The Ogden Standard-Examiner from Ogden, Utah on June 25, 1939 · Page 29
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The Ogden Standard-Examiner from Ogden, Utah · Page 29

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Sunday, June 25, 1939
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SUNDAY MORNING, JUNE 25, 1939. "Cheapened Dollar Would Lessen Business Hazards, Depressions, Says Thomas THE OGDEN STANDARD-EXAMINER WASHINGTON, D. C., June 24-Dear Papa, Whenever more persistent men are built Oklahoma will build 'em. Senator Josh Lee has been arguing ever since he stuck his foot in iiiblic life that we ought to draft /ealth in time of war, and Senator Elmer Thomas never lets up a minute in yelling for "Expansion of the currency, boys!" You can say this to him, "Howdy do, Senator," and this Democrat says, "I want to see the currency expanded." You can say "Nice weather, ain't it?" and Elmer says "I would like to see the currency expanded." As Josh Lee said about his fellow senator the other day, Elmer is almost committed to currency expansion. And the funny thing is, Elmer's fellow-senators ain't what you would say against his ideas, Papa, fact, they like Elmer so much y ^ are probably going to vote Yes" if they can ever find out what it is that Elmer wants. It ain't Elmer's fault that they don't understand him. He stands up in front of the senate with a lot of charts and ottier dinguses every time he can get the floor, and he talks at them till he is blue in the face. "I'm not an inflationist," he tries to explain to 'em. "I'm a re- flationist. I want a cheapened dollar, so there'll be neither inflation or deflation, neither booms nor depressions, ana the hazards of business, caused by the unpredictable sing and falling of prices, would e lessened, if not eliminated." I think Elmer would have his way, and get the currency expansion he wants, if there wasn't such a turn-over in the membership of the senate. It takes about twelve years, or two terms, for Elmer to educate a fellow - senator up to where the aforesaid fellow-senator can understand half of what Elmer's talking about, and then the guy gets beat for re-election. Elmer hisself would have been beat for re-election last summer if F. D. R. hadn't loped down to Oklahoma, patted Elmer on the back and called him "My friend." In ways I'm ashamed of John JVilliam Elmer Thomas. He dress- too nice. I liked him better ·hen he came to the senate in overalls, which he did one day when Hoover was president. Them overalls shure was a sight to look at. They had more holes in 'em than Judge Manton's appeal did. Elmer's regular costume is about as nice rigging as you will ever see on a senator. In fact, look at Elmer, and you are looking at the "Grover Whalen of the Wichita Mountains." That's what we call him. He's tall--six feet two--carries his shoulders throwed way back like he was a West Point cadet or _ spite of his sixty-three and after one look at him . lady I've ever been around when he was there said "Ah-h-h." Well, Papa, the world might as well know we can raise good-looking men in Oklahoma. They don't all have to be Alfalfa Bill Kur- rays. During working hours Elmer is so hurt over the way his fellow-senators can't see the same way he does on currency expansion that he never smiles. He goes around looking like a dog who has lost his last bone. But after five or six o'clock 3 takes a brighter view of the orld and smiles almost hourly. Personally, I think Elmer's got plenty to smile about. He's rich, ain't he? Why, he's got so much money the Republicans would take him any day. Elmer made his fortune off legal practice arid land investments down in Oklahoma, especially around Lawton. Across the street in them early days was another lawyer around there and I don't guess either one of them ever expected to be U. S. senators some day. But each in their own time came to that unhappy end. Gore has ved his time--Josh Lee reliev- id him--but Thomas is still taking ,s punishment. Two terms as a congressman kinda toughened him up for it, so he was no tenderfoot the day he first stepped in the senate in 1926. He was--and is--so soft-spoken that nobody ever thought that in a few years he would be one of the worst hecklers that Herbert Hoover ever had. He was, though. During Hoover's term of office Elmer bit into the Great Engineer's flanks almost as often as Cactus Jack Garner did. He could also do a good job of filibustering. He and Senator Huey « Long put on a filibuster against e Glass banking bill in 1932. Whenever Huey's tonsils would give out, Elmer would take over, and vice versa. Their tonsils got over the filibuster but the bill never did. In February, 1933, Lawton, Oklahoma's gift to the senate had some more fun. He knocked the bankers of the country silly with a warning that if the banks didn't check de- iiation and put a stop to the depression the reconstruction finance corporation would be made into a central bank, with branches all over - '-ie country, and after that we louldnt have to have private ranks anymore. "Your fine buildings would make good hay-barns " Elmer told 'em. ' So far, Elmer's bark has been worse than his bite. Maybe he has never got close enough to bite. I for one want Elmer to have his way. I can't stand the suspense of not knowing but what he's right, and that the only reason the budget ain't balanced, the unemployed ain't working, and all of us don't ELMER THOMAS . . He's a reflationist ANGLO-NIPPONS PLAYGAMEOF CHIN A CHECKERS Nazi Minister Responsible For Latest Fling At Britain By DEWITT MACKENZIE NEW YORK, June 24. (AP) -German Nazidom continues its vigorous effort to conjure up the familiar spirit of a six-foot four- inch Arabian giant to torment the British about the security of their empire. This is a manner of saying that Germany has got under way a persistent bear-baiting of the English in their negemony over the vast domains of Araby which lie athwart the imperial life-line. And Araby is pretty well synomymous with King Ibn Saud of Saudi Arabi --the towering warrior of fabulous wealth who has imposed his will upon most of the lesser rulers of the Arabian peninsula. The volcanic orator, Nazi Propaganda Minister Goebbels, is responsible for the latest fling at Britain. He has advised London to see that the Danzig question is settled at once and to "care for its own empire" which, he warns, "is about to endanger seriously its interests in the Arabian world and in the Far East". Herr Goebbel's reference to the Far East was, of course, to do with the game of Chinese checkers which the Britons and Japanese are playing over the latter's blockade at Tientsin. His mention of Arabia would be obscure if his :hief hadn't just announced his support of the efforts of the Arabians to limit their "exploitation by foreign powers" (Britain and France, obviously). All of this arouses curiosity as to just what these Arabian interests are. We find on inquiry the rather startling fact that the Arabians, and other peoples speaking Arabic, total some forty millions. These folk live mostly at the east- irn end of the Mediterranean and in northern Africa. That is only part of the story, however. For you cannot dissociate "Arabs" from the Mohammedan religion and that has a fol- owing of some 200,000,000, mostly in the near east, northern Africa and India. The religious ties bind all the peoples into one mighty family which tends to muster a powerful front in international politics. The importance of Arabia has. increased rapidly since the World war. Its position has become of much greater moment since the inception of the conflict between the Berlin-Rome - Tokyo brotherhood and the Anglo-French allies. Arabia occupies a powerful strategic position, since it domin ates the chief shipping route vi the Suez to the Far East. That is to say, it is the passage to India and other British domains and must act either as a protec tion or as a hostile knife which cuts this life-line. _ In some sections are vast oi fields, and through Arabian terri tory passes much of Britain's oil Across the Persian gulf run the comparatively new air - routes providing a quick link with th Orient. S. R. O. Signs Up As Gotham Returns to Churchgoing B y Dale Harrison ~ " : - ' ~ S were NEW YORK, June 25.--People-*- If who should know say there is a swing back to churchgoing in New York. I didn't know there ' was any special swing away from it, but informed people say there was --not a swing from religion; just from churchgoing; and now that has been reversed. Many New York churches have standees every Sunday. Worshippers are actually turned a w a y sometimes for lack of accommodations. There is no single explanation. Economic conditions are reflected in the flux of church attendance, some say. O t h e r s argue that world events have sharpened the serious side of people's minds and revived dormant religious emotions. the increased attendance true only at New York's more famous churches, one might reason that it was due to visitors and was not a true reflection of the city's own religious feelings. But the smaller churches, espe-' cially the suburban ones, all tell the same story. The current wave of Americanism may have something to do with it. Together with the reiterated appeals for a more fervent love of country, there is coupled an appeal for a return to America's basic virtues, particularly the worship of God. I have always had the uncomfortable feeling that New York is a Godless place, or nearly so. 'Its people are all right. It. is only that somehow, in meeting them day after day, one never hears the church mentioned. Ask them what they plan to do Sunday and it will be golf, a ball game, a drive into the country, a weekend on a boat, a house party. The trouble lies, I guess, in my own failure to recognize that the solemnity of the Sundays we knew as children in smaller towns is hardly to be expected in a community of seven million people. Man, confined to work for six days, invents many excuses for not giving up the seventh to his God. To interpret New York's soul from casual contact with its folk is to come to the conclusion that New Yorkers are not so much Godless as they are indifferent. My grandmother, who knew about such things, told me that the unforgivable sin, to her notion, was indifference. That's why I can't shake off the feeling that New York is, if not Godless, certainly not Godly. A redeeming feature of many New Yorkers is their complete and frequently stunning bluntness. It is not unusual to hear one reply to an invitation to visit him by saying: "Sorry, but frankly you bore me to tears." New Yorkers avoid social chores that, ar« unpleasant. They are disinclined to accommodate themselves to oth- ers' convenience. In carrying out this philosophy of living, they often annoy other people. They may on a weekend, for instance, drive to a friend's country place, dropping in uninvited at meal time and remaining as long as they have fun. This evil has grown to *uch an extent that some New Yorkers who have summer places in Connecticut post eigns: "No Visitors," and simply refuse to admit uninvited people. This you may catalogue as foul discourtesy, but it is predicted on the assumption that we only live once and there's no sense in letting the other fellow make our lives a pillow for his pleasure. New Yorkers with country plac- es are lucky. There is no drudgery of farming. They are. resort- ers of the soil. George Sutton, the publicist, was saying the other day how much trouble he had planting his garden this spring. He went forth one Sunday morning to spade the earth. At the first shovelful hie pet ducks came waddling over, so he had to sit down and pick the worms out of the ground and feed the birds. Their appetite was insatiable, and when dusk came George found he had spent practically the entire day in digging worms for ducks, and not a seed of garden sown. "But it was fun," he added; and it is a pleasant philosophy. (All Rights Reserved) Come Clean In '40, Sock Warns Third Term Backers ·» ^» m m mf m m m ' * " ^ · By George E. Sokolsky Mr. Stephen Early, Secretary toj-graph at the end of the article, I the President, Washington. Dear Sir: Your article entitled "Below the Belt" in "The Saturday Evening Post" of June 10 almost moved me to tears. Smearing is a nasty Business. I know because I've been smeared by nasty-minded people myself. I can fully sympathize with the president because I know exactly how it feels when a great lady, the sister-in-law of a great man, writing on florid stationery that gives the impression of respectability, writes mean and, just between us, Steve, not so very truthful letters about a fellow. Yes, I know what it is to be hit below the belt. The other day one of these senatorial committees solemnly stabbed me in the back with all the wordy pomposity which a senator can display on parade. It's a sad world, Steve. We are stooping to the morals of gossiping old women. I'm awful sorry that people whisper things about the president that are mean and small. They really oughtn't to do it. But you know the old adage, Steve, "Sticks and stones will break my bones but names will never hurt me," Of course, as you say, the president can take it. I'm awfully glad about that. It would be awful if he squawked. You know, it would set a bad example for the young people just staring out in life because they have to learn to take it on the chin. Life is like that. At first when I read your article I thought the president was squawking through you, but afterward, when I read your third-term para- knew you were still full of vigorous fight, and I take it the president is, too. 'Cause it just ain't possible that you didn't show.him that piece before you mailed it to Brother Wesley Stout, of "The Post." And I'm glad the president liked it and said O. K. : That last paragraph of yours, which tells the world that the president will be around to capture a mandate in 1940, is about one of the Best paragraphs I ever saw. It takes an old newspaper man like secretaries who could write for "The Saturday Evening Post." For instance, Joe Tumulty! Joe was one smart politician, but when they smeared Woodrow Wilson, so that everybody was passing Hastiness around at dinner tables and all the smart guys were telling how they had inside dope on his emotional life, Joe didn't think he ought to write a piece for the magazines telling what a shame it was. He let it pass. Then there was Warren Harding. You may remember, he was once president of the United states . you to do a good job like that. | although I know some of you New ' Ickes did a job like a ham for "Look." He was so obvious that his piece looked like a nude trying to hide behind a transparent bubble. But your paragraph is the stuff and shows the hand of a maestro. I couldn't do better myself, although the smear boys say I'm one of the most subtle propagandists. Do you remember that paragraph? Let me quote it: Certain it is that with the approach of 1940, as it has been every four years since this democratic form of government was adopted by the people of the United States, new rumors, whisperings, variations of truth and untruth, will come to mix with the old. Fortunately, it is equally true that the vast majority of those who vote in the next presidential election will take salutary pleasure in expressing their contempt of all that the double-tongued scandalmongers and their ilk may do to confuse the real issues. Well, let's get back to your main point about smearing. It's simply awful. Of course, everybody's had to stand for it, but other presidents weren't smart enough to get Dealers don't like to remember anything B, F. D. R., except Andrew Jackson--and you need him to hold' those $100 a plate dinners. He comes in handy that way. Well, to go back to Warren Harding, he sure had to take the rap because of all the smearing that went on. Of course, some of It, maybe, was true. You know where there's smoke there must be some kind of fire. Maybe not. Maybe it's only a stink bomb. But old Warren, he didn't squawk. He just took it and died. And then there was Herbert Hoover. You must remember him, because your side-kick, Charley Ml- chelson, was hired by the Democratic national committee to lay Hoover low. They raked, his career over from the time he was born. More lies were told about Hoover than about any man living or dead. You must know something about that. If you don't maybe you can ask Charley Michelson to tell you all the spicy stunts that were pulled to smear Hoover. Also you might read Senator Carter Glass's book. He tells all. Of course, Hoover has a few million friends in this country who don't care whether he's president or not, but who think it's a lowdown, smelly business to smear a man who has devoted a quarter of a century of his life to humanity. Steve, let me let you in on something. Those friends are trying to get even. But you never heard Herbert Hoover squawk. No, sir! He took it on the chin and went off to Palo Alto to work on the Hoover Memorial library. And he never asked any congress to help him in that work. And he had no secretary to say, "No fouls! Play fair!" He took it and trusted to history. And then there was Al Smith. He used to belong to your crowd. "Old potato!" Do you remember? What a trimming your boys gave old Al! What names he was called! What a whispering campaign was let loose on old Al! Do you figure that Al's friends will ever forget --or forgive? Al has lots of friends in this world, even today after six solid years of smearing. You see, Steve, two can play that game. The president got a bum steer when he was advised to do all that name calling. "Money changers," "princes of plenty," "economic royalists," "Copperheads," "the strike of capital," and all the other things he said about business men and lawyers and journalists and columnists and just plain people. Every time he called names, the yes-men cheered, "Hit 'em, boss!" they shouted. But the besmeared got a bit sore. It didn't sound so funny to them or to their wives and children. Of course, they couldn't grab the microphone and call names back. You know, you fellows have the radio sewed up that way. Also, they couldn't write a letter to the newspapers saying to the president "You're another!" The papers are too polite to publish the bickerings of washerwomen. So these boys just sat around and cursed under their breaths. Sure, I heard all the stories you tell about. I even heard worse ones. I could tell you a few that would make your ears turn red. Most of them are lies, I suppose. Most of them sound like lies. Some are stupidly brutal. Some are beneath contempt. But you got to figure that when you call a lot of defenseless people names they'll try to get even. That's just human nature. When you hire an artist like Charley Michelson to smear a bunch of folks, you got to figure that they and their friends will find »ome way to pay you back in your own coin. That's the way this ungenerous world crawls along. Now, 1st me tell you this straight from the horse's mouth, that every time Ickes pulls one of his best speeches--and I wouldn't misa one for a dish of lentil soup--somebody gets sore at your boss and the next thing you know one of those stories you complain about goes from Washington to New York and straight out to Hollywood. By that time the whole country's heard it. And let me tell you something else which you can pass on to the boss. Those smearing committees which started when somebody put a midget in J, P. Morgan's lap and ain't ended yet when Senator Elbert Thomas pulls a couple of non eequiturs don't help any. No, sir! I've seen men come away from those things saying that everybody in Washington ie nuts. Well, you know how that gets around. The salesman tells it on the Pullman and by the time you reach Dubuque everybody has it as first-class information with the names of the doctors. It's a lousy business, Steve. But you know you people started it and now it's turned out to be a boomerang. Well, it's always like that. Why don't you tell your boss that third term or no third term, he get together with the opposition, and figure some way to make 1940 clean? I bet the country would iike that. Everybody's tired of name calling except the Communists who make a specialty of it If they did not call names, what would they have to say? But Americans are tired of it. They don't like it. They agree with you that it's hitting below the belt. But on the other hand, they figure that a one-sided name-calling contest ain't fair. If one does It, everybody's going to do it. So why don't you fellows quit first? You started first. Why not quit first? This has been a long letter, but I hope you take time off from your writing to read it. And, Steve, although I ain't ever met you, I've seen your picture and you look like a clean sport yourself. Give your gang the tip-off. Tell them to come clean in 1940. Yours for a clean fight. SOK P. S. I hope you don't mind my calling- you Steve. Saga of Men Who Co Down Under the Sea In Ships R«f tA/SIIS^Bw* kjt B:»«l~,«...*._._ By William M. Pinkerton WASHINGTON, June 24 (AP)---fGracie stood guard into the nigh have' private swimming pools is we wouldn't do what Elmer said. The Democrats are just awful liable to give him some rope, too. Didn't he tell them the other day "".at "No political party has ever . icceeded itself on a falling price :evel?" At last he has quit talking about government indebtedness and the cost of commodities and is talking about re-election possibilities. Papa Modern Gadget Ousfs Famous Ball Tradition WICHITA, Kan.--(UP) -- That new-fangled pneumatic gadget for dusting off home plate is here to stay, and on e of the time-honored traditions of baseball is on its way out--at least in semi-pro circuits. June 18, 2,000 fans, three timei, as many as usually turn out for semi-pro games here, witnessed the preview of the pneumatic plate duster and heard Paul Fair, umpire-in-chief of the 1939 national semi-pro tournament, pronounce it acceptable. CLASS BUSH NOW SOFTBALL EL PASO, Texas (UP)--Instead of the traditional freshman-sophomore class rush, undergraduates at the Texas College of Mines play Softball to decide who will lead the grand march at the freshman dance. College officials put a ban on the kidnapings this year--one of the reasons is that the freshman president is a girl. if Elmer just keeps bearing down on that angle of the subject the wrapping paper is gonna sell the goods. Your son, Cal. "The weather was blowing a good breeze from the nor'west and the sea was rough." Chief Boatswain's Mate E. TV Gracie, grizzled veteran of many a coast guard rescue on New England's · treacherous coast, strolled through the mess room of the Woods End station, pushed the wind-worn door ajar and stepped out into the December chill. Great combers thundered at the beach. The wind whipped loose sand around his feet. Away behind him, across the harbor, the northwest storm flag flicked the pole on Monument hill Squinting seaward, Gracie toot in the field of white caps. A low sunlit froth a mile out or less; an Gracie decided to go "topsides to see if the rum-runners' enemie aboard the "Paulding" had anj word for shoremen. He climbed the wooden stairs t the cupola atop the little white station-house. Pushing up the trap door, he boomed: "What 1 doing, Frank?" "Not much," said the watch "Seen a submarine operating un der the beach." On Measured Mile Gracie leveled the telescope a the southwest window. The "Paulding" had passed by. He could see her steaming along a 18 knots toward the entrance to Provincetown harbor. It flashed into the veteran's mind that the submarine was east southeast of the station under the lee--working out on the navy's "measured mile". "Frank," said Gracie, "I wonder where that submarine is now. Have you seen her?" "No, sir; not lately."Gracie swung his telescope to the left, picked up the big white "AA" buoy bobbing at the end of the navy's trial course. His eye caught a thin flash of water near the buoy--"feather" of an unseen periscope. "My God, Frank," he c r i e d , "there's going to be a collision." Gracie saw the destroyer swerve right, rise out of- water. He thought he caught sight of a conning tower under her bow. He ran downstairs and ordered a "two flag" hoist to signal the 'Paulding" its plight was known. Hte ordered his men to boat, ran :he broad-bottomed surf-boat into the rough sea, and bounced out toward the spot where the "Pauld- ng" wallowed. The "Paulding's" boat was down, looking for bobbing figures )f men in the oily water where ;he submarine had disappeared. None was seen. After a while, the Paulding," leaking badly, limp- d off to shore. Stood Guard Alone, the one open boat of Men working wet lines in freezin winds dragged the bottom till a last their grapnel caught the hu of the S-4. And they held 'on. Below them 102 feet, men stil lived in the tomb-like chill o pitch-dark submarine compart ments. The heavy bottom-water which had surged into the rip ir the central operating compart ment, washed against steel door that sheltered 20 men or more in the after compartments. Aheac behind another door, six mer were in the little torpedo compart ment. Naval boats swarmed to Prov incetown from Boston and New York. Minesweepers came with deep-sea divers and underwater cutting equipment. Edward Ells berg, tactical genius of the sal vage work on the S-51, re-enlisted in the navy; and other deep - sea experts followed him from civilian life. In Washington, Secretary of the Navy Wilbur remarked: "If the submarine was struck by a de stroyer going 18 knots there i very little hope of anybody's sur viving." Rescuers didn't know men livec in the sunken sub until diver Tom Eadie, clad in his cumbersome undersea suit, slid into the chil water next day. He went down so fast his meta' shoes-landed with a thud on the conning tower. He thought he heard an answering sound. He jumped down to the forward deck locker, and the answering sounc came again. It came from up front -- the torpedo room. Running -- the slow-motion running of sea-bottom--along the battered deck, he climbed over the gun and banged with his hammer on the torpedo- loading hatch. Six taps replied from within Eadie shouted into his telephone: "Life aboard in forward torpedo room." Eadie knew no M o r s e code, so he just tapped again, to encourage them, and went on to inspect the boat. He tapped on the coning tower, ind the *dull ring of his hammer :old him the central operating compartment, where the crew might have helped its rescuers, was flooded. Moving back, his lir-hose and life-line fouled on the ittle yardarm. But Eadie stretched out prone and tapped the engine room hatch, There was no reply, No life in the after part of the boat. O r d e r s came from You've been down long enough. Standby to come up." "Topside," the rescue s h i p Falcon" ordered submarine os- illators into use. They send and eccive Morse code through the vater--one tap, a dot; two taps, dash. "How long will you be?" came the message from below. "Everything possible b e i n g done," went the answer. "Is the gas bad?" "No, but' the air is." "How many are you?" "Six. Please hurry." Air Trick Fails Diver William Joseph Carr had followed Eadie over the side to carry on the work below. He hitched an air hose to the ballast tanks, in the hope that, when water was pumped from then, the sub would float to the surface itself. It didn't work. There were leaks. It was getting dark, and the rough sea threw top-heavy currents at divers on the bottom. But Captain King declared: "We must get air in there tonight. It would go into the little torpedo room to offset the carbon dioxide which men breathe out. But Michaels never made the hitch. Below, he was pulled and pushed by the heavy water. Above the Falcon yawed in the storm, and dragged her anchor away from the wreck and the' man below. Lines tangled. And men above-, listening at Michaels' telephone line, heard faintly: "Send Eadie. Cutters, Eadie, cutters." Eadie was down three h o u r s , cutting through metal to free the tangled line. When the lines fell free, Michaels, already unconscious, popped to the surface like a cork. When they cut the diving- suit off him, his body was stiff as a hoard. The two men both went into de-compressors. Diving was impossible after that. The storm had risen in intensity. Decks were a mass of frozen spray. And Michael's life hung in the balance. Since diving was out of the question, officers ordered the "Falcon" into Boston to get Michaels to a hospital. When they returned, next day, the buoy marking the spot where the sub lad sunk was drifting, lost. The storm was still raging that morning. Early in the day, tapping came again through the .sea :o the oscillators: "We are getting 10 air." The men entrapped knew '-.he latest attempt had failed. At ten o'clock came this, message: "Please send us oxygen, c ood and water." Admiral Frank tf. Brumby, in charge of rescue vork, told reporters: "Everything s ready, provided the weather is 'avorable, for an attempt to intro- luce oxygen, liquid food and flash amps in through the torpedo tube n the morning." Later in the day came the tapping again: "Have used our last jxygen bottle." No more chance or the trapped men .to replenish he poisoned air they breathed. At noon in Washington, a solemn the prayer, "Save, enate heard we beseech sons of this nation imperilled in the great deep." In Provincetown, E n s i g n George Phannemiller of the "Paulding" explained: "I saw the periscope first, but I thought it was a fish stick (a marker which fishermen use for their nets). I shifted to helm because I didn't want to get this supposed stick jammed in our screw. Next I saw a part of the submarine's conning tower. Then the crash came." The tragic tapping from below came again to the oscillator's ears at four forty-five p. m. "Is there any hope?" "There Is Hope" "Yes, there is hope. Everything possible is being morning came again, done." When ..,, the storms raged worse. The men working the oscillator had a message from a mother in Washington and her 19-year - old daughter-in-law. It was addressed to Lieutenant Graham Newell Fitch, commander of the imprisoned six. At six-twenty a. m. the message hummed through the roiling waters : "Your wife and mother constantly praying for you." Three taps replied. That meant merely, "acknowledged". It followed the rule: If anything happened to make Morse code unfeasible, three taps meant all is well; two taps meant trouble. Officers reasoned the men in that dark chamber 102 feet down were living still, unmoving, to guard against using too fast the precious oxygen left to them. All day the rescuers stood by, helpless. That night, amid the roar of waters and the straining of the boat, men at the oscillator thought they heard seven faint taps; but they reported "unable to get response to our signals" because the sea was making too much noise. Admiral Brumby's report read: "weather bad all day. Continues bad. Nothing accomplished." 'The fift day of the torture dawned clear and calm. But the S-4 was lost. The marker, buoy had snapped its line in the gale, and nobody knew where the submarine lay. Two cutters dragged the bottom all morning. At noon, diver William Wickwire went over the side to search the bottom for the lost tomb. Landing, he sank to his hips in mud. Murk engulfed him, and he could not see seven feet away. He found nothing, and two others who followed him failed. It was twilight when a s h o u t came from a coast guard surfaoat: "We've caught hold of something." "Tug" Wilson and Joseph Eiben carried an air hose to the bottom, and hitched it to the pipes of the istening tube, which led directly rrw i "-"e * - M « W , ir JAAVSU. icu U l l C t J L W Thee, th, valiant j into th« torpedo room. Later, Ea- die took another hose down, and hitched it to carry off the bad air. Thus, good air went into the torpedo room where six men lay. Air-pumps worked on the "Falcon" through the early morning hours. Air Is Foul The foul air came up, loaded with the carbon dioxide that puts men to sleep--and then kills them quietly. The listeners at the oscillator heard no more taps. At eleven o'clock that morning, Admiral Brumby declared: "This is now purely a salvage job and not a rescue job. I have not the slightest doubt that there is no life on the S-4." A grieving widow in Washington clutched the last poem of radioman Walter Bishop, dead 102 feet down: "In the cankerous mind of th* devil T h e r e festered a fiendish scheme. He called his cohorts around him And designed the submarine. "We all come back, come back for more And there, friends, is the rub; We like the life beneath th» sea-Life in a damned old sub." Note Striking Contrast In Mortimer and Charlie HI, FOLKS . . . Edgar Bergen's new comic strip, which will start in The Standard-Examiner, July 10, features two characters as different as day in from night. In one respect Mortimer Snerd and Charlie McCarthy are alike--they both keep you in constant stitches of laughter--but otherwise they are direct contrasts. Follow th* daily antics of Farmboy Mortimer and City Slicker McCarthy refnlu- ly in this paper if you wish relief from the wall* awl .WOM 9* '

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