Memphis World
Memphis World Publishing Co.
1956-08-08
Raymond F. Tisby

MEMPHIS WORLD
AMERICA'S STANDARD RACE JOURNAL
The south's oldest and Leading Colored Semi-Weekly News paper
Published by MEMPHIS WORLD PUBLISHING CO.
EVERY WEDNESDAY and SATURDAY at 546 BEALE — Ph. JA. 6-4030
Entered in the post office at Memphis, Tenn., as second-class mail
under the Act of Congress, March 1, 1870
Member of SCOTT NEWSPAPER SYNDICATE
W. A. Scott, II, Founder; C. A. Scott, General Manager
Raymond F. Tisby Managing Editor
Mrs. Rosa Brown Bracy Public Relations and Advertising
William C. Weathers Circulation promotion
The MEMPHIS WORLD 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 RATES:
Year $5.00 — 6 Months $3.00 — 3 Months $1.50 (In Advance)

During 100 Years Only Two Vice-Presidents
Succeeded Presidents Dying Of Natural Causes
Since it has been said that the Vice-Presidency is just one
heart-beat from the Presidency, it would afford an interesting
study in the few times this heartbeat has been rewarded Vice Presidents 
from natural causes. While it is well for the American people 
to be on the alert as to who is elected Vice-President, the law
of averages on that score would not be disturbing in a look at the
record. Let us begin with Lincoln.
President Lincoln of course died in office, but he was assassinated; 
in that his death was not the result of any lingering
disease. He was followed by Andrew Johnson, who managed to
live out his time. General Grant served out his full term and lived
several years afterwards, dying while on an engineering job
reportedly somewhere in South America.
President Hayes, who came to office through that Tilden
affair, lived out his full time in office. James A. Garfield who
succeeded Hayes died in office, but of an assassin's bullet. Chester 
A. Arthur, a Vice-President, came to succeed Hayes but was
unseated by Grover Cleveland, who himself lived out his first
term of office to come back and serve a second term.
Benjamin Harrison, the Republican President, succeeded
Cleveland. He died several years after leaving office. William
McKinley, another Republican was elected President to serve one
full term and to begin another, when in September following his
first year, he was assassinated to be followed in office by Theodore 
Roosevelt.
Roosevelt served out McKinley's term of office and another
term of his own when William H. Taft succeeded to the Presidency. 
Theodore Roosevelt not only lived out his two terms but
came again on the Bull Moose ticket to defeat Taft and make it
possible for Woodrow Wilson to come into power as the first
Democrat to take the oath of office since Cleveland and the
second since the Civil War. He served two full terms and while
he was stricken with paralysis, he did not die in office. President
Taft left office robust and went back to the Supreme Court of
the United States.
President Warren G. Harding, the Republican to break the
Democratic tenure in office, died of natural causes during his
first term. Calvin Coolidge was the first of the Vice-Presidents since
Lincoln to come to the office in the one heart-beat regiment to the
Presidency due to the death of a President by natural causes.
President Coolidge served out Harding's term and one full
term of his own and bowed out apparently in good health after
he did "not choose to run" for a third term.
He died of natural causes after retiring to his home in Massachusetts. 

Herbert Hoover who succeeded Coolidge is still living and
was proclaimed to be the finest looking, man in the Truman and
Eisenhower inaugural parades and is still in robust health.
Franklin D. Roosevelt, who broke the long tenure of the
Republicans and who was beginning his fourth term, died at
Warm Springs, Georgia of natural causes, affording the occasion
for the second Vice-President for nearly a hundred years to succeed 
to the Presidency upon the death of the President by natural
causes.
It will be seen that if Franklin Roosevelt had served the two
accustomed terms he would not have died in office but would
have reached the expectancy of nearly eight years after his first
occupancy of the White House.
So, it will be seen that only two Vice-Presidents have succeeded 
to the Presidency upon the death of a President from natural
causes in nearly a hundred years.
While Presidents die as other people, it would not hold here
that they are very poor risks after being elevated to the Presidency. 
Maybe the fine medical care and the regulation of habit,
diet and exercise contribute to this condition of affairs.
Harry Truman who is still living and in good health succeeded 
Franklin D. Roosevelt. After serving out Roosevelt's almost
full term, he served one of his own to retire to his home in Independence, 
Missouri to carry on his usual activities.
His Vice-President, Alben Berkley died last May, leaving his
chief able to run for office again.
This bit of historical narration is presented for the record.
It would not in anywise indicate that American Presidents are bad
at dying in office and would establish the fact that Vice-Presidents
for nearly a hundred years, save two have come to power through
tragic deaths of martyred Presidents.
Those who are making the health of President Eisenhower an
issue in this campaign for fear that Richard M. Nixon might advance 
to the Presidency, have before them as precedents only two
instances of natural causes for nearly a hundred years.

Hold That (Color) Line!

Louisiana, home of the Sugar Bowl, always prided itself on
its big-time sports. New Orleans people visiting here have been
known to frown on such local playgrounds as the Yankee Stadium
(67,000 seats) and the hatbox-sized Madison Square Garden.
The Sugar Bowl can handle 100,000 paying customers with
a bit of a squeeze.
Right now, however, it looks as if the Bowl won't need to
jam in any big crowds for a while.
Gov. Earl Long, a chip off the deported Huey, hos signed
a law barring any mixing of the races on the playing fields of
Louisiana. He signed it in the face of a strong plea from the
New Orleans Mid-Winter Sports Assn., sponsors of the annual
college football orgy known as the Sugar Bowl Classic.
The Association told the Governor the bill would put the
Pelican State back in the minor leagues as far as college sports go:

The Association, of course, hardly qualifies as a hotbed of
social subversion aimed at the foundations of Dixie. None of the
New Orleans civic boosters wants his daughter to marry a Negro
athlete, no matter how much of a draw such a youth might be at
the gate. But their job is to promote topflight events, which make
cash registers jingle not just at the ball parks but also in the hotels,
gin mills and stores. That sort of thing makes everybody, especially 
the civic boosters, wildly happy.
The committee wanted the Governor to let the ban on nonwhite 
athletes die a quiet death. Everyone knows that few colleges
outside the South ore going to strip their squads along color lines
and go way down to Louisiana to get whipped.
You can't close the doors on Negro athletes without shutting
out most of the major college teams and playing to half-empty
stands.
Still, Gov. Long signed the bill. He must like those intimate

little intercollegiate games better than the big spectacles that bring
all manner of strangers into the Creole Country.

REVIEWING
THE NEWS
By the time this column appears, the author should be somewhere 
near the Potomac River, nearing the nation's capital or
perhaps, rolling near the coast of New England. Whatever the
case may be, this column will be written out of New England;
Cambridge more, specific, during the next two weeks.
Leaving the beauty of the Southland and entering the stoic
atmospheres of the North bothers me little. What does trouble
the average Southerner, who believes in and works for his region
is what shall he tell the North. And one might expect numerous
questions coming from people of the North and East during these
times of tension.
Perhaps one of my best answers may come from the experience 
meeting a Southern newspaperman recently, one whose deep
concern of his fellowman held him in grips with his conscience.
It was a blistering and humid morning when I climbed
the stairs to the office of Malcom Johnson, executive editor of
the Tallahassee, Fla. Democrat, the town's only daily.
"Let me finish this sentence," he said. "I've been trying to
complete this all morning."
A stocky, pleasant-looking man turned his chair and folded 
his arms across the desk in front of me. He was busy, but pleasant 
and obliging to a man he had never seen before.
He began to talk:
"We are the ones caught in the dilemma. We are caught
because we are concerned about the problem and should do
something about it. Our very conscience dictates that justice,
equality and respect should be given every man regardless of
his race, color or religion. Our basic concepts, ideals and reasoning
command all that we say we are and advocated through our
constitution."
We talked for more than an hour, man to man about the
problems that confront two Southerners. Mr. Johnson admits that
he was disturbed. He admitted that the lines of communications
between whites and Negroes in the South have been cut—cut
to the point where the racial types, symbols and stereotypes were
returning. He also admitted that this was dangerous, perhaps
more dangerous than all the hate groups, and the advocates of
segregation.
The editor was not so much concerned about himself as
he was the thousands of other liberal whites in the South, the
many thousands who reason and think differently on the problem
of bias.
The great problem, he said, is how these many thousands
can avoid being swept along into the net of hatred and bigotry.
It bothered him that no one was working to connect the lines
of communications; that even many of the liberal whites, many
with prestige and position were gradually pulling themselves
away from the real issues concerned. As a Christian, he said, he
was disturbed at the problem of the South, fighting against the
inevitable transition.
Fortunately, I did not come away as disturbed as the editor.
Instead, I was optimistic—optimistic to learn that there are
many such people, genuine, quiet at the moment, but deeply
concerned at the plight of things. These thousands of whites are
our allies and will rally in the end. Like the British who held
India for generations under the iron heel of colonialism, there
were many who became worried at the evils of the times. They
were quiet, yet concerned, even to the day when India became a
free nation.
The Negro in the South should place his hopes in the liberal
whites of the South, for they will certainly come forth eventually.
These and many other good things in the South are part of what
we should tell the North.

What We Should Tell The North...
By the time this column appears, the author should be somewhere 
near the Potomac River, nearing the nation's capital or
perhaps, rolling near the coast of New England. Whatever the
case may be, this column will be written out of New England;
Cambridge more, specific, during the next two weeks.
Leaving the beauty of the Southland and entering the stoic
atmospheres of the North bothers me little. What does trouble
the average Southerner, who believes in and works for his region
is what shall he tell the North. And one might expect numerous
questions coming from people of the North and East during these
times of tension.
Perhaps one of my best answers may come from the experience 
meeting a Southern newspaperman recently, one whose deep
concern of his fellowman held him in grips with his conscience.
It was a blistering and humid morning when I climbed
the stairs to the office of Malcom Johnson, executive editor of
the Tallahassee, Fla. Democrat, the town's only daily.
"Let me finish this sentence," he said. "I've been trying to
complete this all morning."
A stocky, pleasant-looking man turned his chair and folded 
his arms across the desk in front of me. He was busy, but pleasant 
and obliging to a man he had never seen before.
He began to talk:
"We are the ones caught in the dilemma. We are caught
because we are concerned about the problem and should do
something about it. Our very conscience dictates that justice,
equality and respect should be given every man regardless of
his race, color or religion. Our basic concepts, ideals and reasoning
command all that we say we are and advocated through our
constitution."
We talked for more than an hour, man to man about the
problems that confront two Southerners. Mr. Johnson admits that
he was disturbed. He admitted that the lines of communications
between whites and Negroes in the South have been cut—cut
to the point where the racial types, symbols and stereotypes were
returning. He also admitted that this was dangerous, perhaps
more dangerous than all the hate groups, and the advocates of
segregation.
The editor was not so much concerned about himself as
he was the thousands of other liberal whites in the South, the
many thousands who reason and think differently on the problem
of bias.
The great problem, he said, is how these many thousands
can avoid being swept along into the net of hatred and bigotry.
It bothered him that no one was working to connect the lines
of communications; that even many of the liberal whites, many
with prestige and position were gradually pulling themselves
away from the real issues concerned. As a Christian, he said, he
was disturbed at the problem of the South, fighting against the
inevitable transition.
Fortunately, I did not come away as disturbed as the editor.
Instead, I was optimistic—optimistic to learn that there are
many such people, genuine, quiet at the moment, but deeply
concerned at the plight of things. These thousands of whites are
our allies and will rally in the end. Like the British who held
India for generations under the iron heel of colonialism, there
were many who became worried at the evils of the times. They
were quiet, yet concerned, even to the day when India became a
free nation.
The Negro in the South should place his hopes in the liberal
whites of the South, for they will certainly come forth eventually.
These and many other good things in the South are part of what
we should tell the North.

Why The Civil Rights Bills Failed

By a series of parliamentary maneuvers southern senators,
with the aid of Majority leader Lyndon Johnson, hove succeeded
in blocking Senate floor discussion of civil-rights legislation for
this session.
One would hardly oppose the broad objective of civil-rights
legislation: to insure that every American con exercise his right
to vote; that every American can expect a fair and speedy trial.
One would hardly support as a general proposition the tactic of
stopping legislation by bottling it up, not voting it down. Yet
Senator Johnson and his followers probably took the only course
they could under the circumstances of the moment.
It has been apparent ever since the civil-rights bill came up in
the House that such legislation either would be shelved in Senator 
Eastland's Judiciary Committee or be filibustered to death on
the Senate floor. In the latter event, as Senator Johnson has
pointed out, no other legislation would be acted on in these
closing days of the session.
With these near-certainties Writ large, it has been apparent
also that the vote in the House was chiefly to allow a number of
northern congressmen to go on record for certain of their constituents. 

As seen by the White South, what came out of Washington
as the tension over desegregation heightened was not an effort
to raise a biracial leadership seeking orderly adjustments but
legislative proposals looking like further intrusion of federal action
into what has been deemed the states' domain.
One could hardly rejoice over these developments. But to
understand them can help greatly in the long run.

Lee An Old Guard

nees for the seven state representative 
post. (For significance see
"Election Reflections" elsewhere
this issue).
The Republican and Democrat
primaries expect for state com
mittee will face each other in the
November general election.

Let Us Do Your
Housekeeping
For You!

WALLS, WINDOWS CLEANED
FLOORS CLEANED, WAXED
JUST CALL

JA 7-1070
JA 7-1070

INGROWN NAIL
HURTING YOU?

A few drops of OUTGRO¯ bring blessed
relief from tormenting pain of ingrown nail,
OUTGRO toughens the skin underneath the
nail, allows the nail to be cut and thus prevents 
further pains and discomfort. OUTGRO
is available at all drug counters.

PULL THE PLUG
ON STOMACH UPSET
Half-alive, headachy, when constipation 
sours stomach? Black-Draught
relieves constipation overnight
Helps sweeten sour stomach too.

No harsh griping. Made from pure
vegetable herbs. Thoroughly but
gently uncorks clogged intestines.
Brings comforting relief in morning.
Then life looks sunny again! Get
Black-Draught today.
*
FOR CHILDREN
When constipation
sours children's digestion 
and disposition, get Syrup of BlackDraught. 
They love this honey-sweet liquid.

4 Key Court

tion followed public mettings protesting 
desegregation.
DISTRICT OF COLUMBIA: A
House subcommittee has begun an
investigation of alleged "lowered
standards" in desegregation District 
schools and juvenile delinquency 
in the capital. A former
school board member said the investigation 
was a "predetermined
one" and in turn was called "very
highly prejudiced."
FLORIDA: In special session the
legislature swiftly passed a fivepoint 
program of segregation legislation, 
including a broadened pupil
assignment act, which Gov. LeRoy 
Collins believed would allow
the state to maintain separate
schools indefinitely.
GEORGIA: The long - pending
case of Horace Ward, Negro applicant 
to the University of Georgia
law school, was reported closer to
decision.
KENTUCKY: GOV A. B. ("Happy") 
Chandler, Democratic Presidential 
aspirant, shifted the state
compliance pledge on desegregation 
to the national scene when
he said in response to a question:
"Segregation is one of those things
that must go." Another school district 
(Ashland) announced desegregation 
for all the all.
LOUISIANA: Ten pro-segregation 
bills directly affecting the
schools have been passed by the
legislature, replacing the "police
powers" amandements struck down
by a federal court. One measure
puts the legislature in charge of
schools in the defense of integration 
suits.
MARYLAND: Two more counties
with heavy Negro populations,
have announced desegregation for
the fall, one in first grades "as
available facilities permit," and the
other on a transfer basis, leaving
only five of the state's counties
still segregated as a matter of policy. 
In a key decision a federal
court ruled Negro children in St.
Mary's County must exhaust administrative 
remedies in school entry 
actions before the county could
be enjoined to halt segregation.
MISSISSIPPI: Pushing ahead
with a separate-but-equal program,
the state reported the teacher salary 
gap cut from $1,108 for white
teachers and $398 for Negroes in
1945-46 to $2,609 for white and $2,
010 for Negroes in 1955-56.
MISSOURI: Competing candidates 
for the Republican senatorial
nomination are vying with one another 
in support of desegregation
The winner will face Democratic
Sen. Thomas C. Hennings. Jr., who
led the unsuccessful fight to bring
civil rights legislation to the Senate
floor in the session Just ended.
NORTH CAROLINA: A special
four-day session of the legislature
voted to submit to the people Sept.
8., a "package" constitutional
amendment providing for statepaid 
tuition to children not wishing 
to attend integrated schools
and permitting "local option unit"
election on whether or not to close
a school under court order to desegregate. 

OKLAHOMA: A survey showed
119 school districts – many more

than had been reported earlier –
had "integrated situations" in 195556 
and that 31 more planned to
desegregate this fall.
SOUTH CAROLINA: The school
segregation question was overshadowed 
by the "southern unity"
drive of Gov. George Bell Timmerman 
among southern states preceding 
the Democratic national convention. 

TENNESSEE: Contrary to forecasts, 
school segregation did not
materialize as a concrete political
issue as some 300 persons campaigned 
for seats in the state legislature, 
Nashville's school board was
reported to be considering a "free
choice" desegregation plan, at first
affecting the first grade, to present 
to a federal court this fall.
TEXAS: Democratic voters approved 
three pro-segregation questions 
in a referendum and generally
favored candidates of a similar
viewpoint, in the July 28 primary
A Fifth Circuit Court of Appeals
decision in the Mansfield school
case held that adverse public opinion
along is insufficient grounds to
deny admission of Negroes to an allwhite 
school.
VIRGINIA: Gov. Thomas B. Stanley 
put himself on the side of "massive 
resistance" to desegregation in
a call for a special legislative session 
Aug 27. Meanwhile, in the first
action of its kind in the area, a federal 
court ordered desegregation
this fall of the Charlottesville
schools and a second decision order
ed desegregation in Arlington County 
schools beginning early next
year.
WEST VIRGINIA: A survey show
ed that 20 county school system will
have complete desegregation this
fall, 15 will have partial desegregation, 
six will have "creeping desegregation" 
and four will remain
segregated. The remaining 11 have
no Negro pupils.

ENCHANTED HARBOR
&.copy 1956, by Dorothy Worley, Reprinted by permission of the publisher, Avalon Books,
Distributed by King Features Syndicate.
Priscilla Paige, who looks like
Lauren Bacall, is in Apalachicola.
Florida, to claim a bequest from a
great-aunt. Her realistic writerfriend. 
Rita Lambert, is with her. En
route to see Attorney Todd a fisherman 
searches the car while they are
in a restaurant and a distinguished
looking man observes all three of
them with puzzling interest. Todd
seems relieved when the girls agree
to his keeping the key to Priscilla's
bequeathed lookout House but he
suggests a tour of it for the next
morning. The distinguished-looking
stranger. Bill Duval, takes notes on
the girls in a little book and they
notice his spying again as they go to
dinner.
MAUD'S TAVERN was attractive 
inside, more spacious
than was apparent from the outside. 
There were not many diners. 
It was a little early for dinner. 
The Rockola was playing
 Little lights
glowed on all the tables.
They had just started eating
when Priscilla exclaimed, her
voice low, "Look, Rita! See that
man standing over there talking
to the waitress—that foreignlooking 
man? Isn't he handsome!
He's glanced our way several
times, and she looked over here
as though he had asked about us."
It was only a few minutes
later that Rita said, laughter in
her voice, "And look who's talking 
to that waitress now, the redBuick 
man, as you called him. If
he keeps popping up, we'll have
to find a shorter name for him."
The waitress came over to ask
if everything was all right and
Rita said mildly, "Seems we're
being observed."
The waitress knew what she
meant She said, smiling, "Well,
you know men when there are
unattached good-looking women
around. That first one, Luis Alvarez, 
did ask about you. The
other one is Bill Duval. He asks
about everybody. They're both
visitors here. You Just passing
through?"
Rita thought, I wonder which
one asked her to find that out.
Aloud, she said, "Something like
that." In that moment, she decided 
to suggest to Priscilla that
they keep their business in Apalachicola 
a secret. Maybe it would
be better to tell Mr. Todd not to
say anything about it until everything 
was settled. She didn't
suppose anyone could prevent
Priscilla from getting her inheritance, 
but you never could tell.
Someone might come up with a,
false claim. And she didn't like
this feeling of being watched.
She added carelessly to the wait
ress, 
"We're seeing Florida."
Priscilla caught a warning in
Rita's eyes and said nothing.
The waitress said, "Well, I don't
know as there's much to see
around this part of Florida."
"There are some very old.
houses?"
"Everything's old." The waitress 
laughed. "That is, most of
Apalachicola is old. Guess the
oldest house is Lookout House.
It's over a hundred."
"Lookout House?" Rita said,
glancing at Priscilla.
"That's what they call it. It
belonged to one of the oldest residents 
here, Mrs. Porter. She died
a year or so ago and it's been
empty since. Seems I heard they
were trying to find the heirs or
something." She laughed again.
"Guess it will stay empty. Folks
say it's haunted."
"Why do they say that?"
"Oh, well," the girl shrugged,
"you know how those things go.
One person tells it, then another
tells it, and so on. I don't believe
in ghosts myself. But besides being 
haunted, the place has a history." 

"What sort of history?"
"You'll have to ask some of the
old-timers. I've heard it was used
as a lookout post during the
Civil War. There's supposed to be
a secret passage. They say there's
lots of antiques there, but I've
never been inside."
"You still haven't told us why
people say it's haunted:"
"Different ones say they've
seen lights flashing on and off
upstairs, yet the gates and doors
have been locked a long time.
Others say they've heard noises."
"Could it be tramps?"
"Tramps can't get in. There's
a high iron fence all around the
place, with padlocked gates.
There are 'No Trespassing' signs
everywhere. That's something
else a little queer. Seems no one
claims the responsibility for them
being there. Must have been put
there in the night." She laughed
and added, "Maybe the ghosts did
it ... I'll be back."
Priscilla looked at Rita and
smiled. "So I've really inherited a
haunted house. That being so, it
seems indicated that I should accept 
the first offer—if I'm tortunate 
enough to get an offer
Since I've heard all this, I'm willing 
for Mr. Todd to go with us."
"But there are no such things
as ghosts," Rita pointed out.
"What do you suppose caused
the lights flashing in the night?"
"There's always an explanation.

No doubt, someone saw a reflection 
one night and started a
rumor—" She broke off as the
waitress came back.
"That Alvarez fellow has a
swanky yacht anchored out
there."
"Big fisherman?"
"He fishes some. And he's
looking for a hotel site, he says,
I've heard he may put up a resort 
hotel over on St. George.
You should meet him and get a
ride on that yacht."
When the waitress had gone,
Rita said, "Might not be a bad
Idea—meeting Alvarez, I mean.
I rather like luxury yachts."
"Do you suppose she had a
motive in telling us about his
yacht? I wonder why he asked
about us. And it's queer, that
other man following us over
here."
As they got up to leave, they
noticed that Luis Alvarez had
taken a table in the corner of
the room where they must pass to
go out. His glance went to Priscilla, 
then to Rita, and back to
Priscilla, and his eyes took in
everything, from the page-boy
haircut down to her feet in barefoot 
sandals, then back the same
route to her face.
The moon had come up while
they were inside and now shone
from a cloudless sky. Their car
was a little in shadow from the
tall trees, and just on the other
side, in deeper shadow, a man sat
smoking a cigaret and listening
to the car radio. The car was
the red Buick.
"I don't believe either of those
men were really following us,"
said Rita, "It's just normal curiosity 
because we're strangers.
But look back and see if that
car starts up."
"Lights just came on on a car
back there," Priscilla was looking 
back. "I think it was his."
She watched a moment longer,
"He's staying the same distance
behind."
They were across the bridge
and parked on the Market street
side of the hotel when the red
Buick passed slowly by, If the
man behind the wheel glanced in
their direction, it was not apparent. 

"I'm getting curious," said
Priscilla.
"I'm not." Rita yawned. "I'm
getting sleepy. And why should
we be surprised because men look
at us? We'd probably be chagrined 
If they hadn't. We've had
enough activity for one day.
Let's go to bed."


SYNOPSIS
&.copy 1956, by Dorothy Worley, Reprinted by permission of the publisher, Avalon Books,
Distributed by King Features Syndicate.
Priscilla Paige, who looks like
Lauren Bacall, is in Apalachicola.
Florida, to claim a bequest from a
great-aunt. Her realistic writerfriend. 
Rita Lambert, is with her. En
route to see Attorney Todd a fisherman 
searches the car while they are
in a restaurant and a distinguished
looking man observes all three of
them with puzzling interest. Todd
seems relieved when the girls agree
to his keeping the key to Priscilla's
bequeathed lookout House but he
suggests a tour of it for the next
morning. The distinguished-looking
stranger. Bill Duval, takes notes on
the girls in a little book and they
notice his spying again as they go to
dinner.
MAUD'S TAVERN was attractive 
inside, more spacious
than was apparent from the outside. 
There were not many diners. 
It was a little early for dinner. 
The Rockola was playing
 Little lights
glowed on all the tables.
They had just started eating
when Priscilla exclaimed, her
voice low, "Look, Rita! See that
man standing over there talking
to the waitress—that foreignlooking 
man? Isn't he handsome!
He's glanced our way several
times, and she looked over here
as though he had asked about us."
It was only a few minutes
later that Rita said, laughter in
her voice, "And look who's talking 
to that waitress now, the redBuick 
man, as you called him. If
he keeps popping up, we'll have
to find a shorter name for him."
The waitress came over to ask
if everything was all right and
Rita said mildly, "Seems we're
being observed."
The waitress knew what she
meant She said, smiling, "Well,
you know men when there are
unattached good-looking women
around. That first one, Luis Alvarez, 
did ask about you. The
other one is Bill Duval. He asks
about everybody. They're both
visitors here. You Just passing
through?"
Rita thought, I wonder which
one asked her to find that out.
Aloud, she said, "Something like
that." In that moment, she decided 
to suggest to Priscilla that
they keep their business in Apalachicola 
a secret. Maybe it would
be better to tell Mr. Todd not to
say anything about it until everything 
was settled. She didn't
suppose anyone could prevent
Priscilla from getting her inheritance, 
but you never could tell.
Someone might come up with a,
false claim. And she didn't like
this feeling of being watched.
She added carelessly to the wait
ress, 
"We're seeing Florida."
Priscilla caught a warning in
Rita's eyes and said nothing.
The waitress said, "Well, I don't
know as there's much to see
around this part of Florida."
"There are some very old.
houses?"
"Everything's old." The waitress 
laughed. "That is, most of
Apalachicola is old. Guess the
oldest house is Lookout House.
It's over a hundred."
"Lookout House?" Rita said,
glancing at Priscilla.
"That's what they call it. It
belonged to one of the oldest residents 
here, Mrs. Porter. She died
a year or so ago and it's been
empty since. Seems I heard they
were trying to find the heirs or
something." She laughed again.
"Guess it will stay empty. Folks
say it's haunted."
"Why do they say that?"
"Oh, well," the girl shrugged,
"you know how those things go.
One person tells it, then another
tells it, and so on. I don't believe
in ghosts myself. But besides being 
haunted, the place has a history." 

"What sort of history?"
"You'll have to ask some of the
old-timers. I've heard it was used
as a lookout post during the
Civil War. There's supposed to be
a secret passage. They say there's
lots of antiques there, but I've
never been inside."
"You still haven't told us why
people say it's haunted:"
"Different ones say they've
seen lights flashing on and off
upstairs, yet the gates and doors
have been locked a long time.
Others say they've heard noises."
"Could it be tramps?"
"Tramps can't get in. There's
a high iron fence all around the
place, with padlocked gates.
There are 'No Trespassing' signs
everywhere. That's something
else a little queer. Seems no one
claims the responsibility for them
being there. Must have been put
there in the night." She laughed
and added, "Maybe the ghosts did
it ... I'll be back."
Priscilla looked at Rita and
smiled. "So I've really inherited a
haunted house. That being so, it
seems indicated that I should accept 
the first offer—if I'm tortunate 
enough to get an offer
Since I've heard all this, I'm willing 
for Mr. Todd to go with us."
"But there are no such things
as ghosts," Rita pointed out.
"What do you suppose caused
the lights flashing in the night?"
"There's always an explanation.

No doubt, someone saw a reflection 
one night and started a
rumor—" She broke off as the
waitress came back.
"That Alvarez fellow has a
swanky yacht anchored out
there."
"Big fisherman?"
"He fishes some. And he's
looking for a hotel site, he says,
I've heard he may put up a resort 
hotel over on St. George.
You should meet him and get a
ride on that yacht."
When the waitress had gone,
Rita said, "Might not be a bad
Idea—meeting Alvarez, I mean.
I rather like luxury yachts."
"Do you suppose she had a
motive in telling us about his
yacht? I wonder why he asked
about us. And it's queer, that
other man following us over
here."
As they got up to leave, they
noticed that Luis Alvarez had
taken a table in the corner of
the room where they must pass to
go out. His glance went to Priscilla, 
then to Rita, and back to
Priscilla, and his eyes took in
everything, from the page-boy
haircut down to her feet in barefoot 
sandals, then back the same
route to her face.
The moon had come up while
they were inside and now shone
from a cloudless sky. Their car
was a little in shadow from the
tall trees, and just on the other
side, in deeper shadow, a man sat
smoking a cigaret and listening
to the car radio. The car was
the red Buick.
"I don't believe either of those
men were really following us,"
said Rita, "It's just normal curiosity 
because we're strangers.
But look back and see if that
car starts up."
"Lights just came on on a car
back there," Priscilla was looking 
back. "I think it was his."
She watched a moment longer,
"He's staying the same distance
behind."
They were across the bridge
and parked on the Market street
side of the hotel when the red
Buick passed slowly by, If the
man behind the wheel glanced in
their direction, it was not apparent. 

"I'm getting curious," said
Priscilla.
"I'm not." Rita yawned. "I'm
getting sleepy. And why should
we be surprised because men look
at us? We'd probably be chagrined 
If they hadn't. We've had
enough activity for one day.
Let's go to bed."


CHAPTER 6
&.copy 1956, by Dorothy Worley, Reprinted by permission of the publisher, Avalon Books,
Distributed by King Features Syndicate.
Priscilla Paige, who looks like
Lauren Bacall, is in Apalachicola.
Florida, to claim a bequest from a
great-aunt. Her realistic writerfriend. 
Rita Lambert, is with her. En
route to see Attorney Todd a fisherman 
searches the car while they are
in a restaurant and a distinguished
looking man observes all three of
them with puzzling interest. Todd
seems relieved when the girls agree
to his keeping the key to Priscilla's
bequeathed lookout House but he
suggests a tour of it for the next
morning. The distinguished-looking
stranger. Bill Duval, takes notes on
the girls in a little book and they
notice his spying again as they go to
dinner.
MAUD'S TAVERN was attractive 
inside, more spacious
than was apparent from the outside. 
There were not many diners. 
It was a little early for dinner. 
The Rockola was playing
 Little lights
glowed on all the tables.
They had just started eating
when Priscilla exclaimed, her
voice low, "Look, Rita! See that
man standing over there talking
to the waitress—that foreignlooking 
man? Isn't he handsome!
He's glanced our way several
times, and she looked over here
as though he had asked about us."
It was only a few minutes
later that Rita said, laughter in
her voice, "And look who's talking 
to that waitress now, the redBuick 
man, as you called him. If
he keeps popping up, we'll have
to find a shorter name for him."
The waitress came over to ask
if everything was all right and
Rita said mildly, "Seems we're
being observed."
The waitress knew what she
meant She said, smiling, "Well,
you know men when there are
unattached good-looking women
around. That first one, Luis Alvarez, 
did ask about you. The
other one is Bill Duval. He asks
about everybody. They're both
visitors here. You Just passing
through?"
Rita thought, I wonder which
one asked her to find that out.
Aloud, she said, "Something like
that." In that moment, she decided 
to suggest to Priscilla that
they keep their business in Apalachicola 
a secret. Maybe it would
be better to tell Mr. Todd not to
say anything about it until everything 
was settled. She didn't
suppose anyone could prevent
Priscilla from getting her inheritance, 
but you never could tell.
Someone might come up with a,
false claim. And she didn't like
this feeling of being watched.
She added carelessly to the wait
ress, 
"We're seeing Florida."
Priscilla caught a warning in
Rita's eyes and said nothing.
The waitress said, "Well, I don't
know as there's much to see
around this part of Florida."
"There are some very old.
houses?"
"Everything's old." The waitress 
laughed. "That is, most of
Apalachicola is old. Guess the
oldest house is Lookout House.
It's over a hundred."
"Lookout House?" Rita said,
glancing at Priscilla.
"That's what they call it. It
belonged to one of the oldest residents 
here, Mrs. Porter. She died
a year or so ago and it's been
empty since. Seems I heard they
were trying to find the heirs or
something." She laughed again.
"Guess it will stay empty. Folks
say it's haunted."
"Why do they say that?"
"Oh, well," the girl shrugged,
"you know how those things go.
One person tells it, then another
tells it, and so on. I don't believe
in ghosts myself. But besides being 
haunted, the place has a history." 

"What sort of history?"
"You'll have to ask some of the
old-timers. I've heard it was used
as a lookout post during the
Civil War. There's supposed to be
a secret passage. They say there's
lots of antiques there, but I've
never been inside."
"You still haven't told us why
people say it's haunted:"
"Different ones say they've
seen lights flashing on and off
upstairs, yet the gates and doors
have been locked a long time.
Others say they've heard noises."
"Could it be tramps?"
"Tramps can't get in. There's
a high iron fence all around the
place, with padlocked gates.
There are 'No Trespassing' signs
everywhere. That's something
else a little queer. Seems no one
claims the responsibility for them
being there. Must have been put
there in the night." She laughed
and added, "Maybe the ghosts did
it ... I'll be back."
Priscilla looked at Rita and
smiled. "So I've really inherited a
haunted house. That being so, it
seems indicated that I should accept 
the first offer—if I'm tortunate 
enough to get an offer
Since I've heard all this, I'm willing 
for Mr. Todd to go with us."
"But there are no such things
as ghosts," Rita pointed out.
"What do you suppose caused
the lights flashing in the night?"
"There's always an explanation.

No doubt, someone saw a reflection 
one night and started a
rumor—" She broke off as the
waitress came back.
"That Alvarez fellow has a
swanky yacht anchored out
there."
"Big fisherman?"
"He fishes some. And he's
looking for a hotel site, he says,
I've heard he may put up a resort 
hotel over on St. George.
You should meet him and get a
ride on that yacht."
When the waitress had gone,
Rita said, "Might not be a bad
Idea—meeting Alvarez, I mean.
I rather like luxury yachts."
"Do you suppose she had a
motive in telling us about his
yacht? I wonder why he asked
about us. And it's queer, that
other man following us over
here."
As they got up to leave, they
noticed that Luis Alvarez had
taken a table in the corner of
the room where they must pass to
go out. His glance went to Priscilla, 
then to Rita, and back to
Priscilla, and his eyes took in
everything, from the page-boy
haircut down to her feet in barefoot 
sandals, then back the same
route to her face.
The moon had come up while
they were inside and now shone
from a cloudless sky. Their car
was a little in shadow from the
tall trees, and just on the other
side, in deeper shadow, a man sat
smoking a cigaret and listening
to the car radio. The car was
the red Buick.
"I don't believe either of those
men were really following us,"
said Rita, "It's just normal curiosity 
because we're strangers.
But look back and see if that
car starts up."
"Lights just came on on a car
back there," Priscilla was looking 
back. "I think it was his."
She watched a moment longer,
"He's staying the same distance
behind."
They were across the bridge
and parked on the Market street
side of the hotel when the red
Buick passed slowly by, If the
man behind the wheel glanced in
their direction, it was not apparent. 

"I'm getting curious," said
Priscilla.
"I'm not." Rita yawned. "I'm
getting sleepy. And why should
we be surprised because men look
at us? We'd probably be chagrined 
If they hadn't. We've had
enough activity for one day.
Let's go to bed."


MY WEEKLY
SERMON
Text: "We are pilgrims..." The
Bible
Life is like a railroad journey, We
are but pilgrims. I recall a Journey 
... A journey I made which left
with me a lasting and vivid impression 
of the aspects of pilgrimage 
accompanying travel via railroad. 
It was my journey on the
railroad to Washington, D. C., A.
journey freighted with many rich
lessons for every pilgrim.
My first lesson accompanying this
journey was a lesson of faith, confidence. 
. . trust. I boarder the train
in Memphis. I wasn't afraid. I
wasn't worried I just took it for
granted that the engineer would
take me on to my destination. I
had faith in his skill. I was confident 
that the construction and
operation of the locomotive would
get me to Washington. So, I remained 
calm and poised, and at
ease as I began my journey.
In life, I'll keep my poise... I'll
keep calm. My heavenly father I
I said to myself, "all these are God's
keen calm. My Heavenly Father
is the "Engineer" on this train of
life. I cannot understand it. It is
good that I can't For a God Comprehended, 
is no God at all!!!
But to continue my journey to
Washington... Soon after leaving
Memphis I fell asleep. But before
surrendering myself to the arms of
Morpheus I thought of the words
in the 127 psalm...."He Giveth
His Beloved Sleep" ... Words as
beautiful as a strain of heavenly
music. So I thanked God for...
sleep.
I awoke the next morning. God
had not forgetten me. He had not
forgotten to hang out the sun.
I looked out of the car window
I saw the mountains...The blue
Ridge, The Smokies. Isaid, "that
is God love "piled up." I looked
down into the deep valleys. I said,
"that is God love deep down." I
saw the fields of waving corn, the
gardens, the apple trees... and
other varieties of trees looking at
God all day lifting their leafy arms
to pray.' I said, "that is God's
munificence." I saw the grazing
cattle, the marble quarries, the
streams of water, the fields. I said,
"that is Gods loving providence
stored up and growing up."
I watched the sheep nibbling the
wet grass. I thought "all we, like
sheep have gone astray.
As we progressed to ward Washington 
a series of vivid kaleidoscopic 
impressions registered on my
consciousness. Bridges across deep
chasms... a lesson to the pilgrim.
I thought of a bridge built by God
A bridge that cannot break...

strengthened and secured by two
wooden beams...and their form
is the form of a cross. He.... Jesus
... will draw all men across that
bridge.
Around the winding curves we
traveled ....a lesson to the Pilg
that if we cannot go through, We
will go around.
We traveled... people... people, 
I saw... some... to me... funny 
- looking, all sizes, all heights
all shapes, all shades.
children, and He wants me to love
them.. One and all. For if you
want to see Jesus, you've got to love
everybody.
Soon rain-clouds shrouded the
heavens and then the rain. Rain,
rain, rain. . . In a few hours, and
again the sunshine. How like life
"into each life some rain must
fall; some days must be dark and
dreary."
Again night-fall A thrilling
sight!! The moon was like a giant
yellow chrysanthemum in a garden
of twinkling stars. I said, "that is
God's huge flower garden."
Then other lights lesser lights
...the lights of the nation's capital 
a lesson: "Man is the keeper
of the lesser lights the lower
lights."
Yes life is like a nation's 
roads. And we are traveling at the
rate of sixty heart-beats per minute. 
But we are not afraid. Why?
"Blessed Jesus thus wilt guide us,
till we reach the blissful shore...
where the angels wait to join us . . .
in that sweet... forever more."

Marines Cry

They asked at every turn.
There was no answer readily
forthcoming.
The court — Six veteran Marine 
combat officers and a young
Navy Lieutenant — had rejected
the government's contention that
there was any criminal responsibility 
attached to McKeon's nighttime 
march into a swamp in which
six of his young recruits died.
Less than 24 hours ago, the Parris 
Island non-coms—the guys who
lay the foundation upon which the
Marine corps builds its traditionally
tough fighting team — were optimistic. 

Last night, all that was changed.
There was confusion and dismay.
"The recruits will take over this
depot now," one D. I. said. He added: 
"We'll have a helluva Marine
Corps — everybody will end up doing 
what they want to do, just like
those scared kids of McKeon's platoon 
did."
But Parris Island Marines 
who like to boast that a Marine
unit has never been driven back
once it was decided to make a stand
— were not ready to close the books
on the McKeon case.
In the non-commissioned officers'
club a gallon glass jug sat on the
counter. A crude little sign read
simply: "For the McKeon family."
In 15 minutes it had to be emptied 
of money. In a relatively short
time, folding money filled its neck
— no silver, predominantly one
dollar bills, with many fives and
tens.
NCO's, without solicitation, were
determined that McKeon's little
family would be taken care of if
he has to serve his nine months'
sentence and forfeit roughly onethird 
of his reduced pay as a Marine 
private.
McKeon, in seclusion in the modest 
little wood frame bungalow at
nearby Port Royal, was as much
in evidence in the NCO club last
night as if he had been stand
rigidly at attention earlier yesterday 
afternoon in the Island court
room.
When sentence was announced,
bringing the sensational 20-day
proceedings to a dramatic end, there
were few dry eyes in the place.
Tears welled up in the eyes of a
veteran woman court reporter.
A burly marine sergeant could restrain 
his emotions no longer. In
the defense counsel room he crashed 
his fist into a wall.
It was McKeon who tried to comfort 
him. "Take it easy, Buzz," McKeon 
said, but big tears rolled freely 
down the tough marine's cheeks.

Blackies' Body Shop
24 Hours Wrecker Service
Body and Fender Work —
Painting
315 Gayoso — JA. 7-6983

P. K. COHEN
SERVICE STATION
Gas — Oil — Lubrication
Tires - Batteries - Accessories


ORLEANS HOTEL

"Your Home Away From
Home"

VISIT OUR COZY
FIESTA ROOM

DINING ROOM OPEN 24
HOURS DAILY.

Chicken - Steaks - Chops Shrimps 
- Sandwiches of
All Kinds.

Call JA. 5-6433