Memphis World Memphis World Publishing Co. 1951-08-10 Lewis O. Swingler MEMPHIS WORLD The South's Oldest and Leading Colored Semi-Weekly Newspaper Published by MEMPHIS WORLD PUBLISHING CO. Every TUESDAY and FRIDAY at 164 BEALE — Phone 8-4030 Entered in the Post Office at Memphis, Tenn. as second-class mail under the Act of Congress, March 1, 1870 Member of SCOTT NEWSPAPER SYNDICATE W. A. Scott, II, Founder; C. A. Scott, General Manager LEWIS O. SWINGLER Editor A.G. SHIELDS, Jr Advertising Manager The MEMPHIS WORLD is an independent newspaper — non-sectarian and non-partisan, printing news unbiasedly and supporting those things it believes to be of interest to its readers and opposing those thing against the interest of its readers. SUBSCRIPTION RATES: Year $5.00 — 6 Months $3.00 — 3 Months $1.25 (In Advance) ROUTE SUPERVISORS: SOUTHWEST: Jimmie Cooper, 119 E. Utah..........Phone 9-3700 N. EASTERN. Lucius Vessell, 1001 Thomas ...... OFFICE: Charles Moore,............397-C South Lauderdale GREATER WHITEHAVEN AREA—Lawrence Johnson ... Phone 35-4917 CENTRAL: James Hawes, Jr., 879 S. 4th ....... Phone 39-2980 BINGHAMPTON: Gayther Myers, 675 Lipford. . . .Phone 48-0627 For any information concerning the distribution of THE WORLD, please contact one of your route supervisors, particularly the one in your respective district. A Community Responsibility From time to time across our nation, there arise series of cross-burnings by would-be terrorists who are seldom if ever apprehended or called to task for their deeds. The act of cross-burning is, itself, a relatively blameless one. However, cross-burning as a symbol of the lawlessness, vandalism, terrorism, and murder is one of the most dangerous practices in the United States. Although progressive, southern governors have taken steps to out-law secret activities of hooded organizations, the nefarious practices instituted by such organizations continue to blot the reputation of the country. These persistent attempts to terrorize Negroes have the result of giving the malefactors and the officials who condone their acts a bad name in the rest of the world it is well known what valuable ammunition for Communist propaganda war-fare these incidents furnish. Nor do these incidents accomplish their cowardly purpose — the intimidation of the Negro populace. In every field where Negroes are trying to advance themselves, there is negative activity by non-thinking people to thwart their aims. This is true in voting, home-ownership and education. People who feel that they have a right to the advancements they seek are not likely to be deterred by acts of vandalism. However, should these "incidents" lead to serious acts of overt agresSion, more serious damages ensue: the damage to the private persons of American citizens; to the damage to property; the damage to civil law and the damage to the reputation of the occurrence of these incidents by direct action but also to build up a wholesome community atmosphere in which such lawlessness cannot flourish. It is the task of the individual community to not only stop the United States abroad. MART OF THOUGHT Life in the country is full of adventure. I never know what to expect from day to day. Like Saturday P. M. for instance. I was out in the front yard running a power mower (borrowed from next door) when a sleek, black air-conditioned Buick rolled slowly to a stop. A quick glance showed a yellow on black license plate from Hawaii. Lt. Gus Hildebrand, his charming wife Lelani and two lovely children were enroute to Springfield, Mass. to visit his folk and were inquiring about a water melon farm they had heard about further down the highway. I Could answer no questions concerning the farm because I had not heard of it before. There in the front yard over a pitcher of limeade, the army officer told how he had met and married the beautiful Hawaiian girl at Waualee near Schu field Barracks. He has been on the island since shortly before Pearl Harbor. Lt. Hildebrand had told his daughters, seven and nine years old so many wonderful things about the United States that they were thrilled at the very thought of coming to the mainland. Lelani had not been over either so he felt as if he had three children as he watched their anticipation become realization. As he explained all the things they had done between the west coast and here, the places they had stopped and those they would see enroute to the east coast I thought how wonderful America is and what a paradise it is for white people. I have travelled in automobiles and was fairly comfortable but the trip would have been more enjoyable if we had been allowed to patronize the hotels, restaurants and other places on the highways for tourists. It was a family that was having fun. Family life is a wonderful sacred thing yet the fibre of home life is changing and we just watch it happen. Mother and father dashing off to a bridge game past brother or sister rushing upstairs to change for an evening of diversion that they planned for themselves. Many families have long ago ceased to eat together. The war and other disintegrating influences are destructive enough without neglect on the part of the parents. In order to keep the home intact, families must play together and pray together. Speaking of war — a young relative of mine has been drafted. My father served in World War I but mine is a small family with few men and not in my time has one of my relatives gone off to war before. Since 1937 when the Third Reich was foremost on the news, I have read about the wars, casualties, loneliness, and anxieties of war and I was sympathetic. I was a USO hostess for several years and served at the two centers here in Memphis. Visiting Kennedy and the Naval Base at Millington where I talked to the wounded and wrote letters for them, I was in close contact with the aftermath of war but the ghastliness of the situation does not really strike you until you feel it and that comes only when it happens to you. That is how it is with me. Harmony and unity among nations will bring peace to the world. What's in a name? "of shining fame." Not every Robert lives up to his name, but ask anyone who has tried it and he'll tell you Bourbon de Luxe does live up to its name! Bourbon de Luxe No name on the outside of a whiskey bottle can better describe what's inside than the name Bourbon de Luxe. It's de luxe in flavor and quality. Try this fine Kentucky whiskey today. My Visit To Detroit's 250th Birthday Festival Interesting Why would I have an impulse to visit a hospital on my vacation when there were so many other things more pleasing to see. Well I had heard so much about hospital units supervised by our folk in Detroit, I wanted to see just what they wer like. A friend was kind enough to escort me. Our first visit was Fairview Sanatorium - a 67-bed T. B. County hospital. This hospital has an all Negro Medical Staff including a Superintendent, Medical Director two Staff Physicians, Resident Physician, Supervisor of Nurses (day and night), Technician Office Secretary and Assistant, Librarian and Medical Social. Workers. It also has an attending staffDentist, Optometrist and OtoLaryngoloist. I understand the state of Michigan has launched a program to control tuberculosis and several units of this kind have been set up in Detroit because of the crowded condition in main sanatoriums. We were shown through the hospital, I noticed the happy, contended expression on faces of inmates. In one ward several patients enjoyed a television show. In another they chatted happily together and in other words we saw them sleeping. I noticed careful individual attention was given these patients and they were handled in a very kindly manner. Because of the advanced stage of cases I was told some patients are kept in the institution for years and many have been cured and are now bringing up large families in Detroit. I was especially impressed with the cleanliness of the hospital The beds, floor and in fact the whole place was in a very sanitary condition. While we were there a very light, well prepared tempting lunch was served the patients in an orderly manner. In my opinion, Fairview Sanatorium is setting an example of what our folks could do toward restoring lives to society if they only had a fair opportunity I should like to mention that. Dr Robt. Greenidge is superintendent of the hospital. He was a Visitor to the National Negro Insurance Association recently held here in Memphis. Our next visit was East Side Medical Laboratory located on Beaubian. This, clinic is owned by Dr. Greenidge and is equipped for making X-Ray examinations, blood tests, blood count and in fact all kinds of laboratory examinations. Many people whom we talked with expressed being highly satisfied with examinations and tests made at this clinic. Our next visit was made to Great Lakes Mutual Life Insurance Company. This company is about 23 years and has insurance in force thirty-two million dollars. Its home office building is not as large and neither does it have the modernistic surroundings offered by our own Universal Life Insurance company, but it is a nice building and there seems to be a friendly relationship existing between the employees and its officers and directors. It is departmentalized a little different from our home office here. We stopped to peep in on the Metropolitan Funeral System Association of which Senator Charles C. Dis Jr. is president, (Negro). This is a combination of a funeral home and association. I under stand it does a larger volume of business than any other establishment of its kind in Detroit. Mr. Diggs is a former Mississippian. From this point we started seeing some of Detroit's 250th Birthday Festival. The first program was given in Grand Circus Park downtown) It was a show presented by Detroit's Civic Negro Opera Company and was made up of excerpts from famous operas, solos, etc. The show was narrated by Dean Robert Nolan and produced by Mrs. Jean G. Macklin. Carlotta Franzell who played the role of Cindy Lou in "Carmen Jones." Broadway stage production, was guest soloist. My nephew, Arthur Maxey sang "Ole Man River" (Show Boat). He was also star in "Toreador" song (Carmen) The show was accompanied by an orchestra of 24 men (white). We visited the beautifulal r port Willow Run and the famous playground - Belle Isle. It is, truly a beautifully island. People of all nations, races and creeds from every walk of life seem to be attracted to this beautiful playground. All of God's Chilun diverse in origin and back gorund go there to have fun. It is said that this Island was purchased from Indians about 200 years ago for eight barrels of rum, three rolls of tobacco and six pounds of paint It is now valued at more than $54,000,000 and no estimate can be made of its sentimental or recreational values in the terms of health and fun. Last but not least, we got a 'close up" on the President of the United States, who made a speech that was heard all over the world and he was also on television. A big, big parade of floats, etc. followed this speech that symbolized the 250 years growth of Detroit. The occasion was witnessed by a crowd estimated at 70,000. Our vacation climaxed with a little trip about 60 miles north east of Detroit into Canada to a little city Chatham Ontario where we bought souvenirs for our friends back home. LOVIE MONTGOMERY Why would I have an impulse to visit a hospital on my vacation when there were so many other things more pleasing to see. Well I had heard so much about hospital units supervised by our folk in Detroit, I wanted to see just what they wer like. A friend was kind enough to escort me. Our first visit was Fairview Sanatorium - a 67-bed T. B. County hospital. This hospital has an all Negro Medical Staff including a Superintendent, Medical Director two Staff Physicians, Resident Physician, Supervisor of Nurses (day and night), Technician Office Secretary and Assistant, Librarian and Medical Social. Workers. It also has an attending staffDentist, Optometrist and OtoLaryngoloist. I understand the state of Michigan has launched a program to control tuberculosis and several units of this kind have been set up in Detroit because of the crowded condition in main sanatoriums. We were shown through the hospital, I noticed the happy, contended expression on faces of inmates. In one ward several patients enjoyed a television show. In another they chatted happily together and in other words we saw them sleeping. I noticed careful individual attention was given these patients and they were handled in a very kindly manner. Because of the advanced stage of cases I was told some patients are kept in the institution for years and many have been cured and are now bringing up large families in Detroit. I was especially impressed with the cleanliness of the hospital The beds, floor and in fact the whole place was in a very sanitary condition. While we were there a very light, well prepared tempting lunch was served the patients in an orderly manner. In my opinion, Fairview Sanatorium is setting an example of what our folks could do toward restoring lives to society if they only had a fair opportunity I should like to mention that. Dr Robt. Greenidge is superintendent of the hospital. He was a Visitor to the National Negro Insurance Association recently held here in Memphis. Our next visit was East Side Medical Laboratory located on Beaubian. This, clinic is owned by Dr. Greenidge and is equipped for making X-Ray examinations, blood tests, blood count and in fact all kinds of laboratory examinations. Many people whom we talked with expressed being highly satisfied with examinations and tests made at this clinic. Our next visit was made to Great Lakes Mutual Life Insurance Company. This company is about 23 years and has insurance in force thirty-two million dollars. Its home office building is not as large and neither does it have the modernistic surroundings offered by our own Universal Life Insurance company, but it is a nice building and there seems to be a friendly relationship existing between the employees and its officers and directors. It is departmentalized a little different from our home office here. We stopped to peep in on the Metropolitan Funeral System Association of which Senator Charles C. Dis Jr. is president, (Negro). This is a combination of a funeral home and association. I under stand it does a larger volume of business than any other establishment of its kind in Detroit. Mr. Diggs is a former Mississippian. From this point we started seeing some of Detroit's 250th Birthday Festival. The first program was given in Grand Circus Park downtown) It was a show presented by Detroit's Civic Negro Opera Company and was made up of excerpts from famous operas, solos, etc. The show was narrated by Dean Robert Nolan and produced by Mrs. Jean G. Macklin. Carlotta Franzell who played the role of Cindy Lou in "Carmen Jones." Broadway stage production, was guest soloist. My nephew, Arthur Maxey sang "Ole Man River" (Show Boat). He was also star in "Toreador" song (Carmen) The show was accompanied by an orchestra of 24 men (white). We visited the beautifulal r port Willow Run and the famous playground - Belle Isle. It is, truly a beautifully island. People of all nations, races and creeds from every walk of life seem to be attracted to this beautiful playground. All of God's Chilun diverse in origin and back gorund go there to have fun. It is said that this Island was purchased from Indians about 200 years ago for eight barrels of rum, three rolls of tobacco and six pounds of paint It is now valued at more than $54,000,000 and no estimate can be made of its sentimental or recreational values in the terms of health and fun. Last but not least, we got a 'close up" on the President of the United States, who made a speech that was heard all over the world and he was also on television. A big, big parade of floats, etc. followed this speech that symbolized the 250 years growth of Detroit. The occasion was witnessed by a crowd estimated at 70,000. Our vacation climaxed with a little trip about 60 miles north east of Detroit into Canada to a little city Chatham Ontario where we bought souvenirs for our friends back home. Executive Sec'ty will be Mrs. Alice B. Arrington Executive Director of the Y.W.C.A. Branch, Baltimore, Maryland. Mrs. Arrington will speak on the subject, "Today's Woman in Today's World." Because of her fine role as a leader of women's groups, Mrs. Arrington is especially capable of talking en the subject of today's woman. She has recently returned from Switzerland where she participated in the exchange program of the Foreign Division of the National Board. Baptist General sociation begins its work Thursday, August 15th with Rev. Johnson presiding. The Moderator's Annual Message will be delivered Thursday afternoon following presentation by Rev. B. J. Sykes. Among major participants who will highlight the various sessions of the association are Rev. S. E. Cooper, R. E. Harshaw, Jr., who will speak on the subject "Ushers Serving the Church;" Rev. B. T. Dumas, Mrs. Dillian Coles, Rev. Roy Love, secretary of the association and pastor of Mt. Nebo Baptist; Mrs. Susie Jefferson, Mrs. A. Watkins. Rev. L. O. Taylor. Mrs. J. H. Johnson, Rev. G. F. Hammonds, who will speak on the subject, "Evangelism in the Home;" Rev. C. Mims, Rev. E. B. Danner. Rev. R. C. Gallion, who will deliver the Memorial Sermon Friday afternoon, August 17th; and H. L. King, president of the Baptist. Laymen's Movement. Churches composing the association at Mt. Olive, Cedar Grove, King Solomon, Center Chapel. First Baptist, Annesdale; New Bethel; New Halliburton; Mt. Zion, Mt. Haran, Morning View. Mt. Nebo, Mt. Vernon, Little Rock, New Friendship Person Avenue, Pleasant ew, NewPhiladelphia, and St. John (Deadrick.) Stiff Sentences dent, all four soldiers were members of the Third battalion, 22 Infantry, Fourth Division. It has been ascertained that the combined maximum period of confinement under the two counts is 15 years each, but under usual court martial procedure, it is possible that the recommended sentences will be reduced. The trial was the result of an affray which occurred at the May fair Grill, Seventh Avenue, on Sunday night, May 20, 1951, when the two grenades were thrown at a Columbus Police department car. Under court martial procedure, an appeal of decisions is automatic. Col. E. J. Walsh, staff judge advocate at Fort Benning will hold the initial review, prior to its beug later judged by higher authorities. If Col. Walsh finds no error in the legal procedure and if the defendants have been given every opportunity to present their side of the case, the brief will then go to Major General John H. Church, commanding general of Fort Benning. Ida Cullen Marries Noted Sociologist Mrs. Ida M. Cullen well known in the artistic and social life in New York City was married Sunday to Robert Cooper, director of girl's camp on Welfare Island and prominent in the social service field. The ceremony was performed by Judge Ellis B. Rivers, a friend of the couple. Mrs. Cullen who resided in Kansas City during her girlhood, was the widow of the famous poet, the late Countee Cullen, and has furthered the organization which bears his name and assists young and talented artists. She is also a partner in the manager of the AfroArts Bazaar, dealers in African art objects. Cooper was former director of Wylwick club for boys. He served as technical director and part author of the documentary movie, "The Quiet One," which attracted wide attention last year. KILL'EM WITH KINDNESS © Copyright, 1950, by Bell publishing co. Distributed by King Features Syndicate BY FRED DICKENSON Private Detective Mack McGann called to the home of marrying playboy Ronnie Tompkins, is told his post expects to be murdered. Several ominous incidents are recounted by a visit from Frazier Farwell, disc jockey, who seemed to want to give a warning but is put to bed to talk McGANN stepped into the hallway, closing the door to Tompkins study behind him. The same thick carpeting yielded beneath his feet as he moved cautiously toward the front door where a great staircase curved upward into the shadows. On the wall, a small orange bulb fought a losing battle with the corridor's gloom. McGann picked his way carefully, Whatever Ronnie Tompkins extravagances, subsidizing the Edison company was not one ot them. Here, he supposed, Tompkins counter-balanced the bright study light. Behind him, McGann heard the lock click on the study door. He paused near the front entrance. His hat and coat lay on a chair there. For a moment, he toyed with the alluring idea of picking them up and walking, out. Eccentric millionaires rarely were worth the trouble they caused their employes, be reflected. For a thousand dollar retainer you drew ten thousand dollars worth at headaches. On the other hand, Ronnie Tompkins could be a highly desirable client. And thus far, certainly, McGann dad not been imposed upon. He came out of his reverie, with reluctance passed up the hat and coat, and put a foot on the first heavily-carpeted step. There was a sudden excited whir from the corner. McGann's gaze flicked round and be laughed shortly as a towering grandfather clock struck a solemn half-hour. Automatically he checked it with his wrist watch—6:30 P. M. The big old House was heavy with smothering silence when the chime died away. Places like this, throwbacks to the stately days of the brownstones, always depressed McGann. Most of the homes by this time bad been cut up into light-housekeeping rooms where radios blared and cabbage was king. This one, through a combination of money and the idiosyncrasies of its owner, had been retained in all of its original charm. Still it weighed upon bis spirits. Now, as be stood listening, his ears became better attuned to the place. There were distant creakings, inescapable in subway-laced Manhattan. A flurry of car honkings, filtering through the thick walls, drowned what might have been a door closing. Slowly, McGann started up it was typical of wealthy and spoiled playboys like Ronnie Tompkins that he should be told to go and find Farwell. A client leas well-todo probably would have led the way personally. Halfway to the second floor, there was a niche in the wall off the left-hand side of the staircase. A bronze nude reposed there, gazing languidly upward at a tiny bunch of bronze grapes. His progress muffled, McGann rose past the shadowy statue. The second-floor railway was almost pitch dark. He allowed his fingers to trail lightly along thesilky balustrade. It guided him to the clock-wise circling annister which swooped upward to the third floor. "They should send a stewardess with you on this trip. McGann muttered as he moved higher. His eyes were becoming, used to the gloom now and he could see well enough. The second staircase was more utilitarian and less decorative than the one below. It boasted no bronze nude in a niche. McGann looked about when he achieved the third floor landing. The rear of the house would be to his left and the bedroom there could be only on one side, it should be a simple matter now to locate the platter turner rendered hors de combat and discover what be knew, if anything. McGann was surprised to see a thin slash of light at the bottom of the door to the rear bedroom where he had been told Frazier Farwell could be found. He had expected the place to be dark, his quarry snoring in an alcoholic coma. The surprising light led him to eschew the Knob and to rap sharply instead The sound reverberated in the close confines of the upper corridor. McGann waited. There was no answer. Be placed his ear to the door but could hear nothing. What was it that he had been told? "The house is yours." He turned the knob and pushed. The door was locked. Te keyhole was black. Uncertainly, McGann stepped back. He peered over the railing. The steps fell away rapidly into the gloom below. He thought: It's a long way down for another key, even if I can push out the one that's already there. Was Farwell sleeping with the light on Or had he awakened and gone to a bathroom where he could not near McGann's knock The detective waited a few minutes and then again approached the door. This time he pounded heavily. "Open up," he called. He pounded and listened, repeated the process. At last, his ear pressed to the door, he thought he beard water running. Yes, now there was the sound of splashing. McGann turned around and used his heel. He was finally rewarded with the soft whisper of approaching footsteps. The lock clicked back, and the door was thrown open. A pale figure swayed in the light. The man was barefoot, and he wore only a pair ot violent red-striped shorts. His smooth yellow hair was dripping, and water ran down his bare chest among the thin golden hairs. His voice was hoarse. "Please," he croaked. "You don't know what that pounding does to me. You can come in but only it you promise not to pound on anything." McGann stepped in. Frazier Farwell's eyes were, laced with angry red veins. He turned abruptly and moved toward the bathroom which opened of the far end of the room. He gestured over his shoulder. "Sit down. Make y'self to home." McGann ignored the offer to sit down and instead followed Farwell to the door of the bathroom. The radio actor had filled the washbowl with water, and was busy, ducking his head. The yellow hair came up plastered over his forehead. "Chinese water torture,"' he explained. "Cures worst cases. I've been given up by three doctors and two undertakers." "Don't drown yourself." McGann . said. "At least, not yet. I'm a detective, I wand to ask you a few questions. "Oh, oh" Farwell swung about, and dripped briskly on the green tile. "A seeing eye, eh?" "Private eye," McGann grinned. 'Tm only a seeing eye from nine to five. Then I slip the leash. I hear you've been telling Ronnie Tompkins things that have got him nervous." Frazier Farwell buried his face in a thick towel. He rubbed his head briskly, and wiped his thin shoulders and chest. "Seems to me I do remember something about that," be said evasively. McGann held out a pack of cigarettes. Farwell too one with trembling fingers. He produced a comb from the back pocket of a pair of slacks thrown over a chair and ran it through his butter-colored hair. Then he drew in gratefully as McGann held a match. "I hope you can remember Everything," McGann said. He shook out the match. "Tompkins said someone had been asking you questions about him." Farwell Inhaled deeply, blew the smoke out in a thin gray stream. "Oh, yeah," he said. "I—" From below them came the crash of an exploding pistol. The crack was muffled but unmistakable in the silent house. The sound quivered on the heavy air, echoing faintly along the gloomy corndora. For a split-second, McGann stood with the burnt match in his raised fist. Farwell's hand jerked nervously. Then McGann was out of Farwell's room and taking the steps down three at a time. Behind him pattered the radio man, also galvanized into action. Rounding the second-floor turn, McGann caught a glimpse of the red-striped shorts. Farwell had the towel over his shoulder. The detective whirled around the newel post on the first floor, hurled himself at the door of the study. It was locked. "Mr. Tompkins!" he shouted. He rattled the knob, pounded with closed Bat. There was no answer from the room. Farwell came panting up. "Look out," McGann said roughly. He backed up and threw 175 well-knit pounds at the door. It cracked sharply but held. McGann leaped back. Again his left shoulder crashed against he weakened wood. It splintered and flew inward, dropping the detective to hands and knees. McGann froze halfway up. Directly ahead of him, Ronnie Tompkins lay on his back on the floor. His eyes were open, and he looked surprised. His head rested on a dainty, lace-edged pillow. His hands were at his sides, and the firelight played with the brilliant diamond. He was dead. SYNOPSIS © Copyright, 1950, by Bell publishing co. Distributed by King Features Syndicate BY FRED DICKENSON Private Detective Mack McGann called to the home of marrying playboy Ronnie Tompkins, is told his post expects to be murdered. Several ominous incidents are recounted by a visit from Frazier Farwell, disc jockey, who seemed to want to give a warning but is put to bed to talk McGANN stepped into the hallway, closing the door to Tompkins study behind him. The same thick carpeting yielded beneath his feet as he moved cautiously toward the front door where a great staircase curved upward into the shadows. On the wall, a small orange bulb fought a losing battle with the corridor's gloom. McGann picked his way carefully, Whatever Ronnie Tompkins extravagances, subsidizing the Edison company was not one ot them. Here, he supposed, Tompkins counter-balanced the bright study light. Behind him, McGann heard the lock click on the study door. He paused near the front entrance. His hat and coat lay on a chair there. For a moment, he toyed with the alluring idea of picking them up and walking, out. Eccentric millionaires rarely were worth the trouble they caused their employes, be reflected. For a thousand dollar retainer you drew ten thousand dollars worth at headaches. On the other hand, Ronnie Tompkins could be a highly desirable client. And thus far, certainly, McGann dad not been imposed upon. He came out of his reverie, with reluctance passed up the hat and coat, and put a foot on the first heavily-carpeted step. There was a sudden excited whir from the corner. McGann's gaze flicked round and be laughed shortly as a towering grandfather clock struck a solemn half-hour. Automatically he checked it with his wrist watch—6:30 P. M. The big old House was heavy with smothering silence when the chime died away. Places like this, throwbacks to the stately days of the brownstones, always depressed McGann. Most of the homes by this time bad been cut up into light-housekeeping rooms where radios blared and cabbage was king. This one, through a combination of money and the idiosyncrasies of its owner, had been retained in all of its original charm. Still it weighed upon bis spirits. Now, as be stood listening, his ears became better attuned to the place. There were distant creakings, inescapable in subway-laced Manhattan. A flurry of car honkings, filtering through the thick walls, drowned what might have been a door closing. Slowly, McGann started up it was typical of wealthy and spoiled playboys like Ronnie Tompkins that he should be told to go and find Farwell. A client leas well-todo probably would have led the way personally. Halfway to the second floor, there was a niche in the wall off the left-hand side of the staircase. A bronze nude reposed there, gazing languidly upward at a tiny bunch of bronze grapes. His progress muffled, McGann rose past the shadowy statue. The second-floor railway was almost pitch dark. He allowed his fingers to trail lightly along thesilky balustrade. It guided him to the clock-wise circling annister which swooped upward to the third floor. "They should send a stewardess with you on this trip. McGann muttered as he moved higher. His eyes were becoming, used to the gloom now and he could see well enough. The second staircase was more utilitarian and less decorative than the one below. It boasted no bronze nude in a niche. McGann looked about when he achieved the third floor landing. The rear of the house would be to his left and the bedroom there could be only on one side, it should be a simple matter now to locate the platter turner rendered hors de combat and discover what be knew, if anything. McGann was surprised to see a thin slash of light at the bottom of the door to the rear bedroom where he had been told Frazier Farwell could be found. He had expected the place to be dark, his quarry snoring in an alcoholic coma. The surprising light led him to eschew the Knob and to rap sharply instead The sound reverberated in the close confines of the upper corridor. McGann waited. There was no answer. Be placed his ear to the door but could hear nothing. What was it that he had been told? "The house is yours." He turned the knob and pushed. The door was locked. Te keyhole was black. Uncertainly, McGann stepped back. He peered over the railing. The steps fell away rapidly into the gloom below. He thought: It's a long way down for another key, even if I can push out the one that's already there. Was Farwell sleeping with the light on Or had he awakened and gone to a bathroom where he could not near McGann's knock The detective waited a few minutes and then again approached the door. This time he pounded heavily. "Open up," he called. He pounded and listened, repeated the process. At last, his ear pressed to the door, he thought he beard water running. Yes, now there was the sound of splashing. McGann turned around and used his heel. He was finally rewarded with the soft whisper of approaching footsteps. The lock clicked back, and the door was thrown open. A pale figure swayed in the light. The man was barefoot, and he wore only a pair ot violent red-striped shorts. His smooth yellow hair was dripping, and water ran down his bare chest among the thin golden hairs. His voice was hoarse. "Please," he croaked. "You don't know what that pounding does to me. You can come in but only it you promise not to pound on anything." McGann stepped in. Frazier Farwell's eyes were, laced with angry red veins. He turned abruptly and moved toward the bathroom which opened of the far end of the room. He gestured over his shoulder. "Sit down. Make y'self to home." McGann ignored the offer to sit down and instead followed Farwell to the door of the bathroom. The radio actor had filled the washbowl with water, and was busy, ducking his head. The yellow hair came up plastered over his forehead. "Chinese water torture,"' he explained. "Cures worst cases. I've been given up by three doctors and two undertakers." "Don't drown yourself." McGann . said. "At least, not yet. I'm a detective, I wand to ask you a few questions. "Oh, oh" Farwell swung about, and dripped briskly on the green tile. "A seeing eye, eh?" "Private eye," McGann grinned. 'Tm only a seeing eye from nine to five. Then I slip the leash. I hear you've been telling Ronnie Tompkins things that have got him nervous." Frazier Farwell buried his face in a thick towel. He rubbed his head briskly, and wiped his thin shoulders and chest. "Seems to me I do remember something about that," be said evasively. McGann held out a pack of cigarettes. Farwell too one with trembling fingers. He produced a comb from the back pocket of a pair of slacks thrown over a chair and ran it through his butter-colored hair. Then he drew in gratefully as McGann held a match. "I hope you can remember Everything," McGann said. He shook out the match. "Tompkins said someone had been asking you questions about him." Farwell Inhaled deeply, blew the smoke out in a thin gray stream. "Oh, yeah," he said. "I—" From below them came the crash of an exploding pistol. The crack was muffled but unmistakable in the silent house. The sound quivered on the heavy air, echoing faintly along the gloomy corndora. For a split-second, McGann stood with the burnt match in his raised fist. Farwell's hand jerked nervously. Then McGann was out of Farwell's room and taking the steps down three at a time. Behind him pattered the radio man, also galvanized into action. Rounding the second-floor turn, McGann caught a glimpse of the red-striped shorts. Farwell had the towel over his shoulder. The detective whirled around the newel post on the first floor, hurled himself at the door of the study. It was locked. "Mr. Tompkins!" he shouted. He rattled the knob, pounded with closed Bat. There was no answer from the room. Farwell came panting up. "Look out," McGann said roughly. He backed up and threw 175 well-knit pounds at the door. It cracked sharply but held. McGann leaped back. Again his left shoulder crashed against he weakened wood. It splintered and flew inward, dropping the detective to hands and knees. McGann froze halfway up. Directly ahead of him, Ronnie Tompkins lay on his back on the floor. His eyes were open, and he looked surprised. His head rested on a dainty, lace-edged pillow. His hands were at his sides, and the firelight played with the brilliant diamond. He was dead. CHAPTER THREE © Copyright, 1950, by Bell publishing co. Distributed by King Features Syndicate BY FRED DICKENSON Private Detective Mack McGann called to the home of marrying playboy Ronnie Tompkins, is told his post expects to be murdered. Several ominous incidents are recounted by a visit from Frazier Farwell, disc jockey, who seemed to want to give a warning but is put to bed to talk McGANN stepped into the hallway, closing the door to Tompkins study behind him. The same thick carpeting yielded beneath his feet as he moved cautiously toward the front door where a great staircase curved upward into the shadows. On the wall, a small orange bulb fought a losing battle with the corridor's gloom. McGann picked his way carefully, Whatever Ronnie Tompkins extravagances, subsidizing the Edison company was not one ot them. Here, he supposed, Tompkins counter-balanced the bright study light. Behind him, McGann heard the lock click on the study door. He paused near the front entrance. His hat and coat lay on a chair there. For a moment, he toyed with the alluring idea of picking them up and walking, out. Eccentric millionaires rarely were worth the trouble they caused their employes, be reflected. For a thousand dollar retainer you drew ten thousand dollars worth at headaches. On the other hand, Ronnie Tompkins could be a highly desirable client. And thus far, certainly, McGann dad not been imposed upon. He came out of his reverie, with reluctance passed up the hat and coat, and put a foot on the first heavily-carpeted step. There was a sudden excited whir from the corner. McGann's gaze flicked round and be laughed shortly as a towering grandfather clock struck a solemn half-hour. Automatically he checked it with his wrist watch—6:30 P. M. The big old House was heavy with smothering silence when the chime died away. Places like this, throwbacks to the stately days of the brownstones, always depressed McGann. Most of the homes by this time bad been cut up into light-housekeeping rooms where radios blared and cabbage was king. This one, through a combination of money and the idiosyncrasies of its owner, had been retained in all of its original charm. Still it weighed upon bis spirits. Now, as be stood listening, his ears became better attuned to the place. There were distant creakings, inescapable in subway-laced Manhattan. A flurry of car honkings, filtering through the thick walls, drowned what might have been a door closing. Slowly, McGann started up it was typical of wealthy and spoiled playboys like Ronnie Tompkins that he should be told to go and find Farwell. A client leas well-todo probably would have led the way personally. Halfway to the second floor, there was a niche in the wall off the left-hand side of the staircase. A bronze nude reposed there, gazing languidly upward at a tiny bunch of bronze grapes. His progress muffled, McGann rose past the shadowy statue. The second-floor railway was almost pitch dark. He allowed his fingers to trail lightly along thesilky balustrade. It guided him to the clock-wise circling annister which swooped upward to the third floor. "They should send a stewardess with you on this trip. McGann muttered as he moved higher. His eyes were becoming, used to the gloom now and he could see well enough. The second staircase was more utilitarian and less decorative than the one below. It boasted no bronze nude in a niche. McGann looked about when he achieved the third floor landing. The rear of the house would be to his left and the bedroom there could be only on one side, it should be a simple matter now to locate the platter turner rendered hors de combat and discover what be knew, if anything. McGann was surprised to see a thin slash of light at the bottom of the door to the rear bedroom where he had been told Frazier Farwell could be found. He had expected the place to be dark, his quarry snoring in an alcoholic coma. The surprising light led him to eschew the Knob and to rap sharply instead The sound reverberated in the close confines of the upper corridor. McGann waited. There was no answer. Be placed his ear to the door but could hear nothing. What was it that he had been told? "The house is yours." He turned the knob and pushed. The door was locked. Te keyhole was black. Uncertainly, McGann stepped back. He peered over the railing. The steps fell away rapidly into the gloom below. He thought: It's a long way down for another key, even if I can push out the one that's already there. Was Farwell sleeping with the light on Or had he awakened and gone to a bathroom where he could not near McGann's knock The detective waited a few minutes and then again approached the door. This time he pounded heavily. "Open up," he called. He pounded and listened, repeated the process. At last, his ear pressed to the door, he thought he beard water running. Yes, now there was the sound of splashing. McGann turned around and used his heel. He was finally rewarded with the soft whisper of approaching footsteps. The lock clicked back, and the door was thrown open. A pale figure swayed in the light. The man was barefoot, and he wore only a pair ot violent red-striped shorts. His smooth yellow hair was dripping, and water ran down his bare chest among the thin golden hairs. His voice was hoarse. "Please," he croaked. "You don't know what that pounding does to me. You can come in but only it you promise not to pound on anything." McGann stepped in. Frazier Farwell's eyes were, laced with angry red veins. He turned abruptly and moved toward the bathroom which opened of the far end of the room. He gestured over his shoulder. "Sit down. Make y'self to home." McGann ignored the offer to sit down and instead followed Farwell to the door of the bathroom. The radio actor had filled the washbowl with water, and was busy, ducking his head. The yellow hair came up plastered over his forehead. "Chinese water torture,"' he explained. "Cures worst cases. I've been given up by three doctors and two undertakers." "Don't drown yourself." McGann . said. "At least, not yet. I'm a detective, I wand to ask you a few questions. "Oh, oh" Farwell swung about, and dripped briskly on the green tile. "A seeing eye, eh?" "Private eye," McGann grinned. 'Tm only a seeing eye from nine to five. Then I slip the leash. I hear you've been telling Ronnie Tompkins things that have got him nervous." Frazier Farwell buried his face in a thick towel. He rubbed his head briskly, and wiped his thin shoulders and chest. "Seems to me I do remember something about that," be said evasively. McGann held out a pack of cigarettes. Farwell too one with trembling fingers. He produced a comb from the back pocket of a pair of slacks thrown over a chair and ran it through his butter-colored hair. Then he drew in gratefully as McGann held a match. "I hope you can remember Everything," McGann said. He shook out the match. "Tompkins said someone had been asking you questions about him." Farwell Inhaled deeply, blew the smoke out in a thin gray stream. "Oh, yeah," he said. "I—" From below them came the crash of an exploding pistol. The crack was muffled but unmistakable in the silent house. The sound quivered on the heavy air, echoing faintly along the gloomy corndora. For a split-second, McGann stood with the burnt match in his raised fist. Farwell's hand jerked nervously. Then McGann was out of Farwell's room and taking the steps down three at a time. Behind him pattered the radio man, also galvanized into action. Rounding the second-floor turn, McGann caught a glimpse of the red-striped shorts. Farwell had the towel over his shoulder. The detective whirled around the newel post on the first floor, hurled himself at the door of the study. It was locked. "Mr. Tompkins!" he shouted. He rattled the knob, pounded with closed Bat. There was no answer from the room. Farwell came panting up. "Look out," McGann said roughly. He backed up and threw 175 well-knit pounds at the door. It cracked sharply but held. McGann leaped back. Again his left shoulder crashed against he weakened wood. It splintered and flew inward, dropping the detective to hands and knees. McGann froze halfway up. Directly ahead of him, Ronnie Tompkins lay on his back on the floor. His eyes were open, and he looked surprised. His head rested on a dainty, lace-edged pillow. His hands were at his sides, and the firelight played with the brilliant diamond. He was dead. MEALTIME MELODIES! BY GRACE WATSON There are homemakers who take a dim view of anything easy to do. They just know something is wrong if the task isn't difficult. For these people, everything from learning to read to feeding a family must be a grim struggle. And, there are those of us who are sure that a cake mix never made a really good cake; and that frozen juices, couldn't possibly be food for you — it is much too easy to fix. Yes, it is easy to take a can of concentrated fruit juice straight from the freezing unit of the refrigerator, dump it into a pitcher, add three, cans of water, pour the mixture back and forth two or three times and have juice enough for entire family. You can use high quality frozen concentrated orange juice as the nutritional equivalent of fresh orange juice even in the baby's diet (strain it for the baby of course). and how much better it is as a refreshing hot weather drink than sweetened, flavored, colored water in bottles, whose total contribution to nutrition is no more than the calories in the sugar it contains. Nature wins again. When the frozen juice is kept at freezing point or below during storage, there is practically no loss of vitamin C. If you open a can hours before you intend to use the juice shake it more than necessary and then let it stand in an open container at room temperature, you are a nutrition saboteur! When purchasing frozen juices look for the Seal of Acceptance of the American Medical Association. This means that the product is of high duality and that the advertising claims have been proved in a manner acceptable by the Council of Foods and Nutrition of the Ameri can Medical Association. If I had a seal of Approval, all my own, I'd place it on all recipes that combine tangy fruit juices with rich nutrictious milk. My first seal would go on a little leaflet in our Dairy Council Office. It is full of tantalizing recipes, that are sure thirst quenchers. So write, call or come by the Memphis Dairy Council for your free leaflet, "5 Star Milk Drinks." The address, 135 Pauline Street — Phone 8-7303. Tenn. Masons Worshipful Grand Master, presiding. Dr. J. E. Walker, Memphis, business and civic leader, who recently announced his candidacy for a position on the Memphis, Board of Education, was presented at the Clayborn Temple meeting. Master of ceremonies for the Clayborn Temple public meeting was T. C. D. Hayes, prominent lo cal mortician. Outstanding among the musical aggregations appearing on the programs were the Brewsteraires, the Brewster Chorus, and the Southern Male Chorus. THE HEALTH THE FORUM WORLD An S.N. S. Feature By R. EARL BLAND, M. D. Some individuals find it easier than others to remain trim, but the chances are that men and women who take on extra pounds enjoy eating and many of them like their cocktails and beer. An Attorney and his girl friend once wrote that her health was improving and that she was really enjoying life, as evidenced by the excess pounds she had acquired. I have reviewed many scientific. Journal and have talked this over with physicians of unquestionable high attainment and we do not agree with the opinion as expressed by the man in the legal field. Many women acquire their avoirdupois in pregnancies. Men folk go on a gaining spree after they settle down in marriage. The change rarely is abrupt and in many instances is traceable to eating snacks between meals or becoming addicted to a cocktail or two or beer before, with and after meals. The daily addition of a few hundred calories makes the difference between maintaining weight and gaining pounds per month. An average manhattan contains 175 calories; a martini, 160; and an old fashioned, 150. An ounce of scotch bourbon, or rye yields 80 calories and when ginger ale is added the count is increased to 140 calories. Two or three of these drinks mount up, more so when hor d ovevers are served end the cocktail wets the appetite so that extra servings are taken. The average man and woman usually does well or between 2,500 and 3,000 calories a day. Hard workers need more, whereas those who lead a sedentary life require less. A low caloric diet consist of 1,000 calories or less. To gain weight is no scientific of good health. No diagnosis can ever be established on one sign or symptom alone. The one is trying to reduce may not understand his lack of success when he adds an 8 ounce glass of ale with its 130 calories to the permitted menus but that is not nearly as bad as a 10 ounce glass of chocolate malted milk, which has 450 calories. Six ounces of a cola beverage and many people drink several bottles, daily, root beer or fruit pop, have from 75 to 80 calories each. A hamburger on a bun offers 500 calories; a cheese sandwich, 400; ham, 350 and peanut butter, 750. Two or three such sandwiches would be all right for a growing boy but the obese had better beware. A plain chocolate bar has 190 calories and with nuts, 275. Those who raid the ice box should know that a chicken leg has 88 calories; a glass of milk, 140 and a moutful of roast beef, 130. Brownies, cut the usual sizes, gives 300 calories and creampuffs, 450. An average serving, of apple pie has 650 calories, and a dish of vanilla ice cream. 200 calories but adding chocolate, nuts and whipped cream to make a sundae double calories. A famous movie star who gained much weight died a few years ago from Hypochromic anemia; on the other hand a very thin person may have a normal complete blood chemistry and hemoglobin estimation. M. L. Writes: Can stomach ul er be present without pain? Reply: Yes, there may be no pain but merely a sensation, of fullness or heartburn, furthermore, individuals with active ulcer often are from pain within three days after treatment is started yet a sufficient length of time has not passed for healing. W. A. B. Writes: In a recent reply you said it was not normal for a vein to throb. You missed the boat, because if you clench your fist and look at your arm you will see a vein throbbing. Reply: What I see is an artery pulsative not a vein. Dr. Bland will answer questions relating to health and hygiene on this column and by mail. He will not make diagnosis to prescribe for individuals. Inclosed stamped self address envelop and address: R. Earl Bland, M.D. The World Health Forum Scott Newspaper Syndicate 164 Beale Avenue Memphis, Tennessee ULCER WITHOUT PAIN An S.N. S. Feature By R. EARL BLAND, M. D. Some individuals find it easier than others to remain trim, but the chances are that men and women who take on extra pounds enjoy eating and many of them like their cocktails and beer. An Attorney and his girl friend once wrote that her health was improving and that she was really enjoying life, as evidenced by the excess pounds she had acquired. I have reviewed many scientific. Journal and have talked this over with physicians of unquestionable high attainment and we do not agree with the opinion as expressed by the man in the legal field. Many women acquire their avoirdupois in pregnancies. Men folk go on a gaining spree after they settle down in marriage. The change rarely is abrupt and in many instances is traceable to eating snacks between meals or becoming addicted to a cocktail or two or beer before, with and after meals. The daily addition of a few hundred calories makes the difference between maintaining weight and gaining pounds per month. An average manhattan contains 175 calories; a martini, 160; and an old fashioned, 150. An ounce of scotch bourbon, or rye yields 80 calories and when ginger ale is added the count is increased to 140 calories. Two or three of these drinks mount up, more so when hor d ovevers are served end the cocktail wets the appetite so that extra servings are taken. The average man and woman usually does well or between 2,500 and 3,000 calories a day. Hard workers need more, whereas those who lead a sedentary life require less. A low caloric diet consist of 1,000 calories or less. To gain weight is no scientific of good health. No diagnosis can ever be established on one sign or symptom alone. The one is trying to reduce may not understand his lack of success when he adds an 8 ounce glass of ale with its 130 calories to the permitted menus but that is not nearly as bad as a 10 ounce glass of chocolate malted milk, which has 450 calories. Six ounces of a cola beverage and many people drink several bottles, daily, root beer or fruit pop, have from 75 to 80 calories each. A hamburger on a bun offers 500 calories; a cheese sandwich, 400; ham, 350 and peanut butter, 750. Two or three such sandwiches would be all right for a growing boy but the obese had better beware. A plain chocolate bar has 190 calories and with nuts, 275. Those who raid the ice box should know that a chicken leg has 88 calories; a glass of milk, 140 and a moutful of roast beef, 130. Brownies, cut the usual sizes, gives 300 calories and creampuffs, 450. An average serving, of apple pie has 650 calories, and a dish of vanilla ice cream. 200 calories but adding chocolate, nuts and whipped cream to make a sundae double calories. A famous movie star who gained much weight died a few years ago from Hypochromic anemia; on the other hand a very thin person may have a normal complete blood chemistry and hemoglobin estimation. M. L. Writes: Can stomach ul er be present without pain? Reply: Yes, there may be no pain but merely a sensation, of fullness or heartburn, furthermore, individuals with active ulcer often are from pain within three days after treatment is started yet a sufficient length of time has not passed for healing. W. A. B. Writes: In a recent reply you said it was not normal for a vein to throb. You missed the boat, because if you clench your fist and look at your arm you will see a vein throbbing. Reply: What I see is an artery pulsative not a vein. Dr. Bland will answer questions relating to health and hygiene on this column and by mail. He will not make diagnosis to prescribe for individuals. Inclosed stamped self address envelop and address: R. Earl Bland, M.D. The World Health Forum Scott Newspaper Syndicate 164 Beale Avenue Memphis, Tennessee VEIN VERSUS ARTERY An S.N. S. Feature By R. EARL BLAND, M. D. Some individuals find it easier than others to remain trim, but the chances are that men and women who take on extra pounds enjoy eating and many of them like their cocktails and beer. An Attorney and his girl friend once wrote that her health was improving and that she was really enjoying life, as evidenced by the excess pounds she had acquired. I have reviewed many scientific. Journal and have talked this over with physicians of unquestionable high attainment and we do not agree with the opinion as expressed by the man in the legal field. Many women acquire their avoirdupois in pregnancies. Men folk go on a gaining spree after they settle down in marriage. The change rarely is abrupt and in many instances is traceable to eating snacks between meals or becoming addicted to a cocktail or two or beer before, with and after meals. The daily addition of a few hundred calories makes the difference between maintaining weight and gaining pounds per month. An average manhattan contains 175 calories; a martini, 160; and an old fashioned, 150. An ounce of scotch bourbon, or rye yields 80 calories and when ginger ale is added the count is increased to 140 calories. Two or three of these drinks mount up, more so when hor d ovevers are served end the cocktail wets the appetite so that extra servings are taken. The average man and woman usually does well or between 2,500 and 3,000 calories a day. Hard workers need more, whereas those who lead a sedentary life require less. A low caloric diet consist of 1,000 calories or less. To gain weight is no scientific of good health. No diagnosis can ever be established on one sign or symptom alone. The one is trying to reduce may not understand his lack of success when he adds an 8 ounce glass of ale with its 130 calories to the permitted menus but that is not nearly as bad as a 10 ounce glass of chocolate malted milk, which has 450 calories. Six ounces of a cola beverage and many people drink several bottles, daily, root beer or fruit pop, have from 75 to 80 calories each. A hamburger on a bun offers 500 calories; a cheese sandwich, 400; ham, 350 and peanut butter, 750. Two or three such sandwiches would be all right for a growing boy but the obese had better beware. A plain chocolate bar has 190 calories and with nuts, 275. Those who raid the ice box should know that a chicken leg has 88 calories; a glass of milk, 140 and a moutful of roast beef, 130. Brownies, cut the usual sizes, gives 300 calories and creampuffs, 450. An average serving, of apple pie has 650 calories, and a dish of vanilla ice cream. 200 calories but adding chocolate, nuts and whipped cream to make a sundae double calories. A famous movie star who gained much weight died a few years ago from Hypochromic anemia; on the other hand a very thin person may have a normal complete blood chemistry and hemoglobin estimation. M. L. Writes: Can stomach ul er be present without pain? Reply: Yes, there may be no pain but merely a sensation, of fullness or heartburn, furthermore, individuals with active ulcer often are from pain within three days after treatment is started yet a sufficient length of time has not passed for healing. W. A. B. Writes: In a recent reply you said it was not normal for a vein to throb. You missed the boat, because if you clench your fist and look at your arm you will see a vein throbbing. Reply: What I see is an artery pulsative not a vein. Dr. Bland will answer questions relating to health and hygiene on this column and by mail. He will not make diagnosis to prescribe for individuals. Inclosed stamped self address envelop and address: R. Earl Bland, M.D. The World Health Forum Scott Newspaper Syndicate 164 Beale Avenue Memphis, Tennessee THE WORD IS GETTING AROUND- if you wish to enjoy a choice Kentucky bourbon— MAKE BOND & LILLARD BRAND Your first Choice This exceptionally fine straight bourbon whiskey has everything, Mellow flavor! Rich Kentucky quality! Smooth, satisfying taste! "Uniformly Fine Since 1869" KENTUCKY STRAIGHT BOURBON WHISKEY 90 PROOF THE BOND & LILIARD COMPANY, LOUISVILLE D. C. Recorder $10,000. In addition to his work as Recorder, Dr. Shepard also is pastor of the Mt. Olivet Baptist church in Philadelphia. Simple And Metropolitan Baptist Church, where Claybrook maintained members presented him as one of the last of those remarkable post-Civil War a Negroes, who with little training or opportunity ....... but who, with great ability and common sense, laid the foundations for the present which the members of his race now enjoy. People came from all over to sit in on the final "inning" for John C. Claybrook. Just to indicate the variety there were: Mr. and Mrs. Tom Cain of Hot Spring Ark., Mrs. Robert Cole of the Metropolitan Funeral Home of Chicago, Ill, Mrs. Bert Walls and her son, Mr. E. Walls of Chicago, Rev. C. Clark, of Pine Bluff, Ark., who read, the Scripture to start the ceremony; and scores of others from various parts of the Mid-South and the nation. Reverend Owen delivered a simple and direct sermon. He pictured the deceased as "A man who was true to his friends ...friend which included people of both ra ..... a man who rates a memorial to the sterling traits of character which made him a success...... in spite of handicaps, as a farmer, a merchant, logger, and philanthrophist ...... John C. Claybrook was a man of the common-people and the best people. The program for the funeral services was as follows: A professional, a hymn, Scripture reading', Prayer, by Rev, D. A. Washington, another hymn, acknowledgement of telegrams and messages of condolence read by Mrs. G. R. Atkins, a solo rendered by Mrs. Gladys B. Webb, the eulogy by Rev. Owen, the recessional, and burial in Elmwood Cemetery in Memphis. Active pallbearers were: J. R. Ruffin, James Bates, Lonnie Dotson, Bonny Buford, William Parker, James Lathrop, honorary pallbearers, Rufus Wright, A. B. Owens, Tim Cain, Dr. H, profitt; Dr. J, E. Burke, Dr. W. S. Martin. T. H. Hayes and Sons were in charge of the funeral service.