The Charlotte News

Thursday, February 12, 1959

FOUR EDITORIALS

Site Ed. Note: The front page reports that that 13 northern and central Indiana counties, where hundreds of families had been forced from their homes by mid-winter floods, were in a state of emergency this date. But on a brighter side, conditions appeared to be easing in northern Ohio where rampaging rivers and streams had subsided. Dry weather and rising temperatures were in prospect for the flood-stricken regions. The President had been asked by Governor Harold Handley of Indiana to designate as disaster areas the 13 counties which he had declared to be in a state of emergency. Floodwaters from the surging Wabash River, hitting hardest at Peru, a town of 15,000 in northern Indiana, already had forced hundreds of families from their homes and other hundreds of downstream communities were threatened. Soon after the floodwalls had given way, the river level had begun to drop slowly from its peak of 23.65 feet, 18 inches above the floodwalls. City officials were not sure whether the drop had occurred because the crest had passed or because water was spreading out through the town. No casualties had been reported. The evacuation process had gone off smoothly with the help of state police, National Guardsmen and airmen from nearby Bunker Hill Air Force Base. Some city policemen had worked two days and a night without rest. The Red Cross had set up 11 shelter areas but few evacuees had taken advantage of them, with the chairman of the Peru Red Cross Disaster Committee indicating that people there were so used to the floods that they had a standard procedure set up, whereby they went straight to the homes of friends and relatives. Most of the evacuation had taken place on foot or by car and truck. Firemen in boats had rescued about 50 stranded persons, including one young boy with a broken leg. A mile-long ice jam about 4 miles downstream from Peru had been cited as one of the major causes of the flood. Demolition experts had studied the possibility of trying to dynamite away the jam, but an engineer said that explosives had never been able to take out a jam of that size. In Ohio, the flooding Sandusky River had dropped back toward its banks after an ice jam had caused the stream to back up, pouring nearly 2 feet of water into the downtown streets of Fremont and Newark, and many other Ohio towns. About 1,500 persons in Fremont, a town of 16,000, had been forced from their homes.

The choice of a site for the 1960 Republican national convention appeared this date to have narrowed down to Chicago or Philadelphia, at least according to speculation of some national committee officials who said that a late July or early August convention was a good bet. Some other sources, while agreeing on the two sites with the lead, said that the choice remained open. No decision was expected before April. Meanwhile, Democratic committee officials predicted that the full committee, at its meeting in Washington on February 27, would resist Chicago and Philadelphia protests and uphold a site committee selection of Los Angeles. The Democrats had fixed July 11 as the starting date for the convention. Republicans, who had recently received convention bids from half a dozen cities, had deferred recommendations until they could visit some sites and obtain proposals in writing. The full committee would meet in April to act on a site recommendation. San Francisco was believed by some party officials still to be a contender for the convention, but others argued that a California site would appear to show committee favoritism for a probable home state candidacy for the presidential nomination by Vice-President Nixon. The same thing would apply to Los Angeles. New York, also a bidder, would likewise provide a home base for New York Governor Nelson Rockefeller, a potential opponent of Mr. Nixon. Miami Beach, the sixth bidder for the convention site, was short of television cables and probably could be scratched for that reason. Republicans had met in San Francisco in 1956, in Chicago in 1952, and in Philadelphia in 1948. Democrats had held their previous two conventions in Chicago. DNC officials said that Los Angeles had been chosen by the site group for many reasons, but that political considerations had been important, including the big Democratic victory in the state the prior November in the midterm and gubernatorial races and prospects that it would become the second-largest prize in the Electoral College following the 1960 census. Governor David Lawrence of Pennsylvania, veteran member of the Democratic National Committee, had called the selection of Los Angeles stupid because Easterners would miss telecasts of any night sessions. He had recommended Philadelphia. Jacob Arvey, national committeeman for Illinois, had backed Chicago.

In Baltimore, it was reported that a Washington to New York passenger train, traveling at an estimated 70 to 80 mph, had derailed about ten miles east of the city this date and a score or more persons had been taken to hospitals, but none had been reported killed. Six of the 25 or so taken to Johns Hopkins and city hospitals had been reported to be seriously injured, with two heart attack cases also requiring hospitalization. A Baltimore County policeman said that the rails apparently had spread, dropping the speeding train onto the ties. The engine and the first seven cars had rumbled and rolled up the track between the rails for several hundred yards. The last three cars had broken off and stopped. None of the cars had overturned. Ties and rock ballast had been tossed high and scattered down the right-of-way, blocking three of the four main line tracks. One passenger said that he was in the car next to the dining car, indicating that an attendant, the only other person in that car, had yelled: "Hold your seat, something's going to happen." He said that the car started rocking and swaying and bumping and stuff had begun flying out of the pantry of the dining car ahead, going all over the place. He was tossed to the floor of the car but said that he had suffered only a very minor leg bruise. Police estimated that 200 passengers had been on the train, which had left Washington in the early morning and Baltimore 43 minutes later, with its next scheduled stop to have been at Wilmington, Del. Wreckage from the derailment had been scattered up the track for about a mile.

In New York, it was reported that three policemen, including a deputy inspector, had been arrested in Brooklyn this date in what was described as a scheme to shake down bookmakers. One notorious gambler had claimed that he had made numerous payoffs to officers. All three of the arrested officers had been put on the Brooklyn morals squad to prevent any revival of big-time bookmaking operations, such as the 20 million dollar per year empire once headed by Harry Gross. The arrested deputy inspector had been a member of the force since 1924. The other two arrested were a plainclothes patrolman, a ten-year veteran, and another plainclothes patrolman, also with ten years of service. All three had denied any attempt to shake down gamblers or receiving any payoff but acknowledged tapping a phone in a Brooklyn apartment which an alleged bookmaker was operating. One of the charges against the three officers was illegal wiretapping.

In Albuquerque, it was reported that an Air Force typist's error had resulted in the creation and scrapping of more than 2 million dollars worth of military installation, called Sandia Peak Beacon Annex. The previous week, the Air Force said that it was spending 2.383 million dollars in 1960 at the Beacon Annex, east of Albuquerque, a 400-man installation. Most surmised that the Annex was on Sandia Mountain, but Air Force officials in Washington declined to say, indicating that they did not know whether it was secret. People in Albuquerque had become curious about the "secret new base" and started checking, first with the Federal Aviation Agency, which supposedly was operating the Annex. But the FAA told them to check with the Atomic Energy Commission and so they had done so. Then they went to the Department of Defense, the Army, Sandia Base Housekeeping Service, the Air Research and Development Command, the Forest Service, the National Park Service and the Bureau of Land Management. Everywhere the answer had been the same, that they could not talk about it and did not know anything about it. Then, the Albuquerque Journal had learned from ARDC officials that the "installation" was an unused World War II beacon which would be scrapped within the ensuing few months. Embarrassed Air Force officials admitted that it was all a typist's error. The money was to go to a special Sandia activity and not to the Beacon Annex. Everything had gone fine, they said, until the typist had skipped a line. Air Force officials declined to say to the Journal what the special activities at Sandia Base were. It's them little green men again.

Emery Wister of The News reports that the annual Carolinas Carrousel Parade would be held in Charlotte on Thanksgiving Day, November 26, starting at 4:00 p.m., as decided this date by the Carrousel's board of directors, voting to return to the Thanksgiving date and begin the parade later so that lighted floats could be seen in all of their beauty. The board had also voted to increase the number of grandstand seats from 2,500 to 5,000. The board also voted to hold another Thanksgiving dance, such as the one held the previous year at the Coliseum.

In Winnsboro, S.C., it was reported that four South Carolina communities, angered over a school consolidation plan, had threatened to secede from Fairfield County and join neighboring Richland County. The four communities, Ridgeway, Centreville, Smallwood and Longtown, were battling a plan of the Fairfield County Board of Education to consolidate all of the county's high schools into Mount Zion Institute in Winnsboro. Awaiting only the assurance of Richland County, that they would be welcomed into that county, the four communities were set to begin legal steps which would make them a part of that county. The treasurer of Richland, a native of Fairfield County, assured representatives of the communities that they would be welcome in Richland. But the county's State Senator warned that the path of secession would not be easy, that in addition to securing the signatures of a third of the freeholders in the area on an annexation petition, and a favorable vote by two-thirds of the voters in a referendum, area citizens considering joining Richland would have to raise funds to pay for a special survey. A special tax levy would be necessary to pay for the referendum. Leaders of the effort appeared to be determined nevertheless. The former mayor of Ridgeway, acting as spokesman for the group, said that if they put the high school in the public square of Ridgeway, he would still want to leave. An estimated 3,000 people lived in the area of Fairfield County which was anticipating joining Richland. The Fairfield Board of Education, seeking "a more harmonious situation", had agreed to delay indefinitely any action on consolidating the high schools in Fairfield. It notes that Richland County had as it seat Columbia, the state capital.

In Snow Hill, N.C., it was reported that leaders of Greene County's 2,300 striking black students said that they were not going back to school until they were assured of better facilities. A boycott had been initiated by student bus drivers, forcing education officials to close the county's six black schools the previous day. The school board said that the schools would be reopened on Friday under the same conditions as had previously existed. But a student spokesman said that they would not be there. Hundreds of pupils shouted down black school officials when they urged an end to the boycott at a mass meeting of parents and students on Wednesday night, a meeting suggested by the school board in an attempt to iron out the problem. The student leaders had emphasized that they were not seeking integrated schools but that the protest was based on what they considered inadequate facilities at the county's only black high school. A delegation of black parents and students earlier on Wednesday had asked the school board for a new gymnasium and cafeteria at Greene County Training School, which had an enrollment of 1,136 students. The board said that it could do nothing at present, that funds for such improvements would have to come from a special bond issue. The board also warned the group that the boycott had hurt the chances of a bond election passing. A $450,000 bond issue had been approved by county voters the prior November for a new white school. The tobacco-growing county had spent 1.165 million dollars on school construction during the previous decade and more than half of that amount, according to the school board, had gone to black schools.

In the second in the series of 40 articles appearing during the Lenten season, under the heading "Lenten Guideposts", George Smith, a jet test pilot, relates that he had been cleared for take-off by the dispatcher, stretched out his left hand toward the plane's throttle and saw that it was trembling, telling himself that he was afraid. But then he seemed to hear another whisper, that of a woman, saying softly, "Courage is knowing the worst." He had experienced the worst nearly a year earlier, the last time he had flown an airplane. It had been a drizzly Saturday morning in February, 1955, and as a test pilot for North American Aviation, he had sat at the controls of a needle-nosed F-100-A Super Sabre. They had cleared him for take-off and the powerful new engine had thrust him into the sky. Over the ocean, it had been raining and he climbed up and through the gray cloud bank until, at 7,000 feet he burst into the sunlight. Continuing to climb, the plane approached Mach I, reaching 35,000 feet, at which point the plane began to nose over. That happened occasionally as a plane passed the sound barrier, at which point the pilot pulled the control stick toward him and the nose would lift again. And so he took the stick and pulled, but it would not budge. The nose of the plane was heading downward in a gradual dive. He grabbed the stick with both hands and strained, but it was frozen. The dive became steep and gained speed each second until he was eight seconds from the water at 9,000 feet. He yelled into his radio, "I'm going straight in!" He knew, as all jet pilots knew, that no one had ever bailed out of a plane going faster than the speed of sound and lived. But one bailed out anyway. He jerked up the armrest of the seat and the roof of the cockpit had blown away. The world had exploded in the loudest noise he had ever heard, "like a cannon going off beside me, except that the boom never stopped. It was the air outside rushing past at nearly 800 mph—a sound no one had ever lived to describe." He did not remember squeezing the seat-ejection trigger, but when the plane hit the water five seconds later, he was not in it. He did not remember anything of the six days afterward. Flight engineers and doctors had told him what had happened. As he shot out of the diving plane, he slowed down so fast that for an instant, he weighed 40 times his normal weight. His blood vessels had burst, his eyeballs had strained at their roots and his internal organs had torn loose. The wind snatched his helmet and mask off, his shoes and socks, watch and even the ring on his finger. It had torn his lips and nose and rushed down his throat. Then his parachute opened and he floated to the sea. He did not sink because the wind which had blasted down his throat had inflated his stomach like a rubber ball. He was hauled from the water by a fishing boat and sped to a waiting ambulance. Doctors had labored around the clock to keep him alive. As he had gradually become conscious, he was aware at first only of pain and then, as his memory returned, he was gripped by something far worse, fear. He had lain in the hospital bed and felt fear settle down "like the white sheet over me. I wasn't afraid I would die; I was afraid I might live." Then a nurse had walked into his room and her face had the good-humored confidence of a woman whose tranquil life had never known the slightest upset. When she had taken the job as special nurse, doctors doubted that he would live, but the nurse did not so doubt. The idea of his dying even amused her slightly, saying, "Live through such a leap as that, and then die in bed!" She could hardly keep from smiling.

In Sacramento, it was reported that State Senator Albert Roda had introduced a bill the previous day which would impose fines of up to $500 for insulting or abusing a teacher in a classroom or within hearing of pupils or school board members. Mr. Roda taught at Sacramento Junior College.

In Louisville, Daniel Boone's famed Kentucky long rifle was now a short rifle, as children swinging from the barrel of the muzzle loader on the park statue had broken off a two-foot section. It would be replaced.

In London, it was reported that Diane Dubarry had sung three naughty songs for 300 men at a London cultural center the previous night and had worn a mask to keep it all impersonal. She was the only woman in the Royal Festival Hall's small concert room. The songs were all from the 16th and 17th Centuries. The mask was black and tiny and hardly big enough to hide a big blush on Ms. Dubarry's pretty face, but she had said that there was nothing vulgar about the evening. The entertainment was described by its organizers as "a gentleman's night—an entertainment of ribald and amorous music and verse." The music conductor, one of the organizers, said: "It was lovely and interesting stuff from the 16th and 17th centuries." One tune was titled "A Virgin's Last Resolve". Another concerned "An Old Man Who Wed a Young Girl". A third was about a young man and a woman in the woods on a windy day. Ms. Dubarry was 33, the mother of two children and wife of a BBC television executive. She said: "They are lovely old works. I don't think they're nearly as bad as some of the modern music hall jokes." She was present because the rendition of some of the songs called for a female singer, and a woman was needed to recite one very special poem. She said they had sent her offstage during some of the coarser numbers, but she had listened through the curtain. A Daily Mirror columnist reported: "I can only tell you that I can't tell you too much about those lovely old songs—they just wouldn't look so lovely in print." Defending the songs, Ms. Dubarry said: "One is about a girl protesting at the advances of her lover—a virtuous girl who does not give way. so how could it possibly cause offense?"

On the editorial page, "The Bitter Fruit of 25 Years of Neglect" indicates that Mecklenburg's United Community Services had reacted to the plight of its poorly housed social agencies with commendable speed and determination, its directors having approved on Tuesday an $850,000 capital funds drive for the problem.