Across St. Louis's twisty Free Bridge last week went a rag-tag troupe of some 300 men clad in odds & ends of martial raimentan old overseas cap here, a dirty olive drab tunic there. A few carried pails in which to make coffee and stews, a few carried clubs. The latter served as "military police." They were supposed to suppress vandalism, prevent radical speechmaking, see that none of the company begged or got drunk. One man carried clippings to show that before the Depression he was an Omaha broker who was ordered...
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