Memphis World Memphis World Publishing Co. 1951-07-24 Lewis O. Swingler MEMPHIS WORLD AMERICA'S STANDARD RACE JOURNAL The South'S Oldest and Leading Colon Semi-Weekly Newspaper Published by MEMPHIS WOBLD PUBLISHING CO. Every TUESDAY and FRIDAY AY at 164 BEALE—Phone 8-4030 Entered to the Port Office at Memphis, Tenn. as second-class mail under the Act of Congress, March 1, 1870 Member ot SCOTT NEWSPAPER SYNDICATE W.A. Scott, II. Founder; C. A. Scott, General Manager LEWIS O. SWINGLER Editor A.G. SHIELDS, Jr. Advertising Manager The MEMPHIS WORLD is an independent newspaper—non sectarian and non-partisan, printing news unbiasedly and supporting those things it believes to the Interest of Its readers and opposing those things against the interest of its readers. SUBSCRIPTION RATKS: Year $5.00-6 Months $3.00—3 Months $1.50 (In Advance) ROUTE SUPERVISORS: For any information concerning the distribution of THE WORLD, please contact one of your route supervisors, particularly the one in your respeetvin district. Ugly Spectre Of Jimcro At Mid-South Blood Center There is more than the usual amount of confusion that results from Segregation, in the minds of Memphis Negroes over the refusal of the Mid-South Defense Blood Center, to admit Negroes to give blood for wounded United Nation's soldiers in Korea. Memphis Negroes have been able to shrug off the fact that a day is sei aside for them to see the monkeys in Overton Park Zoo but when it comes to refusing a pint of blood that means the difference between life and death to wounded men in the United Nation's Forces in Korea, it surpasses the comprehension of Christian understanding. The Mid-South Defense Blood Center opened at 635 Monroe, July 7. And the daily press stated that it was under the direction of the Memphis Shelby County Chapter of the Red Cross, but the cost of operation is borne by the Department of Defense. To keep the record straight, the funds of the Department of Defense, of which General George C. Marshall is secretary, is appropriated by the Congress, and the Red Cross was set up by on act of Congress with a constitution and by-laws which prohibit discrimination of race, creed or color. Several Negroes have complained to the World that they have not been asked to donate blood at the Center, and when they phoned and mode an offer they were told o day would be set aside, later, for Negroes. Most of the calls were made when an urgent plea for O type blood was heard on several radio stations. The broadcast stated that this type of blood was urgently needed due to seven blood centers in the Kansas flood area having been closed. And that the O type was needed to be flown daily to Korea-100 pints of it. The voice aswering the phone at the blood center asked for name, address, phone number and race of the caller. When the caller stated he was a Negro, he was told he would be notified when he could come to the center and give blood. The persons offering to become blood donors were greatly confused. They had worked in the recent Red Cross fund drive, when no certain day had been set aside to receive Negro contribulions. And they hadn't heard of the Red Koreans having set aside a day in which to shoot Negroes in the United Nation's Army. Their confusion increased as they read in the daily press that the urgent appeal for O type blood failed to produce the doily need of 100 pints, but only 44 pints had been obtained. Judging the situation from this end of the operation, they were frightened. How many soldiers died for the lack of the other 56 pints, and would they be Negro soldiers? Could it be that a day would be set aside in Korea for Negro soldiers to receive blood. Several persons who phoned the blood center to give blood have sons and brothers in Korea, and they became so concerned that they sent telegrams to the Department of Defense asking for some assurance that their loved ones would get, blood, if wounded. Others hove sent messages to Dr. Ralph Bunche who who was recently elected to the Board of Governors of the American National Red Cross. Even a certain cotton chopper has learned that the Internal Revenue Department has not set aside a day in which the Negro forks over a large part of his pay check for income taxes. He takes his turn in line with the Bourbons, bureaucrats and bluebloods, or else. And we haven't as yet heard of a Negro making a Country Club, party, due to his standing in the income tax line. We can't believe the nurses and doctors at the Mid-South Defense Blood Center object to taking Negro bloods Many of them spent three and four years of their training period puncturing black arms with needles. In fact, the daily press disclosed that the first blood drawn by the center was from black arms at the Shelby County Penal Farm. Perhaps, it was experience they were seeking, but it was red blood they got and most of it was from Negroes. There is no social equality about giving a pint of blood that extends the life-line of men fighting to preserve Democracy . . . and we believe in Democracy. We have witnessed many fine examples of Democracy here in Memphis, despite such roadblocks as that thrown Up by the Mid-South Defense Blood Center. As far as the Negro is concerned the Mid-South Defense Bloody Center is behind an iron curtain-and that is the Joe Stalin way. It is not the American Way, and the World is going to protest Kremlin methods in a Department of Defense project that is paid for by taxes out of Negro pockets as well as by white citizens. Notebook Of An Agitator These words of exultant prophecy from the great Negro spiritual have come down the years from the time of chattel slavery in America. They expressed the longing and hope of the slave for a free and happy time in the hereafter when he would no longer be out of bounds wherever he might choose to saunter. The slave dreamed of a place of limitless expanse where he would be free to ramble. He called it "Heaven", and put his aspiration for it into the song of his own making. He would have shoes by right, like oil the rest of God's children, and he would put them on and walk around wherever he pleased, walk all over God's Heaven. The heirs of the slave would also like to arrive sometime at a place where there are no signs posted up to inform them that this and that section—always the nicest ones, of course—are reserved for white folks only, and no warning signals in blunter, more explicit terms: "Not for Colored!" or "Colored Keep Out!" Their hearts sick with hope deferred, the grandchildren of the slave still sing the old song of a hoped-for future different from the present-a future with some freedom in it. The worst thing, to my way of thinking, the most intolerable thing, for one who has a little wild blood in his veins, is to have no freedom; to be restricted and fenced in; to have no right do what others do and to go where others go I am not a colored man, and haven't begun to suffer a tenth part of the brutal discriminations and indignities which are the daily lot of the Negro people in our America which isn't Heaven yet for them-not by a long shot. But I know what freedom to walk around means to a man who hasn't got it, from my time in prison. Ask any prisoner, in any jail, what he wants for Christmas, and he will probably tell you in telescoped phrase: "The bars." By that he means, he wants the bars out of his way, so that he can get up and walk anywhere, and in whatever direction he pleases—"all over", as it says in the yearning spiritual. He will even take it in Heaven, if you can convince him there is such a place, which is doubtful. The poet Swinburne spoke of the "good things" of freedom, the "sweet food" of freedom. I thank, the poet for these words and I believe in them. And if you care for the testimony of an ex-convict, the sweetest freedom of all is the freedom to come and go. I can never be neutral in matters of this kind. My sympathies are with the prisoner, with the man deprived of freedom, every time. So any report of a convict trying to make a get-away or a Negro claiming about 10 per cent of natural rights and freedoms so long denied him and his fathers before him, is apt to attract my attention. It was this predilection, I suppose, that drew my eye to a small Associated Press dispatch tucked away among the advertisements on an inside back page of the New York Post. A religious colored man passed by a big Baptist revival in Little Rock, Ark., the other day and heard the sounds of preaching and hymnsinging swelling out of the stadium which had been properly consecrated and converted into a church for the occasion. Mistaking the stadium-church for the ante-room to the free and equal Heaven of his religious hope, he went in, and walked around, and finally sat down. As the AP dispatch told the story, "Last night, Joseph Harris, a Negro, entered and took a vacant seal in a section reserved for white persons." And then there was hell to-pay in that heavenly revival meeting of the Baptists at Little Rock, Ark. Joseph Harris wasn't in Heaven yet, or anywhere near it, and he soon found it out. "Two white ushers promptly notified him of the presence of Negro sections, but Harris was heard to shout, 'No, that is not my place.'" The white Christians disagreed with him. "Members of the group dragged Harris from the seal and out an exit to a point under the stadium. There, several persons began choking Harris, said Most Stern, Arkansas Gazette reporter." A couple of Little Rock pastors intervened, according to the AP dispatch. Dr. M. Ray McKay "urged his fellow Baptists to 'be Christians.' " Dr. W. O. Vaught, for his part in the Christianizing business, "led Harris away from the angry group, and escorted him to the speakers' platform. The Negro soon left quietly." This was probably the most sensible thing he could do because it was beginning to look as though he was not wildly wanted in that white men's personal and exclusive communion with the Lord God Almighty. I would like to make a few remarks about this incident at Little Rock. First of all, I would like to say that I don't blame Joseph Harris for thinking he had a right to take any seat he chose in the public revival meeting. And I don't blame him and others for their" religion and their aspiration for a Heaven where all are equal, even though I do not share their religious beliefs. But deeply as I sympathize with Joseph Harris in the trouble he got into at the white men's revival meeting, I have to take exception to his attitude in one respect. The AP report says: "At the gate, he turned and thanked the ministers and said he would pray for the persons at the revival." Hold on there, Mr. Harris. Aren't you going too far? I have no doubt you ore a better Christian than the white Baptists who beat you up and threw you out of the tabernacle. But aren't you just a little bit too much of a Christian? Like some of the things the Carpenter of Nazareth is supposed to have said and done— his angry vigor in denouncing the money-changers and driving them out of the temple; his scorn for the high and mighty hypocrites and his tolerant friendship and compassionate regard for lowly sinners. I am in favor of neighborly good will toward anyone who is halfway reasonable. I am even willing to agree to the forgiveness of trespasses—up to a certain point. But I'll, be damned if I'll say any prayers for people who are so low-down mean so corrupt with prejudice, that they will deny a religious man, merely because of the color of his skin; the right to walk into a public revival meeting, and sit down in peace in any seat that is vacant, to listen to a preacher explain how we are all going to be equal in Heaven. I not only will not pray for them. When I see the way they run their church I won't even believe that their Heaven will be different." Maybe that is jim crow too. Could it be that the Lord God himself, whom the Baptists of Little Rock claimed to represent at their revival, is just another bigoted and prejudiced white man, who has Heaven all staked out, with the best places all reserved far white folks? Could it be that the colored people who get in-if they get in at all have to keep on their own side of the railroad tracks and do their walking, just like on earth, in the dirty and ugly streets and alleys of a celestial slum? Will they have no right to "walk all over Gods Heaven" after there get there? The whole business looks like a bum deal to me, Mr. Harris. Maybe there U no Heaven, except the one we may create for ourselves. Maybe we had better get together—you and I and the likes of us, the freedom-loving honest working people of all colors and nationalities—and take hold of the situation in this country and fix it up right. Make conditions fair and square for everybody—so that we can all be free and equal, and put or, our shoes and walk a" over o Heaven of our own, which we make for ourselves right here on this good green earth. -J.P.C. THE INCIDENT AT LITTLE ROCK These words of exultant prophecy from the great Negro spiritual have come down the years from the time of chattel slavery in America. They expressed the longing and hope of the slave for a free and happy time in the hereafter when he would no longer be out of bounds wherever he might choose to saunter. The slave dreamed of a place of limitless expanse where he would be free to ramble. He called it "Heaven", and put his aspiration for it into the song of his own making. He would have shoes by right, like oil the rest of God's children, and he would put them on and walk around wherever he pleased, walk all over God's Heaven. The heirs of the slave would also like to arrive sometime at a place where there are no signs posted up to inform them that this and that section—always the nicest ones, of course—are reserved for white folks only, and no warning signals in blunter, more explicit terms: "Not for Colored!" or "Colored Keep Out!" Their hearts sick with hope deferred, the grandchildren of the slave still sing the old song of a hoped-for future different from the present-a future with some freedom in it. The worst thing, to my way of thinking, the most intolerable thing, for one who has a little wild blood in his veins, is to have no freedom; to be restricted and fenced in; to have no right do what others do and to go where others go I am not a colored man, and haven't begun to suffer a tenth part of the brutal discriminations and indignities which are the daily lot of the Negro people in our America which isn't Heaven yet for them-not by a long shot. But I know what freedom to walk around means to a man who hasn't got it, from my time in prison. Ask any prisoner, in any jail, what he wants for Christmas, and he will probably tell you in telescoped phrase: "The bars." By that he means, he wants the bars out of his way, so that he can get up and walk anywhere, and in whatever direction he pleases—"all over", as it says in the yearning spiritual. He will even take it in Heaven, if you can convince him there is such a place, which is doubtful. The poet Swinburne spoke of the "good things" of freedom, the "sweet food" of freedom. I thank, the poet for these words and I believe in them. And if you care for the testimony of an ex-convict, the sweetest freedom of all is the freedom to come and go. I can never be neutral in matters of this kind. My sympathies are with the prisoner, with the man deprived of freedom, every time. So any report of a convict trying to make a get-away or a Negro claiming about 10 per cent of natural rights and freedoms so long denied him and his fathers before him, is apt to attract my attention. It was this predilection, I suppose, that drew my eye to a small Associated Press dispatch tucked away among the advertisements on an inside back page of the New York Post. A religious colored man passed by a big Baptist revival in Little Rock, Ark., the other day and heard the sounds of preaching and hymnsinging swelling out of the stadium which had been properly consecrated and converted into a church for the occasion. Mistaking the stadium-church for the ante-room to the free and equal Heaven of his religious hope, he went in, and walked around, and finally sat down. As the AP dispatch told the story, "Last night, Joseph Harris, a Negro, entered and took a vacant seal in a section reserved for white persons." And then there was hell to-pay in that heavenly revival meeting of the Baptists at Little Rock, Ark. Joseph Harris wasn't in Heaven yet, or anywhere near it, and he soon found it out. "Two white ushers promptly notified him of the presence of Negro sections, but Harris was heard to shout, 'No, that is not my place.'" The white Christians disagreed with him. "Members of the group dragged Harris from the seal and out an exit to a point under the stadium. There, several persons began choking Harris, said Most Stern, Arkansas Gazette reporter." A couple of Little Rock pastors intervened, according to the AP dispatch. Dr. M. Ray McKay "urged his fellow Baptists to 'be Christians.' " Dr. W. O. Vaught, for his part in the Christianizing business, "led Harris away from the angry group, and escorted him to the speakers' platform. The Negro soon left quietly." This was probably the most sensible thing he could do because it was beginning to look as though he was not wildly wanted in that white men's personal and exclusive communion with the Lord God Almighty. I would like to make a few remarks about this incident at Little Rock. First of all, I would like to say that I don't blame Joseph Harris for thinking he had a right to take any seat he chose in the public revival meeting. And I don't blame him and others for their" religion and their aspiration for a Heaven where all are equal, even though I do not share their religious beliefs. But deeply as I sympathize with Joseph Harris in the trouble he got into at the white men's revival meeting, I have to take exception to his attitude in one respect. The AP report says: "At the gate, he turned and thanked the ministers and said he would pray for the persons at the revival." Hold on there, Mr. Harris. Aren't you going too far? I have no doubt you ore a better Christian than the white Baptists who beat you up and threw you out of the tabernacle. But aren't you just a little bit too much of a Christian? Like some of the things the Carpenter of Nazareth is supposed to have said and done— his angry vigor in denouncing the money-changers and driving them out of the temple; his scorn for the high and mighty hypocrites and his tolerant friendship and compassionate regard for lowly sinners. I am in favor of neighborly good will toward anyone who is halfway reasonable. I am even willing to agree to the forgiveness of trespasses—up to a certain point. But I'll, be damned if I'll say any prayers for people who are so low-down mean so corrupt with prejudice, that they will deny a religious man, merely because of the color of his skin; the right to walk into a public revival meeting, and sit down in peace in any seat that is vacant, to listen to a preacher explain how we are all going to be equal in Heaven. I not only will not pray for them. When I see the way they run their church I won't even believe that their Heaven will be different." Maybe that is jim crow too. Could it be that the Lord God himself, whom the Baptists of Little Rock claimed to represent at their revival, is just another bigoted and prejudiced white man, who has Heaven all staked out, with the best places all reserved far white folks? Could it be that the colored people who get in-if they get in at all have to keep on their own side of the railroad tracks and do their walking, just like on earth, in the dirty and ugly streets and alleys of a celestial slum? Will they have no right to "walk all over Gods Heaven" after there get there? The whole business looks like a bum deal to me, Mr. Harris. Maybe there U no Heaven, except the one we may create for ourselves. Maybe we had better get together—you and I and the likes of us, the freedom-loving honest working people of all colors and nationalities—and take hold of the situation in this country and fix it up right. Make conditions fair and square for everybody—so that we can all be free and equal, and put or, our shoes and walk a" over o Heaven of our own, which we make for ourselves right here on this good green earth. -J.P.C. SEGREGATION IN CHURCH These words of exultant prophecy from the great Negro spiritual have come down the years from the time of chattel slavery in America. They expressed the longing and hope of the slave for a free and happy time in the hereafter when he would no longer be out of bounds wherever he might choose to saunter. The slave dreamed of a place of limitless expanse where he would be free to ramble. He called it "Heaven", and put his aspiration for it into the song of his own making. He would have shoes by right, like oil the rest of God's children, and he would put them on and walk around wherever he pleased, walk all over God's Heaven. The heirs of the slave would also like to arrive sometime at a place where there are no signs posted up to inform them that this and that section—always the nicest ones, of course—are reserved for white folks only, and no warning signals in blunter, more explicit terms: "Not for Colored!" or "Colored Keep Out!" Their hearts sick with hope deferred, the grandchildren of the slave still sing the old song of a hoped-for future different from the present-a future with some freedom in it. The worst thing, to my way of thinking, the most intolerable thing, for one who has a little wild blood in his veins, is to have no freedom; to be restricted and fenced in; to have no right do what others do and to go where others go I am not a colored man, and haven't begun to suffer a tenth part of the brutal discriminations and indignities which are the daily lot of the Negro people in our America which isn't Heaven yet for them-not by a long shot. But I know what freedom to walk around means to a man who hasn't got it, from my time in prison. Ask any prisoner, in any jail, what he wants for Christmas, and he will probably tell you in telescoped phrase: "The bars." By that he means, he wants the bars out of his way, so that he can get up and walk anywhere, and in whatever direction he pleases—"all over", as it says in the yearning spiritual. He will even take it in Heaven, if you can convince him there is such a place, which is doubtful. The poet Swinburne spoke of the "good things" of freedom, the "sweet food" of freedom. I thank, the poet for these words and I believe in them. And if you care for the testimony of an ex-convict, the sweetest freedom of all is the freedom to come and go. I can never be neutral in matters of this kind. My sympathies are with the prisoner, with the man deprived of freedom, every time. So any report of a convict trying to make a get-away or a Negro claiming about 10 per cent of natural rights and freedoms so long denied him and his fathers before him, is apt to attract my attention. It was this predilection, I suppose, that drew my eye to a small Associated Press dispatch tucked away among the advertisements on an inside back page of the New York Post. A religious colored man passed by a big Baptist revival in Little Rock, Ark., the other day and heard the sounds of preaching and hymnsinging swelling out of the stadium which had been properly consecrated and converted into a church for the occasion. Mistaking the stadium-church for the ante-room to the free and equal Heaven of his religious hope, he went in, and walked around, and finally sat down. As the AP dispatch told the story, "Last night, Joseph Harris, a Negro, entered and took a vacant seal in a section reserved for white persons." And then there was hell to-pay in that heavenly revival meeting of the Baptists at Little Rock, Ark. Joseph Harris wasn't in Heaven yet, or anywhere near it, and he soon found it out. "Two white ushers promptly notified him of the presence of Negro sections, but Harris was heard to shout, 'No, that is not my place.'" The white Christians disagreed with him. "Members of the group dragged Harris from the seal and out an exit to a point under the stadium. There, several persons began choking Harris, said Most Stern, Arkansas Gazette reporter." A couple of Little Rock pastors intervened, according to the AP dispatch. Dr. M. Ray McKay "urged his fellow Baptists to 'be Christians.' " Dr. W. O. Vaught, for his part in the Christianizing business, "led Harris away from the angry group, and escorted him to the speakers' platform. The Negro soon left quietly." This was probably the most sensible thing he could do because it was beginning to look as though he was not wildly wanted in that white men's personal and exclusive communion with the Lord God Almighty. I would like to make a few remarks about this incident at Little Rock. First of all, I would like to say that I don't blame Joseph Harris for thinking he had a right to take any seat he chose in the public revival meeting. And I don't blame him and others for their" religion and their aspiration for a Heaven where all are equal, even though I do not share their religious beliefs. But deeply as I sympathize with Joseph Harris in the trouble he got into at the white men's revival meeting, I have to take exception to his attitude in one respect. The AP report says: "At the gate, he turned and thanked the ministers and said he would pray for the persons at the revival." Hold on there, Mr. Harris. Aren't you going too far? I have no doubt you ore a better Christian than the white Baptists who beat you up and threw you out of the tabernacle. But aren't you just a little bit too much of a Christian? Like some of the things the Carpenter of Nazareth is supposed to have said and done— his angry vigor in denouncing the money-changers and driving them out of the temple; his scorn for the high and mighty hypocrites and his tolerant friendship and compassionate regard for lowly sinners. I am in favor of neighborly good will toward anyone who is halfway reasonable. I am even willing to agree to the forgiveness of trespasses—up to a certain point. But I'll, be damned if I'll say any prayers for people who are so low-down mean so corrupt with prejudice, that they will deny a religious man, merely because of the color of his skin; the right to walk into a public revival meeting, and sit down in peace in any seat that is vacant, to listen to a preacher explain how we are all going to be equal in Heaven. I not only will not pray for them. When I see the way they run their church I won't even believe that their Heaven will be different." Maybe that is jim crow too. Could it be that the Lord God himself, whom the Baptists of Little Rock claimed to represent at their revival, is just another bigoted and prejudiced white man, who has Heaven all staked out, with the best places all reserved far white folks? Could it be that the colored people who get in-if they get in at all have to keep on their own side of the railroad tracks and do their walking, just like on earth, in the dirty and ugly streets and alleys of a celestial slum? Will they have no right to "walk all over Gods Heaven" after there get there? The whole business looks like a bum deal to me, Mr. Harris. Maybe there U no Heaven, except the one we may create for ourselves. Maybe we had better get together—you and I and the likes of us, the freedom-loving honest working people of all colors and nationalities—and take hold of the situation in this country and fix it up right. Make conditions fair and square for everybody—so that we can all be free and equal, and put or, our shoes and walk a" over o Heaven of our own, which we make for ourselves right here on this good green earth. -J.P.C. ARE THEY LYING ABOUT HEAVEN? These words of exultant prophecy from the great Negro spiritual have come down the years from the time of chattel slavery in America. They expressed the longing and hope of the slave for a free and happy time in the hereafter when he would no longer be out of bounds wherever he might choose to saunter. The slave dreamed of a place of limitless expanse where he would be free to ramble. He called it "Heaven", and put his aspiration for it into the song of his own making. He would have shoes by right, like oil the rest of God's children, and he would put them on and walk around wherever he pleased, walk all over God's Heaven. The heirs of the slave would also like to arrive sometime at a place where there are no signs posted up to inform them that this and that section—always the nicest ones, of course—are reserved for white folks only, and no warning signals in blunter, more explicit terms: "Not for Colored!" or "Colored Keep Out!" Their hearts sick with hope deferred, the grandchildren of the slave still sing the old song of a hoped-for future different from the present-a future with some freedom in it. The worst thing, to my way of thinking, the most intolerable thing, for one who has a little wild blood in his veins, is to have no freedom; to be restricted and fenced in; to have no right do what others do and to go where others go I am not a colored man, and haven't begun to suffer a tenth part of the brutal discriminations and indignities which are the daily lot of the Negro people in our America which isn't Heaven yet for them-not by a long shot. But I know what freedom to walk around means to a man who hasn't got it, from my time in prison. Ask any prisoner, in any jail, what he wants for Christmas, and he will probably tell you in telescoped phrase: "The bars." By that he means, he wants the bars out of his way, so that he can get up and walk anywhere, and in whatever direction he pleases—"all over", as it says in the yearning spiritual. He will even take it in Heaven, if you can convince him there is such a place, which is doubtful. The poet Swinburne spoke of the "good things" of freedom, the "sweet food" of freedom. I thank, the poet for these words and I believe in them. And if you care for the testimony of an ex-convict, the sweetest freedom of all is the freedom to come and go. I can never be neutral in matters of this kind. My sympathies are with the prisoner, with the man deprived of freedom, every time. So any report of a convict trying to make a get-away or a Negro claiming about 10 per cent of natural rights and freedoms so long denied him and his fathers before him, is apt to attract my attention. It was this predilection, I suppose, that drew my eye to a small Associated Press dispatch tucked away among the advertisements on an inside back page of the New York Post. A religious colored man passed by a big Baptist revival in Little Rock, Ark., the other day and heard the sounds of preaching and hymnsinging swelling out of the stadium which had been properly consecrated and converted into a church for the occasion. Mistaking the stadium-church for the ante-room to the free and equal Heaven of his religious hope, he went in, and walked around, and finally sat down. As the AP dispatch told the story, "Last night, Joseph Harris, a Negro, entered and took a vacant seal in a section reserved for white persons." And then there was hell to-pay in that heavenly revival meeting of the Baptists at Little Rock, Ark. Joseph Harris wasn't in Heaven yet, or anywhere near it, and he soon found it out. "Two white ushers promptly notified him of the presence of Negro sections, but Harris was heard to shout, 'No, that is not my place.'" The white Christians disagreed with him. "Members of the group dragged Harris from the seal and out an exit to a point under the stadium. There, several persons began choking Harris, said Most Stern, Arkansas Gazette reporter." A couple of Little Rock pastors intervened, according to the AP dispatch. Dr. M. Ray McKay "urged his fellow Baptists to 'be Christians.' " Dr. W. O. Vaught, for his part in the Christianizing business, "led Harris away from the angry group, and escorted him to the speakers' platform. The Negro soon left quietly." This was probably the most sensible thing he could do because it was beginning to look as though he was not wildly wanted in that white men's personal and exclusive communion with the Lord God Almighty. I would like to make a few remarks about this incident at Little Rock. First of all, I would like to say that I don't blame Joseph Harris for thinking he had a right to take any seat he chose in the public revival meeting. And I don't blame him and others for their" religion and their aspiration for a Heaven where all are equal, even though I do not share their religious beliefs. But deeply as I sympathize with Joseph Harris in the trouble he got into at the white men's revival meeting, I have to take exception to his attitude in one respect. The AP report says: "At the gate, he turned and thanked the ministers and said he would pray for the persons at the revival." Hold on there, Mr. Harris. Aren't you going too far? I have no doubt you ore a better Christian than the white Baptists who beat you up and threw you out of the tabernacle. But aren't you just a little bit too much of a Christian? Like some of the things the Carpenter of Nazareth is supposed to have said and done— his angry vigor in denouncing the money-changers and driving them out of the temple; his scorn for the high and mighty hypocrites and his tolerant friendship and compassionate regard for lowly sinners. I am in favor of neighborly good will toward anyone who is halfway reasonable. I am even willing to agree to the forgiveness of trespasses—up to a certain point. But I'll, be damned if I'll say any prayers for people who are so low-down mean so corrupt with prejudice, that they will deny a religious man, merely because of the color of his skin; the right to walk into a public revival meeting, and sit down in peace in any seat that is vacant, to listen to a preacher explain how we are all going to be equal in Heaven. I not only will not pray for them. When I see the way they run their church I won't even believe that their Heaven will be different." Maybe that is jim crow too. Could it be that the Lord God himself, whom the Baptists of Little Rock claimed to represent at their revival, is just another bigoted and prejudiced white man, who has Heaven all staked out, with the best places all reserved far white folks? Could it be that the colored people who get in-if they get in at all have to keep on their own side of the railroad tracks and do their walking, just like on earth, in the dirty and ugly streets and alleys of a celestial slum? Will they have no right to "walk all over Gods Heaven" after there get there? The whole business looks like a bum deal to me, Mr. Harris. Maybe there U no Heaven, except the one we may create for ourselves. Maybe we had better get together—you and I and the likes of us, the freedom-loving honest working people of all colors and nationalities—and take hold of the situation in this country and fix it up right. Make conditions fair and square for everybody—so that we can all be free and equal, and put or, our shoes and walk a" over o Heaven of our own, which we make for ourselves right here on this good green earth. -J.P.C. Family Of and bath. Each room is beautifuliy and comfortably furnished. Most housewives would beam with the completely, modernly outfitted kitchen, a regular dream. There is a gleaming new gas stove, which Mrs. Cleaborn says has been in storage for over a year, waiting in anticipation of being placed in the new house. Also a huge Coldspot Refrierator, Coldspot Deep Freeze, and an Automatic Washing Machine About the most unique thing in the kitchen is the white enameled wood stove. Mrs. Cleaborn refused to part with it. According to her, they aren't putting the same material into present kitchen equipment as Is found in this stove. Old man heat can't get a foothold in the Cleaborn chambers These 94 degree days are being battled with a superb attic fan The backyard would put most front and back yards combined to shame There is enough space to build another house, and both houses would have ample front and back yards. One would need an electric lawn mower to get it all out in a day. After malting a tour of the house and yards, Mrs. Cleaborn displayed the beautiful medals and citations presented her for her son's bravery. Her first thought after moving into the new home was to have a large photograph made of Pvt. Cleaborn. Already, a photographer is in the process of making a large photo which will provide ample space for the citation for the Cross and a place to hang the medals. The size? About a 16" by 20 " The parting words from Mrs. Cleaborn. "I wonder where a large picture would fit?" And her eyes began scanning and studying the walls of the front room. Chris Roulhac be about mid-rail before wort would be sufficiently advanced to consider dedication of the new building. Memphian is Now Dental Apprentice Pvt. Terry E. Carson, son ot Mr. and Mrs. Holsey Carson, Memphis, has been aligned to Amarillo. Air Force Base, Tex., as dental anprentice the Public Information Office there announced recently. Carson was transrerred to Amarillo from Sheppard Air Force Base, Texas and has been a member of the Air Force since November 28, 1950, He attended St Anthony high school. Amarilo Air Force Base, one of seven technical and three and indocrination bases in the Technical Train ing Air Force, a division of the Air Training Command, is the only Air Force Base devoted exclusively to training of Jet fighter and bomber mechanics. First Time In Memphis; Waitress Ball, Tomorrow Night, Hippodrome What would be more fun than attending the Waitress Ball at the Hippodrome Skating Rink tomorrow night, Wednesday, July 25, ll till 2 a. m? Quite unusuall Quite Unique! And the surprising thing about the dance will be the winner...almost forgot to say that there was a contest among ticket sellers. First prize is a round trip ticket to the Brooklyn Dodgers and St. Louis Cardinals game, plus 16 expense money. Game dates are July 26, 27, and 28. The lucky winner will really have a big send-off. Who wouldn't want to compete for an award like this? Even II you dont win first prize, you'll enjoy dancing to the smooth, solid music of the one and only Al Jackson, Memphis very own number one band leader and his orchestra. All contesants selling over 25 tioket are eligible to compete for the three prizes. Official reports must be made Wednesday midnight. Don't forget You have a date for tomorrow night. At the Waitress Ball, Hippodrome Skating Rink, 11 'til 2 a. m. Admission 75c; at the door, $1.00. J.H. Nichols. is manager of the Hippodrome, For information concerning the dance, call: 37-2232. WAITRESS BALL, TOMORROW NIGHT, HIPPODROME What would be more fun than attending the Waitress Ball at the Hippodrome Skating Rink tomorrow night, Wednesday, July 25, ll till 2 a. m? Quite unusuall Quite Unique! And the surprising thing about the dance will be the winner...almost forgot to say that there was a contest among ticket sellers. First prize is a round trip ticket to the Brooklyn Dodgers and St. Louis Cardinals game, plus 16 expense money. Game dates are July 26, 27, and 28. The lucky winner will really have a big send-off. Who wouldn't want to compete for an award like this? Even II you dont win first prize, you'll enjoy dancing to the smooth, solid music of the one and only Al Jackson, Memphis very own number one band leader and his orchestra. All contesants selling over 25 tioket are eligible to compete for the three prizes. Official reports must be made Wednesday midnight. Don't forget You have a date for tomorrow night. At the Waitress Ball, Hippodrome Skating Rink, 11 'til 2 a. m. Admission 75c; at the door, $1.00. J.H. Nichols. is manager of the Hippodrome, For information concerning the dance, call: 37-2232. MOMENTS OF REFLECTION ARE WE CONTENT? HELP TO MAKE MY DAY NBC To Begin 'For You And Yours' Series A special radio series under the title "For You and Yours" will be initiated by the National Broadcasting Company beginning Saturday, July 21st, according to an announcement made by the Federal Security Agency, which is cooperating in this public service program. These dramatic reports to the American people on their health, education, and security, are being presented by NBC as part of its well-known program "Living—1951." The first of the series. "Uncle Sam's Got Your Number," dramatizes the social security program and explains recent changes extending its insurance protection. The series will be broadcast on the NBC Network from 7:30 to 8:00 Eastern Daylight Time on Saturday evenings. Succeeding programs will cover a wide range of human interest stories on public health, child health and welfare education, food and drug protection, rehabilitation, and family security. HOUSEKEEPING By SEY STEWART If you had the difficult, job of giving up one of the following in your everyday living, which convenience would you let go: Electric lights? Telephone? Radio? Television? Vacuum cleaner? Automobile? Refrigerator? Electric iron? Frankly, I'd be in no small panic if I were plopped into a quandry like that. The question came up in an article by a national research association dramatizing the importance of copper in our daily lives. It was little short of astounding to me to discover that none of the items listed above, plus hundreds of other modern miracles, would be in existence without copper or its alloys! Then the article went on to say that "copper is going to war" under government restrictions on the metal for many commercial purposes. "That's a fine state of affairs," 1 complained to my spouse. "First they dangle copper in front of your nose telling you how good it is and then they take it away." "You," Jeff stated simply, "are a muddle head. They're not 'taking it away' as you put it. Certainly there are some commercial restrictions on the metal because it's essential to practically all modern weapons. We just wouldn't hove a defense in this emergency without copper." He went on to point out that copper, since its discovery by prehistoric man, has always had two roles: peacetime and wartime. "Right now," he said, "we're stockpiling the best equipment in the world. Later we can ro back to poviding for convenience. "Trouble with you," he ended with a punch line, "you didn't take a good look at the title of the article: 'Copper Goes to War. . . That We May Plan for Tomorrow'! Bus, Truck and Car Owners Notified Of New Farm Labor Office ATTENTION: ALL TRUCK BUS AND CAR OWNERS WHO HAUL FARM LABOR INTO THE STATE OF MISSISSIPPI For your convenience and service, there has been opened a year round Farm Labor Office located at 4283 South Third Street just south of Raines Road on Highway 61, telephone number 9-3181 This office will be opened daily six days a week from 4 a. m. till 4:30 p.m. with the exception of Saturdays, when it will open at 4 a. m. and close at 8 a. m. It is a branch of your Tri-State Farm Labor Office located at 235 West Virginia Avenue and managed by Mrs. Clara E. Kitts. We appreciate your past cooperation and will appreciate your calling on this office in any way that we can help you. Death and Letters ELIZABETH DALY Copyright 1950, by Elizabeth D Distributed by king Features Syndicate AMES suddenly struck the table with the flat of his hand, turned away and eat down in his chair before the fire. He clenched the hand and spoke hurriedly, in a thin, angry voice, "God. Almighty, the women the Coldfield men marry and cherish—the unspeakable women they bring Into this house! You know Serene's quality now. My mother, poor lady, "was colorless. But this—this—" he glanced at the envelope on the table and looked away—"this perhaps excusea me for wondering at the time whether Glendon's wife wasn't another of our strange women, bent on disgracing us Can you—" he looked at Gamadge pleadingly— "can you understand why I wasn't quite fair to her when she came to me with that story? I'd seen those Garthwain letters, and then when I looked into the box after I read that Quarterly article, they were gone. I don't mean I thought she'd taken them. No indeed." "I suppose you couldn't bring yourself to destroy them when you first found them?" "Couldn't, simply couldn't; as a man of letters, you know;" said Ames. "It was a responsibility." "Vandalism—I couldn't bring myself to it. What I feebly tried to persuade myself was that Susan would inherit them, and throw them our unread—unfound—as rubbish. At least the responsibility wouldn't be mine. I left it to destiny—but destiny never manages things as we foresee. Well, when next I looked for them they were gone, as 1 said; and having read the article, 1 knew where." "And you couldn't guess at the agent?" Ames struck the table again "Who knows what friends a woman like that picks up, or where she finds them? She's always at my poor brother for money, you know on whom does she spend it? I dare say she'd find good use for the proceeds of this sale. I don't know what Serene's honor brought in the market." "Ten thousand." Ames put his head back to stare. "Ten thousand! Well, that's high. I imagine that Garthwain wouldn't think so." "It would have been more with the envelopes." That—" Ames pointed to the blue envelope again—"you mean it's at my disposal?" "Unless you feel the need of it as evidence." "But what kind of evidence do I need, more than I have?" Gamadge sat down In the other chair. He asked, "Mr. Coldfield, do you really, mean that you never realized until last night, while we were talking, the possible truth in Sylvia Coldfield's story?" Ames didn't answer; his jaw Bagged a little, his fingers played with the blue envelope, that idiotic Stare had come back into his eyes. "Your brother knew all about the Garthwain letters," said Gamadge. "He'd read them, he'd left them, he read the article in the Quarterly and went and looked for them again. They were gone, and he knew where too. But he had evidence against the thief, and later he had proof. Do you remember that fingerprinting outfit?" Ames nodded vaguely. "There are no prints on that now," said Gamadge, indicating the blue envelope. "It's had care less treatment But he found them there the day he died. Sylvia Coldfield was right—but she was too merciful. There is no insanity in your family, Mr. Coldfield." Ames stammered, "Last night I —but I cast it out of my mind Fantastic." "So your sister in law, Glendon's widow, thought. But when she thought so, she didn't know about the Garthwain letters." Ames suddenly got to his feet He said faintly, "I must have some brandy. 1 ..." he went to the cupboard, and came back with the decanter and two or the little glasses. His hands, were trembling. He filled the glasses, sat down and began to sip at his own drink After a minute "he cleared his throat, and Bald more loudly, "Motive, yes. No proof now." "But evidence:—lots ot evidence Don't you want to near what it is?" Gamadge, his elbow on the table, was leaning towards him. "Your brother's widow won't use it: but don't you think the rest of you ought to know that, there's a poisoner under your roof? Do you think that with such a murderer there may never be a next time? And the next time you might have police in the house—and they'd search more than the attics." "Attics?" "Mr. Coldfield, last night Zelma Smyth tried to open a trunk: your brother Ira's wife said it was full of old things, and that It was locked. This afternoon I unlocked it. It isn't full of old things—it's full of valuable furs and dresses, things that Agnes didn't recognize. They cost nearly ten thousand dollars, or I'm much mistaken." Ames said, his voice quivering, "She's mad for dress." "But what opportunity would your brother's wife have for wearing those things?" Gamadge poused. "You're an intelligent man, Mr. Coldfield. Think Don't blind yourself through prejudice. How could she do it without your brother's Knowledge?" He sat back slowly. "It was the agent that interested me from the first, you know." Ames nodded again, still vaguely. "I didn't see any other approach," said Gamadge; "If I followed Up your- lead about Myers and the Lie her information you wanted, it was purely from a sense of duty—Mr. Salmon didn't seem a likely prospect to me. The agent of course had to be a man of standing and reputation, apparently good for the ten thousand dollar guarantee, or those English people wouldn't have listened to him: but what man of standing and reputation would take such a risk? No matter how safe the agent felt, there la always a risk, and It was ruin for him if something went wrong. Did be need money? Nonsense; such a man wouldn't do a thing of that kind for the whole ten thousand, or half of it, or any commission you care to name. No, something else came into that deal. Why did his principal trust him so absolutely? Why did he violate all business and personal standards of honor? I thought he'd behaved like a man in love. "But even a man in love wouldn't presumably act unless he felt safe, and he wouldn't have felt safe unless the Garthwain deal was protected by family sentiment. The principal in this affair would in case of trouble be protected by the Coldfields, and that probability cut out everybody but at member of the family, at least for me. "The agent must be a man of business reputation then, but a man who couldn't afford to give his principal ten thousand dollars. He couldn't have afforded therefore, to pay back the ten thousand himself; was he less prosperous tha he seemed." "Of all the family friends I had: heard of, Venner seemed least unlikely to fill my requirements. He was comparatively young, therefore perhaps comparatively adventurous. His business is not so stabilizing as some others, he might still be riding on his father's reputation. He knew the Coldfieldsa, what they're tike and what they'd do in certain circumstances. unattached, Has only himself think of: he and his father before him must have had long-standi relations with English men of business, and they'd often need the services ot a solicitor. He's extremely good-looking: a love affair wasn't by any means unthinkable. I've seen him, Mr. Coldfields a man of experience and a very attractive one." Ames mumbled "something. "He doesn't deny it," said Gamadge. "He's our man. Mr. Coldfield, you're a man of experience too. Would Venner ha likely to underwrite a deal in stolen goods for love of a middle-aged married woman, who's losing her figure and her looks and has nothing to give him but, herself? She hasn't much to give a man like that. She probably wouldn't be able to bring muth alimony along with her lit she left your brother, would she? Do you think she'd get anything:? Mr. Coldfield—I'm trying to prepare you." Ames moved his shoulders in gesture of refusal. "Let's imagine," said Gamadge, "that Venner swung the deal for a young girl who had fallen lently in love with a most eligi young man. The competition must have been grueling no doubt she was as far out ot his financial glass as Zelma Smyth was out of hers. She must, go on visits, go to important parties, travel, keep herself in his eye. He was young, and she knew how likely bis affections were to wander." There was a shrinking motion of Ames' shoulders. "Her father couldn't give Her the really large sums she needed,4 continued Gamadge, "but she chanced upon a way to help herself—with the help of a friend. She bought what she wanted, and she rented a place in New York to keep the things in, to change in—perhaps to meet the friend in But she soon threw him over, and what could he do about it without implicating himself? "She got her man. She co manage now without the clothes, and she would, be glad to get rid of the expense of her room in New York. That trunk was never opened—she got the things up here and packed them away until she could smuggle them out somehow with her trousseau when she was married. After that, who would question her possession of them?" Ames wag shaking his head, more as if in despair than in negation. His hands gripped the arms of his chair, bis eyes ware fixed on the fire. CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR ELIZABETH DALY Copyright 1950, by Elizabeth D Distributed by king Features Syndicate AMES suddenly struck the table with the flat of his hand, turned away and eat down in his chair before the fire. He clenched the hand and spoke hurriedly, in a thin, angry voice, "God. Almighty, the women the Coldfield men marry and cherish—the unspeakable women they bring Into this house! You know Serene's quality now. My mother, poor lady, "was colorless. But this—this—" he glanced at the envelope on the table and looked away—"this perhaps excusea me for wondering at the time whether Glendon's wife wasn't another of our strange women, bent on disgracing us Can you—" he looked at Gamadge pleadingly— "can you understand why I wasn't quite fair to her when she came to me with that story? I'd seen those Garthwain letters, and then when I looked into the box after I read that Quarterly article, they were gone. I don't mean I thought she'd taken them. No indeed." "I suppose you couldn't bring yourself to destroy them when you first found them?" "Couldn't, simply couldn't; as a man of letters, you know;" said Ames. "It was a responsibility." "Vandalism—I couldn't bring myself to it. What I feebly tried to persuade myself was that Susan would inherit them, and throw them our unread—unfound—as rubbish. At least the responsibility wouldn't be mine. I left it to destiny—but destiny never manages things as we foresee. Well, when next I looked for them they were gone, as 1 said; and having read the article, 1 knew where." "And you couldn't guess at the agent?" Ames struck the table again "Who knows what friends a woman like that picks up, or where she finds them? She's always at my poor brother for money, you know on whom does she spend it? I dare say she'd find good use for the proceeds of this sale. I don't know what Serene's honor brought in the market." "Ten thousand." Ames put his head back to stare. "Ten thousand! Well, that's high. I imagine that Garthwain wouldn't think so." "It would have been more with the envelopes." That—" Ames pointed to the blue envelope again—"you mean it's at my disposal?" "Unless you feel the need of it as evidence." "But what kind of evidence do I need, more than I have?" Gamadge sat down In the other chair. He asked, "Mr. Coldfield, do you really, mean that you never realized until last night, while we were talking, the possible truth in Sylvia Coldfield's story?" Ames didn't answer; his jaw Bagged a little, his fingers played with the blue envelope, that idiotic Stare had come back into his eyes. "Your brother knew all about the Garthwain letters," said Gamadge. "He'd read them, he'd left them, he read the article in the Quarterly and went and looked for them again. They were gone, and he knew where too. But he had evidence against the thief, and later he had proof. Do you remember that fingerprinting outfit?" Ames nodded vaguely. "There are no prints on that now," said Gamadge, indicating the blue envelope. "It's had care less treatment But he found them there the day he died. Sylvia Coldfield was right—but she was too merciful. There is no insanity in your family, Mr. Coldfield." Ames stammered, "Last night I —but I cast it out of my mind Fantastic." "So your sister in law, Glendon's widow, thought. But when she thought so, she didn't know about the Garthwain letters." Ames suddenly got to his feet He said faintly, "I must have some brandy. 1 ..." he went to the cupboard, and came back with the decanter and two or the little glasses. His hands, were trembling. He filled the glasses, sat down and began to sip at his own drink After a minute "he cleared his throat, and Bald more loudly, "Motive, yes. No proof now." "But evidence:—lots ot evidence Don't you want to near what it is?" Gamadge, his elbow on the table, was leaning towards him. "Your brother's widow won't use it: but don't you think the rest of you ought to know that, there's a poisoner under your roof? Do you think that with such a murderer there may never be a next time? And the next time you might have police in the house—and they'd search more than the attics." "Attics?" "Mr. Coldfield, last night Zelma Smyth tried to open a trunk: your brother Ira's wife said it was full of old things, and that It was locked. This afternoon I unlocked it. It isn't full of old things—it's full of valuable furs and dresses, things that Agnes didn't recognize. They cost nearly ten thousand dollars, or I'm much mistaken." Ames said, his voice quivering, "She's mad for dress." "But what opportunity would your brother's wife have for wearing those things?" Gamadge poused. "You're an intelligent man, Mr. Coldfield. Think Don't blind yourself through prejudice. How could she do it without your brother's Knowledge?" He sat back slowly. "It was the agent that interested me from the first, you know." Ames nodded again, still vaguely. "I didn't see any other approach," said Gamadge; "If I followed Up your- lead about Myers and the Lie her information you wanted, it was purely from a sense of duty—Mr. Salmon didn't seem a likely prospect to me. The agent of course had to be a man of standing and reputation, apparently good for the ten thousand dollar guarantee, or those English people wouldn't have listened to him: but what man of standing and reputation would take such a risk? No matter how safe the agent felt, there la always a risk, and It was ruin for him if something went wrong. Did be need money? Nonsense; such a man wouldn't do a thing of that kind for the whole ten thousand, or half of it, or any commission you care to name. No, something else came into that deal. Why did his principal trust him so absolutely? Why did he violate all business and personal standards of honor? I thought he'd behaved like a man in love. "But even a man in love wouldn't presumably act unless he felt safe, and he wouldn't have felt safe unless the Garthwain deal was protected by family sentiment. The principal in this affair would in case of trouble be protected by the Coldfields, and that probability cut out everybody but at member of the family, at least for me. "The agent must be a man of business reputation then, but a man who couldn't afford to give his principal ten thousand dollars. He couldn't have afforded therefore, to pay back the ten thousand himself; was he less prosperous tha he seemed." "Of all the family friends I had: heard of, Venner seemed least unlikely to fill my requirements. He was comparatively young, therefore perhaps comparatively adventurous. His business is not so stabilizing as some others, he might still be riding on his father's reputation. He knew the Coldfieldsa, what they're tike and what they'd do in certain circumstances. unattached, Has only himself think of: he and his father before him must have had long-standi relations with English men of business, and they'd often need the services ot a solicitor. He's extremely good-looking: a love affair wasn't by any means unthinkable. I've seen him, Mr. Coldfields a man of experience and a very attractive one." Ames mumbled "something. "He doesn't deny it," said Gamadge. "He's our man. Mr. Coldfield, you're a man of experience too. Would Venner ha likely to underwrite a deal in stolen goods for love of a middle-aged married woman, who's losing her figure and her looks and has nothing to give him but, herself? She hasn't much to give a man like that. She probably wouldn't be able to bring muth alimony along with her lit she left your brother, would she? Do you think she'd get anything:? Mr. Coldfield—I'm trying to prepare you." Ames moved his shoulders in gesture of refusal. "Let's imagine," said Gamadge, "that Venner swung the deal for a young girl who had fallen lently in love with a most eligi young man. The competition must have been grueling no doubt she was as far out ot his financial glass as Zelma Smyth was out of hers. She must, go on visits, go to important parties, travel, keep herself in his eye. He was young, and she knew how likely bis affections were to wander." There was a shrinking motion of Ames' shoulders. "Her father couldn't give Her the really large sums she needed,4 continued Gamadge, "but she chanced upon a way to help herself—with the help of a friend. She bought what she wanted, and she rented a place in New York to keep the things in, to change in—perhaps to meet the friend in But she soon threw him over, and what could he do about it without implicating himself? "She got her man. She co manage now without the clothes, and she would, be glad to get rid of the expense of her room in New York. That trunk was never opened—she got the things up here and packed them away until she could smuggle them out somehow with her trousseau when she was married. After that, who would question her possession of them?" Ames wag shaking his head, more as if in despair than in negation. His hands gripped the arms of his chair, bis eyes ware fixed on the fire. For a raft of COOL refreshment! BOTH 93 PROOF 93 PROOF SUNNY BROOK BRAND KENTUCKY BLEND KENTUCKY STRAIGNT BOURBON WHISKEY WHITE LASEL BOTH 93 PROOF OLD SUNNY BROOK BRAND KENTUCKY BLENDED WHISKEY CONTAINS 65% GRAIN NEUTRAL SPIRITS. THE OLD SUNNY BROOK COMPANY LOUISVILLE KENTUCKY Sherman Briscoe Visits Memphis Sherman Briscoe, Office of Information specialist, U. S. Department ot Agriculture, spent the greater part of last Tuesday in Memphis while enroute to Washington, D. C. the well known journalist had made an extensive tour for his department, covering many points in Texas, and other Southern, and southwestern farm areas. He called at the Memphis World office to renew acquaintances with newspaper friends. Before entering his present employ, June, 19U, ten years ago, this year, Mr. Briscoe was identified with the Chicago Defender. He formerly served as editor the Monroe (La.) Broadcast.