Memphis World Memphis World Publishing Co. 1958-10-01 Thaddeus T. Stokes MEMPHIS WORLD AMERICAN'S STANDARD RACE JOURNAL The South's Oldest and Leading Colored Semi-Weekly Newspaper Published by MEMPHIS WORLD PUBLISHING CO. Every WEDNESDAY and SATURDAY at 546 BEALE — Ph. JA. 6-4030 Member of SCOTT NEWSPAPER SYNDICATE W. A. Scott, II, Founder; C. A. Scott General Manager Entered in the Post Office at Memphis, Tenn., as second-class mail under the Act of Congress, March 1, 1870 THADDEUS T. STOKES Managing Editor SMITH FLEMING Circulation Manager SUBSCRIPTION RATES: Year $5.00 — 6 Months $3.00 — 3 Months $1.50 (In Advance) The MEMPHIS WORLD is an independent newspaper — non-sectarian and non-partisan, printing news unbiasedly and supporting those things it believes to be of interest to its readers and opposing those things against the interest of its readers. The Police Department Should Not treat This As Routine Reports Two respectable families were the unfortunate victims of hoodlumism last week when "stink-bombs" were hurled into their homes from passing automobiles by unknown persons ... because they are cowards. Victims were: Miss Angie Hill of 2031 Quinn Ave. and Dr. and Mrs. Leland L. Atkins of 1940 S. Parkway East. These good citizens must surely take a dem view of persons who arm themselves with a home-made bomb, the speed of an automobile and go forth under the cover of night raining terror and destruction upon innocent persons, not to mention disturbing the tranquility of "this city of good abode." To call such persons hoodlums, vandals or thugs would be a gross understatement even for a Nordic. While it is incumbent upon the police department to track down such perpetrators, it is also the duty of every good citizen to help the police department to maintain the welfare of every citizen by reporting the names of such law-breakers to the proper authority immediately. The police department should not treat these incidents as routine reports because they are occuring too frequently. Division Of Southern Governors Indicates Progress The close of the Southern Governors Conference without taking any positive or negative stand on the hottest issue before the South and the country today, might after all be a healthy sign. The governors were classified like this: the group who refuses to accept the Court's anti-segregation decision; on the other extreme are the governors who not only accept, but approve at least to some extent, the principle of school integration. In between are the embattled moderates. These search vainly for some sort of middle ground. These three divisions, all nearly evenly balanced, betrayed somewhat of a leaning, in the naming of Gov. James P. Coleman of Mississippi, who has friends in both camps, while refusing himself to be classified with either group. The conference adjourned without putting its finger on any definite policy; no strong resolution for either side was effected, and hence what apparently turned out in the end as an annual social gathering, might after all indicate that there is slowly but surely in the making a heavy wedge to be driven straight through what was the solid South for nearly a century. This was evidenced at the outset of the question at issue in a three-way division on how to proceed in the light of the school decision. The South could neither get together, on such a plan, nor to resolve around a point of compliance. Hot arguments ensued and what was left of the old Dixiecrat move which resembled some method of going before the country with a third ticket, was blown again into full bloom and even now there is rumbling of another pull out — if and when. Third parties being what they are, on a national scale neither of these would hardly seek shelter under such a shambattle tent. The forthright statement of Attorney General Rogers to the effect that the Arkansas private school plan is nothing short of subterfuge, a sham to get around compliance, poses another grave question for the extremists on the former end; their people, having given them a mandate because of their extreme positions, might sense before any more thrift can be made, that sauce for the Arkansas goose might be sauce for the rest of the ganders. They might resolve around the only option left, which will hardly obtain in the face of school children, ministers of the gospel and other public spirited minds. So, the merry melee goes on; the two extremes, with the moderates in between coming in home to camp to those who sent them out, with a discordant tabernacle — like old Gaul, — "divided in three parts." And in the meantime, time marches on. The Farmer, Land And Money Throughout history farming has been an honorable occupation, and remains so today, even though this is an age of rocket missiles, jets and satellites. In spite of all the progress, the farmer's product is still vital, his annual toil mandatory for our survival. Suppose, for example, that all farmers decided to strike during one harvest season, such as some unions do. The population would soon begin to become destitute. But the farmer doesn't strike. He is largely unorganized. He is independent-minded, sometimes too much so. Usually he doesn't make a lot of money — unless he is a big farmer, with much land and machinery. What, then, are his compensations? Why do capable young people still decide to farm? There are rewards. One is the out-door life. Another is the inspirational value of working the land, with nature, against nature, and with and against the weather. Another is the lack of petty scheming in the daily occupational grind — for much of the work of the farmer is physical. And the wonders of nature, the changes every season, and the wisdom and secrets of the earth and sky and sun and winds, are usually better understood and appreciated by the farmer. He can breathe good air, knows where and how to hunt and fish, and often enjoys animals, especially horses, far more than his city-slicker cousin. And at the end of life, even if there isn't a pile of money, the farmer has usually lived a full life, a better life, than that of many a soot-covered "metropolitan." "No Man Is An Island" The Journal of The American Medical Association, one of the world's leading scientific publications, has just celebrated its 75th anniversary. The anniversary issue carries a series of 20 articles of an unusual nature. Only one was written by a physician, the AMA's president. The rest are by lay leaders in business, commerce, industry and government. This series has the general title of "Partners In Progress." And the reason for it is explained by Dr. Austin Smith, the Journal's editor, in these words:"... too often our eyes and our thoughts remain confined to our own fields of interest without realizing how much each field contributes to another, how much each is dependent on another, or how many people and how much training and experience are involved in the various areas of effort." Then speaking of the lay leaders who contributed to the anniversary salute, he goes on: "They are known internationally, and yet they can think in terms of the individual as well as well as of a nation or of the world... No one could be a symbol for his field if he had stood alone or if his area of interest had been completely isolated from the rest of the community. They served their communities as well as their organizations or businesses... The practicing physician likewise serves more than his patient. He is part of community life, and his work influences as widely that of others as they in turn influence his work. No one can exist without the direct or indirect contributions of others..." All progress — in medicine, in the other sciences, in economic fields, in education and in everything else — stems from a partnership of this sort. As John Donne wrote centuries ago, "No man is an island, intire of it self; every man is a piece of the Continent, a part of the maine..." To Give Dance Racial At LeMoyne College Memphis dance enthusiasts are expressing interest in the approaching recital of creative dance Jean Erdman who will appear in C. Arthur Bruce Hall on the LeMoyne College campus Oct. 17. Teachers, who are anxious for their pupils to see Miss Erdman in action, are calling in for resverations. Tickets are on sale in the LeMoyne College business office and at Central Ticket Office in Goldsmith's. Miss Erdman, born in Honolulu, is a very exciting dancer. She is feminine, strong, theatrical, and her amazing range extends from the satiric and humorous to the deeply serious. She is bold in her work and has been cited by some of the world's leading critics. Tri-State Fair stage in the General Exhibits Building and register in order to be eligible to win any one or more of these prizes. Mrs. Florence House Wheeler, the fifth consecutive year as the of Chicago, expects to return for home economist for the fair. WLOK is providing, Mrs. Wheeler with an elaborate all-Philco kitchen on the stage through the courtesy of the Philco Corporation and its local distributor, Shobe. Mrs. R. S. Lewis, Sr., supervisor of the baby show, said that the contest will be held Sunday, Oct. 5 at 3 p. m. "This will not be a beauty contest," Mrs. Lewis stated. "Nor will the babies be judged for plumpness. Two physicians will be on hand to judge all babies on the basis of their all-around physical development. To do this each baby will be given a thorough examination." Grand climax will come Sunday night, when holder of the lucky ticket ill be given a now 1958 Ford car by the Mallory Knights Charitable organization. For every $1 donation given the Mallory Knights, a ticket to the fair and a coupon for a free drawing on the car will be issued to the donor. Two hew features initiated last year will be repeated. They are the secretatria contest, under supervision of Miss M. Clay Pinkston; and the public high school science exhibition, headed by Professor William Low. There this year will be "Science on the March." Fair officials are: Blair T. Hunt, president; Robert Wright, Jr., of Memphis; Charles Fletcher, of Hernando, Miss and John Gammon, Jr., of Marion, Ark.; Edwin C. Jones, secretary; John L. Brinkley, Jr., treasurer; Floyd M. Campbell, chairman, executive committee; Roy J. Roddy, manager: J. S. Mebane, assistant manager; Cornell Wells, Ernest Brazzle, and Lewis O. Swingler, director and member of the executive committee. FOOD EXPERT COMING stage in the General Exhibits Building and register in order to be eligible to win any one or more of these prizes. Mrs. Florence House Wheeler, the fifth consecutive year as the of Chicago, expects to return for home economist for the fair. WLOK is providing, Mrs. Wheeler with an elaborate all-Philco kitchen on the stage through the courtesy of the Philco Corporation and its local distributor, Shobe. Mrs. R. S. Lewis, Sr., supervisor of the baby show, said that the contest will be held Sunday, Oct. 5 at 3 p. m. "This will not be a beauty contest," Mrs. Lewis stated. "Nor will the babies be judged for plumpness. Two physicians will be on hand to judge all babies on the basis of their all-around physical development. To do this each baby will be given a thorough examination." Grand climax will come Sunday night, when holder of the lucky ticket ill be given a now 1958 Ford car by the Mallory Knights Charitable organization. For every $1 donation given the Mallory Knights, a ticket to the fair and a coupon for a free drawing on the car will be issued to the donor. Two hew features initiated last year will be repeated. They are the secretatria contest, under supervision of Miss M. Clay Pinkston; and the public high school science exhibition, headed by Professor William Low. There this year will be "Science on the March." Fair officials are: Blair T. Hunt, president; Robert Wright, Jr., of Memphis; Charles Fletcher, of Hernando, Miss and John Gammon, Jr., of Marion, Ark.; Edwin C. Jones, secretary; John L. Brinkley, Jr., treasurer; Floyd M. Campbell, chairman, executive committee; Roy J. Roddy, manager: J. S. Mebane, assistant manager; Cornell Wells, Ernest Brazzle, and Lewis O. Swingler, director and member of the executive committee. BABY SHOW stage in the General Exhibits Building and register in order to be eligible to win any one or more of these prizes. Mrs. Florence House Wheeler, the fifth consecutive year as the of Chicago, expects to return for home economist for the fair. WLOK is providing, Mrs. Wheeler with an elaborate all-Philco kitchen on the stage through the courtesy of the Philco Corporation and its local distributor, Shobe. Mrs. R. S. Lewis, Sr., supervisor of the baby show, said that the contest will be held Sunday, Oct. 5 at 3 p. m. "This will not be a beauty contest," Mrs. Lewis stated. "Nor will the babies be judged for plumpness. Two physicians will be on hand to judge all babies on the basis of their all-around physical development. To do this each baby will be given a thorough examination." Grand climax will come Sunday night, when holder of the lucky ticket ill be given a now 1958 Ford car by the Mallory Knights Charitable organization. For every $1 donation given the Mallory Knights, a ticket to the fair and a coupon for a free drawing on the car will be issued to the donor. Two hew features initiated last year will be repeated. They are the secretatria contest, under supervision of Miss M. Clay Pinkston; and the public high school science exhibition, headed by Professor William Low. There this year will be "Science on the March." Fair officials are: Blair T. Hunt, president; Robert Wright, Jr., of Memphis; Charles Fletcher, of Hernando, Miss and John Gammon, Jr., of Marion, Ark.; Edwin C. Jones, secretary; John L. Brinkley, Jr., treasurer; Floyd M. Campbell, chairman, executive committee; Roy J. Roddy, manager: J. S. Mebane, assistant manager; Cornell Wells, Ernest Brazzle, and Lewis O. Swingler, director and member of the executive committee. FORD CAR TO BE GIVEN AWAY stage in the General Exhibits Building and register in order to be eligible to win any one or more of these prizes. Mrs. Florence House Wheeler, the fifth consecutive year as the of Chicago, expects to return for home economist for the fair. WLOK is providing, Mrs. Wheeler with an elaborate all-Philco kitchen on the stage through the courtesy of the Philco Corporation and its local distributor, Shobe. Mrs. R. S. Lewis, Sr., supervisor of the baby show, said that the contest will be held Sunday, Oct. 5 at 3 p. m. "This will not be a beauty contest," Mrs. Lewis stated. "Nor will the babies be judged for plumpness. Two physicians will be on hand to judge all babies on the basis of their all-around physical development. To do this each baby will be given a thorough examination." Grand climax will come Sunday night, when holder of the lucky ticket ill be given a now 1958 Ford car by the Mallory Knights Charitable organization. For every $1 donation given the Mallory Knights, a ticket to the fair and a coupon for a free drawing on the car will be issued to the donor. Two hew features initiated last year will be repeated. They are the secretatria contest, under supervision of Miss M. Clay Pinkston; and the public high school science exhibition, headed by Professor William Low. There this year will be "Science on the March." Fair officials are: Blair T. Hunt, president; Robert Wright, Jr., of Memphis; Charles Fletcher, of Hernando, Miss and John Gammon, Jr., of Marion, Ark.; Edwin C. Jones, secretary; John L. Brinkley, Jr., treasurer; Floyd M. Campbell, chairman, executive committee; Roy J. Roddy, manager: J. S. Mebane, assistant manager; Cornell Wells, Ernest Brazzle, and Lewis O. Swingler, director and member of the executive committee. The Death Sentence — One Dollar And Ninety-Five-Cent Style The denial of the Alabama Supreme Court in the rehearing request of Jimmy Wilson doomed for robbing a white woman of $1.95, somewhat loses its humor for pathos, upon the court's setting the prisoner's execution for October 24th. All over the country the case has been discussed in humor skits around firesides, in parks, at places of business and in churches because of its uniqueness in option, for so little an amount which offset the gravity of its accompanying charge. Attorney Fred Gray's entry into the case with several courses open, senses that the farmhand might gain a new lease on life with that grace to "think on these things" in amending his ways. Robbery is but robbery, regardless of how much or little is involved. Offenders should be treated alike when it comes to punishment for crime. Still there is the flexibility of the law wherein discretion might mete out those modifiers which would present the law in a more humane fashion where circumstances allowed such a deed as this under question to register. We think the facts and circumstances in this case justify Governor James E. Folsom's hint that he would be moved to commute Wilson's sentence to life imprisonment. We might be spared this one at least — Death sentence, $1.95 style. CUBITS Trademark The Egyptians Knew! Copyright 1958 Destiny Mfg. Co. Found in the Tomb of Pharoah. Six sun-baked cubes of clay. Each face bearing "cuneiform" markings. Deciphering, revealed; the Ancient Ones used them to foretell events. Cubits, in combination, operate by the Law of Probability. Mathematically the equation sign □ > 1 means, the chance of one answer coming up out of 373,248 probable answers to Luck, Money, Wealth, Success, Faith, Travel, Friends, Security, Fame, Career, Promotion, Investments, Love, Charm, Courtship, Marriage, Power, Vacation, Savings, Inheritance, Happiness, Health, Family, Children. Prognosticate, Foretell Your Friends Future. Send $1.00 for a set of six cubits to: DESTINY MFG. CO., INC. 216 Anderson St. Pittsburgh 12, Pa. RETURN TO SCHOOL — Van Buren, Ark., took the bull by the horns last week, and in rapid-fire actions: a—temporarily suspended 70 white students who had barred the public schools to Negro pupils; and b—opened the way for Negroes to return to school at once. Here, Negro students Zelma and Palestine Roberts (right) who were integrated at Van Buren High School last year, without incident, leave a school bus on the way to classes. No objection was raised by the white students. U. S. Supreme while before the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People asked the Eighth Circuit Court of Appeals in Omaha to stop the move. In Virginia, too, a number of schools have been shut down to ward off integration. Gov. J. Lindsay Almond, acting under the state's "massive resistance" plan, has closed schools at Charlottesville, Norfolk and Front Royal. In Charlottesville some students from the affected schools are being taught in makeshift classrooms in private homes and at other places. Informed sources said Almond was considering a partial reopening of the schools. He would permit operation of those grades where Negroes have not been ordered admitted by the courts. In its formal opinion Monday, the high court said the "controlling legal principles are plain." "It is, of course, quite true that the responsibility for public educa tion is primarily the concern of the stages. But it is equally true that such responsibilities, like all other state activity, must be exercised consistently with Federal Constitutional requirements... "The right of a student not to be segregated on racial grounds... is indeed so fundamental and pervasive that it is embraced in the concept of due process of law." The Supreme Court took bristling notice of claims by Faubus and other Southern political leaders that its 1954 desegregation ruling is not necessarily the law of the land. It said Chief Justice John Marshall, speaking for a unanimous Supreme Court in 1803, laid down the principle that "it is emphatically the province and duty of the Judicial Department to say what the law is." "The basic principle that the Federal Judiciary is supreme in the exposition of the law of the Constitution... has ever since been respected by this court and the country as a permanent and indispensable feature of our Constitutional system." VIRGINIA ACTION while before the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People asked the Eighth Circuit Court of Appeals in Omaha to stop the move. In Virginia, too, a number of schools have been shut down to ward off integration. Gov. J. Lindsay Almond, acting under the state's "massive resistance" plan, has closed schools at Charlottesville, Norfolk and Front Royal. In Charlottesville some students from the affected schools are being taught in makeshift classrooms in private homes and at other places. Informed sources said Almond was considering a partial reopening of the schools. He would permit operation of those grades where Negroes have not been ordered admitted by the courts. In its formal opinion Monday, the high court said the "controlling legal principles are plain." "It is, of course, quite true that the responsibility for public educa tion is primarily the concern of the stages. But it is equally true that such responsibilities, like all other state activity, must be exercised consistently with Federal Constitutional requirements... "The right of a student not to be segregated on racial grounds... is indeed so fundamental and pervasive that it is embraced in the concept of due process of law." The Supreme Court took bristling notice of claims by Faubus and other Southern political leaders that its 1954 desegregation ruling is not necessarily the law of the land. It said Chief Justice John Marshall, speaking for a unanimous Supreme Court in 1803, laid down the principle that "it is emphatically the province and duty of the Judicial Department to say what the law is." "The basic principle that the Federal Judiciary is supreme in the exposition of the law of the Constitution... has ever since been respected by this court and the country as a permanent and indispensable feature of our Constitutional system." MARSHALL PRINCIPLE while before the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People asked the Eighth Circuit Court of Appeals in Omaha to stop the move. In Virginia, too, a number of schools have been shut down to ward off integration. Gov. J. Lindsay Almond, acting under the state's "massive resistance" plan, has closed schools at Charlottesville, Norfolk and Front Royal. In Charlottesville some students from the affected schools are being taught in makeshift classrooms in private homes and at other places. Informed sources said Almond was considering a partial reopening of the schools. He would permit operation of those grades where Negroes have not been ordered admitted by the courts. In its formal opinion Monday, the high court said the "controlling legal principles are plain." "It is, of course, quite true that the responsibility for public educa tion is primarily the concern of the stages. But it is equally true that such responsibilities, like all other state activity, must be exercised consistently with Federal Constitutional requirements... "The right of a student not to be segregated on racial grounds... is indeed so fundamental and pervasive that it is embraced in the concept of due process of law." The Supreme Court took bristling notice of claims by Faubus and other Southern political leaders that its 1954 desegregation ruling is not necessarily the law of the land. It said Chief Justice John Marshall, speaking for a unanimous Supreme Court in 1803, laid down the principle that "it is emphatically the province and duty of the Judicial Department to say what the law is." "The basic principle that the Federal Judiciary is supreme in the exposition of the law of the Constitution... has ever since been respected by this court and the country as a permanent and indispensable feature of our Constitutional system." Class Officers Elected At Father Bertrand Hi The class officers at Father Bertrand High School, have been elected by the members of the respective classes. The senior class officers are: Stephen Boone, president; Peggy Hilliard, vice-president; Carol Ann Latting, secretary; Neverson Jones, treasurer, and Thomas Beddingfield, parliamentarian. The Juniors voted and elected Charts Clay, president: Ernest Boram, vice-president; Rita Alexander, secretary and Billie Jean Turner as treasurer. Kenneth Hayes is the president of the sophomores having as fellow officers Reuben Rhodes, vice president; Angela Warren, secretary; Tommie Kaye Hayes, treasurer, and Malcolm Weed, parliamentarian. Among the- freshman, Lyncha Johnson, Arl Williams, Henry Moss and Lloyd Foster were elected as class officers. FOOTBALL SCORES COLLEGE SIAC CIAA OTHERS SCORES SOUTHWEST MIDWEST HIGH SCHOOL How Montgomery the question on everyone's lips as to why. "To be Christlike is to suffer as He suffered, but you will not be alone even as He was not alone." Following the tragic incident, a mass meeting was held at the Hutchins Street Baptist Church, one of the churches bombed last year. The meeting was reminiscent of December 1955, as the Negro citizens of Montgomery poured out their pleas for the recovery of "their president." Tears were being shed by men and women alike and during the period when Dr. King's book was offered for sale, from observation and whispers it would seem that, the only persons not purchasing one were persons who had already made their purchase. A calmness settled over the meeting after Dr. Jefferson Underwood gave a first hand report on Dr. King's condition. The Rev Felix James delivered the message from the subject, "In The Time of Trouble." "Trouble it seems is unavoidable for person, a state or a nation and man as yet has found or devised no immunity from it, but fear is no remedy." During his message he gave Bible facts of prophets, disciples who had been in trouble and how they overcame fear. Citing sometimes one becomes rebellious, Rev. James quoted Job, "Though He slay me yet will I serve him." Miami Manhunt WILLIAM FULLER Published by special arrangement with Curtis Brown, Ltd. © 1958, King Features Syndicate, Inc. All rights reserved. Venturesome young Brad Dolan, who is telling the story, came to Beach with two weeks off from his charter-boat business, money in hand, and no strings attached. He was having difficulty obtaining a room at a hotel without a resrvation, when a girl came to his aid. He had never seen her before, but she professed to be waiting for him. She is Marta Blanding, dancer in the floor show of the night club. Clearly frightened by something, she went to Brad's room to appeal for his protection against a man who has been following her menacingly. She did not want to appeal to police. When Brad indicated that he thought her fears baseless, Marta told that she is the only person who stashed away, and half of it can be his if he protects her till she recovers it... AFTER Marta left I stripped and took a shower. I let hot water beat against my chest and the back of my neck for ten minutes. Then I wrapped an oversized towel around my middle and sat in the chair by the window facing the ocean. Light was tailing fast. The last of the swimmers and sun-bathers were leaving the beach. The pool—between the hotel and the beach—was deserted. There were two lines of gaily painted cabanas in my line of vision. One line faced the pool; the other line, directly behind this one, faced the beach. Marta's cabana, where I was to meet her after her last show in the night club—she finished at 2; I was to meet her at 2:30—was at the south end of the line of cabanas facing the sea. She'd clammed up after she'd told me about the money. She'd asked me to meet her later in her cabana. She'd said she'd explain the whole deal to me there. And then she'd left me. And now that she'd gone, I found myself sitting in a suddenly lonely hotel room with nothing but my own thoughts. My mood darkened. While she'd been here I'd been riding the crest of a curling comber. Now I was wallowing sadly in its trough. A quarter of a million dollars! Two hundred and fifty grand. And half of that, half, would be a hundred and twenty-five thousand. Living money. Properly invested, freedom money. For life. And for a minute or two I'd almost believed this kid with the sulky mouth, this much-woman girl with the golden tan. I shook my head slowly. , I told myself. And what a fertile imagination this one had! A man was following her. She needed help. She just to pick on you to help her. Her jolting presence makes you talk too much and she discovers that you have a touch of larceny in your soul. So what's the next step? The wad of dough, naturally. The two hundred and fifty grand. And half of it's to be yours, Dolan! Think of that! But wait a minute. There's more. are after the money, too! They have a pretty good idea she Knows where it is. They are after her! And who comes to the rescue, charging across the plains like a one-man Seventh Cavalry after the Apaches who've surrounded the Wagon train, Who out old Dolan, the poor man's Errol Flynn, the kid with the round haircut, boyhero from Dixie. Wave them flags! Beat them drums! So I'd meet her in her cabana. She'd need a grand, probably, to finance the recovery of this fortune. She'd probably settle for five Hundred since you'd given her a pretty strong pitch about being pretty much of a shoestring artist. And she must have been fairly well disappointed when she'd heard , by the way. Anyhow, you'd let her see the color of your money. Then they —fellow con artist, boyfriend, husband or what-have-you— would enter, stage left. would take over the cash. Our heroine would dissolve in tears. You'd be shown the door, a sadder but wiser man. I got up and started dressing. I was no longer wallowing sadly in the trough of a wave. The ridiculous aspect of the situation I'd gotten myself into had become amusing. The longer I thought about it the funnier it got. I'd keep my date with the girl in her cabana at 2:30. I'd step onstage on cue. But in the meantime I would have rewritten the script. I could hardly wait! The hotel barbershop was luckily still open when I got downstairs. I had all traces of the doit-yourself haircut removed. When I stepped out on the avenue the sun had completely gone and the shops and hotels were ablaze with neon. For lack of a better plan I joined the stream of pedestrians on the sidewalk and walked slowly south. I stopped in front of the plate glass window of a furrier's shop and looked at mink stoles for two thousand bucks and chinchilla pieces for five thousand bucks and felt sorry for the minks and the chinchillas. A few shops down the street there was a jewelry store. I stopped and looked at the window display. One little item that caught my eye was a diamond choker. The price tag listed it at seventy-five thousand bucks. Where, I thought, did people that kind of money? A small, nagging voice said. That's one way it's done. Of course, you could have an oil well. Or sing rock-'n-roll. Or cheat on your taxes. Or inherit wealth or property. Or go into the rackets. I turned away from the window and started to move on. As I did I just happened to notice a man standing in front of the plate glass window on the other side of the jewelry shop entrance. He was a dark, fat man in a bulging tan gabardine suit. A coconut straw hat with a flamboyantly red and blue band was tilted over his eyes. His pudgy hands were crossed over his protruding rump. He was teetering back and forth on his heels and toes. There was something vaguely familiar about him. I looked at him for a moment, puzzled. Then I remembered. The hat with the loud band was the tip-off. While I'd been having my haircut thirty minutes earlier the fat man had come into the shop for a shoeshine. The colorful band on that hat had caught my eye. As I walked on I wondered what to do with myself until two o'clock. Here I was, right smack in the middle of what was probably the world's most elaborate and expensive playground, a city dedicated to entertainment, and I was bored. The town was full of big-name entertainers. I'd have to watt until the next afternoon for the horses at Hialeah, of course, but tonight there were dog races and jai-alai and I wouldn't have to look very far to find a little back-room action with the dice or the cards. There was something in this billion dollar city for everyone, no matter what his tastes might be. I was plainly bored. I missed the and the peace and quiet and contentment of some quiet anchorage and the tension-releasing and sleep-inducing sound of salt water lapping at her strakes. I ran over the possibilities in my mind. Jai-alai, the fastest and one of the most exciting games in the world, seemed like the best bet. But first I would wrap myself around a good steak. A block away I saw a steak house. I started for it. A fat blob of a man in a rumpled tan gabardine suit and a coconut straw hat with a red and blue band detached himself from window gazing at the jewelry store and waddled along in my wake. I grinned. I was no longer bored. This fat man was stretching a coincidence a little too thin. I knew he had to be Marta's guy.... WHAT HAS HAPPENED WILLIAM FULLER Published by special arrangement with Curtis Brown, Ltd. © 1958, King Features Syndicate, Inc. All rights reserved. Venturesome young Brad Dolan, who is telling the story, came to Beach with two weeks off from his charter-boat business, money in hand, and no strings attached. He was having difficulty obtaining a room at a hotel without a resrvation, when a girl came to his aid. He had never seen her before, but she professed to be waiting for him. She is Marta Blanding, dancer in the floor show of the night club. Clearly frightened by something, she went to Brad's room to appeal for his protection against a man who has been following her menacingly. She did not want to appeal to police. When Brad indicated that he thought her fears baseless, Marta told that she is the only person who stashed away, and half of it can be his if he protects her till she recovers it... AFTER Marta left I stripped and took a shower. I let hot water beat against my chest and the back of my neck for ten minutes. Then I wrapped an oversized towel around my middle and sat in the chair by the window facing the ocean. Light was tailing fast. The last of the swimmers and sun-bathers were leaving the beach. The pool—between the hotel and the beach—was deserted. There were two lines of gaily painted cabanas in my line of vision. One line faced the pool; the other line, directly behind this one, faced the beach. Marta's cabana, where I was to meet her after her last show in the night club—she finished at 2; I was to meet her at 2:30—was at the south end of the line of cabanas facing the sea. She'd clammed up after she'd told me about the money. She'd asked me to meet her later in her cabana. She'd said she'd explain the whole deal to me there. And then she'd left me. And now that she'd gone, I found myself sitting in a suddenly lonely hotel room with nothing but my own thoughts. My mood darkened. While she'd been here I'd been riding the crest of a curling comber. Now I was wallowing sadly in its trough. A quarter of a million dollars! Two hundred and fifty grand. And half of that, half, would be a hundred and twenty-five thousand. Living money. Properly invested, freedom money. For life. And for a minute or two I'd almost believed this kid with the sulky mouth, this much-woman girl with the golden tan. I shook my head slowly. , I told myself. And what a fertile imagination this one had! A man was following her. She needed help. She just to pick on you to help her. Her jolting presence makes you talk too much and she discovers that you have a touch of larceny in your soul. So what's the next step? The wad of dough, naturally. The two hundred and fifty grand. And half of it's to be yours, Dolan! Think of that! But wait a minute. There's more. are after the money, too! They have a pretty good idea she Knows where it is. They are after her! And who comes to the rescue, charging across the plains like a one-man Seventh Cavalry after the Apaches who've surrounded the Wagon train, Who out old Dolan, the poor man's Errol Flynn, the kid with the round haircut, boyhero from Dixie. Wave them flags! Beat them drums! So I'd meet her in her cabana. She'd need a grand, probably, to finance the recovery of this fortune. She'd probably settle for five Hundred since you'd given her a pretty strong pitch about being pretty much of a shoestring artist. And she must have been fairly well disappointed when she'd heard , by the way. Anyhow, you'd let her see the color of your money. Then they —fellow con artist, boyfriend, husband or what-have-you— would enter, stage left. would take over the cash. Our heroine would dissolve in tears. You'd be shown the door, a sadder but wiser man. I got up and started dressing. I was no longer wallowing sadly in the trough of a wave. The ridiculous aspect of the situation I'd gotten myself into had become amusing. The longer I thought about it the funnier it got. I'd keep my date with the girl in her cabana at 2:30. I'd step onstage on cue. But in the meantime I would have rewritten the script. I could hardly wait! The hotel barbershop was luckily still open when I got downstairs. I had all traces of the doit-yourself haircut removed. When I stepped out on the avenue the sun had completely gone and the shops and hotels were ablaze with neon. For lack of a better plan I joined the stream of pedestrians on the sidewalk and walked slowly south. I stopped in front of the plate glass window of a furrier's shop and looked at mink stoles for two thousand bucks and chinchilla pieces for five thousand bucks and felt sorry for the minks and the chinchillas. A few shops down the street there was a jewelry store. I stopped and looked at the window display. One little item that caught my eye was a diamond choker. The price tag listed it at seventy-five thousand bucks. Where, I thought, did people that kind of money? A small, nagging voice said. That's one way it's done. Of course, you could have an oil well. Or sing rock-'n-roll. Or cheat on your taxes. Or inherit wealth or property. Or go into the rackets. I turned away from the window and started to move on. As I did I just happened to notice a man standing in front of the plate glass window on the other side of the jewelry shop entrance. He was a dark, fat man in a bulging tan gabardine suit. A coconut straw hat with a flamboyantly red and blue band was tilted over his eyes. His pudgy hands were crossed over his protruding rump. He was teetering back and forth on his heels and toes. There was something vaguely familiar about him. I looked at him for a moment, puzzled. Then I remembered. The hat with the loud band was the tip-off. While I'd been having my haircut thirty minutes earlier the fat man had come into the shop for a shoeshine. The colorful band on that hat had caught my eye. As I walked on I wondered what to do with myself until two o'clock. Here I was, right smack in the middle of what was probably the world's most elaborate and expensive playground, a city dedicated to entertainment, and I was bored. The town was full of big-name entertainers. I'd have to watt until the next afternoon for the horses at Hialeah, of course, but tonight there were dog races and jai-alai and I wouldn't have to look very far to find a little back-room action with the dice or the cards. There was something in this billion dollar city for everyone, no matter what his tastes might be. I was plainly bored. I missed the and the peace and quiet and contentment of some quiet anchorage and the tension-releasing and sleep-inducing sound of salt water lapping at her strakes. I ran over the possibilities in my mind. Jai-alai, the fastest and one of the most exciting games in the world, seemed like the best bet. But first I would wrap myself around a good steak. A block away I saw a steak house. I started for it. A fat blob of a man in a rumpled tan gabardine suit and a coconut straw hat with a red and blue band detached himself from window gazing at the jewelry store and waddled along in my wake. I grinned. I was no longer bored. This fat man was stretching a coincidence a little too thin. I knew he had to be Marta's guy.... CHAPTER 4 WILLIAM FULLER Published by special arrangement with Curtis Brown, Ltd. © 1958, King Features Syndicate, Inc. All rights reserved. Venturesome young Brad Dolan, who is telling the story, came to Beach with two weeks off from his charter-boat business, money in hand, and no strings attached. He was having difficulty obtaining a room at a hotel without a resrvation, when a girl came to his aid. He had never seen her before, but she professed to be waiting for him. She is Marta Blanding, dancer in the floor show of the night club. Clearly frightened by something, she went to Brad's room to appeal for his protection against a man who has been following her menacingly. She did not want to appeal to police. When Brad indicated that he thought her fears baseless, Marta told that she is the only person who stashed away, and half of it can be his if he protects her till she recovers it... AFTER Marta left I stripped and took a shower. I let hot water beat against my chest and the back of my neck for ten minutes. Then I wrapped an oversized towel around my middle and sat in the chair by the window facing the ocean. Light was tailing fast. The last of the swimmers and sun-bathers were leaving the beach. The pool—between the hotel and the beach—was deserted. There were two lines of gaily painted cabanas in my line of vision. One line faced the pool; the other line, directly behind this one, faced the beach. Marta's cabana, where I was to meet her after her last show in the night club—she finished at 2; I was to meet her at 2:30—was at the south end of the line of cabanas facing the sea. She'd clammed up after she'd told me about the money. She'd asked me to meet her later in her cabana. She'd said she'd explain the whole deal to me there. And then she'd left me. And now that she'd gone, I found myself sitting in a suddenly lonely hotel room with nothing but my own thoughts. My mood darkened. While she'd been here I'd been riding the crest of a curling comber. Now I was wallowing sadly in its trough. A quarter of a million dollars! Two hundred and fifty grand. And half of that, half, would be a hundred and twenty-five thousand. Living money. Properly invested, freedom money. For life. And for a minute or two I'd almost believed this kid with the sulky mouth, this much-woman girl with the golden tan. I shook my head slowly. , I told myself. And what a fertile imagination this one had! A man was following her. She needed help. She just to pick on you to help her. Her jolting presence makes you talk too much and she discovers that you have a touch of larceny in your soul. So what's the next step? The wad of dough, naturally. The two hundred and fifty grand. And half of it's to be yours, Dolan! Think of that! But wait a minute. There's more. are after the money, too! They have a pretty good idea she Knows where it is. They are after her! And who comes to the rescue, charging across the plains like a one-man Seventh Cavalry after the Apaches who've surrounded the Wagon train, Who out old Dolan, the poor man's Errol Flynn, the kid with the round haircut, boyhero from Dixie. Wave them flags! Beat them drums! So I'd meet her in her cabana. She'd need a grand, probably, to finance the recovery of this fortune. She'd probably settle for five Hundred since you'd given her a pretty strong pitch about being pretty much of a shoestring artist. And she must have been fairly well disappointed when she'd heard , by the way. Anyhow, you'd let her see the color of your money. Then they —fellow con artist, boyfriend, husband or what-have-you— would enter, stage left. would take over the cash. Our heroine would dissolve in tears. You'd be shown the door, a sadder but wiser man. I got up and started dressing. I was no longer wallowing sadly in the trough of a wave. The ridiculous aspect of the situation I'd gotten myself into had become amusing. The longer I thought about it the funnier it got. I'd keep my date with the girl in her cabana at 2:30. I'd step onstage on cue. But in the meantime I would have rewritten the script. I could hardly wait! The hotel barbershop was luckily still open when I got downstairs. I had all traces of the doit-yourself haircut removed. When I stepped out on the avenue the sun had completely gone and the shops and hotels were ablaze with neon. For lack of a better plan I joined the stream of pedestrians on the sidewalk and walked slowly south. I stopped in front of the plate glass window of a furrier's shop and looked at mink stoles for two thousand bucks and chinchilla pieces for five thousand bucks and felt sorry for the minks and the chinchillas. A few shops down the street there was a jewelry store. I stopped and looked at the window display. One little item that caught my eye was a diamond choker. The price tag listed it at seventy-five thousand bucks. Where, I thought, did people that kind of money? A small, nagging voice said. That's one way it's done. Of course, you could have an oil well. Or sing rock-'n-roll. Or cheat on your taxes. Or inherit wealth or property. Or go into the rackets. I turned away from the window and started to move on. As I did I just happened to notice a man standing in front of the plate glass window on the other side of the jewelry shop entrance. He was a dark, fat man in a bulging tan gabardine suit. A coconut straw hat with a flamboyantly red and blue band was tilted over his eyes. His pudgy hands were crossed over his protruding rump. He was teetering back and forth on his heels and toes. There was something vaguely familiar about him. I looked at him for a moment, puzzled. Then I remembered. The hat with the loud band was the tip-off. While I'd been having my haircut thirty minutes earlier the fat man had come into the shop for a shoeshine. The colorful band on that hat had caught my eye. As I walked on I wondered what to do with myself until two o'clock. Here I was, right smack in the middle of what was probably the world's most elaborate and expensive playground, a city dedicated to entertainment, and I was bored. The town was full of big-name entertainers. I'd have to watt until the next afternoon for the horses at Hialeah, of course, but tonight there were dog races and jai-alai and I wouldn't have to look very far to find a little back-room action with the dice or the cards. There was something in this billion dollar city for everyone, no matter what his tastes might be. I was plainly bored. I missed the and the peace and quiet and contentment of some quiet anchorage and the tension-releasing and sleep-inducing sound of salt water lapping at her strakes. I ran over the possibilities in my mind. Jai-alai, the fastest and one of the most exciting games in the world, seemed like the best bet. But first I would wrap myself around a good steak. A block away I saw a steak house. I started for it. A fat blob of a man in a rumpled tan gabardine suit and a coconut straw hat with a red and blue band detached himself from window gazing at the jewelry store and waddled along in my wake. I grinned. I was no longer bored. This fat man was stretching a coincidence a little too thin. I knew he had to be Marta's guy.... Police Search For Slayer Of Popular Football Player Police were still searching for the slayer of John V. Aldridge, popular former Booker T. Washington High School football captain who was stabbed to death last week following a local grid contest, at press time. According to Maurice White, Sr., of 390-C South Lauderdale St., the victim's brother-in-law, police are holding a number of suspects for questioning, including several girls. Other arrests are expected. Mrs. Minnie Mae Hayes, Aldridge's mother, said her son was with three girls and another boy after the football game. Rev. L. H. Aldridge, the victim's uncle, pastor of the Greater Mt. Pleasant Baptist Church, said he heard his nephew was involved in a fight after the game. It was learned that several rumors have been ciculating about the killing as the search for Aldridge's slayer continues. Reports have come in to the effect that "a well known hoodlum" committed the offense, or that the football star was the victim of a jealous, enraged lover. Police have not confirmed either of these rumors, however. Aldridge, who was matriculating at Grambling College of Louisiana on a four-year grid grant, was one of the most popular gridders ever to don a gree and gold footbal loutfit at Booker T. Washington. In 1956, his senior year, he was not only captain of his team but an "All-Memphis" player and a "Gridiron Great" of the backfield. He had been training with this year's Warrior team to get in shape for college grid play. Funeral rites were held for the young man Sunday morning at Greater Mt. Pleasant Church Burial was in Mt. Carmel Cemetery. S. W. Quails and Sons Funeral Home had charge. HOODLUM SUSPECTED Police were still searching for the slayer of John V. Aldridge, popular former Booker T. Washington High School football captain who was stabbed to death last week following a local grid contest, at press time. According to Maurice White, Sr., of 390-C South Lauderdale St., the victim's brother-in-law, police are holding a number of suspects for questioning, including several girls. Other arrests are expected. Mrs. Minnie Mae Hayes, Aldridge's mother, said her son was with three girls and another boy after the football game. Rev. L. H. Aldridge, the victim's uncle, pastor of the Greater Mt. Pleasant Baptist Church, said he heard his nephew was involved in a fight after the game. It was learned that several rumors have been ciculating about the killing as the search for Aldridge's slayer continues. Reports have come in to the effect that "a well known hoodlum" committed the offense, or that the football star was the victim of a jealous, enraged lover. Police have not confirmed either of these rumors, however. Aldridge, who was matriculating at Grambling College of Louisiana on a four-year grid grant, was one of the most popular gridders ever to don a gree and gold footbal loutfit at Booker T. Washington. In 1956, his senior year, he was not only captain of his team but an "All-Memphis" player and a "Gridiron Great" of the backfield. He had been training with this year's Warrior team to get in shape for college grid play. Funeral rites were held for the young man Sunday morning at Greater Mt. Pleasant Church Burial was in Mt. Carmel Cemetery. S. W. Quails and Sons Funeral Home had charge. WISHING WELL Registered U. S. Patent Office. H is a pleasant little game that will give you a message every day. It is a numerical puzzle designed to spell out your fortune. Count the letters in your first name. If the number of letters is 6 or more, subtract 4. If the number is less than 6, add 3. The result is your key number. Start at the upper left-hand corner of the rectangle and check every one of your key numbers, left to right. Then read the message the letters under the checked figures give you. MOON SHOT TRY The second United States attempt to shoot for the moon probably will not come until October. The Defense Department says that no date has been set for the next try to launch a satellite around the moon, and that the chances of it coming in September are unlikely.