Evening Star Newspaper, June 22, 1930, Page 95

—_— THE SUNDAY STAR, WASHINGTON, D. C, JUNE 22 71'”'.30. One of a Series in The Star Magaxzine’s “Gal- axy of Humor—OQOther Writers Who Contribute Are Stephen Leacock,y Sam Hellman, Donald Ogden Stewart and Ellis Parker Butler. ECENTLY I paid my first visit to Praha. Praha used to be Prague. Remember the ballad — “the per- son I pity who knows not the city, the beautiful city of Prague.” In case your geography is a bit wonky, Praha is the capital of the lively young repi lic of Czechoslovakia. Its people, proud o their new-won freedom, have restored their own language to first place. This is fine for them, but not so fine for a visitor like me, whose knowledge of their tongue could not . be discerned through the telescope that found the new planet. It is a tricky tongue. The man who invented it certainly loved his consonants. Anyhow, Prague became Praha, which is pronounced like a short, surprised laugh. To aid me to attain my few, simple needs I armed myself with & book, promisingly entitled “The Casual Traveller's Best Friend, or All the Conversation You Need in Csecho- slovakia.” It was a volume made like the old-time American peassport, just too big to fit into any pocket. Possibly the publisher's idea was that the Casual Traveller should carry it in his mouth, so it would be handy in case he fell down a well and wanted to shout for help in Czech. the train bound for Praha I was too busy drinking in the scenery, etc., to study the book. But I gained my hotel—the Royal Grand Majestic Splendide—without mishap, as it was conveniently situated directly over the railroad yard. In the lobby I spied a fellow guest of unfathomable nationality, who looked like a bearded marshmallow. I am fairly ample myself, but he was ampler, being one of the amplest men I ever set eyes on. As I was to dine with some rather ornate people, I had to send my dinner clothes out to be pressed, for in tarnsit they had become 21 e I had reached that state of dressing when @ man is at his most defenseless. . .. as wrinkled as the face of an aged Cherokee squaw. This called for no expenditure of Czech on my part. I simply rang for the valet, pointed at the garments and made pressing mo- tions. They are a smart race, these Czecho- slovakians, and he caught my meaning in almost no time. I pointed at my watch to indi- cate that I wanted the clothes back by 7. He replied with a torrent of consonants, mostly “y,” to which I nodded and beamed. N. B.— When in doubt, always nod and beam. I had reached that state of dressing when a man at his most defenseless, namely, in a boiled shirt and high collar, but without nether garments, when the valet brought in the pressed clothes. I inserted myself into the trousers and almost disappeared from view. In those Gargantuan bags, two midgets could have kept house. 1 divined that they belonged to the stout marshmallow, and I pictured him, at that moment, trying to seep into mine, an experi- ment bound to result in failure and profanity. I was late, and I had to act quickly. I saw at once that mere pointing would not extricate me from so intricate a predicament. So I turned confidentially to “The Casual Traveller's Best Friend.” Its author, in his eagerness to give it to a waiting world, had omitted any sort of index, so I could not look up the words I desired under “T. Trousers, where are my?” Nor had he arranged the phrases in any particular order, having been, apparently, one of those geniuses who pep forth their thoughts under the spur of Richard Connell pure inspiration. So I began a Casual Travels ler's hasty tour through the pages. The first phrase my searching eye encouns tered was: “I shall report this matter to the British consul.” As I am an American, this remark hardly seemed to fit my case. The next phrase was: “Coachman, will you kindly drive me to (a) the museum (b) the cathedral (c¢) the picture gallery (d) a good chiropodist.” I reflected this instantly. Had I been driven to a museum in those trousers, they would have kept me there. 'I‘HE next offering of the Best Friend seemed worth learning, though of scant value in the current emergency. It was: “Waiter, will you please bring me at once & large becfsteak, and, mind you, it must be well done.” I hurried on. I felt that to say to the valet, even in perfect Czech, “My aunt (uncle) is ine disposed and will be unable to come to the table d'hote this evening, sc will you please send to an apothecary for some (a) quinine, (b) calomel, (¢) mustard plasters?” might interest him, but could not help me. Nor could I hope to further my cause by remarking, “Your price for the (a) post cards, (b) earrings, (¢) blousd is far too high, my good man, but if you will make me a considerably lower price I might bd willing- to buy it (them).” And he might have thought me a bit strange if I said to him, “I¢ is dangerous to lean out of the train window” or “Are dogs permitted to enter this establishe ment?” Nor could I hope to retrieve my troue sers by observing, “We wish to stop here a mo= ment, guide, to take a snapshot of that beautie ful old ruined castle.” Meantime, time flew, and 1 could see my hosts gnawing impatient knuckles. In despera« tion I rang for the valet and pointed tragically at the billowing alien trousers. He, a sad stork of a man, poured out some polysyllables which I interpreted to mean that I had his entire sympathy and that his advice to me, ag man to man, was to get a new tailor. In somea thing of a panic, I tried a combination of pane tomime and sound. With many graphic gese tures, I shouted: “Look here, these are not my pants. Not my pants. They belong to a plump party with whiskers.” (Gesture to indicate whiskers.) “I have his. He has mine. He has mine, I have his. Get me my pants. Get me my pants.” “Ah,” said the valet brightly, in clear Amerie can, “so that's what the fat bozo is bellowin® about. I'll get you them pants in five secondd flat. You see, mister,” he added, “I though§ you was deaf and dumb. Say, have the Giantg got a good club this year? I never missed & game when I was a bellhop at the old Waldorfe Astoria. But you want them pants, don't you?"? I said that was the general idea, and in foud and four-fifths seconds I had them. The vale§ brought them just as I was in the act of heave ing “The Casual Traveller's Best Priend” fag out into the railroad yard. How I Have Cracked-Up in 34 Airplanes and Lived to Tell the Story Continued from Thirteenth Page of the ship and me—regardless of the en- treaties of the police, the director and the staff, RASHING is not difficult—at least it does not seem difficult to me. I like the sound of splintering wood, of tearing linen, of the crunching, rending noise as the motor and propeller plunge into the earth. But it is hard for my friends who wait below, their hearts palpitating. They who wait the long minutes before I bank into the direction into which I must fall. Perhaps my confidence is not one born of ignorance. With each crash I learn new things, and though each stunt is a separate example to be solved, the experiences of those past serve more or less as lessons. Only in the last half dozen crashes have I found that a certain doctor’s advice has been extremely valuable. For 18 hours before a crash I never eat. It leaves my stomach free and lean, which means that it would take an extreme jolt to give me serious internal injury. Futher= more, with a heavy meal beforehand, if I were injured, I'd be in bad condition for an opera- tion. Another little precaution which I observe, unless otherwise ordered, is to strike the right side of the ship first. Naturally, if I'm pitched forward, my body will receive the brunt of the shock on the right. It is very silly on first thought, but not when you consider that if I struck on the left, the heart would receive the jolt. The stomach is also a little more to the left than directly in the center. USUALLY any accident bevond my calcu- lations is the result of an unexpected change of conditions. There are times when it is too late to make a change of mind. The last few seconds of a crash must go according to schedule. Sound involves crashes much more than do cameras. Now it is necessary to get flag sig- nals from both departmonts before heading into the spot. The cameramen may be ready and set and I may be on my way to a wreck, when of a sudden I see a wild waving of a red flag. If possible, I must avoid a crash—save the ship, go back to my emergency field and wait for another try, because something happened to the sound trucks or microphone. Such a landing causes some delay because sgain I must drain the gas and carefully replace sufficient for the duration of the flight, plus margin enough for a return, should the unlooked for happen. But it is not the mechanics of a crash that bother. The human element is the most un- dependable of all. I know that I can crash & ship where they want it. I can depend upon my motor and the ship. My trained rescue ambulance and police squadron are as constant as is the troupe; but the rest of the people are more likely to do something totally unexpected. Once in particular did I come to grief be- cause of this hazard. In the shot, a double for a star was supposed to run out into the field to be near the ship at the time of crashing. Cameras were set, and the crews stationed at psychological points. A last understanding with the double convinced me that he knew the spot where he was to stop. In fact, I made him practice running to it several times to be sure that while I was in the air and coming into crack there would be no misun- derstanding. Taking the air, I banked around the field vertically and saw that all conditions were rightt Then I swung around and came in for the shot. When but about 400 feet from the mark I saw the double start to run. At 200 feet he had passed the spot and was directly under me. From then on I was blind and could not see him because of the wings. FLYING at an altitude of 100 feet and crashing on a spot where a man might be waiting would be murder. If I passed my own lines the scene would be ruined and a ship wrecked. It was one of those few times that require an instantaneous change of mind. I pulled the nose of the plane up and went into a steep underslip. In such a position I bared the blind spot under me. There, not in the area allotted to him, stood the man, the double. Slipping to the ground for a crash is an unpleasant sensation, but I did not care much about that as long as I could see the one person in danger. I watched the ground come up to me from the side, a peculiar sensation, and then pre- pared myself for the bump. This time it was a crash to the left—one which would transfer the shock to the heart and the stomach. Leaning forward as far as I could in order that the belts would be tight against my chest, I waited. The wing crumpled into the fuselage with an accordion-like action. The nose hit—and so did I. It was one of those cases where I had no chance to dissipate the force of my speed. The impact of the motor was sufficient to tear a hole in the ground a foot and a half deep and three feet in diameter. Net result— one broken and one cracked rib. All un- necessary. As I walked away for my usual physical examination afterward I had little to say—I was just regaining my wind. MISTAKFS occur very seldom with me, but when they do they are usually costly. Of course, there are times when conditions change while I am in the air to crash. These also are costly, but cannot be called mistakes. The thirty-first crash was a good example of this. Then I was doubling for a star who was supposed to be an American ace. The place of the crash was a deep gullylike de- pression—not an easy place into which to slide. After I'd dropped in and was on the verge of the crash the wind shifted to my tail, causing me an excess of speed. With the motor going to create sound for the crash it was impossible to hit at less than 100 miles an hour Dipping the right wing, I hit and threw water, mud, propeller and airplane for many feet. All four wings were wrenched from the fuselage. I felt a stinging pain in my right side, and knew that again I had broken some ribs. Usually, when the air is knocked from me by mere pressure of my chest on the belts, this is so. However, the shot was a complete success. I ended not farther than four feet from the nearest camera and five feet from a micro- phone. It was one of the most spectacular shots of my career. Just incidentally, I hit so hard that it tore one of my feet from my shoe and never hurt my foot at all. The force of my feet leaving the rudder so fast evidently had been too much for the grip of the shoes. And this all due to a sudden change of wind at the last moment. But, regardless of the breaking of the ribs, I did two other crashes in the next 10 days. Life’s like that for me. Peculiarly, although the next two were complete washouts, the ribs suffered not a bit. If there 1s any confusion in the minds of any one that my work is allied or aligned with commercial aviation, I want to remove it from consideration immediately. I\ INE is the last and perhaps the most involved of stunt work. I've made drops from airplane to airplane and airplane to auto. I've made high and fire dives. Wreck- ing of an automobile is simple after you've done it several times. But crashing airplanes always has and always will be a considerable hazard. Maybe I've reduced that danger to a minimum. Cer- tainly there are a few fine points which are now discovered. But if I were kilied? Of course, everybody would say, “See, I told you s0.” Perhaps they're right in saying it. Perhaps not. A least, I'm getting into numbers—34 is & lo§ of smashed planes. It takes very little, sometimes, to kill. In one crash a wooden sliver of a propelleg passed through the outer layers of the clothe ing of my right side with such force that i§ pierced an eighth-of-an-inch steel plate and ended in a steel longeron. You may say it's all luck, and that al may be true, but then—we have to have luc) breaks to make a fortune, to keep in health— to live. Breaks? Of course, breaks, whethes by hard work, clever designing, or birth. Nor will it be long before I retire. Yet ¥ have this year five crashes—four in planes; one in an automobile. Before the year ig over there may be more. But it won't be now—it can’t. At the “age” of 50 intentional crashes I shall retire—that is, retire to anotheg phase of work. For the thrill of even my most spectacula® crashes is passing. At first the public didn’t believe they were really done just as the appeared on the screen. The wise ones cri “fake.” But now the public is beginning ta take them as just a matter of course—and that is almost as bad. i Against the Stoux. Continued from Twentieth Page 1 of redskins leaped from cover and struck the little band of whites with the force of a tidal wave. Even as they recovered from the shock and massed to fight for their lives, Chief Gall and the Hunkpapas and Blackfeet came wuponi the field, fresh from the slaughter of Rino’s men. At once Gall sent Crazy Horse and Two Moon across the river to gain Custer’s rear, and as the desperate band reached higher ground in their retreat, Ogalallas and Cheyennes TOSGuy from the earth and beat them back upon the rifles and knives of Gall and his charging *horde. When Terry and Gibbon moved among the bodies that piled the battlefield they found Custer lying with bullets through his temple and his breast. “Tom” Custer, nearby, had had his heart cut out by Rain-in-the-Face, an ancient enemy, but no mutilating knife had been permitted to touch the corpse of Yellow Hair. Cruel and bloodthirsty though they were, the Indians paid a tribute to bravery, and s0 it was that the waiting widow received one of the long golden locks to press against her broken heart.