Newspapers / Henderson Daily Dispatch (Henderson, … / Aug. 21, 1935, edition 1 / Page 2
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PAGE TWO ybrß® ■w l ßyj <*a -LsTno^AOTte]] CrVftiiivyi jlv »• (Editor’s Note: Mr. Aswell is the »on of the late J. B. Aswell, long-time member of Congress from Louisiana.') New York. Aug. 21.—Audience With the Kingfish: Suite 2200 at the hotel is not the most elaborate In the placy. It is comfortable, conventionally fur. nished You push a button and a melodious little chime sounds once. A yoking, neafly dressed muscular man opens the door cautiously. He is a sort of secretary-bodyguard. "Aswell? Oh, yes. come right in. The Senator is expecting you.” I go down a long corridor and reach the sitting room of the suite. There is a desk, but Huey P. Long, sov erign of the Soverign State of Louisi ana, is not at it. He is sprawled in a chair, one leg over the arm. He has on a tan shirt, a tan tie, lighter tan trousers, light socks, no coat. His hair is towseled. "Hi boy,” he says and smiles. It is the - quick, bright, engaging smile or men who live on nervous energy; men who have tasted power briefly and can afford to squander good humor still. “Sit down there.” I take a chair in a corner. The Kingfish is discussing some elliptical matter, which is none of our business, with a thin, bald, ecclesiastical gentle man in a high collar- Huey is ex pressing his opinion of somebody, I don’t know whom. "That blankety-blank-blank. I hate him inside and out.” He rises from his chair and paces. He sits down in another chair. He pauses, flops in another chair, pulls at his nose, looks cff into space. He asks what seems to be an irrelevant question. He re sumes the tirade. Grows almost mel low finally. The man Jakes his leave, obsequiously. Huey nods, doesn’t rise. He looks at me suddenly, as though he has seen me for the first time. "How are you doing these days, boy? I knew you father well. Your father was the best after-dinner speaker I ever heard in my life, although I could tell a story better. How many papers do you write for?” I gave him a generous estimate ot the number. He looks off into space. The secretary.bodyguard has answer ed the phone at least 10 times during all this He now rises, for the door chime has sounded, and ushers in a young man who, I understood, is or ganizing Share-the-Wealth Clubs in New York. Huey nods to him and tells one of the stories my father used to tell— the one about the church meeting to raise funds and the bottle of spiritus frumenti (in the dry South that was always the one hilarious euphemism for liquor) which somehow got into the punch. Now the phone rings. The secre tary-bodyguard is out of the room. The Senator answers it himself. “Hello!” Booming. “Who? There are a lot of Bill Breedlove Produqe Company Thursday, Friday, Saturday Spe cial if the stock lasts that long. I have got to raise some money so am sacrificing my stock. Quick Quaker Oatmeal 2 pkgs. 15c Quaker Grits, 2 pkgs 15c Campbell’s Tomato Soup, 2 cans 15c Campbell’s Vegetable Soup, 2 cans 15c Campbell’s Tomato Juice, 2 cans 15c Glouchester Peas, 2 cans 15c Mountain Lima Beans, 2 cans 15c Rose Dale Pineapple, large size,. 2 cans 30c Swept Treat Pineapple, small ; sfee, £ cans 15c I X. L Sugar Corn, 2 cans ... 180 Ever Ripe Tomatoes, 2 cans .. 18c Double 2 Pink Salmon, 2 cans 18c Booth’s Canned Shad, 2 cans .. 18c Comet Rice, 2 pkgs 15c Worcestershire Sauce, 2 bottles 35c Kinghan’s Vienna Sausage, 2 cans 15c Red Seal Tripe, 2 cans 25c Armour Pork Hominy, 2 cans 20c Armour Large Pork Beans, 2 cans 19c Campbell’s Pork and Beans, 2 cans 15c Aunt Jemima Pancake Flour, 2 pkgs 25c Hunter Pancake Syrup, 2 bottles 35c Jumbo Sour Pickles, 32-oz. .. 20c Jumbo Sour Pickles, small size, 2 for 25c Carolina Club Sweet Pickle, small size, 2 for 25c Armour Supreme Canned Brains, 2 cans 25c Lemon Extract, 2 bottles 15e Vanilla Extract, 2 bottles 15c Sterling Salt, Easy Pouring, 4 packages 15c Super Suds, 3 pkgs 24c Soda, 6 pkgs 24c Kicko Fly Killer, large size .. 20c Kicko Fly Killer, small size .. 10c Figoro Liquid Smoke, $1.50 size, special 75c Armour Sweet Soap, 4 cakes . 15c F. G. Pure Coffee, 2 lbs 25c These Prices are cash only. We will have a nice lot of fresh fish and oysters for the week-end. Breedlove Produce Company No. 4—At 17 —A Life Sentence This is the fourth of eight arti cles written exclusively for Cen tral Press by a “lifer” who was pardoned after sixteen years in prison. Cleveland, Aug. 21. —Had my back ground been one of moderate wealth and its attendant middle-class refine ment, I should, in all probability, have entered the Ohio State univer. sity when I was about 18. My back ground being what it was, I did not enter that institution of higher learn 'ig at that age. Instead. I enter 1 the Ohio State penitentiary when I was not yet 18—to begin serving a life sentence. On Christmas Eve, 1918, George W. Bonner was killed by one of two rob bers during a holdup. A pal of mine and I was indicted for that murder —before we were even arrested. I was captured in Mobile, Ala., a month after Bonner was killed. Dunns in this world, Who the hell are you?” Huey Long grins and winks at me. “No,” he says, ‘"I appreciate your in vitation and I’d like to come down to your party, but I don’t drink and I’ve got too much work to do.’* "This happens all the time,” he says to me. “I don’t know what to do. It always might be somebody I want to see.” He rises to pace again. Apropos of something—he moves fast from one subject to another —he advises me: “If you can’t break the hand in power, kiss it. Yes, sir!” Then, tangenting off, he is telling me about his youngest son, 10, who raises pigeons; his other boy 14, who seems to be politically inclined; his daughter, 19, who "is the smartest of the bunch.” I jnanage a question. “Senator, if you made a guess at the candidate on the 1936 Presiden tial ticket, whorr would you name?” Instanter: "Hoover, Roosevelt and Huey P. Long!” I watch him- He is moving about again. He is seldom still. There is an air about him of vast conspiracy. You are drawn against your will into the plot. It is fun. He is the rugged ln lividual if ever there was one, fight ing, clawing, shoving through a world of prehensile men. Share the wealth? Maybe. Not the power. He looks vaguely like Jim Tully. But his hair is not red; it is dark, glinting brown. “Do you keep a bodyguard still?” I ask. “Three,” he says. “I’m not afraid of New York. It’s my enemies at home who may try to have me as sassinated. They might send someone up here.” My time is up and I rise to take my leave. “I read a story of yours several years ago in what is it?—College Hu. mor magazine,” he remarked surpris ingly as another young man, mus cular, suave, well-dressed appears noiselessly from another room to show me out- TEACHER TRAINING FOR ERA TEACHERS Diitly IMwpntrli Riarriia, In the *fr Wnlfpr Hotel. . BY J. C rASKKRVILIi. Raleigh, Aug. 21-Two teacher braining institutes for ERA teachers •vill he held beginning August 26, and cohtinuing through September 7, ac cording to a statement today by Mrs. Thomas O’Berry, State relief admin istrator. An institute for white f eachers will he held at North Caro lina State College, Raleigh, and one f or Negro teachers will be held at State I'forrnal School, Fayetteville. Teachers certified for work, on Form 600, and having approval of city or county superintendents, are eligible for attendance and urged to attend if they expert to teach ERA classes this year. This applies to pre vious and to new teachers. Expenses of fifteen dollars per week will be al lowed these in attendance. No teacher is eligible for registra tion at these institutes who has not at the time of registration been certi fied for work relief on Form 600 and approved by her superintendent. District administrators are supplying to the Raleigh office, lists of those certified to teach. Others qualified to teach in special fields are also certified. While ERA teachers need not hold a teacher’s certificate they must have approval by the superin tendent. The line between a pressing econo mic competition and envy, hatred ahd malice is thin. HENDERSON, (N. C.) DAILY DISPATCH, .WEDNESDAY, AUGUiST 21. 1935 I do not want to plead here my eatse in the Bonner murder. No one can give me hack those 16 years I spent in prison on that charge. I men tion it merely to bring out a point. My pal and I were in Youngstown, 0., that night. And at the very hour when Bonner was shot in Cleveland, we were robbing a man in Youngs town. Juries Disagree One jury of 12 intelligent men be lieved that story; another half-be lieved it. I mention it merely to rec ord what was in my mind when I went to the Ohio penitentiary. Youngstown police had picked up a local fellow for the holdup committed in that town on Christmas Eve. Hav ing read of al alibi, the attorney de_ fending the Youngstown suspect had my pal and me called as witnesses. We described the holdup, after pick ing out the man we held up, from a crowded courtroom. We told about the minute details of the robbery in Youngstown- The jury believed we were the robbers and acquitted the Youngstown suspect. Back in Cleveland, my pal went to trial a month before I did. He was charged with murder in the first de gree. The prosecutor asked for the death penalty. My pal told his story, the presented some witnesses.: The case went to the jury. The jury was out but a short time when it return ed with a verdict of manslaughter, which called for a sentence of from one to twenty years in the Mansfield reformatory. Saved From Chair. I went to trial next. I presented the same witnesses my pal had. My de fense was the same as his. I was confident that I would be acquitted. But I was found guilty of murder in the first degree—with a recommen ¥ : .t. I||||||P^ V i ' ' Since the yeast discoveries of the great French scientist, Pasteur, revolutionized brewing practices, we have learned many things. Vie := * know that to make good heer, yeast cells must he fed as carefully as >ve nourish our own infants. So, during the BUDWEISER fermenta tion period, we see to it that the yeast cells get just the right amounts 11 . 1 of the various food values they need. Thus, BUDWEISER is always .:s>• JfraHK uniform —in flavor, bouquet, carbouation, color, clarity, aud purity . Mn the brewing of BUDWEISER, nothing is left to : i9 chance* By clock and thermometer, every process fl is controlled. You w ill always find in BUDW EISER that m. 9 matchless bouquet that is the envy of all brewers. i . • BUDWEISER is always rich in the flavor of the pick i of each year’s barley crop. Always BUDWEISER lives up to its age-old Split reputation the one beer that sets )fjjja itself brilliantly apart from all others* Jjyfi ijß The very first sip tells all who try it ffWrai mr why the world-wide demand for \ /11 bHH j. BUDWEISER built the world’s Jar | * ;5| gest brewery. \l§ Wig !'••.§¥•.. .. €;sl ANHEUSER-BUSCH, ST. LOUIS \3 §f / Jli MSBg |¥s- • •'. ■ -1- .2 . . . * .... -SsHI Copyright iyjs, Anheuser-Busch, Inc. Lx Budweiser Jig the natural drink DURHAM FRUIT & PRODUCE CO., Durham, N. C., Distributors dation of mercy. That recommenda tion saved me from the electric chair. You may believe or not, these words about the murder. It is unimportant what you believe about it, except as it applies to the state of mind of a kid not yet 18 years old who had learned only crime and the reform school’s lessons in brutality. As I look back on it now, perhaps I had those 16 years of imprison things I did do. Had I been punished ment coming to me for the other for each offense against society, the total of those years might have been greater. A Lifer at 17 So I went to prison. I was a lifer at 17. I was up on a “bum rap.” How bitter I felt when the great steel doors of the prison closed and clanged behind me I can net possibly describe! But I wasn’t through yet- Why, I hadn’t even begun. I would show them. Show society. I would beat the prison! In prison I was a rebel and an agi tator. I got into difficulties with the guards and higher officials from the very beginning of my term. I was serving under a warden whose penal policy was based on the medieval theory that a prisoner’s spirit had to be completely crushed and broken be fore he could be reformed, and who publicly stated that a willingness to inform on one’s fellow.prisoner was a true sign of reformation. In plain words, Preston E. Thomas* held that only through being a disgustingly re pulsive, slimy rat and stool-pigeon could a prisoner ever hope to re-es tablish himself in society and be a good citizen. Before I was in prison a month a tough guard raised hfs club over my head for what he termed talking copyr ight CHAPTER 38 BLAIR WAS looking down at the girl tenderly from the stable window. She seemed so young, so lovely as she stood there, her hair awry, her face lifted to him, a white face with her lips blood red. They were quiv ering, he thought. Just then, Nita’ appeared at the corner, and without a glance at Blair, walked toward the girl and took her hv the arm. “He’s up there, Nita.” and Janet pointed to the window. Still Nita did not look, but led the girl back to the kitchen door. Janet was loathe to go. She wanted to stay and talk with Blair . . there were so many things they had not said! Just a moment together was all they had. In the kitchen Nita sank on a chair, and motioned Janet to pour the boiling water into the waiting tea pot. When Janet handed her a steaming cup. she pushed it away, with a hand that was trembling. "What is it. Nita? Tell me!” The servant looked at her bl aikly, and her lips opened slightly, then closed again. Janet had forgotten she was ad dressing a dumb woman, forgotten everything except the stark fear in Nita’s eyes. . . . “Tell me!” she cried again, Impa tiently. Again Nita opened her lips. It seemed as if she were trying to talk. “I . . .” Nita had uttered a word! A startled look passed over her face and her dull eyes brightened. “Nita. tell me!” Janet insisted. Perhaps the woman was not dumb! Perhaps she could talk! “Nita!” “I . . .” the sound was hollow, like the echo of a deep voice in an empty house. “Nita!” “I . . . can’t . . . talk . . ." Her head was in her arms, and she was sobbing wildly. Janet dropped on her knees, and patted the woman’s shoulders. “You can talk. You have just said something. You said you couldn’t talk, but you can! You can, Nita!” Nita straightened up, the tears still streaming from her eyes. Her voice caught in short gasps in her throat but her eyes had a triumphant look. “I haven’t . . .” she formed her words slowly, like a child learning to walk ... “I haven’t . . . talked for years . . . since he told . . . me —I couldn’t. . . .” “Who is ‘he’?’.’ the girl encour aged. “He told me ... I could never talk again ... as he told Miss Morelle . . . she could . . . never walk again. . . .” “He?” "We must ... go right away. . . .” “We can’t leave Mr. Rodman!” Starting to her feet. Nita touched her tongue with her fingers. She was smiling to herself, as she faced back. I beat him to the punch with a haymaker to his jaw. He went down. For Incorrlgibles Other guards came running up. I was subdued and hustled off to the dungeon. They stood me up in the strait-jacket door, a hellish device made of two steel doors, one of then* curved. When the doors are closed t She seemed so lovely as she stood there. Janet “We must go now, while Rajah ... is guarding Mr. Rodman . . . he won’t bother us . . . alone . . . we can run until we get . . to the main road ... he won’t bother us there. . . .” “But, Nita. . . “He told me . . . now, a few min utes ago . . . when he called me . . . that he would have you . . ." “Have me!" Janet gasped and sank on the chair. “You are ... to be bis wife!" Janet could say nothing. She looked blankly at the servant, her violet eyes wide with fear. “His wife!” she said after a while, when she could talk again. “Yes, his wife!” The older woman took her arm. “Come! ” Still the girl sat, numb with fear. “We have only ... a few minutes . . . he is out of the house . . . now.” Nita grasped her more firmly, and tried to carry her from the kitchen. “Who is he?" Janet asked. “He is . . .” Nita stopped and glanced around the room, as If some one were listening. She was holding Janet in her arms. “Yes?” the girl asked weakly. “He is Miss Morelle’s son . . . the devil, himself!” Her huskv voice and locked, the prisoner’s face and body are close to the front (straight) doer and the curved door is tight against his back. He cannot turn, h«. cannot stoop. He can only shift his weight from one foot to the other. He stands there, locked between those doors, for 10, 15, 24 hours, some times much longer. When I came out of the strait- was charged with fright • • * When Janet opened her eye?!, rffo was on the kitchen table, and Nifti was standing over her, bathing her forehead with cool water. She was dizzy and the kitchen seemed moving in circles around her. “I . . . must have fainted,” sh* murmured, blinking her eyes Nit* lifted her in her strong arms, and carried her to the cot in her room. Janet sank on it thankfully. After a short rest, she felt better. Nita was rubbing her wrists slowly to bring back the circulation. ‘1 never faint. Nita,’’ she said. “I can’t remember when I ever have. My nerves must be all gone. . . .” “Don’t try to talk. Just lie a while.” “I don’t understand anything. Will you tell me about this house . . , and everything in it?” She waited for Nita’s answer but the woman was gazing toward the kitchen still mechanically rubbing her hands. She was muttering some thing under her breath, something Janet could not understand. “What is it?” “Too late now ... to go. We’ll have to wait here. . . (TO BE COXTIKUED) jacket my feet and ankles were swol len to almost twice their natural size My body was weak. But my spirit was uncrushed. I was determined to es cape. That was the one dominatir; thought of my life during thosi months and years. My chance would come. When it came, I was deter mined to be ready to stake ray life against the liberty it offered.
Henderson Daily Dispatch (Henderson, N.C.)
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Aug. 21, 1935, edition 1
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