• U.S.

People, Aug. 10, 1936

3 minute read

“Names make news.” Last week these names made this news:

‘I am going to be the first U. S. Senator to drive his own car down the new Pan-American Highway to Mexico City & back,” boasted North Carolina’s Senator Robert Rice Reynolds last month. Last week, on a side trip from Mexico, D. F., Driver Reynolds became the first U. S. Senator to be cleaned out by bandits. Stopped by a traffic jam, Senator Reynold was approached by several Mexicans. His story: “They were not abusive, only businesslike. I thought they were merely customs officials. When one of them took off my wrist watch and pocketed it, I realized they were highwaymen. Then he felt in my pocket and took out a roll of American bills [$200]. . . . When the bandits had finished with me, I walked ahead and saw Skewes Saunders, an Englishman who had previously been knocked unconscious when he resisted search. I noticed one bandit behind a tree about 75 yd. from my car and another behind a rock nearby, both with rifles pointed on us. … I became resigned to the situation.” Aboard a launch on his way to the Chesapeake Bay fishing grounds off Solomons Island, Md., Ohio’s husky, 63-year-old Senator Alvin Victor (“Vic”) Donahey was standing beside the small mast when it was struck by lightning. Knocked unconscious for half an hour, the Senator was badly burned on the hands.

Mark Requa, onetime California Republican National Committeeman, remarked in Salt Lake City that his friend Herbert Hoover is in the market for “a good mine.” “

Unless $25,000 is dropped from an airplane near Grant, Neb., on May 15, the life of Shirley Temple will be endangered.” When Cinemactress Temple’s father read this note in her fan mail three months ago, he notified G-men. Last week, by tracing the sale of the stationery in Grant, they arrested 16-year-old Farmboy Sterling Walrod Powell, voracious reader of cinemagazines, released him on $1,000 bail after he confessed.

In a speech in London, Admiral of the Fleet Sir Roger Keyes, retired, confessed that in 50 years in His Majesty’s Navy he had never conquered seasickness.

Because her work as a designer of women’s underclothes takes all her time, Tennist Helen Wills Moody announced that she would not play in the National Singles Championship at Forest Hills, L. I. next month. Thus she avoided another battle in her feud with Tennist Helen Hull Jacobs. Said Mrs. Moody: “I am not giving up tennis. But in the future I shall play only in tournaments that fit in well with my work.” Up for auction in Denver came the last tawdry possessions of Elizabeth Bonduel McCourt (“Baby”) Doe Tabor, who was frozen to death last year after 35 years of guarding the abandoned Matchless Silver Mine, once worth $1,000,000 to her husband, the late wealthy U. S. Senator Horace Austin Warner (“Haw”) Tabor (TIME, March 18, 1935). To an eager crowd were offered a dozen silver nut picks, a pearl-encrusted fan, 50 silk handkerchiefs, a quart of rye whiskey, dozens of photographs, a gold safety pin which once secured the diapers of Baby Doe’s daughter Rose Mary Echo Silver Dollar Tabor. A silver dollar made into a locket containing Silver Dollar Tabor’s picture drew the highest bid: $26. Finally, the auctioneer hoisted a pair of long red flannels which Baby Doe wore for years before she died. “Here is your opportunity, girls! Winter is coming!” he bawled. A Denver housewife bought them for $1.25.

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