country and losing their sense of values. This admonition to his own party was needed in view of the 1954 campaign, and it is to be hoped that in 1956 the two major parties will refrain from charges of treason and traitorous conduct on the part of high party officials and former chief executives. Candidates who resort to this sort of exaggeration are evidencing o lack of a positive program of their own and should not be supported. Polio Vaccine Report Due Soon Dr. Hart E. Van Ripper, medical director of the Notional Foundation for Infantile Paralysis, said recently the full results of the vaccine test conducted in 1954 would probably be known some time in April. Work on the many reports from children vaccinated all over the country is being, done at a poliomyelitis vaccine center at University of Michigan. Dr. Van Ripper says if these reports are found to constitute a success, the National Foundation will make the Salk anti-polio vac cine available to about 9,000,000 school children this spring. Dr. Van Ripper says the vaccine will be available to children in both the first and second grades. He says it will also be made available to all those children who served as controls in the vaccine trials in the 1954 test. Van Ripper reports that six pharmaceutical firms are now manufacturing the vaccine. The National Foundation will spend if reports are encouraging, as much as $9,000,000 on the vaccine alone in 1955. Most encouraging is the report that these pharmaceutical firms are readying their processes to produce enough serum to inoculate other millions of children whose parents will probably want to purchase the vaccine, and who can afford it, and who will go to the trouble of taking on this responsibility themselves. The biggest question—the results of the 1954 test—will be answered some line in April, and if the Salk vaccine proves to be all many think it is, the prospect for 1955 is the inoculation of well over 10,000,000 children—which would be a record achievement in the battle against polio. REVIEWING THE NEWS BY WILLIAM GORDON Managing Editor, Atlanta Daily World FORT PULASKI, Ga.—(SNS)— For about fourteen miles we drove along a hard-surfaced road. It was refreshing, taking in the breeze as, wave after wave swept in from the distant Atlantic Ocean. Marshes dipped in against the bed of the highway, and one could view, for miles, the seaweeds that blanketed the area. Finally, we came to Fort Pulaski. Standing like a giant, overlooking the waters of the Atlantic, and the surrounding country side, Fort Pulaski appeared ghost-like. "The date of the Fort goes back almost to the time of the War of 1812," the guide said. At this point he began pointing to the old guns that dotted the ancient walls; he showed us the doors, worn and battered by cannon balls and other instruments of war. His description was so clear that one could almost see the ghosts of soldiers walking about the place in cadence. "The most interesting sight here", the guide said, "is the room where you'll find a large number of bottles. "These bottles tell many, stories." These bottles just didn't happen on this desolate spot, there are reasons with deep significance as to their origin. War, and all of its implications, bring about a lot of things, many things, many things which cannot be explained in a few words and sentences. First of alb there was the Fort, standing in the sun and drenched by centuries of rainfall and the salt water that came in from the sea. The Fort was built following the War of 1812. America's last war with the British left its feeling of insecurity. So great forts were built to protect the country from sudden attacks from the Sea. Fort Pulaski was one of those forts. And the skeleton of this one time great Fort remained to let us in on a bit of early American history. Historians tell us that in the Revolutionary War we won our. political freedom from Europe. The War of 1812 gave us our industrial freedom. And from this point on we were bent on taking no more chances. But back to the bottles. We finally came to a room, filled with them, all spic and span and with history written all over them. There were all shapes and sizes. There were names on some of them telling of the hospital or medical center from which they came. There were bottles which told of fever, one of the biggest killers in all wars. There were those which held quinine, and perhaps as far as we know, saved the life of some soldier. Bottles, millions of them, are always used during the lime of war. And there were those which did not tell of medicine. There were those bottles which at one time contained the stronger drinks. These told of dispair and frustration by those grown tired of war and all of its evils. Standing there, looking into the showcase of bottles, one would get the picture of soldiers thinking about home, their families, some which they would never see again. The bottles served many purposes. They told of hardships, misery, the bitter cold nights and of the blood, sweat and death that follow every episode of the inevitable, war. There were many stories, all drained out of empty bottles some more than a century old, touching on the history of early America. If only these bottles could talk. If Bottles Gould Only Talk BY WILLIAM GORDON Managing Editor, Atlanta Daily World FORT PULASKI, Ga.—(SNS)— For about fourteen miles we drove along a hard-surfaced road. It was refreshing, taking in the breeze as, wave after wave swept in from the distant Atlantic Ocean. Marshes dipped in against the bed of the highway, and one could view, for miles, the seaweeds that blanketed the area. Finally, we came to Fort Pulaski. Standing like a giant, overlooking the waters of the Atlantic, and the surrounding country side, Fort Pulaski appeared ghost-like. "The date of the Fort goes back almost to the time of the War of 1812," the guide said. At this point he began pointing to the old guns that dotted the ancient walls; he showed us the doors, worn and battered by cannon balls and other instruments of war. His description was so clear that one could almost see the ghosts of soldiers walking about the place in cadence. "The most interesting sight here", the guide said, "is the room where you'll find a large number of bottles. "These bottles tell many, stories." These bottles just didn't happen on this desolate spot, there are reasons with deep significance as to their origin. War, and all of its implications, bring about a lot of things, many things, many things which cannot be explained in a few words and sentences. First of alb there was the Fort, standing in the sun and drenched by centuries of rainfall and the salt water that came in from the sea. The Fort was built following the War of 1812. America's last war with the British left its feeling of insecurity. So great forts were built to protect the country from sudden attacks from the Sea. Fort Pulaski was one of those forts. And the skeleton of this one time great Fort remained to let us in on a bit of early American history. Historians tell us that in the Revolutionary War we won our. political freedom from Europe. The War of 1812 gave us our industrial freedom. And from this point on we were bent on taking no more chances. But back to the bottles. We finally came to a room, filled with them, all spic and span and with history written all over them. There were all shapes and sizes. There were names on some of them telling of the hospital or medical center from which they came. There were bottles which told of fever, one of the biggest killers in all wars. There were those which held quinine, and perhaps as far as we know, saved the life of some soldier. Bottles, millions of them, are always used during the lime of war. And there were those which did not tell of medicine. There were those bottles which at one time contained the stronger drinks. These told of dispair and frustration by those grown tired of war and all of its evils. Standing there, looking into the showcase of bottles, one would get the picture of soldiers thinking about home, their families, some which they would never see again. The bottles served many purposes. They told of hardships, misery, the bitter cold nights and of the blood, sweat and death that follow every episode of the inevitable, war. There were many stories, all drained out of empty bottles some more than a century old, touching on the history of early America. If only these bottles could talk. MY WEEKLY SERMON TEXT: (Read the 11th Chapter of Mark.) In churches of a liturgical slant, Sunday, April 3rd, was known as Palm Sunday... a reminder of that Sunday in Jerusalem in 30 A. D. when Jesus was about to say farewell to the world of flesh. Thousands, from every quarter of the Jewish world, had flocked to the Holy City, Jerusalem. It was the time of the Passover, the greatest celebration of the Hebrew race, commemorating that night when the Lord God Almighty smote the firstborn of Pharaoh's host, the Egyptians... and yet passed harmlessly over the homes of the Israelites. Soft, balmy spring held sway over the ancient city. The birds were chirping. The little flowers were pointing their petals to the sky. Nature was warmly and tenderly kissing the hills and valleys. On that bright day, Jesus, sitting astride an unridden ass, a symbol of Jewish Kingship, rode trimphantly to Jerusalem. When he appeared thousands began to chant and shout with joy crying, "Hosannah, blessed is he that cometh in the name of the Lord... Hosannah in the highest." The mammoth, surging crowd was under a spell. Some cast their robes, their garments down on the dusty highway for him to ride over. Others cut down green branches of the Palm Trees these they waved. Others strew the ground with blankets of bouquets and wild flowers. The people had gone wild... as if on holy fire. Terror lurked in the breasts of the Pharisees and the upper classes. They were jealous, fearful. As Jesus moved through the city gates, the children took up the cry, "Hosannah to the Son of David." The blind, the halt, the cripple, ame cpilling with the crown through the gates as best they could.. The streets were carpeted with greenery, with palms, with flowers. The air was filled with shouts of "Hosannah." This was the world's first Palm Sunday. This was Jesus' last Sunday in the flesh of supreme popularity. Soon, in a few days, others were to cry "Crucify Him!" So in life today, we have our day of praise, our days of condemnation, one day a crown... the next a cross. What means it all to us today? Several ideas are expressed. Many lessons are learned from it. Just three or four may we mention. First: Disciples, we Christians, must prepare the way for Jesus ... "He has heed of us." Jesus cannot march triumphantly into the lives of men and women unless we, who are Christians, go before find blaze a path. Second: This preparatory service is costly... It is a sacrificial cost. Things that are precious and dear to us, our time, our talents, our prayers, our energy, our money, must be the Jesus pathway.' Nothing is too costly to become a pathway, for Jesus Into human hearts. Third: It should be a pathway of beauty... a pathway carpeted with a "carpet of Stardust spun from a loom ever spinning"... so carpeted that humanity may see it as a pathway of peace and pleasantness. Fourth: it must be a procession of enthusiasm. "Hallelujahs" and "amens" must fill the very air. Christians must be on Holy Fire: Christians must go wild in, their enthusiasm for Jesus. Let not our shouting evaporate. As long as we have breath let us praise the Lord! Let us pray in the language of Ralph Cusham: "Set us afire, Lord: Stir us we pray! While the world perishes, we go our way. Purposeless, passionless, day after day. Set us afire, Lord: Stir us, we pray." PALM SUNDAY TEXT: (Read the 11th Chapter of Mark.) In churches of a liturgical slant, Sunday, April 3rd, was known as Palm Sunday... a reminder of that Sunday in Jerusalem in 30 A. D. when Jesus was about to say farewell to the world of flesh. Thousands, from every quarter of the Jewish world, had flocked to the Holy City, Jerusalem. It was the time of the Passover, the greatest celebration of the Hebrew race, commemorating that night when the Lord God Almighty smote the firstborn of Pharaoh's host, the Egyptians... and yet passed harmlessly over the homes of the Israelites. Soft, balmy spring held sway over the ancient city. The birds were chirping. The little flowers were pointing their petals to the sky. Nature was warmly and tenderly kissing the hills and valleys. On that bright day, Jesus, sitting astride an unridden ass, a symbol of Jewish Kingship, rode trimphantly to Jerusalem. When he appeared thousands began to chant and shout with joy crying, "Hosannah, blessed is he that cometh in the name of the Lord... Hosannah in the highest." The mammoth, surging crowd was under a spell. Some cast their robes, their garments down on the dusty highway for him to ride over. Others cut down green branches of the Palm Trees these they waved. Others strew the ground with blankets of bouquets and wild flowers. The people had gone wild... as if on holy fire. Terror lurked in the breasts of the Pharisees and the upper classes. They were jealous, fearful. As Jesus moved through the city gates, the children took up the cry, "Hosannah to the Son of David." The blind, the halt, the cripple, ame cpilling with the crown through the gates as best they could.. The streets were carpeted with greenery, with palms, with flowers. The air was filled with shouts of "Hosannah." This was the world's first Palm Sunday. This was Jesus' last Sunday in the flesh of supreme popularity. Soon, in a few days, others were to cry "Crucify Him!" So in life today, we have our day of praise, our days of condemnation, one day a crown... the next a cross. What means it all to us today? Several ideas are expressed. Many lessons are learned from it. Just three or four may we mention. First: Disciples, we Christians, must prepare the way for Jesus ... "He has heed of us." Jesus cannot march triumphantly into the lives of men and women unless we, who are Christians, go before find blaze a path. Second: This preparatory service is costly... It is a sacrificial cost. Things that are precious and dear to us, our time, our talents, our prayers, our energy, our money, must be the Jesus pathway.' Nothing is too costly to become a pathway, for Jesus Into human hearts. Third: It should be a pathway of beauty... a pathway carpeted with a "carpet of Stardust spun from a loom ever spinning"... so carpeted that humanity may see it as a pathway of peace and pleasantness. Fourth: it must be a procession of enthusiasm. "Hallelujahs" and "amens" must fill the very air. Christians must be on Holy Fire: Christians must go wild in, their enthusiasm for Jesus. Let not our shouting evaporate. As long as we have breath let us praise the Lord! Let us pray in the language of Ralph Cusham: "Set us afire, Lord: Stir us we pray! While the world perishes, we go our way. Purposeless, passionless, day after day. Set us afire, Lord: Stir us, we pray." The Inheritors By JANE ABBOTT Copyright, 19, by Jane Abbott. Distributed by King Features Syndicates GARY had a sudden impulse to tell her about Bressi, tell her what Bressi's criticism, good or bad, was going to mean to him. But he said, with a short laugh: "Probably stack it up with a lot of others." "It you're going to do thatCindy doesn't like it—may I buy it?" He looked at her with some astonishment. "What would you do with it?" "Hang it in my room at home." He said: "You can't buy it but you may nave It some day. I'm sending it to a critic in Boston. When it cornea back it's yours." "But I'd rather buy it," said Enid. "Paints cost money." "We'll settle that later." Cindy joined them, dropped down at Gary's other side. "Oh, for an ice-cold drink," she said. "Don't you use the well to keep things cold?" asked Gary. When tie saw by their faces that they did not Know what he was talking about, he got to his feet. "Come and I'll show you." The pump rested on a platform of heavy planks. In one corner of it was a trap door. Gary lifted it up, pointed out the pegs driven into the undercasina of the platform the strong cords looped on the pegs, the covered containers of varying sizes attached to the ends of the cords. "They're wateright — at least they were. You put your food into them, lower them down below water level. Thingsill keep for days. No defrosting." "Aunt Jennie should know about it, too," cried Cindy. "I'll go get her." She came back with Jennie Todd." Jennie looked down through the rap door. "I should have remembered seeing my mother and Aunt a putting things in the well!" At that moment Hester's car around the house, stopped just outside the barn door. Hester out or it. What a cozy little gathering you make!" she said, almost gaily. But Gary caught an edge in her voice, that was not amusement. * * * Hester Wilmer had enjoyed her stay at the Saranac inn, her pleasant room, the competent service, Anne Babbitt's bits of news from home. "Lydia Holzworth is simply a stick, Hester! I think they're sorry already that they made her president! The pageant committee was simply stunned when they got your resignation!" Other bits as pleasant to hear. It she had taken more clothes with her, she would have stayed longer. So she had driven north from Saranac in good spirits. On reaching Killbuck she stopped at the post-office for her mail and was delighted to be given a little packet of letters, along with her newspapers. Some bills, a few square white envelopes that looked like invitations a letter with Robert Drew's firm name on the envelope. The postmistress said to her: "Here's a letter for that Gary Norbeck up at your place. Been here several days. Want to take it to him? From a bank. He gets them every so often." Hester looked at the letter. "First National Bank, Salem, Mass." Salem. Anne Babbitt would be going soon to Salem. She pushed the letter back under the grating. "No, I am not likely to see him. Anything for Miss Enid Wilmer or Miss Jennie Todd?" "Miss Todd come herself for mail yesterday." Hester was impatient to open Robert "Drew's letter. Also, she'd like a cup of tea and a sandwich. She remembered seeing an eating place somewhere nearby. She found the place. A woman, evidently the proprietor, greeted her cordially. "Good afternoon. You're the other one of old Josh's nieces, aren't you?" "Yes, I am Jehosophat Trevett's niece. Mrs. Hubert Wilmer." Something went out of the woman's smile. "I'm Hannah Plebby, and I knew old Josh most before I could walk." Hester merely asked stiffly for a cup of tea and a sandwich. She opened Robert Drew's letter and read: "My dear Mrs. Wilmer: "With regret I must write you that it will be impossible for me to go to Malone, as you suggest, to advise you, as your attorney, in matters connected with thin estate you mention. I have made inquiries about the Killbuck lawyer who is the executor, and find that he has a very good standing in that part of the stale, so I am confident that you can trust him and depend on his counsel in any legal difficulties that may come up. "With best regards, "Robert Drew." The coolness of it—as if she were just any client! How many tunes had she had him and his wife for dinner? And it was Olive and Hester between her and his wife. By the time she reached the farm she had regained her composure. She drove into the yard. Then she saw them, Enid, and the girl from the back wing, Jennie, and a man who must be Gary Norbeck, chummily huddled around the pump, laughing. She went toward them. She said something—she did not know what. She was gratified as she approached them to see the girl who called herself Cindy go into the back wing. "Hello, mother—you're back!" "A rather stupid greeting, darling, when you can see that I am back!" "Mother, I want you to meet Gary Norbeck," said Enid. Hester merely lifted her head. "How do you do, Mr. Norbeck." "How do you do," said Gary as distantly. "He's been allowing us how to use the well to keep things cold," said Enid. "The way he and Uncle Jehosophat always did. It's quite simple." She added: And your grass is cut!" Now Hester looked at Gary Norbeck coolly. "It is? But I prefer to make my own arrangements for work done for me. However, this time—how much do I owe you, Mr. Norbeck?" "Walt, Hester..." began Jennie, but Gary Norbeck spoke before she could go on. "Guess it took me two hours—maybe two and a half. Dollar an hour is what's usually paid in these parts." Hester did not like his smile— an impudent fellow, she thought. She did not like Enid's smile. She opened her purse, took the money out of it, gave it to Gary. "If I need you again, Mr. Norbeck, I'll send word to you. Will you come with my bag, Enid?" She went on to her kitchen door. Enid followed her to the bedroom with the bag, put it down. Hester opened her bag, lifted out a dress. "It really was presumptuous in him to come up here when no one had told him to. I don't want him banging around here!" "He isn't hanging around..." "Enid, I don't like the way you are speaking!" "I'm sorry, mother, but what I said is true." She started toward the door. "Where are you going?" "To bring in two of those pails. Wash them—then I can put butter in one and down the well." "Enid, I insist that you wait until that farmhand has gone!" But she beard the screen door of the kitchen close behind Enid. It was defiance. And never in her life had she had to meet defiance in Enid. Hester remembered the thick envelope from the bank in Salem. "I'll write to Anne—she may know something about turn. It's a slim chance, but even so..." She heard Enid come back into the kitchen, heard the swish of water in the pails. There came the snap of kindling, lighted in the stove. When Enid came to the bedroom door she was taking the last of her things from the bag. "We lived high last evening— beefsteak. Aunt Jennie brought it from town, and we all ate together." Hester kept her smile steady. "That was nice, of Jennie. I'm glad you are getting acquainted with her, Enid. Now, please do something with your hair before we sit down to eat! I'll look over my newspapers." Enid came out, her hair set in its usual smooth curl. "Why don't we eat in here, mother? It's pleasanter than the kitchen. I'll move this little table over..." "Darling, how nice of you to think of it! I don't enjoy sitting in the kitchen." CHAPTER SEVENTEEN By JANE ABBOTT Copyright, 19, by Jane Abbott. Distributed by King Features Syndicates GARY had a sudden impulse to tell her about Bressi, tell her what Bressi's criticism, good or bad, was going to mean to him. But he said, with a short laugh: "Probably stack it up with a lot of others." "It you're going to do thatCindy doesn't like it—may I buy it?" He looked at her with some astonishment. "What would you do with it?" "Hang it in my room at home." He said: "You can't buy it but you may nave It some day. I'm sending it to a critic in Boston. When it cornea back it's yours." "But I'd rather buy it," said Enid. "Paints cost money." "We'll settle that later." Cindy joined them, dropped down at Gary's other side. "Oh, for an ice-cold drink," she said. "Don't you use the well to keep things cold?" asked Gary. When tie saw by their faces that they did not Know what he was talking about, he got to his feet. "Come and I'll show you." The pump rested on a platform of heavy planks. In one corner of it was a trap door. Gary lifted it up, pointed out the pegs driven into the undercasina of the platform the strong cords looped on the pegs, the covered containers of varying sizes attached to the ends of the cords. "They're wateright — at least they were. You put your food into them, lower them down below water level. Thingsill keep for days. No defrosting." "Aunt Jennie should know about it, too," cried Cindy. "I'll go get her." She came back with Jennie Todd." Jennie looked down through the rap door. "I should have remembered seeing my mother and Aunt a putting things in the well!" At that moment Hester's car around the house, stopped just outside the barn door. Hester out or it. What a cozy little gathering you make!" she said, almost gaily. But Gary caught an edge in her voice, that was not amusement. * * * Hester Wilmer had enjoyed her stay at the Saranac inn, her pleasant room, the competent service, Anne Babbitt's bits of news from home. "Lydia Holzworth is simply a stick, Hester! I think they're sorry already that they made her president! The pageant committee was simply stunned when they got your resignation!" Other bits as pleasant to hear. It she had taken more clothes with her, she would have stayed longer. So she had driven north from Saranac in good spirits. On reaching Killbuck she stopped at the post-office for her mail and was delighted to be given a little packet of letters, along with her newspapers. Some bills, a few square white envelopes that looked like invitations a letter with Robert Drew's firm name on the envelope. The postmistress said to her: "Here's a letter for that Gary Norbeck up at your place. Been here several days. Want to take it to him? From a bank. He gets them every so often." Hester looked at the letter. "First National Bank, Salem, Mass." Salem. Anne Babbitt would be going soon to Salem. She pushed the letter back under the grating. "No, I am not likely to see him. Anything for Miss Enid Wilmer or Miss Jennie Todd?" "Miss Todd come herself for mail yesterday." Hester was impatient to open Robert "Drew's letter. Also, she'd like a cup of tea and a sandwich. She remembered seeing an eating place somewhere nearby. She found the place. A woman, evidently the proprietor, greeted her cordially. "Good afternoon. You're the other one of old Josh's nieces, aren't you?" "Yes, I am Jehosophat Trevett's niece. Mrs. Hubert Wilmer." Something went out of the woman's smile. "I'm Hannah Plebby, and I knew old Josh most before I could walk." Hester merely asked stiffly for a cup of tea and a sandwich. She opened Robert Drew's letter and read: "My dear Mrs. Wilmer: "With regret I must write you that it will be impossible for me to go to Malone, as you suggest, to advise you, as your attorney, in matters connected with thin estate you mention. I have made inquiries about the Killbuck lawyer who is the executor, and find that he has a very good standing in that part of the stale, so I am confident that you can trust him and depend on his counsel in any legal difficulties that may come up. "With best regards, "Robert Drew." The coolness of it—as if she were just any client! How many tunes had she had him and his wife for dinner? And it was Olive and Hester between her and his wife. By the time she reached the farm she had regained her composure. She drove into the yard. Then she saw them, Enid, and the girl from the back wing, Jennie, and a man who must be Gary Norbeck, chummily huddled around the pump, laughing. She went toward them. She said something—she did not know what. She was gratified as she approached them to see the girl who called herself Cindy go into the back wing. "Hello, mother—you're back!" "A rather stupid greeting, darling, when you can see that I am back!" "Mother, I want you to meet Gary Norbeck," said Enid. Hester merely lifted her head. "How do you do, Mr. Norbeck." "How do you do," said Gary as distantly. "He's been allowing us how to use the well to keep things cold," said Enid. "The way he and Uncle Jehosophat always did. It's quite simple." She added: And your grass is cut!" Now Hester looked at Gary Norbeck coolly. "It is? But I prefer to make my own arrangements for work done for me. However, this time—how much do I owe you, Mr. Norbeck?" "Walt, Hester..." began Jennie, but Gary Norbeck spoke before she could go on. "Guess it took me two hours—maybe two and a half. Dollar an hour is what's usually paid in these parts." Hester did not like his smile— an impudent fellow, she thought. She did not like Enid's smile. She opened her purse, took the money out of it, gave it to Gary. "If I need you again, Mr. Norbeck, I'll send word to you. Will you come with my bag, Enid?" She went on to her kitchen door. Enid followed her to the bedroom with the bag, put it down. Hester opened her bag, lifted out a dress. "It really was presumptuous in him to come up here when no one had told him to. I don't want him banging around here!" "He isn't hanging around..." "Enid, I don't like the way you are speaking!" "I'm sorry, mother, but what I said is true." She started toward the door. "Where are you going?" "To bring in two of those pails. Wash them—then I can put butter in one and down the well." "Enid, I insist that you wait until that farmhand has gone!" But she beard the screen door of the kitchen close behind Enid. It was defiance. And never in her life had she had to meet defiance in Enid. Hester remembered the thick envelope from the bank in Salem. "I'll write to Anne—she may know something about turn. It's a slim chance, but even so..." She heard Enid come back into the kitchen, heard the swish of water in the pails. There came the snap of kindling, lighted in the stove. When Enid came to the bedroom door she was taking the last of her things from the bag. "We lived high last evening— beefsteak. Aunt Jennie brought it from town, and we all ate together." Hester kept her smile steady. "That was nice, of Jennie. I'm glad you are getting acquainted with her, Enid. Now, please do something with your hair before we sit down to eat! I'll look over my newspapers." Enid came out, her hair set in its usual smooth curl. "Why don't we eat in here, mother? It's pleasanter than the kitchen. I'll move this little table over..." "Darling, how nice of you to think of it! I don't enjoy sitting in the kitchen." THE NATION'S CAPITAL Nobody who has never been abroad knows how difficult it is to get everything in shape to get out of the country. Once definitely given the assignment of covering the Asian-African Conference to be held in Bandung, Indonesia, April 18-24, I immediately set about informing myself on the purposes of the conference, what countries were sponsoring it, and how many countries and how many black, brown and yellow peoples would be represented. Mike Flynn, public relations director at Pan American World Airways, set. up a conference for me with a travel agent to get my itinerary worked out. I visited the Passport Office of the Hate Department. There I Was given a passport application. Two photographs of a specified size and a irth certificate were required. Addison Scurlock, the photograph ic artist, made the photos. But the birth certificate was another matter. When I was born in New Iberia (Louisiana), birth records were not kept. So, I got Perry W. Howard, the lawyer, to give me an affidavit to the effect that I am an American citizen. The passport application with two photographs, the affidavit and a letter stating the purpose of my trip to Indonesia were duly filed and a $10 fee paid. I got Frank Horne, assistant to the Administrator of the Housing and Home Finance Agency, to accompany me to the Passport Office as an identifying witness. The passport application cannot be sworn to before a notary public. That is too simple. It must be sworn to before either a clerk of a court, to whom the applicant is personally known, or an agent of the State Department. And a witness must accompany the applicant to swear that the applicant is the applicant. In the meantime, I had been vaccinated against smallpox and received the first innoculations against typhoid, tetanus and yellow fever, in all, I got three innoculations against typhoid, two against cholera, one against yellow fever, and must take a second innoculatioh against tetanus overseas. I was given an international certificate showing that I have been properly immunized. After a tentative itinerary had been worked out with the Pan American travel agent, I went home and nonchalantly announced that I was going to fly around the world. My wife became interested and decided she wanted to accompany me I then had to do for her some of the things I had done for myself. If her decision had been made earlier and I had known the routine, I could' have had her covered by my passport and saved myself ten bucks. Then the travel agent called to say that there was some hitch in the tentative Itinerary and would I please come in to see him the next day. It developed the next day that I would not be able to stop overnight in Bangkok, Thailand, and instead of leaving Washington on April 9, I would leave here, on April 11. The hitch was there is only one flight a week from Manila to Djakarta, the capital of Indonesia, and that leaves Manila at 8:30 o'clock on Friday mornings. So I must spend a night in Manila and will not be able to reach Bandung until Saturday morning, April 16. I had hoped to get there at least three days before the conference. After receiving the passports, which are official permission to leave the country, the next task was getting visas to get into Indonesia, India and Pakistan. To do this I had to visit the embassies of each of these countries and pick up applications. I then had to get letters to the Indian and Pakistan embassies from Pan American saying I had confirmed reservations for an around-the-world flight. I had to buy a new portable typewriter and summer clothes for the hot weather I shall run into in Indonesia, India and Pakistan. Then a quick trip to Baltimore for final instructions. With these difficulties behind me, I look forward to covering the Asian-African Conference. It will be the first conference in the history of the world of black, yellow and brown peoples representing more than half of the world's population. Both the East and West are watching to see what develops at Bandung. WANT A NEW MAN FOR A HUSBAND? Don't change husbands... just feed your present one a COOK BOOK CAKE sold in the sunny-stripped package and label. It's certified fresh! COOK BOOK CAKES WON'T YOU GIVE TO THE AMERICAN CANCER SOCIETY TO HELP ITS RESEARCH PROGRAM MORE CHILDREN BETWEEN THE AGES OF THREE AND FIFTEEN DIE OF CANCER THAN ANY OTHER DISEASE. CANCER IN CHILDREN IS RARELY CURED. ONLY RESEARCH WILL FURNISH THE TOOLS TO SAVE THEIR YOUNG LIVES. Denver Post to Give $10,000 First Prize In Play Contest The Denver Post announced that it is awarding a $10,000 cash prize to the playwright whose entry in its contest is judged to be the best original romantic play based on the discovery of gold in Colorado in 1858. The prize-winning play will be produced at the Central City Festival of 1958, centennial year of the discovery of gold and the founding of Denver. The contest is open to amateurs, professionals, as well as students, but all entries must be accompanied toy official blanks which may be obtained from the Denver Post Play contest, Central City Opera House Association, P. O. Box 8378, Denver 10, Colo. WMU To Present Flags To Owen Jr. College The Southwestern Division of the Tennessee Baptist Women's Missionary Union will present the U. S. flag and the Christian flag and a flagpole to S. A. Owen Junior College in a program slated to, begin at 3 p. m. Sunday, April 27, on the college campus. The presentation will be made by Mrs. Eldon Roark. The Rev. S. A. Owen, in whose honor the school was named and Levi Watkins, the president of the college, will accept the flags. Dr. Fred Kendall, president of the white Tennessee Baptist Convention and pastor of First Baptist Church in Jackson, will make the dedicatory address. FORMOSA DEFENSE The Foreign Operations Administration recently reported that the United States was turning $48,000,000 more over to Nationalist China for the defense of Formosa. This transfer brought total aid to the Nationalists since last July 1 to $138,000,000. TREE KILLS BOY While playing in a woods just outside the city Michael F. Muller, 14, was killed when a dead tree fell across his chest, crushing him. The boy had been climbing the dead tree, which rested against another tree, when the tree snapped off, pinning him against the other tree. A companion rushed for help but when aid arrived and the tree was lifted from the boy's chest, he was already dead. Here's how the birds shape up: Catching - Competent, Les Moss and Rookie Smith are solid. Pitching - Better than last year despite the loss of Turley and Don Larsen. McDonald may turn out to be Richards ace and ex-White socker Don Johnson should be a relief help. Infield - Triandos will play first but his hitting is a problem Cox (second) and Vern Stephens (third) are aged, but Cox is probably best glove man in baseball. Bobby Young, Miranda, Johnny Pesky, Fred Marsh, Eddie Waitkus, give Richards plenty room for infield moves. Consensus: Better than last year with a very good chance of moving up higher than seventh, but not much hope of getting out of the lower division. The greatest thing going for the Chicago Cute this season can be found in Pittsburgh. Without the Pirates, the Pirates, the Bruins undoubtedly would have no trouble at all finding a home in last place. Catching - Not on a par with most clubs. Returned serviceman Harry Chiti may bolster the ranks. Pitching - Cubs still waiting for Bob Rush, Warren Hacker, Paul Minner and Howie Pollet to form a winning rotation. Lefty Harry Perkowski, acquired from Cincy Sad Sam Jones, Al Lary and Rookie Bob Thorpe are among new face question marks. Outfield - Outfield problem is big with the departure of Ralph Kiner. Hank Sauer and Frank Baumholtz are the only "certainties" although the Cubs apparently are still trying to trade away Baumholtz. It won't be hard to find a better fielder than kiner, but his home run and long ball bat will be missed. Louis' Former Manager Faces Tax-Evasion Rap A Chicago federal grand jury Friday indicted three alleged policy wheel kings on charges of income tax evasion. The trio, accused in a 13-count indictment of evasion of $52,304,17, are: Julian Black, 58, former comanager of former heavyweight boxing champion Joe Louis; Sanders Scott, 56, and Edward Copeland 52. The defendants are described in the indictment as partners in the policy wheel known as the East and West and North and South Social Club. They posted bonds of $1,500 each. Black is charged with evasion of $34,632.01 taxes, and Copeland with $7,529.38, both for 1949 thru 1951, and Scott with evasion of $10,142.78 for 1948 through 1951. GROSS NATIONAL PRODUCT The gross national product, which is the total value of goods and services produced in the United Stated, climbed from an annual rate of $355.5 billion in the third quarter of 1954 to $362 billion in the last quarter. This was still $8 billion below 1953's record high.