The Working Class

Henry Louis Mencken, the veteran volcano from Baltimore, had a wonderful time at the Wallace convention (see PRESS), and nearly became the subject of a resolution. Maryland Wallaceites wanted the convention to censure him for his reporting in the Baltimore Sun ("Whereas he has resorted to un-American slander against the people of this convention . . ."). But the chair refused the motion on the ground that it would start a flood of others. Other Menckenisms filed to the Sun (on Henry Wallace): "If ... he suddenly sprouts wings and begins flapping about the hall, no one will be surprised"; (on Vice Presidential Nominee Glen Taylor): "Soak a radio clown for ten days and ten nights in the rectified juices of all the cow-state Messiahs ever heard of, and you will have him to the life"; (on the convention): "The percentage of downright half-wits has been definitely lower than in, say, the Democratic Convention of 1924 . . ."

Pious Branch Rickey on a couple of hired hands, past & present: "Burt Shotton is a good manager and gentleman . . . Leo Durocher is a good manager."

Joe Louis insisted that he was through with fighting. Billy Conn, who retired from the ring after his second fight with Joe, was thinking of changing his mind. In Texas, he phoned a promoter-friend that he would go back to Pittsburgh in about a month to begin intensive training.

Fred Astaire, who was talked out of a twelve-month retirement to pinch-tap for an injured star in Easter Parade last October, got a return break. When his co-star in The Barkleys of Broadway got sick, Ginger Rogers agreed to fill in, effecting a nostalgic screen reunion after ten years.

Second Lieut. Felix ("Doc") Blanchard, blockbusting "Mr. Inside" of West Point's great wartime football teams, was busy concentrating on his profession. Learning to fly jet fighters at Williams Field, Ariz., he tried on a crash helmet, just for a moment struck a pose reminiscent of old times (see cut).

General Carl ("Tooey") Spaatz, who retired recently after 32 years as an Army airman, ten months as Air Force Chief of Staff, roared off into a new wild blue: military and air consultant for Newsweek.

Playwright Clifford (Golden Boy) Odets, on his return to Manhattan after five years in gilded Hollywood, told readers of the New York Times why he was back: ". . . Is it still news that a Hollywood movie is usually born on the stone floor of a bank? And that this celluloid dragon, scorching to death every human fact in its path, must muscle its way back to its natal cave, its mouth full of dimes and nickels? . . . The Hollywood film exists only as the celebration of cold, canny (not so canny!) investment, with the resultant desire to make every movie as accessible as chewing gum, for which no more human maturity of audience is needed than a primitive pair of jaws and a bovine philosophy . . . For my personal health I'm back in New York . . ."

Old Gang

In Dublin, the greenish, 3 1/2-ton statue of Queen Victoria which has aroused Irish ire for 41 years (TIME, July 12), was finally removed to a Kilmainham storehouse (along with the plaque inscribed from the Queen's loyal "Irish subjects") to make room for a parking lot.

A more popular Irish institution, George Bernard Shaw, who has never retired and has no plans for doing so, was given the perfect birthday present: a setup for the classic denial. When the Nigerian West African Pilot ran his obituary shortly before his 92nd birthday, Shaw gleefully snorted back: "Your note is premature. I am only half dead yet . . ."

In Paris, Lucien Lelong, classic-conservative of dress designers, closed up his atelier, with his new fall creations still unfinished. His doctor had ordered him to stop work, and he couldn't bear to think of anyone else carrying on the Lelong line.

In Trujillo City, Dominican Republic, Trujillo-intoxicated President Rafael Trujillo lip-serviced the idea that he was not indispensable. After 14 years as chief executive (with four more to serve), Trujillo publicly suggested "the propriety of beginning, as far in advance as possible, to prepare the public mind for ... choosing the candidate whom the party desires . . . in the elections of 1952."

Onetime German Actress Emmy Sonnemann Goering, who has had no leading roles since the death of her husband, the late Hermann, did a personal appearance in a denazification court at Garmisch-Partenkirchen, Germany, received an empty sentence. As a "second-class Nazi" she drew twelve months in a labor camp (but would not have to serve it, since she has spent 18 months in prison awaiting trial) and a fine of 30% of her savings (but would not have to pay it, since she has no money).

The stir of the 1948 Olympics (see SPORT) reactivated Jim Thorpe. The old (now 60) Sac-Fox Indian who won the Olympic decathlon and pentathlon in 1912, but had to return his trophies when it was ruled that he had played professional baseball, was going through the motions of demanding them back again. U.S. Olympic Committee President Avery Brundage seemed to Jim like just the man to help him, but he doubted whether Brundage would: "So far he's just played shut-mouth."

This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so reader's discretion is required.