Coral Gables Riviera

PAGE 6 THE CORAL GABLES RIVIERA FRIDAY DEC. 12, 1941

CORAL GABLES RIVIERA

AN INDEPENDENT COMMUNITY NEWSPAPER Published every Friday by the Miami Riviera Publishing Co., 306 Coral Way, Coral Gables, Fla. Established January, 1926 Combined with the Dade County and Coconut Grove Times, 1929. ALBERT E. HARUM President and Publisher JAMES B. MOORE Managing Editor Mailing Address, P. O. Box 704 Telephone 4-1634 Member, Florida Press Association National Editorial Association Represented in the National Advertising Field by the American Press Association, New York City SUBSCRIPTION RATES One Year by Carrier, Coral Gables and Six Months $1.25 One Year $2.00 Entered as second class matter May 21, 1926, at the Postoffice at Miami, Florida, under Act of March 3, 1879.

"So Help Us God"

War Declared! That strident phrase rang through the length and breadth of the nation this week as the United States, viciously and treacherously attacked by the Japanese Empire, girded her loins and shouted her defiance to the totalitarian war dogs. America was shocked at first as screaming headlines and the excited voices of radio announcers poured forth the tale of Nipponese aggression. But shock was soon replaced by righteous anger as the nation tightened its belt and settled down to the grim business of battle. In every city, town and hamlet the pulse of life quickened as the war reached into the homes and lives of every citizen. Coral Gables, home of a vital navigation training center, lost no time in getting to work. A guard was thrown around the University, where 400 cadets and $1,000,000 in navigation instruments are housed. Members of the American Legion post, answering an emergency call from city officials, patrolled the streets during the first nights—on the alert for anything. Pan American Airways began the selection of a hand-picked crew of armed guards, who will patrol the University on 24-hour duty. The City bolstered its police force with four new regulars and began recruiting a reserve police force of 50 citizens, who will act under Captain Lou Reeves and will be on immediate call for any emergency. The County Defense Council was presented with a list of 25 air raid wardens, selected by W. Edward Winegar and the civic clubs. Citizens kept official phones busy, calling to volunteer services in whatever capacity they may be needed. In Miami, Coral Gables youths dotted the recruiting lines at army, navy and marine offices. Feelings were difficult to describe. The everyday things of life, that last week seemed important, paled in comparison. The war had come. There was a job to be done—and done quickly. And in the hearts of every Gableite — every American—were echoed those stirring words of President Roosevelt, uttered on Monday to the Congress: "With confidence in our armed forces—with unbounding determination of our people—we will gain the inevitable triumph—so help us God."

Dimes Into Bullets

"Turn your dollars into battleships and your dimes into bullets!" That's the slogan that leaped into the mind of every American this week as the nation began its all-out offensive against treacherous Japan and her allies. Translated into more simple language it means simply this—Put every penny, dime and dollar than you can spare into Defense Bonds and Stamps. When the bonds and stamps first went on sale, a lot of us were more less apathetic about buying them. Many adopted the attitude of "Let George Do It", and let it go at that. Today the picture has changed. We all must share the burden—to the extent of doing without the normal little luxuries to which we have become accustomed. The nation needs your support. Invest in America by buying as many Defense Bonds and Stamps as you can, as often as you can!

OUR TOWN by Jim Moore

America had a war dropped into its lap this week, all wrapped up and plainly labeled "Made in Japan". Ever since the first report of the Jap's treachery was blasted out of our radio loudspeaker on Sunday afternoon, we've been trying to analyze our feelings about the situation. Our first reaction to the announcement was incredulity. Somehow, we just couldn't bring ourselves to believe that the little yellow men of Nippon had the nerve to attack the United States. But when we got to thinking it over, and the fine Nazi hand became apparent behind the move as more war bulletins came in, the realization came that the war, which had been in the offing for our country for many months, had finally arrived. During the week that has passed, we have come to realize more and more just what a "war of nerves" means. We have a feeling of tenseness and keep one ear constantly cocked towards the radio or for a newsboy shouting "Wuxtree". We noticed the same feeling in our fellow townsmen, too. Everybody's moving quickly, and small chit-chat about everyday doings falls on pre-occupied minds and ears. We think that the actuality or the reality of the war was brought home to us most forcibly when we picked up a paper that carried the first casualty lists from the Pacific clashes. The second name on the list suddenly leaped into prominence as we recognized it to be that of a college classmate and fraternity brother, whom we hadn't seen for six or seven years. There in cold, black type was the record of his death—death flung from the skies by the little yellow men. As we absorbed the paper in unpretensed fists our mind flashed back across the years to those days in college when war was a remote thing that one read about in history books and Japanese were people who ran curio shops. We were studying then to prepare ourselves to take a place in the world. As we sat on the porch of the fraternity house at the regular after-supper bull sessions, we used to talk about what we were going to do or hoped to do. George (that was his name) wanted to be an engineer. He used to talk about the years to come, when he would play some part in the construction of a huge bridge or in laying out a new coal field. Never did it enter his mind that the year 1941 would find him near Pearl Harbor, sighting an anti-aircraft gun at those death dealing bombers above. Nor did he think that a fragment from one of those bombs would snuff out his life as it came hurtling from the skies. Today George is dead—killed by a political theory more vicious than any ever advanced before. Killed not by a Japanese bombardier especially—but by an axis of nations believing that by might and bloodshed, by terror and aggression will the world progress. That is something tangible for us to grasp. Tomorrow who knows how many "Georges" will appear in the casualty lists. That's the price of any war—a price that America, with grim determination, has resolved to pay. We in America have no illusions about what lies ahead. We know that there are sacrifices that have to be made—deep sorrows that have to be borne. We know also that we all have a job to do—and we are united to do it. This spirit of determination has been in evidence in Coral Gables all during the week. Here at the newspaper office the phone has been ringing constantly as residents called to ask what they could do to help out and where to report. From the time the emergency first arose, local residents have been doing their jobs—some spending sleepless nights on volunteer patrol duty, augmenting the busy police force. From news bulletins coming in from all parts of the country, we learn that this spirit is in evidence everywhere. Folks are eager to have some part—to do something to help their country defeat the Nipponese and their allies. Everybody will have his or her chance to help. We are taking on a gigantic task and our own petty problems must, and are being cast aside. Those of you who as yet have not been called on for some specific duty, we urge you to keep yourself in readiness. There will be work for every man, woman and child. Keep this in mind, too. We can't all be officers, and some of us who have never taken orders before, must take them now and execute them without question. America faces probably the greatest crisis in her glorious history. And we, as Americans, must meet that crisis. And you can bet your boots that we will meet it.

List Xmas Wants

Camp Blanding, Fla., Dec. 11—Soldiers at Camp Blanding want Santa Claus for Christmas. Their desires run all the way from outboard motors to razor blades—especially the latter. They can use the motor in Kingsley Lake on which the camp borders but whiskers have a habit of growing and growing and they can use the razors anywhere. They'd like fishing tackle, too, for there are black bass in Kingsley Lake and other fresh water nearby; and the Gulf and Atlantic Ocean are not far away. They'd like cigarets with cigaret lighters because dampness occasionally gets into matches and you can't smoke without fire. And if Santa comes through with the soldier's desires, the toilet goods people will have back-log orders for years. And so they will be neat and smart sarotially as well as tonsorially, they'd like electric pants pressers. Radios come in for their share on "Dear Santa" lists as well as hankerchiefs, heavy and light weight sox and towels. Of course, the soldiers know that some of these are purely utility and they'd like presents that "we really don't need but would like to have"—personal things such as cigaret cases and, of course, a little addition to the bank account wouldn't make a single man mad. Most of all, they just want to be remembered They've been training hard for Uncle Sam and the folks back home and those who stay in camp especially would like to have a bang-up Yuletide. "We'd appreciate anything personal or useful," one soldier said. "Personally I'd like one of those great big cars which has a button you push and watch the top just r-r-o-o-l-l back."

The Oldtimer

WHEN WE NEEDED MEAT FOR DINNER, FATHER AND I WOULD GO TO THE WOODS N' SHOOT A BEAR OR DEER. SHUCKS, WE DIDN'T HAVE A MEAT MARKET TO RUN TO FOR MEAT. I USED TO GET SO TIRED OF EATING TURKEY WHY, ALL I HAD TO DO WAS STEP OUT THE DOOR BANG! WE'D HAVE WILD TURKEY FOR DINNER_ WNU Service

Dollars and Sense

A much misunderstood source of investment advice is that of investment bankers. We refer to the originators of new issues of stocks and bonds—not the retailers of securities, who are known as investment dealers. Twenty-five to thirty years ago, when the purchase of stocks and bonds was limited largely to banks, insurance companies and capitalists, the investment bankers were functioning properly, i. e., as the representatives of corporations which from time to time were in need of capital. When a corporation needed capital, the investment banker became the representative, or agent, of the borrowing corporation. He attended to all the details for the corporation. With a practiced eye on the capital market (banks, insurance companies and capitalists), he recommended the issuance and sale of a common stock, a preferred stock, or long or short-term bonds, whichever would best suit the current requirements of the investment markets. For example, if interest rates were currently high and it was to the best interest of investors to buy long-term, non-callable bonds, then long-term, non-callable bonds were issued. But if interest rates were low, short-term bonds would be issued. But with "war prosperity" and the liberty bond campaigns in 1917 and 1918, several million new investors were created. They knew little or nothing about security types, industries or corporate finance. They regarded the investment banker as some sort of super being who could and would ably direct their funds in the most profitable channels. The bigger the name of the investment banker and the more issues he originated, the better it sounded to the public. The public forgot, or never stopped to realize, that the investment banker still was the expert representative of the corporation in need of capital. This avalanche of new investors placed an entirely different aspect upon the situation. Therefore the investment banker had been dealing with security buyers and knew just as much about finance as he did, buyers who knew just what they wanted and why they wanted it. Here was an entirely new market made up of millions of individuals who knew nothing at all about finance. What was the logical development? What could it be? The corporation, with experts to guide them—and no fools themselves—soon found out that they could dictate the type of security to be sold; that they could raise money for 5% from unskilled investors when experts would demand 6% or 7% or not touch a deal at all; that they could eliminate the non-callable provision in a period of high interest rates; in short, that they could do many little things which mean nothing to the unskilled investor, but which, taken together, mean a vast difference in his investment results. The investment banker alone should not be blamed for this state of affairs. The matter was very largely taken out of his hand. Investment banking houses were springing up like mushrooms. If investment banker A insisted too much upon a better break for investors, the business promptly was given to investment banker B. The public got what the corporation wanted to sell, anyway. The securities sold by the Electric Bond and Share Group during the 1920's are shining examples of securities which never should have been sold. The interests of a corporation, as borrower, are diametrically opposed to the interests of the public, as lenders. Both cannot win. Is not the investment banker, as agent for a corporation, likely to be offering that type of security which is favorable to the corporation and therefore unfavorable to the investor? The recommendation of the investment banker should be considered carefully in view of his relation to the corporation. His revenue comes from the commissions allowed him by corporations. As the originator of securities, he becomes their natural sponsor. What more natural, then, than that the investment banker always recommend that you keep a security he has sold you? To be consistent he must always make that recommendation.

Turning a New Leaf

Twenty-two million Americans will file Federal Income Tax returns in 1942, the largest number in history, and millions who have never before faced the Rube Goldberg tax forms will have to wrestle with them next year. To help out the uninitiated and to assist others in preparing their income tax form efficiently and with the greatest economy allowed by law, David Joseph, Certified Public Accountant and tax expert, has written HOW TO PREPARE YOUR INCOME TAX, a manual for the taxpayer which will be published next week by the Garden City Publishing Company at 25 cents. The 1940 edition of Mr. Joseph's book sold 200,000 copies. In the new addition Mr. Joseph gives an interpretive analysis of the new tax schedules, tells what the taxpayer may legally deduct, what portion of his income is exempt from Federal taxation, and shows how to keep income tax down to legal minimum by observing all of the privileges and obligations implicit in the new tax laws.

Gives Horses Credit

A desperately sick man less than six months ago—so sick that he was willing to give up even his horses, which comprise his chief interest in life—Monte Weil, one of the country's best-known conditioners, today is thanking his lucky stars that his stock had no appeal to prospective buyers. At barn 9 at Tropical Park, eagerly awaiting the opening on Saturday, December 20, of the Gables Racing Association's 21 day race meeting, Weil is telling any and all inquirers that if it hadn't been for his horses he probably wouldn't be alive today. "Maybe medicine and hospital treatment helped some," he admits a bit grudgingly, "but nobody ever will convince me that medicine and hospitalization alone would have put me back on my feet." Weil, a ruddy-faced, mild-mannered and affable fellow, got his dander up as he lay sick in the hospital and his agents reported to him that they could find no buyers for his horses at the prices he had put on them. He knew full well, he says, that each and every horse was worth more than his asking price, and he took it as an affront when the animals went a' begging. "Right then and there," Weil declares, "I decided I'd get up out of that bed and show those horsemen a thing or two. That was the turning point in my sickness. Now I feel that I will be eternally grateful to the men who wouldn't buy my stock. And I'm convinced, too, that a fellow who loves horses can't get anything wrong with him that a winner won't cure."

Contributed Poetry

Football is over, for Miami U— The season is closed, to wit they are through With honor and glory they finished tonight Though brilliant opponents put up a good fight A touchdown apiece was how the game stood Get one more touchdown? —If only they could! Time left was short, as they looked at the clock That VMI line now held like a rock A penalty added, while they delayed Made local rooters feel quite dismayed But the lads on the team, not willing to yield In that fourth down tried a goal from the field In from the sidelines, a man who could kick Sent in by the coach, accomplished the trick Miami U ten — and VMI seven Gave all of us loomeys a near touch of heaven Is this our best record? Is this what we hear? Eight wins and two losses. Is this our best year? No! But it ties the best record up to this date Do not overlook nineteen thirty-eight That year ten players were lost to the team Most of them stars, the peaches and cream This year's graduation eliminates five Including the captain. The team will still thrive Out of the frosh some mighty fine timber Hefty and strong, yet elastic and limber To step in the places of those who must go Will give us (I hope) two good years in a row The wonder is this! How a college so small Can manage to play such marvelous ball It must be the climate. Ah, yes that is it! If not, it's your guess, for here's where I quit! Louis Mc Davit

This One's on You

ARMED—In the cool light of reflection things look differently. Our six year old youngster, listening to reports to the attack on Hawaii last Sunday, became quite concerned for the safety of his dear ones. "We'd better go home now and buy a gun," he said. In the light of subsequent events maybe that wouldn't be a bad idea. MISSING DISH—A certain young hostess we know has trouble remembering to get all of the attractive dishes she prepares on the dinner table when they are supposed to be there. Her principal forgotten item is the dish of celery and olives—a dish which usually takes a lot of preparation—or at least enough so that is should not be forgotten. The other day we heard of a hostess who committed the unpardonable sin. She forgot to serve the cranberry jelly with the Thanksgiving turkey dinner. CHAPEAUX—Mr. and Mrs. Jess Carver are still telling the tale of a rather unusual occurrence on the belated wedding trip to New York, from which they returned recently. Mrs. Carver, who was Grace Le Row of Coral Gables before she married Jess, had bought one of those saucy perky hats, very expensive and quite chic. On a motor trip to a New York suburb for a visit, Mrs. Carver wore the expensive headgear. Returning from the visit Mrs. Carver placed the hat on the rear seat of the car, thinking that there it would be sager. Arriving at the hotel Mrs. Carver reached back for the hat; panic stricken she reached her arm to the floor of the car, then under the seat. No hat. A treacherous gust of wind had picked up the dainty chapeau and carried it forth into the chill bleakness of a Winter afternoon in New York City. Ah, well! HEAD'S UP—We've attended screwy parties in our day but the one given by Mrs. Thomas Poole last Saturday honoring her husband's return from a business trip and as a surprise to him, takes the cake. Each guest was told to wear the craziest head dress it was possible to imagine—and they outdid themselves. One couple wore belfries with bats flying about, a horse trainer's wife wore a racing saddle while the host had a straw hat disguised as a hors d'oeuvres tray and the guests followed him around all evening, nibbling at it. RESULTS—The item we ran last week about Louie Thibault and his basso-soprano voice had a repercussion. No sooner had the paper been out when Louie got a phone call, asking if he would sing at a party. 'TWAS EVER THUS—Bill Gray got his son's electric train out the other night and set it up in preparation for Christmas. Dissatisfied because he didn't think it ran fast enough, Bill started tinkering. Two a. m. found Bill still laboring to get it back together again. When the task was completed, it still wouldn't run. So Tuesday, Bill went downtown and bought a whole new outfit. Come around and play with him on Christmas. PROUD FATHER—"Obie" Sutton was bragging Tuesday about the 11 pound baby boy that arrived that morning. "Why you know," said Obie, "that baby was so big that I just got back from taking a tooth brush over to the hospital for him." WE'RE WAITING—At the newly formed breakfast club which meets Thursdays (7 a. m. at the Green Candle) it is the custom for one member to tell about his business each week. Last week Dr. Hill Gordon told about care of the teeth, passing about various model dentures showing various stages of dental troubles. We won't tell you who was sitting next to us for fear you'll take him seriously—but enough to say that he is connected with a well-known exterminating company hereabouts and lives in the Gables. When the dentures were passed to him he grinned diabolically and said: "Boy, just wait until it's my turn to tell about my business!" QUACKIE—We told you a week or so ago about our acquisition of a drake from Morris Cold and about our children calling it Quackie. This is just to report that Quackie, scheduled to appear on a serving plate last Monday evening, is still alive and eating us out of house and home. RACONTEUR—We often wondered why, before we became a Lion ourselves, members of the Coral Gables Lions Club were such avid readers of the Lionews. Now we know. It is due to the keen editorial skill of Leland Shepard. He seems to have sensed intuitively just what will appeal to his cosmopolitan readership. We wish Shep could and would work on the Riviera and let us in on his secret. And we wish, too, that we could print some of his "editorial" matter. Oh, well!