Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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McCORMICK MESSENGER, McCORMICK, S. C.. THURSDAY, MAY 12, 1938 Star Dust •» y ★ Aces Take to Air ★ Strong Sound Effects ★ Second Fiddle Stars By Virginia Vale P UT “Test Pilot” down as one of the pictures that you mustn’t miss. Not just because the leading roles are played by Myrna Loy, Clark Gable and Spencer Tracy, with Lionel Barrymore added for good measure, or because the story is a good one, but because of the thrills contributed by the story when it takes to the air. There is a flight in a bomber for a new altitude record, there is a power drive to test an army pursuit Spencer Tracy plane, and there’s the Cleveland air race. Paul Mantz acted as tech nical advisor for the picture, but Metro isn’t saying much about that, because he was co-pilot and navi gator for Amelia Earhart, and the company didn’t want to cash in on her disappearance in order to get more publicity for the film. —*— Robert Taylor isn’t going to be just a “pretty boy” if the studio can help it. He is scheduled for “North west Passage,” but first he will play the part of a prize fighter in “Give and Take.” —*— 1 Merle Oberon thought that she was being followed by hold-up men when she was in New York; she was sure that they followed her from a theater to a night club, and asked for protection. At least, that was the report—it might have been just another variation of the old idea involving an actress’ being robbed of her jewels, all for the dear sake of publicity. Anyway, Miss Oberon wasn’t robbed. —* You’ve heard about the struggles of the sound effects men to get just the right *sound before the microphone—rubbing their fingers across paper to get the sound of wind in the trees, or something like that. Charles Atlas, “The World’s Most Perfectly Developed Strong Man,” appeared on Fred Al len’s program, and they wanted the sound of a telephone book’s being torn in two by him. Tried every thing but couldn’t get it. Finally Atlas picked up a huge New York phone book, strode over to the microphone, and tore it in two— and the sound was perfect! —*— Sylvia Sidney refused to be the heroine of “Algiers,” plsfying op posite Charles Boyer, and Sigurd Gurie, who did so well in “Marco Polo,” takes her place. It will be Myrna Loy Luise Rainer interesting to see if Miss Gurie fol lows in the footsteps of some of the other girls who have been second choice under such circumstances. Remember Luise Rainer, who got her chance in “Escapade” when Myrna Loy didn’t want to play in it? It made her a star. Remember what happened to Rosalind Russell when she had to pinch hit in “Ren dezvous” for that same Miss Loy? * ODDS and ENDS . . . King Christian of Denmark is a movie fan; sees about eight pictures a week . . . Harold Lloyd is one of Hollywood’s best bowlers . . . Believe it or not. Bob Burns is learning Spanish for his role in u Tropic Holiday'* . . . Deanna Durbin, whose new picture is a honey, is the latest star to have her hand and footprints imprinted in the lobby of Grauman's Chinese theater, that memory book of Hollywood’s famous folk . . . Senator Fish face may return to the air; he’s been talking to sponsors in Chicago . . . On May 29th more than two score of the nation's swing bands will be heard in an outdoor concert at Randalls Island stadium. New York, conducted by Martin Block—and broadcast, of course; first time that many swingsters will have played together. 0 Western Newspaper Union. M en of the ounted by Captain G. Elliott-Nightingale Copyright, WNU “SOAPY SMITH" CHANGES HIS MIND A MORE notorious political rack- eteer never lived than “Soapy” Smith. For years he and his gang sters did just as they please up and down the west coast, and when “Soapy” decided to hit for the Yu kon during the historically famous gold rush, he took most of his gang of ruffians, cut-throats and robbers with him. Almost overnight “Soapy” gained complete control of Skagway, and soon the town was wide open multiplied by ten.' Skagway’s streets became battle fields where provoked and unpro voked gunfights occurred daily as some of “Soapy’s” ruffians robbed and plundered outgoing, well-heeled goldrushers and incoming goldseek- ers alike. At night, raucous voices singing lewd and filthy songs were augmented by cries of “murder” from the street. Might was right in every sense of the word, meanwhile all sorts of gyp-artists, card sharps, confidence men, and shell-game crooks robbed and plundered right and left, keeping out of trouble be cause “Soapy,” the Big Boss, had arranged the police and judiciary to suit himself. “Soapy” and his lieutenants planned and executed hundreds of robberies and swindling schemes, growing richer and more powerful the while. Then came news the Northwest Mounted Police were about to escort about $200,000 in notes and gold from Lake Bennet post, to Victoria, British Columbia, via the port at Skagway. Surely this was too juicy a plum for “Soapy” and his gang to miss. Moreover, up to this time, both “Soapy” and his henchmen had balked at any “job” that might make them step into Canadian ter ritory. Even the reputedly daring “Soapy” entertained a healthy re spect for the Men of the Mounted Here was a job they could pull right on American soil where, by rights, the Men of the Mounted had no business. And so “Soapy” and his brain-trust sat down and schemed, planned and arranged for every emergency. This was to be the job of the decade. “Soapy” organized an army of 100 well- armed men, engaged boats, and planted scouts here and there; the commissioner of the Yukon terri tory bade good-by, and good luck, to three Men of the Mounted, In spector Wood and two constables. Their load consisted of their own personal kits, and the $200,000. After many anxious miles dur ing which the three Men of the Mounted followed . the Skagway trail, and nodded the time o’ day with furtive - eyed rascals who were evidently “Soapy’s” scouts, In spector Wood and his men arrived at Dye a where they immediately boarded a waiting rowboat and were soon rowing out across the bay. Halfway across several well- armed men in a rather large row boat manned by half a dozen stout muscled oarsmen, did their best to intimidate the Northwest Mounted and made several attempts to bring the two boats into a collision. In spector Wood, handling the steer ing oar, warned the ruffians to keep their distance or he would fire upon them, and, thus arguing back and forth, the two boats finally crossed the bay without any shootings or drownings. Upon arrival at the wharf, however. Inspector Wood and his men received a rough and tumble reception from almost a hundred ruffians lined up and ready for the big robbery. As the Men of the Mounted stepped to the wharf carrying their $200,000 they were tripped and jostled and pushed about hither and yon as they tried to make their way toward a small steamer that lay alongside await ing their coming. Kicked and pushed and tripped and otherwise held up and delayed, things began to look really serious. The great robbery was imminent. And then, just when it seemed that the Men of the Mounted were about to be smothered by the mob, the captain aboard the steamer tooted the ves sel’s horn, and instantly a score of armed members of the Royal naval reserve were over the side and down among “Soapy’s” gang. In no time the Men of the Mounted and their $200,000 were snatched from the mob and were aboard the steamer. “Soapy” Smith, surrounded by at least a score of his most trusted gunmen, had witnessed the whole show from the deck of a tug that was “treading water” nearby. Al though he had seen his best plans go haywire, he was still smiling or sneering, when he opened up con versation with Inspector Wood. “Like ter have yer stay ’round Skagway a day er two, ’Spector,” said “Soapy,” “it’s a mighty nice town . . . y’kin have anyt’ing yer want . . . Name it . . . an’ it's yores. How ’bout it? ’Spector?” “Thank you, Mr. Smith,” the in spector replied, coolly, “but I must be about my business. I’d advise you to keep off Canadian territory in the future, as you have done, so very well, in the past. Good after noon, sir.” f-tOtyd ADVENTURERS’ CLUB HEADLINES FROM THE LIVES OF PEOPLE LIKE YOURSELFI « 9f Tropic Hurricane By FLOYD GIBBONS Famous Headline Hunter H ello everybody: We have had a lot of stories, boys and girls, about people who have had close shaves and gotten out of them by some fast action, or some quick thinking, or by some herculean feat of strength. They were great stories, every doggone one of them. But sometimes I think that men in action don’t get half the scare that people do who have to sit quietly and watch death creep up on them while they are powerless to do anything about it. That is the sort of yarn we have today, fellow adventurers—the story of Tom Brady of New York city—the story of how he sat, helpless, in a strange land, among strange people, while chaos gripped the world and threatened to tumble it in ruins upon his head. . The story, in short, of a tropical hurricane. Tom Had Never Seen a Hurricane. For years, in his role as traveling man, Tom Brady had been jour neying through the tropical islands of the Caribbean sea, selling goods and looking over the country. He had heard plenty about the hurricanes they have down there. He had seen wrecked houses, uprooted trees— plenty of the evidences a tropical tornado leaves in its destructive wake. He had seen the natives kneeling in the churches, praying for divine pro tection against the dread wind storms they had learned to fear. But up to the time this story opens—September 11, 1928—Tom had never been caught in a hurricane. Tom was in the city of Roseau, on the little British island of Dominica on September 11, 1928. He had been there for about ten days, and was Roofs Went Flying Off Houses. just about ready to move on. He had his sample trunks all packed and in the Custom house, and was waiting for a steamer due that day which was to take him to St. Lucia, another small island in the Windward group. Then, what happened? Storm warnings! Barometer falling! No steamer that day— nor for a few days to come. Tom was going to see that hurricane now.* He couldn’t get out of it. • • The hotel Tom was stopping at was a frame structure. They said it was safe—said it had stood up under other storms—but Tom had his doubts. Nevertheless, it was the safest place to be found in Roseau, so it was Hobson’s choice for Tom. Along about sundown, rain and wind began coming in short, fitful gusts. At 8 o’clock, the cannon at the fort—the only means the police had of advising the natives that the storm was headed their way—boomed out its ominous warning! Get ready. Board up your windows. Take shelter. Then the wind began rising slowly—steadily—relentlessly. Havoc Wreaked by the Fierce Storm. All through the night lightning flashes ripped the black skies while the wind rose and the rain increased. The colored natives were scream ing now, and chanting prayers in the streets. Everywhere people were scrambling about, boarding up their houses as best they could. No one slept that night. No one wanted to. At 5 a. m. the cannon on the fort boomed again, this time with a message of far more evil portent than the first. “It’s upon us!” And on its heels, the fury of the storm, lashing and tear ing—carving its path of havoc and destruction from the seawall to the farthest limits of the town. The seawall was the first to go. Its solid concrete bulk, running the length of the town, crumbled like ashes under the force of the sea that battered against it. The Custom house jetty—the Belle jetty—the Fish market by the seawall were wrecked by the fury of the wind and carried away on the reeling, lashing tide that was momentarily getting higher and higher. Roofs went flying off houses. Sheets of tin went sailing through the air—went scraping and clattering down the streets. The tops of palm trees snapped off as if they had been match stems. Coco nuts went winging and bounding in all directions, like a barrage of cannon balls. * In his hotel, a block and a half from the seawall, Tom Brady watched the waterfront “coming up the street.” The gallery on the side of the hotel he was in was ripped off and carried away. Shutters were torn from their fastenings. The rain was coming in. The wind blew all the furniture against the opposite wall. He Found Out What Fear Was. Downstairs, they were lifting a huge wooden trap door and putting the women and the servants in the cellar. They were ex pecting the roof to go next. And in those moments, Tom Brady found out what it was to be afraid. They say a drowning man sees his whole life pass before him before he dies. Tom saw just that. There, all alone, a thousand miles away from home, on a strange island, among strange people, he thought out his own obituary. He prayed, and he isn’t ashamed of it. He promised the Lord he’d be a better man if he was spared this time—and he meant it—every doggone word of it—at the time. Still the tempest raged. A church steeple came crashing down. Death, ruin, destruction were all about him. Tom himself was literally thrown about the room by the sickening impact of the blow. From time to time the wind would shift—strike the hotel from another angle. Then the men in that room would board up the windows again and be safe— for a time. In all, Tom was boarded up for 23 hours—the worst 23 hours he ever spent in his life. And it wasn’t the danger that bothered him so much as the inactivity—the uncertainty. The terrible nerve-rack ing sensation of waiting—waiting to be washed away by the ocean, or buried alive under a falling roof. f It was the next morning—at 4 a. m., when the storm finally passed over. The town was a shambles—the streets full of debris—the houses in ruins. Tom took some pictures and thanked God he was alive. He says: “I went to church religiously for about four or five Sundays after that, and then, like a good many more of us, not being scared any more, I started to miss again.” Like a good many more of us is right! Copyright.—WNU Service. Grapes Popular in Bulgaria Bulgarians are the world’s great est grape eaters, according to Pro fessor Nedelkoff, of the agricultural department of the University of So fia, who has found that the average consumption is 40 pounds per an num for each person. Sir Julius Caesar a Judge Sir Julius Caesar was a judge and holder of many other high of fices in England in the reigns of 3ue&n Elizabeth and King James I. “Shrub Zoos” At Aalsmeer and other little canal towns of Holland there are “shrub zoos,” gardens and nurseries where shrubs have been trimmed and fash ioned into wolves, bears, lions and birds of every feather—or leaf. King Cole of Third Century In British tradition King Cole was a king of the Third century. A false etymology connected him with Colchester. His latter-day fame he owes to the Mother Goose rhyme. r--LITERARY GEMS Maupassant’s ‘Necklace’ Is Perfect Tale By ELIZABETH C. JAMES HE had been born a poor girl and she had married a poor man, yet Madam Mathilde Loisel, heroine of Guy de Maupassant’s “The Neck lace,” did not give up life so easily. She dreamed of lovely things. With in her surged the power to charm, to sway emotions. One day her husband returned from work with an envelope which he eagerly hand ed her. Reading the contents, she began to cry. He was astonished. “I thought you would like to go. It is to be a grand ball, and every one wanted to go. I had much trouble to get it for you.” “And what am I to wear?” What would a new dress cost? She cal culated rapidly to see how much she thought he would give her, and then said, “Four hundred francs will do.” He gave up his Elizabeth savings for her gown James and she ordered the dress. The week of the ball arrived, but still Madam Loisel was not happy. Her husband inquired the reason, and she deplored her lack of jewels. He suggested her wealthy friend, Madam Forestier, a friend of con vent days. At the home of her friend. Madam Loisel surveyed all the jewel cases and held each orna ment up to see the effect. Finally she inquired if she might use the diamond necklace. Her friend as sented and gave her the precious string of jewels. Ball Is Success. At the ball, Madam was a tri umph. All the men asked for in troductions, and all the women in quired who she was. Her eyes shone with this fulfillment of her day-dreaming. It was early morn ing when they started for home. Standing before her mirror for a last glimpse of herself on this glori ous occasion, Madame Loisel ut tered a shriek. The necklace was gone! Her husband rushed to her side. When had she last noticed it? Where could it be? He started out to search for it hardly knowing where to look. At seven in the morning he re turned without it. They searched the city of Paris. The cab drivers, the streets, the police. They put an advertisement in the papers. At the end of the week they had not “MOST PERFECT MASTER” Among the writers whose lives were cut short by premature death and whose work is con densed within a few working years, is the French short story writer, Henri Rene Albert Guy de Maupassant. He was born in 1850 and died at the age of forty- three. Athletics was first love in his youth. He belonged to a club where he knew Daudet, Turge nev, Zola and Flaubert, who read some of his sketches and then remembered him as a charming young athlete. This was the man who was later called “the most perfect master of the short sto ry.” Within his own lifetime some of his stories were forbidden from public display, but this re acted as advertisement and in creased the sale of everything that he wrote. found it, so they made the rounds of the jeweler’s shops. A necklace almost identically like the lost one, cost 40,000 francs, but they could get it for 36,000 cash. By using all their savings, and by borrowing at ruinous rates, they bought the new rope of diamonds. When Madam returned it, she did not wait for her friend to open the box, for fear she might see the dif ference. Then began the paying back of all this borrowed money. They moved into a garrett, dis missed the maid, and lived as la boring people. Madam lost her physical beauty. From haggling over prices she became loud and coarse. At the end of ten years they paid off the debt and could again face the world. The Revelation. One day. Madam was walking in the park to get a breath of spring. Just ahead she saw her old friend. Madam Forestier. But the latter did not recognize Madam Loi sel, and exclaimed upon learning who she was. Her changed appear ance called for an explanation. It could not do any harm now, so the story of the necklace was told. At the end of it, Madam Forestier cried out in pain. She took the hands of Madam Loisel and tearfully said, “Oh, my poor Mathilde. Why, my necklace was paste. It was worth at most 500 francs.” This story is often said to have the most perfect plot of all short stories. The technique of Maupas sant, great French artist, is to em phasize the plot above the people. With him it is a question always of: What happened? © Bell Syndicate.—WNU Service. WoPAP Let’s Hear It Teacher (to Bert, who has come in late)—You should have been here at nine o’clock. Bert—Why, what happened? It takes two to make a success of marriage, but only one to say: “Put it on the bill.” Breaking It Gently “Granny, you promised me a quarter if I was good at the par ty.” “Yes, Willie.” “Well, you’ve saved a quarter.” Simply Marvelous Sherlock Holmes—Ah, my dear Watson. You have on your sum mer underwear. Watson—Holmes, how did you deduce that? Holmes—You’ve forgotten to put on your trousers. How to Make a Good Living From Five Acres of Land Security is assured and even comfort and luxury may come to the family that owns and wisely operates a small farm. Not only can such a place supply the food requirements of the family, but it may produce abundance to sell, often at higher prices than those of the general market. This is the subject covered in the new 369 page book entitled “FIVE ACRES,” by M. G. Kains, which has proven so popular that it is now in its third printing. It will be shipped to you postpaid on receipt of $2.50 by addressing Brandt Aymar, Dept. 16A, 400 Madison Avenue, New York City, —Adv. Old and Young As I approve of a youth that has something of the old man in him, so I am no less pleased with an old man that has something of the youth. He that follows this rule may be old in body, but can never be so in mind.—Cicero. Our Efforts To be truly and really independ ent, is to support ourselves by our own exertions.—Porter. 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I would not be without it." ■rDETKTV With each order for two 50c ■ jars of Sore-No-More Salve we will send you a formula that makes 2Vi gallons of delicious beverage or jelly juice from 1 gallon of either fresh or dried fruit. SALESPEOPLE WANTEEfc Writs for imtorosting proposition WOMACK MEDICINE CO. Established 30 Yean Box 216 Groonsboro, Ga. KILL ALL FLIES Placed anywhere. Daisy Fly Killer attracts and kills files. Guaranteed, eftactive. Neat, convenient — Cannot spill— Wlllnot poll orlnjure anything. Lasts all season. 20o at au dealers. Harold Borners, Inc., 160 De Kalb AveJB’klmN.Y. DAISY FLY KILLER SMALL SIZE 60c LARGE SIZE $1.20 Brings Blessed Reli from ache* and pains of RHEUMATISM NEURITIS and LUMBAGO Try a kettle .. Why Seffsr ? AT ALL GOOD DRUG STORES WNU—7 19—38 MAGIC CARPET It doesn’t matter what you’re thinking of buy ing—s bar-pin or a baby grand, a new suit for Junior or a set of dining-room furmture^- the best place to start your sl\pppmg tour is in sn essy-chsir, with an open newspaper. The turn of a page will carry you as swiftly as the magic carpet of the Arabian Nights, from one end of the shopping district to th. other. You can rely on modern advertising as a guide to good values, you can compare prices and styles,fabrics and finishes, just as though you were standing in a store. Make a habit of reading the advertisements in this paper every week. They can save you time, energy and money.