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, 3½-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.