Site Ed. Note: …As the shrove bestrew the bowery laces down the briny cove, if these lines be true, then out the cowering dove must go, to plaint his hollow grinding fain grossed sheer to fall, as farther by the gruesome wall we crim and cumber in the mast, a taint, his hallowed binding tane crossed fear, by which the schooner falls and tumbles ‘spite limbs held quite so fast to each the inch by painful inch on which it spleens its daily set, every bit a mainsail’s flinch to witch’s freans downcast in frail lee’s fret.

Shocked, shocked we are to find out from "In Silk" that in 1940 several unions were headed by known criminals, getting rich at the expense of the membership. This becomes even more of a complete surprise, as later, in the 1950's and beyond, especially with the Teamsters' Union and its exceptionally pristine and untrammeled pension fund, they would all prove as clean as a hound's hoffs.

Never fear, however, for in that case, the gent was pardoned in a riddle—no doubt containing within its confines the art of fine traditions of leaders worthy of Calpurnia.

Of course, then, one day, he just up and vanished.

We don’t know whether the indicted boss out of New York had anything to do with Mr. Provenzano, of New Jersey—or Boss Hague, for that matter. But, word on the street is that Mr. Provenzano and Mr. Hoffa once had a little nasty confrontation inside an airport, not long before Mr. Hoffa vanished.

You see, kids, this is what happens when things of that type, those loving converses, to which the next piece refers between the would-be Senator who wasn’t and Boss Hague, go terribly wrong. A loving converse quarrel, you might say. Best to maintain your professional distance with your pals.

Thus, to wit, "Liberal, Eh?" suggests that one always has to be a little chary, lest one become harried and wary, about giving political support to someone whose name supports two middle initials, as such might connote being also of two minds, that is, akin to a horse being bridled at once conversely.

And, the sweet pretty things being in bed now, of course, we provide this little filler, whether merely of local apocrypha or not, by any other plume than Madame Le Bon, from the Page of this date's torse riller tittle:

Fincastle, Va., Herald

One of the remarkably sweet young things who teaches school in the county is said to have pulled a boner the other day, just like her pupils often do. She has been in the constant company of the little tots in her room for so long that she has come to the habit of referring to them as "my children," which shows her interest in the work. She was settled comfortably in a booth in one of the various soda fountains in the county, where she turned to a man immersed in a paper at an adjoining table, whom she was sure she recognized. "How do you do Mr. So and So," she said affably. Then, to her consternation, she saw it was a perfect stranger. Confused and embarrassed she attempted to set the matter right, "Oh, I beg pardon," she stammered and blushed. "I-I thought you were the father of one of my children."

Only, His Employers Don't Admit It Yet

Uptown traffic in this fair city is getting to be much like Mark Twain's weather. Everybody swears at it, but nobody can do anything about it.

Not much, anyhow--white lines here and there, creating traffic lanes which many drivers either ignore or have to because of some double-parked car; more and more signal lights which seem but to impede traffic; much arm-waving by traffic policemen.

Heaven knows that a real traffic director, if we had one, would have his work cut out for him. The main reason for the congestion is physical. Side streets narrow to begin with are growing no wider with the years and the revolution in transportation that they have been through. The longer we wait, of course, to establish recessed building lines, the more difficult and expensive the alteration is going to be.

Meanwhile, there is a certain order [indiscernible word] to be brought out of the disorder of uptown traffic. A competent man, interested in the work, would know how to go about it. He would more than earn his keep by the time and tempers saved by motorists.

It Looks As Though We Need A New Definition

The Hon. James H. R. Cromwell, author, husband to Doris Duke, by the grace of God and $50,000 (contributed to the Roosevelt campaign fund in 1936) consular of the United States to Canada, [indiscernible word] rides out a candidate for the Democratic nomination as United States Senator from New Jersey. As, in his own simple words, "what is generally referred to as a 'liberal.'"

Which has us grasping around wildly for a definition of that word "liberal." As we have always understood it, it means roughly a fellow who has a passionate bias in favor of human liberty and a very definite sympathy for the underdog. A liberal, we should say, is always tooth and toenail for the Bill of Rights, labor unions included.

But now, look. Sponsor for the Hon. Jimmy's candidacy is Mayor Frank ("I Am the Law") Hague of Jersey City, boss of the Democratic Party in New Jersey. It was Hague, who, as Democratic Congressman from New Jersey and Boss, [indiscernible word] in endorsing Jimmy for Senator. And yesterday's papers carried photographs of Jimmy and Boss Hague in loving converse.

Well, and how does this Hague fit with the notion of a liberal?

For years, until the Supreme Court of the United States reached down and ordered him to desist, he forbade CIO organizers even to enter his city, had his goons hustle them out whenever they attempted it. He railroaded to prison a Jersey City man who dared to criticize him. He sent his cops to break up all CIO meetings, all meetings called to protest his policy.

With swinging nightsticks and rotten eggs he suppressed the right of free speech for all he disliked. He had Norman Thomas manhandled and thrown out of town when he attempted to speak in Jersey City. He jailed everybody who distributed handbills for the CIO or which criticized him. He denied two Congressmen of the United States the rights to speak in Jersey City. He incited Kluckers, veterans' organizations, etc. to turn themselves into vigilantes and take the law in their hands. That is how Boss Hague fits with our definition of a liberal.

What does James H. R. Cromwell mean by "what is generally referred to as a 'liberal'"?

Blueprint Of What Will Happen If Fascism Wins

Mussolini was playing laconic Caesar. Veni, vidi, vici, wrote the one; "labor and arms" shouted the other. But Signor Ansaldo, editor of Count Ciano's newspaper at Leghorn, was more voluble. Reiterating his former declaration that it is impossible for Italy to stay out of the war in Europe, he went on to predict terrible days ahead for the Allies--and the neutrals.

"They will be subjected to expropriation of their land. They will be exploited in all possible manner. They will be reduced to the state of Chinese coolies and forced to toil for others. There is no force of internationalism which can save tomorrow's vanquished from this fate. The victors will attempt to take possession of the whole world and there is no fine promise which can make them do otherwise... Only if Italy is strong, very strong, militarily, will they (sic) be able to be in one way or another among the conquerors."

What Signor Ansaldo seems to be up to is an attempt to frighten the Italian people, who plainly don't want to fight, into thinking that it is necessary for their own safety to go to the rescue of Hitler and the Nazis. But his effusion is likely to serve also to tighten the determination of the Allies and their sympathizers that Hitlerism shall not win.

What he sets forth is a sort of blueprint of the oft-expressed purposes of Fascism in general, whether German or Italian. And the part which refers to the fate of the vanquished is an exact description of what Hitlerism is already doing in Czechoslovakia and Poland.

Mr. George Scalise Goes Right On Holding A Job

It is interesting to observe that when Mr. George Scalise, labor leader, was arrested at the Commodore Hotel (no mean dump) in New York yesterday, he was "clad in silk pajamas." Being president of the Building Service Employees International Union (AFL), you see, is a job for lean and frugal ascetics with the weight of the world's grief on their shoulders.

More interesting is the disclosure that Mr. Scalise, now charged with extorting a hundred thousand smacks from New York hotels and dry-cleaning establishments, spent four and a half years in the Federal penitentiary at Atlanta after being convicted in 1913 of white slavery under the Mann Act.

It is another AFL union head, Mr. Willie Bioff of the stage hands outfit, who is at present in an Illinois jail serving a term for pandering which had been hanging over him all the years he was building up his union power. And it is still other AFL union heads who are on trial in New York charged with turning a teamsters' union into a racket for extorting money from out-of-town truck drivers.

Astonishing enough it is to find known criminals at the head of these unions. More astonishing is that they go right on holding their jobs even after they are exposed and jailed on old charges and new.

AFL Boss William Green explains, indeed, that he has no legal authority to remove them. But Boss Green has never needed such powers when he really wanted to get something done--as for instance the suspension of the International Typographical Union in defiance of its own constitution and its original agreement with AFL.

Dr. John Hill Tucker, who died last night, was one those rare creatures who combine gentleness of manner and toughness of character. A man of quality both in his professional career and his personal culture, with catholic interests and an active sense of good citizenship, he was, even so, predominantly a family man.

It was the good life he lived, secure in a Christian faith that he had tested out for himself rather than accepted without question. It was a life nicely balanced between contemplation and works, wherein the days were too short for the gratification of his manifold interests and energy.

Perhaps his greatest contribution to the community in which he had resided for nearly 30 years, and of which he had become an integral part, was the development of parks and playgrounds. He was a great believer in the wholesomeness of sport and in society's obligation to develop bodies along with minds. Yet he was no impractical enthusiast. He recognized the limitations of community means, and he saw to it that so long as he was on the park board, its expenditures were only for full value received.

A grand man, in sum, this John Hill Tucker, whom almost everybody liked, yet who feared not to make enemies when a principle was at stake. A man who came to dwell among us and who remained to become one of us, a peer in any realm.