anaheim-gazette 1931-01-01

Anaheim, Calif., Jan. 1, 1931 FIRST INSTALLMENT. "Gee, that is pretty!" said Mary Margaret Petheridge Johnson in an awed whisper. Small, shabby, along and sluddering with pleasurable excitement and chills she hung upon the gat of the paternal residence and paid to the miracle of paling and brightening lights and colours in the gray world about her an involuntary tribute of delight and reference. Behind her shabby little back, and the dragged strings of her shabby little kitchen apron, and the carelessly massed ringlets of her tousled little head, the sun was rising. The Johnson cottage stood at the very top of a steep city block. It was a meek, self-offacing, little dwelling, disreputable, lacking paint. Behind the cottage was a low row of miserable outbuildings, none able to stand alone, each one yet managing to afford a wretched support to its neighbour. On this cool winter morning, a light from the kitchen window lay warm and yellow across the brightening yard, and a cat, huddled disgustedly against the closed kitchen door, newed occasionally in a protesting and affronted fashion. The two figures that were at the street gate, however, saw and heard nothing of this. One other figure was a small cur dog. The other figure was that of Maggie Johnson. "It's pretty," she said aloud, in a dreamy voice, as the gold flashed on distant windows and dripped through trees, and the familiar silhouette of the city grew more and more recognizable. "It's like it was a big tide—washin' everyone along before it!" For, as she hung there, tranced, whistles for away and nearby shrilled "You wakin' her up—" Len Johnson breathed almost inaudibly. "She didn't care!" Maggie shaped the words, with her lips, rather than said them. Mrs. Johnson, lured by the appetizing odours kitchen-ward, appeared majestically in the doorway. A worn and spotted klimono was wrapped about her, her rich dark hair was in disorder, her eyes were fixed steadily upon her husband's shrinking form. Maggie leaped to her feet, and as her mother, who was an enormous woman, sank heavily into the vacated chair, she busied herself with the coffee-pot and sacrificed, without a second hesitation, the toast she had made for herself. While she spread fresh slices on the oven grating, she watched both parents uneasily. Her father, pretending to eat and to act naturally, was smitten as a mouse might have been under the eyes of a cat; her mother, automatically stirring her coffee and reaching for sugar and cream, never moved her gaze from him. "I could laugh at this," she said presently, in a clear, rich, rolling voice, every word enunciated. "I—a Petheridge—catin' in my kitchen! And waitin' on me—is my daughter! This don't seem funny to Maggie, Len but—considerin' the home you took me from, and the way things was there. I should think it'd seem funny to you! Don't it?" Len Johnson started nervously as the last word was shot at him. "Indeed it don't my dear! You're quite right. I think we get along reel well—considerin'." "Considerin' what?" the woman asked with quiet menace. "Considerin' that your sister is en- Elizabeth, the older da saunter down to the b where she 'demonstrated cream, at any time before She came out now, touches as her mother had been like her mother, in a soil Oh Lord, I'm dead!" she "Have good time last mother asked, rattling paper. "Time of my life. Dead. I got a cold, any got her death of cold. Was just in from Denver about dead!" Elizabeth obviously undisturbed by uary details. "Ma, you ought to get This place looks something The older woman contiand read, unruffled. Her f do no wrong. "I know it, 'Lizabeth. lars a day! My God, you next! Two dollars a day I asked one of them. I said, 'and to sweep a rooms—why,' I said, 'it When I first was married I could get a girl for day!'" "It seems like Maggie body but herself," her mind of a long pause, "and that But fortunately for M only on rare and terrible her mother and sister criticizing her. Now Indifferently to her defen'tOh poor kid, she does breaks!"" "You'd stand up for h Mrs. Johnson comment." "Well, she don't get n The two figures that were at the street gate, however, saw and heard nothing of this. One other figure was a small cur dog. The other figure was that of Maggie Johnson. "It's pretty," she said aloud, in a dreamy voice, as the gold flashed on distant windows and dripped through trees, and the familiar silhouette of the city grew more and more recognizable. "It's like it was a big tide—washin' everyone along before it!" For, as she hung there, tranced, whistles for away and nearby shirred the quarter before seven o'clock, and the early workers in factories and in the big machine shops began to gather visibly in the streets. For a few minutes, their shadows moved, long and red, ahead of them. Then it was day, ordinary, commonplace, work-time again, and Maggie, rousing herself with a guilty start from the luxury of dreaming, returned to her household cares with the velocity of a little dynamo. The sense of beauty and adventure was still strong upon her as she caught up the bottles that supplied the Johnsons with their breakfast milk and cream, and fled back to the neglected kitchen. There was everything, domestically speaking, to be done in the kitchen, but nobody in Maggie's seventeen years had ever done it, or even half done it, and the wild disorder troubled her not at all. At seventeen, a peculiarly youthful and innocent seventeen, she was not analytical. She had spent every night of her life under this low, old-fashioned cottage roof and the dirt and disorder that Ma and Liz created in their wake and spread about them instantly were one of the simple and unavoidable conditions of her life. Maggie had to push aside the sugar bowl and the blue plate of stale and broken soda crackers, to find room on the cluttered table to cut the fresh loaf; she had to unearth the coffee-pot from the confusion of the sink and rinse away the cuft of black ground from its spout before she could mix fresh coffee and set it on the stove to boil. This done, she sized an instant to run into the adjoining bedroom and whisper into the car of the man who lay asleep there: "Seven, Pop! Lissen—seven o'clock!" The man, a small, huddled, insignificant figure in the close gloom of the ugly little room, roused himself alertly. The double bed's other occupant also roused, grummed and Maggie's mother stirred reluctantly and asked anxiously, apparently out of deep slumber: "Maggie, how's the Mayor?" "I didn't have time to look, Ma. But don't get up," the girl urged her, concernedly. "I'll bring you in some breakfast, and the paper too!" "It don't seem right you should," Mrs. Johnson said perfunctorily. "Is 'Lizabeth up?' she asked. 'You make her do her share!' The worst of housekeeping." Mrs. Johnson, who had a very slight acquaintance with the sub-ridge—catin' in my kitchen! And waitin' on me—is my daughter! This don't seem funny to Maggie, Len but—considerin' the home you took me from, and the way things was there. I should think it'd seem funny to you! Don't it? Len Johnson started nervously as the last word was shot at him. Indeed it don't my dear! You're quite right, I think we get along reel well—considerin'. "Considerin' what?" the woman asked with quiet menace. "Considerin' that your sister is entirely beyond our control, and don't pay no more attention to the father and mother that bore her than the babe unborn—considerin' that you are slavin' away the best part of your life in a five-and-ten store." Mrs. Johnson took up the challenge with deadly readiness, "and considerin' that your father, who was supposed to have a fine cure in a bank when I married him, as God is my judge, and as I set here this minute—Maggie," she broke off the automatic and quite unattended tirade to ask suddenly, "what are them cotton gloves like, at the Mack?" "I didn't hear you, Ma, I was talkin' to Pa., Maggie said. "Pop, I'm workin' to-night. It's Saturday. Are you on late?" It was hardly above a murmur, it did not in the least interfere with the majestic monologue of the lady of the house. "Shall I wait for you like I useter, dearie?" "No--you get comfortable an' read your paper after dinner. Murphy comes right to this corner—itn't so far, anyway. You'll be on for the Christmas rush next week, anyway." Maggie washed her hands at the faucet with a piece of yellow soap, pulled a small and shabby hat, once her older sister's tightly down over her thickly coiled hair, and hung up her disreputable apron. She was slipping her arms into a thick, clumsy coat—also a discard from her sister—when reminded perhaps by the garment of its important first owner, a change came over her face, and she said in consternation: "Oh heavenly day! It's five past eight, and Liz says to wake her at naf-pas' seven!" "For heaven's sake, what is it, Maggie?" Mrs. Johnson screamed agitately a moment later. "Don't come flying out of rooms that way—you'll have in a faint on the floor. What's happened! What is it!" "What's happened is that Liz Johnson and all her bedclothes are down on the floor!" Maggie answered, voice tearful with rage. "And the next time she wears only my silk stockings, I'll have her arrested—that's what's the matter! I went without lunches four days for those stockings, and she's got ten full of runs, and I want to tell you—Where's Pop?" She interrupted herself, suddenly calming. "Has Pop gone?" she demanded blankly, her angry face taking on an almost ludicrous look of concern and disappoint- day!" "It seems like Maggie body but herself," her mind of a long pause, "and that but fortunately for Me only on rare and terrible mother and sister criticizing her. Now E indifferently to her defender 'Oh, poor kid, she does breaks!' "You'd stand up for her Mrs. Johnson comment ment." Well, she don't get me Elizabeth repeated absence. "Poverty is a curse, am I Johnson presently responder But her daughter had a mark so often that it m pression, except perhaps ening the formless discourse one of Liz's most marketies. Maggie had danced alley winter street beside the little figure of Len John chattering, with her usual of everything in general selves in particular. Len Johnson made an espouse. She was always eyes, her voice, her feet rush of joyous vitality for Maggie the rise of ee But even he took Maggie a matter of course. 'Liz family beauty, aristocracy and discontented, like her poor Minnie—well, she much of a match when she Leonard Johnson, and let him forget it. They lay years of real unhappiness. Leonard Junior had oad been critically ill for doctors, undertaken pitfalls had accumulated leaves, and poor Minnie there was to be a third oad the last touch to her lain pair. In that same dark, turn off the kitchen from w impressively emerged Minnie had quite unexposed a second daughter into tiny girl, born too soon ing to quit the world as uly as she had entered it. Who indeed could have gasping mite，that rat," was going to turn to definite，companion eager little Maggie? After the general collapse fortunes and the lost son，Mrs. Johnson had many efforts to plant and foster business ambitions，or own head in the world. The double bed's other occupant also roused, groaned and Maggie's mother stirred reluctantly and asked anxiously, apparently out of deep slumber: "Maggie, how's the Mayor?" "I didn't have time to look, Ma. But don't get up," the girl urged her, concernedly, "I'll bring you in some breakfast, and the paper too!" "It don't seem right you should," Mrs. Johnson said perfunctorily, "Is 'Lizabeth up?' she asked, 'You make her do her share!' The worst of housekeeping." Mrs. Johnson, who had a very slight acquaintance with the subject, resumed, sighing, "is dividing up the work so one don't get it all." Maggie, too well accustomed to these rambling dissertations to waste time in listening to them, had returned to the kitchen. She poured her father, who came noiseless out in his postman's gray, a cup of smoking coffee, poured herself a glass of milk, and put the toast and butter between them. Len Johnson sat down cautiously, sent an interrogative glance to the bedroom door. He was a small, timid man, with strands of silky hair brushed damp and neat across the shining bald done of his head. "Mad!" he asked, without sound. Maggie set down her glass, looked straight at him, looked at the bedroom door, and shook her head. "What's happened is that Liz Johnson and all her bedclothes are down on the floor!" Maggie answered, voice tearful with rage. "And the next time she wears only my silk stockings, I'll have her arrested—that's what's the matter! I went without lunches four days for those stockings, and she's got 'em full of runs, and I want to tell you —Where's Pop?" She interrupted herself, suddenly calming. "Has Pop gone?" she demanded blankly, her angry face taking on an almost ludicrous look of concern and disappointment. "Maggie, I wish you wouldn't be so sharp with 'Lizabeth,' her mother said, protestingly; 'It's common to have two sisters always squabblin.' If she borrowed your stockin's—" "Borrowed! You might as well borrow a waffle." Maggie burst forth scornfully. "You might as well borrow a bath! How long ago did Pop go?" "I can catch him——good-bye, Ma!" Maggie called, her voice coming back on the wave of cold air that was admitted by the opening kitchen door. Mrs. Johnson sat on dreamily munching and pondering. Maggie and the man of the family had to punch time clocks at half-past eight. But The only answer to health for the rural moor is both a doctor and a nurse—the service of cleremonies", Dr. Freeman said this answer, he said further from the people working from those county health which have been built up labor in the last 19 years. Traveling clinics and tems have failed after a resident doctor and nurse essentials. Failure to need, he concluded, would conference a failure. Closely linked to this mendation by the communication through Miss New York State Charity the county be retained local. Other points stressed during the conference in continued consolidation schools and elimination fashioned one-room school Extension of vocational... ANAHEIM GAZETTE Elizabeth, the older daughter, could saunter down to the beauty parlour where she "demonstrated" a complexion cream, at any time before ten. She came out now, tousled and sleepy as her mother had been, and wrapped, like her mother, in a soiled kimono. "Oh Lord, I'm dead!" she said simply. "Have good time last night?" her mother asked, rattling sheets of newspaper. "Time of my life. Oh, Lord, I'm dead. I got a cold, anyway. Helen's got her death of cold. Chess Rivers was just in from Denver, and he's just about dead!" Elizabeth said simply, obviously undisturbed by these mortuary details. "Ma, you ought to get a Jap in here. This place looks something awful!" The older woman continued to crunch and read, unruffled. Her first-born could do no wrong. "I know it," Elizabeth. But two dollars a day! My God, you wonder what next! "Two dollars a day for what?" I asked one of them. 'A few dishes,' I said, 'and to sweep a cottage of five rooms...why,' I said, 'it's child's play. When I first was married,' I told him, 'I could get a girl for fifty cents a day!'" "It seems like Maggie thinks of nobody but herself," her mother said, out of a long pause, "and that's the truth!" But fortunately for Maggie, it was only on rare and terrible occasions that her mother and sister agreed in criticizing her. Now Elizabeth came indifferently to her defence. "Oh, poor kid, she doesn't get many breaks!" "You'd stand up for her, of course," Mrs. Johnson commented in resentment. "Well, she don't get many breaks!" "It seems like Maggie thinks of nobody but herself," her mother said, out of a long pause, "and that's the truth!" But fortunately for Maggie, it was only on rare and terrible occasions that her mother and sister agreed in criticizing her. Now Elizabeth came indifferently to her defence. "Oh, poor kid, she doesn't get many breaks!" "You'd stand up for her, of course," Mrs. Johnson commented in resentment. "Well, she don't get many breaks!" Elizabeth repeated absently. "Poverty is a curse, all right!" Mrs. Johnson presently responded vauely. But her daughter had heard this remark so often that it made no impression, except, perhaps, that of deepening the formless discontent that was one of Liz's most marked characteristics. Maggie had danced along the frosty winter street beside the bent, meek little figure of Len Johnson, postman, chattering, with her usual eager rush, of everything in general and of themselves in particular. Len Johnson made almost no response. She was always like this, her eyes, her voice, her feet eager in the rush of joyous vitality that marked, for Maggie the rise of every new day. But even he took Maggie largely as a matter of course. Lizabeth was the family beauty, aristocratic and exacting and discontented, like her mother, and poor Minnie—well, she hadn't made much of a match when she had chosen Leonard Johnson, and she had never let him forget it. They had had a few years of real unhappiness. Leonard junior had died, "Lizabeth had been critically ill for months, bills from doctors, undertaker, nurses, hospitals had accumulated like autumn leaves, and poor Minnie's anger that there was to be a third child had added the last touch to her husband's despair. In that same dark, tumbled bedroom off the kitchen from which she had impressively emerged this morning. Minnie had quite unexpectedly brought a second daughter into the world, a tiny girl, born too soon, and promising to quit the world as unceremoniously as she had entered it. Who indeed could have dreamed that that gasping mite, that little "drowned rat," was going to turn in a few years to definite, companionable, loving, eager little Maggie? After the general collapse of the family fortunes and the loss of her only son, Mrs. Johnson had made no further efforts to plant and foster her husband's business ambitions, or to hold up her own head in the world. Continued Next Week side of school hours for children of 12 to 14. Cooperative experiments by the federal radio commission, the agriculture department and state authorities in California have shown that short-wave radio transmission can be used effectively in getting market information into the hands of the farmer. The result will be to make far more effective the marketing program of the federal farm board it is believed here. Several of the cooperative marketing programs of the board depend almost completely upon the speed with which individual cooperative groups and shipping association can get a birdseye view of the principal markets of the country. Effectual use of the radio and the probability that the government's market news-service will soon be operated entirely by radio can supply the additional speed which is so badly needed to assure quick selection of the best market. Development of such a system would put in the hands of farmers of every type a trade weapon which middlemen and retailers have always had: complete, accurate and speedy information on the best place to buy or sell. The system would be of special aid to growers of such perishables as fruit and vegetables. This has been proved by the work in California. A representative of the service there says that the daily reports "show carrot shipments made each day from producing sections, destinations, diversions, arrivals, and supplies on the markets, the quality and condition of receipts and prices paid in terminal markets and at points of origin." Other information which the California system sends out includes: Volume and grade in consuming markets; market activity; the origin of supplies; condition of commodities as they arrive; market preferences and now available commodities meet them; weather conditions at markets and shipping points; supplies in transit from other places; prices offered in producing sections and on the market; condition of the crop; number of cars ordered; availability of farm help. The far distant past of our country becomes less distant when it is realized that a member of the Washington family who was born at Mount Vernon, on the Potomac, is living in this city today. She is Eleanor Washington Howard, granddaughter of John A. Washington, to whom the Mount Vernon estate was bequeathed by Bushrod Washington after he in turn had received it from George Washington himself. Mrs. Howard, now 75 years old, was born in the room in which Washington died. After the general collapse of the family fortunes and the loss of her only son, Mrs. Johnson had made no further efforts to plant and foster her husband's business ambitions, or to hold up her own head in the world. Continued Next Week This Week in Washington Only a dozen rural counties in the United States have "a decent bit of health machinery such as exists in every large city," declared Dr. C. E. A. Winslow, Yale professor of Public Health, at the recent Conference on Child Welfare. Nevertheless, he said, "we are proud of the fact that there have been created 500 full-time county health units" in the brief period in which this has been developed. The only answer to the problem of health for the rural mother and child is both a doctor and a nurse "who can render the service of child hygiene to them", Dr. Freeman, said later. And this answer, he said further, "will come from the people working in the field, from those county health departments which have been built up with so much labor in the last 19 years." Traveling clinics and visiting systems have failed after thorough trial, resident doctor and nurse are absolute essentials. Failure to recognize rural needs, he concluded, would stamp the conference a failure. Closely linked to this was the recommendation by the committee on organization, through Miss Ida Curry of New York State Charities Aid, that the county be retained as the unit of local. Other points stressed many times during the conference included: Continued consolidation of rural schools and elimination of the old-fashioned one-room schoolhouse; Extension of vocational guidance Too Much ACID Many people, two hours after eating, suffer indigestion as they call it. It is usually excess acid. Correct it with an alkali. The best way, the quick, harmless and efficient way, is Phillips Milk of Magnesia. It has remained for 50 years the standard with physicians: One spoonful in water neutralizes many times its volume in stomach acids, and at once. The symptoms disappear in five minutes. You will never use crude methods when you know this better method. And you will never suffer from excess acid when you prove out this easy relief. Be sure to get the genuine Phillips Milk of Magnesia prescribed by physicians for 50 years in correcting excess acids. 25o and 50o a bottle—any drugstore. "Milk of Magnesia" has been the U.S. Registered Trade Mark of the Charles H. Phillips Chemical Company since 1874. First National Bank Gives Cash Favors The Anaheim First National Bank made its annual Yuletide distributions in the form of cash to callers when $76 was given to 15, the awards going to Mrs. A. C. Vary, Selma Stock, R. A. Gennen, John Hushman, R. L. Regalty, Mrs. Drenon, C. R. Brown, Harry Kuehl, Helen Elliott, A. H. Morris, Mrs. L. L. Hebard, J. Hushman, Bertie Coalson, A. L. Cary, Glan Butcher. STORK'S CHRISTMAS GIFT The stork brought but one Christmas gift to Anaheim, a son to Mr. and Mrs. Joseph Heinz, of North Palm street. He is the twelfth child in the Heinz family. Atwater Kent FEARN— The Set With the Golden Voice 113 So. L. A. Anaheim The Only FULL-SIZED CAR In the lowest priced field Plymouth 4-Door Sedan, $725 In sharp contrast with the few other cars of its price group the new Chrysler-built Plymouth offers full-sized bodies, deep, luxurious upholstery with ample room for all adult passengers. The new Plymouth offers also in beauty and original style, in speed, power, quiet and smoothness—the quality you could get here- In sharp contrast with the few other cars of its price group the new Chrysler-built Plymouth offers full-sized bodies, deep luxurious upholstery with ample room for all adult passengers. The new Plymouth offers also in beauty and original style, in speed, power, quiet and smoothness—the quality you could get here to fore only for far more. It gives you the utmost in safety, because of internal-expanding hydraulic 4-wheel brakes, positive in any weather. Examine, point for point, the features which place Plymouth foremost in its field. Then drive it—and you will know why scores of thousands today enthusiastically acclaim Plymouth the greatest dollar-for-dollar value in the lowest-priced field. CHRYSLER Plymouth Henry A. Baldwin 224 Commonwealth Ave., Fullerton JANUARY SALE MEN'S FOOTWEAR EN! Here are many savings in finest quality footwear. Don't overlook these unusual savings, for right now you have your eye of the best values of the entire season. Scotch Grain Sturdy and Comfortable $4.45 EN! Here are many savings in finest quality footwear. Don't overlook these unusual savings, for right now you have your e of the best values of the entire season. Scotch Grain Sturdy and Comfortable $4.45 Tan Veal Calf Better built for hard wear $4.45 Calf and Kid High Shoes $5.45 The Boyle BOOTERY Anaheim, California. 177 West Center St.