Condition is very good.
MARCH 8, 1959
The Cover
By PETE HAWLEY
The Wit Parade
By E. E. KENYON 2
Cooking in the Dark.
My Wonderful Years in Baseball. By RED SCHOENDIENST 2
I Married Dave Garroway.
4
By PAMELA GARROWAY
The Bomb-The End of the World? . . By PEARL S. BUCK
8
Look Out for Friday the 13th!
By H. ALLEN SMITH
13.
Emily Post Says
Handwriting From the Grave.
By WARREN HALL
14
Patterns.
You Can Remodel Your Bathroom.
By DORIS DENISON
16
Guess Who-The Name's the Same
By MAX BRANDEL
Murder by Proxy.
By ELLERY QUEEN
18
West Indian Favorites .
By AMY ALDEN
----------- 2 -----------
Little
Tarzan
By FLORENCE BULLE
He's been getting up in the world since he was 18 months old
----------- 3 -----------
He's been getting wp
ASK MY SIX-YEAR-OLD SON Daryl of
Tucson, Arizona, what he is going to be when he
grows up, and he will probably reply "a fire-
man."
Ask
our neighbors, and they would
emphatically answer, "A steeple jack-if he don't
break his neck first!"
As his mother, I'd have to agree that he'll
probably choose something besides keeping his
feet on the ground.
I saw the handwriting in the air a few days
after his third birthday. We were at the park.
"Do you know where your little boy is?"
a woman asked.
"Swinging," I smiled reassuringly.
She pointed and said, "Look up there."
At the very top of the tall pole which held
the big set of lights for illuminating the play
and picnic area was Daryl. I didn't move.
"What are you going to do?" a dozen excited
voices gasped.
"Do? I'm not going to do anything," I said.
"He'll come down the same way he went up. It's
a cinch I can't climb up after him."
Daryl has been climbing poles since he was
18 months old. Ever since my husband, Al, built
our patio roof supported by two-inch pipe
columns. In a few days, Daryl could shinny up
the poles in seconds.
From then on, his ideas became loftier. Last
summer Daryl watched a group of acrobats
whose training apparatus included two sets of
rings suspended from a cross pole 20 feet high.
Before anyone spotted him and ordered him
down, he was nearly at the top."
When his daddy was called to fix a flag
caught at the top of a 30-foot flag pole, he took
Daryl along. The retired army man who owned.
the pole watched in amazement as Daryl quickly
shinnied to the top. Afterwards he handed
him a dollar bill.
His happy little face grew
perplexed. "You give me this for climbing a
pole?" he asked incredulously.
----------- 4 -----------
He almost got away but
I MARRIED
DAVE GARROWAY
By PAMELA GARROWAY AS TOLD TO GLADYS HALL
----------- 5 -----------
DAVID AND 1 MET at a week-end party at
Billy Rose's house in Mt. Kisco, New York. When
I arrived, David was already there. He was
wearing a bright red dinner jacket. This, I
thought, was a little theatrical, but I also
thought him terribly handsome and very dis-
tinguished looking. The truth is that, although
I'd been living abroad for several years and had
never heard of Dave Garroway, I flipped the
minute I saw him.
Later, I did some feminine finagling with
my hostess, who was planning to seat me next to
David at dinner. "Please," I pleaded, "put me
across the table from him. My chin is receding.
My full face is much better than my profile."
----------- 6 -----------
But although I kept my face toward him all
during dinner not one word did we exchange
across the table. Not one!
Eventually David was to tell me,, “As you
walked into the room, I was fascinated immedi-
ately." I can only say there was no indication
of it on that first frustrating evening.
Looking back, I suspect that my emotions
were showing, for I took quite a bit of kidding.
One or two people were at pains to inform me
that Dave Garroway was "a confirmed bachelor"
who had once been heard to say, "For a man to
expect to find a woman whose traits and tastes
match his is like expecting to draw 13 spades
in a bridge game." I was also warned that David
----------- 7 -----------
PAMELA AND DAVID-At their first dinner
together, he didn't say a single word to her.
had recently been seen with a beautiful young
woman who was his girl friend. My heart sank
Shortly before the party broke up on Sunday,
David and I talked briefly-about books.
would, he said, send me the short stories of Roald
Dahl. The book arrived on Tuesday with one
of Dave's cards that say, “Peace." No message.
But how polite of him, I thought, to remember.
David's courtesy, I now know, is inbred. After
nearly three years of marriage he never gets up
to mix himself a drink without asking if I would
care for one; never sees me pick up a cigarette
that he doesn't get up and light it for me.
We have arguments at times (who doesn't?)
but never a fight, never the door-slamming. If
something happens to irritate him, he says
quietly, "I prefer things not to be this way,"
and that is all.
Three days after the book arrived, he called
me for a date. Absolutely thrilled, I wore a
light blue suit by Schiaparelli-the same suit I
wore, for sentimental reasons, when we were
married. He took me to the restaurant on top
of the RCA Building for dinner.
When I admired the starlit view he said, "1
have practically the same view from my apart-
Не
Hope you can see it sometime."
ment.
thought, Oh-oh! But I needn't have, because
ours was a very gradual courtship, and David
was cautious, very cautious.
Over cocktails, he said, "Look, we have so
much to say to each other, let's see if we can
each run through the vital statistics in one
minute and be done with them. You time me
and I'll time you."
He took out his stop
(Continued on page 6)
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THE
MOST
IMPORTANT
THING that
faces us all today is the atom. On the one hand
it threatens us with annihilation; on the other it
holds out the promise of a life of plenty, sur-
passing our wildest dreams.
into this desperate situation? Is it within our
power to choose between the alternatives? If so,
how do we proceed and what do we do?
Haunted, by these questions, as everyone
must be, I decided to seek out the man who, it
seems to me, is best equipped to answer them.
He is Dr. Arthur Holly Compton, winner of a
Nobel Prize, Chancellor of Washington Univer-
sity, and a former director of the Manhattan
Project, which developed the first atomic bomb.
In a very real sense he is the father of the new
age that both terrifies and exhilarates us.
I found him in his office at Washington Uni-
versity, in St. Louis, Missouri.
He is a handsome man, with the tall, strong
frame of an athlete, still vigorous though no
longer young.
hair is white but plentiful, and the profile bold.
A small clipped mustache is above lips of ex-
traordinary sensitivity, the eyes are deep blue
and set beneath straight brows.
His hands, clasped on the desk, were large
and strong, the hands of a workman. I knew
that here was a scientist who worked not only
with his brilliant brain but with his hands to
How did we get
He has a nobly shaped head, the
make the tools he needed.
I had read-and he modestly confirmed it-
ILLUSTRATED BY FRANK GOLDEN
----------- 10 -----------
that he had forged the metals and glass for the
first neon sign. The company, which was his
employer in those days of his first jobs, saw no
use for the strange new light and could not be-
lieve that it would be a commercial success.
Another company with more imagination put it
on the market, and today neon light glitters
everywhere in the world.
“You supervised the making of the bomb," I
said.
"You even helped to make it.
And you
had, more than anyone else, perhaps, the re-
sponsibility for deciding to kill thousands of
people in one great flash of fire.
sary to do this?"
Outside the window a maple tree flamed with
red and yellow leaves. Students, boys and girls,
were sauntering across the campus. The room
was flooded with pale, autumn sunlight.
yet, a shadow had settled on Arthur Compton's
face. Watching him, I recalled, with a feeling of
incongruity, that the family background of this
man who had opened the Pandora's box of
nuclear weapons was not unlike my own.
We are both children of Presbyterian minis-
Was it neces-
And
ters.
His childhood home, like mine, was im-
bued with the atmosphere of Christian teaching
and the practical application thereof. There was
more than a strain of pacifism, too. His family
on his mother's side came of a pacifist Mennonite
sect, related to the Calvinists and the Quakers
It was to the son of such parents, then, that
I put my questions this fine fall morning, to the
----------- 10 -----------
man and the scientist, a Christian man, a great
scientist.
What were the crises of mind and
spirit through which he passed from the first
inception of the bomb until the decision to use it?
Step by step, he began-to outline for me the
development of the atomic project. In Septem-
ber, 1941, he said, it became apparent to Amer-
ican scientists, and others in exile from many
countries, that nuclear energy might have war-
time significance. The foreign scientists reported
that the Nazis were experimenting with nuclear
energy for use in the war. This being true, there
remained only one choice
must develop the energy first.
Practical, vigorous, amazingly efficient, the
forces of science, industry and government were
assembled. Great centers were built in three
the United States
widely separated areas of the country. Scientists
were appointed for specific tasks in Oak Ridge
and Los Alamos. At Hanford on the Columbia
River, industry built its immense factories for
mass production of the precious material.
Each day's work included decisions of terrify-
ing magnitude. After it was known that atomic
explosion by fission was possible, there was the
question of control.
necessary-the heat that generates the eternal
fires of the stars and the sun-the radiant heat
that transmutes one metal into another, how
could the explosion be controlled?
Even after control was proved practical at
Stagg Field, Chicago,
At the tremendous heat
(Continued on page 11)
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A humorisť's guide
FRI
to the perils and pitfalls
13
of a dangerous day-
and how to avoid them
By H. ALLEN SMITH
DRAWING BY LEO HERSCHFIELD
If you want a cave all to yourself on Fierce Friday, just holler,
"Garuda!" That ought to make any snakes tie up with spurge flax.
Look Out for Friday the 13th!
----------- 12 -----------
OUGH days lie ahead. There
was a Friday the 13th in February and
now, before we've had a chance to get
over it, another Friday the 13th in
March, Me, I'm not really superstitioUS.
So when the next Fierce Friday arrives,
I'm going to ignore it. The only recog-
nition I intend to give it is to ex-
pectorate into the palm of my hand, give
the expectoration a whack with my fore-
finger, and whichever way it flies will be
the direction I intend to take-searching
for a dark cave to hide in.
Meanwhile, here are some laboratory-
tested signs, portents, dos and don'ts.
If, of course, you are one who scoffs at
superstition, you may as well read no
further. Take your buckeyes outdoors
and pound them into a mush with a
cleft oak sapling if you want to act the
fool and acquire a permanent crick in
your back.
of scorn at me̟ Am I to blame if my
mother looked too long at a mandrake?
(Looking too long at a mandrake is
likely to impose idiocy and flat feet on
one's offspring.)
The books I've consulted contain
But don't point the finger
many matters affecting human conduct
One concerns a
on Friday the 13th.
in Los Angeles who glues an
English ha'penny over his navel every
Friday the 13th to keep from getting
run down by a truck. I think his mother
The
man
looked too long at a mandrake.
only good that'll come of this scheme is
it will prevent him-on that one day-
from getting smog in his belly button.
ST. PATRICK'S SECRET WEAPON?
One erudite author writing on the
subject of Friday the 13th says that if
you should encounter a snake on that
day, just shout "Garuda!" and it won't
bite you.
As long as I was already there in the
Public Library I made an effort to find
out the meaning of the word "garuda."
In French there is a slang word, garouda,
----------- 13 -----------
Two skeptical reporters
By WARREN HALL
queer?" The nib squiggled on, leaving an up-and-down
tightly squeezed line like the graph on a seismogrant
chart. Then it gradually broadened into letters: ph
from Gordon." After that the instruction: “If you rel
your hold I can manage it more easily."
In the days that followed there were many more
words, a great many. They were messages that seemed
to come from beyond the grave-ghostwriting in its most
literal sense-and they are giving British skeptics theis
rudest jolt in years. Inexplicable even to experts, the
eerie notations are all the more baffling because the
recipient is no avowed spiritualist but a staid woman
artist who has exhibited paintings in the Royal Acad.
emy. The "author" is her dead fiance.
Forty years ago, when she was in her early 20s.
Grace Rosher left London for a visit in Vancouver, Can-
ada. There she met Gordon Burdick, director of a shin-
ping salvage firm. They became engaged, but she had to
return to England. He had to stay to take care of the
family interests. They
after another came up to delay their reunion.
Finally it was all arranged. Gordon was coming to
London and they were to be married. But a week before
wrote frequently, but one thing
he was to sail Gordon died.
Four
about to write her cousin the sad news, the strange cor-
respondence began. After the initial message, she wrote
queries, then cradled the pen in the gap between her
widespread thumb and forefinger.
"It moved by itself," she says, “except when I grasped
to write my questions. We talked back and forth, just
as if we were chatting. It was wonderful, but upsetting
because it was so uncanny.".
For a time Miss Rosher kept her secret to herself, but
gradually she began talking about the strange corre-
spondence to some of her friends. The word reached The
London Mirror, which sent an incredulous reporter and
an equally unbelieving cameraman to investigate.
They called it Miss Rosher's flat in Kensington. “I
don't think anything will happen," she said. “Usually,
if Gordon is near, I seem to feel a light touch on the
head and something like the pressure of a cold disc on
my forehead. There is nothing now." But she tried.
The newsmen, Patrick Chapman and Arthur Camp-
bell, sat goggle-eyed as the pen suddenly began to move.
It wrote line after line of clear English, easily distin-
guishable from Miss Rosher's own handwritten questions.
The visitors turnęd to F. T. Hilliger, a handwriting expert
who was present as an additional check, and who had
been given samples of Gordon's real-life writing.
"On a purely scientific basis," he said, “this is im-
possible. Forgery and copying must be ruled out, because
they require laborious care--and this message was wie
ten with speed.
days later,
on September 20, 1957, as Grace was
it
"I picked 20 handwriting characteristics which repeat
themselves in the letters Gordon wrote during his lifetine
are sure they saw it delivered.
pening: She was at desk, pen in hand, about
to write to a Her grip on the was It
began to "Isn't static electricity
----------- 14 -----------
MASTERPIECES OF CRIME DETECTION
Murder
by Proxy
By ELLERY QUÉEN
----------- 15 -----------
It was solved ivhen a slu00
is mysterious
HUNCH
stuff. It comes from no conscious process
of the mind; in fact, it frequently flies
in the face of reason. What is it? No
one knows. Yet, often enough to disturb
and amaze, hunches pay off.
Certainly his hunch paid off hand-
somely for Capt. William R. Hanna of
the Pennsylvania. State Police.
The scene of the crime was a stone
dwelling set in ten acres outside Pitts-
burgh, on Route 19 in Cranberry Town-
ship. It was the home of middle-aged
Ernest and Alice Storch, and Mrs.
Storch's aged stepfather, Charles Con-
very. Ernest Storch was chief mechanic
at an oil refining plant in Bloomfield,
some 20 miles away.
In 1944 the Storches had sold some
land and were comfortably fixed.
On the night of Tuesday, February
24, 1953, Storch left the oil plant at 11
p. m., the end of his shift, in his smart
*53 automobile. About halfway home the
car developed engine trouble and Storch
pulled into a public garage and made
some temporary repairs before going on.
At home he garaged his car, tinkered
with it for a while, made his nightly
check of the four sheds in the rear-
one of them housed his wife's purebred
Maltese cats, of which she was very
fond-and finally went up to the master
bedroom. And there, on the floor near
the foot of the bed, in a bath of blood,
lay the body of his murdered wife.
it
tl
----------- 16 -----------
My wonderful
years
in baseball
By RED SCHOENDIENST
AS TOLD TO LOU CHAPMAN
One of the game's greats tells
his story-from a hospital bed
In the first two installments Red, whose 16-year
career is now threatened by TB, told how he grew
up in a baseball-loving family in southern Illinois
and turned professional in the Cardinal chain in
1942. By 1945, despite repeated eye and shoulder
ailments, he was in the big leagues. He starred on
the Cardinals 1946 world championship team and
1was on 10 All-Star teams. He told how, in 1947, he
began a 10-year stint as the roommate of Stan
Musial and how, that same year, he married Mary
Eileen O'Reilly in St. Louis,
season of 1956, the day after they'd bought their
present home in St. Louis, while Mary was expect-
ing their third child and Red's arm was so sore he
Suddenly, in mid-
couldn't throw, he was sent to the New York Giants.
FOR THE FIRST TWO WEEKS after report-
ing to the Giants, I went out to the ball park like
clockwork a couple of hours before game time with
the trainer, Frank Bowman. His brother, Bob, has
a similar job with the Cardinals and gave him a
briefing on my ailment before I got there.
Doc Bowman used to massage my shoulder at
least an hour each day. But it didn't seem to re-
spond. It felt taut-like the muscles were all tied
up in knots. Bowman described the ligaments in
my shoulder as "like the fràyed edge of a rope."
Despite the soreness, I hit a pinch home run
in my first game with the Giants. I was out of
action for a couple of weeks after, then all of a
sudden the arm felt like a million. It's never both-
ered me since, and I went on to enjoy one of my
finest seasons. I finished with a 302 average and
set a major league fielding record for second base-
men. The Polo Grounds were happy hitting grounds
for me. I loved those short fences in left and right
fields. They were tempting targets.
With the Giants, I took a liking to Don Mueller's
bat and got good results by
(Continued on page 26)
The Ame
----------- 17 -----------
uamaes ana
THE BATTLE OF THE SEXES IN
Hollywood's
war against
fat
By JANE L. WRIGHT
----------- 18 -----------
LUNCHING recently at the Paramount
hortcake with whipped cream.
"Hungry for some?" she was asked
a battle of Hollywood stars against overweigħt
hos been a much-hushed subject for years, Film
Petresses have to fight fat like the rest of us.
HOLLYWOOD STARS – Rory Calhoun and his wife,
Lita Baron-have discovered the secret of staying slim.
Fact is, there's probably no place in the world as
weight conscious as the cinema city, or where the
sexes have struggled to reduce so many different
ways. The reason is, the camera has an unflattering
way of adding pounds to the picture.
Swedish massages, sweat boxes, jiggle tables,
Epsom salts, mechanical couches, amphetamine pills,
starvation diets- these are but a few of the methods
actors and actresses have used to lose weight.
And so, publicity stories to the contrary, movie
stars
men or women – are not all naturally thin.
ust like you and I, Hollywood celebrities need help
to keep slim, trim and attractive.
enri but a special low-calorie, vitamin and mineral
enriched candy, called Ayds.