• U.S.

Milestones, Nov. 2, 1942

3 minute read

Lost on Duty. Captain Edward Vernon (“Eddie”) Rickenbacker, 52, flying ace of World War I, head of Eastern Air Lines; on an Army inspection flight; somewhere in the Pacific (see p. 24).

Married. Major James Warner Bellah, 43, veteran flyer, adventure writer; and Third Officer (“second lieutenant”) Helen Lasater Hopkins, 27, of the WAACs; he for the fifth time; in Nashville. She said the ceremony was the first WAAC wedding.

Died. Frederick Wilhelm August Stock, 69, director of the Chicago Symphony Orchestra since 1905; of a heart attack; in Chicago (see p. 60).

Died. Joe Knowles, 73, briefly and widely famed “nature man” of three decades ago; in Seaview, Wash. Emptyhanded, naked except for a loincloth, he entered the Maine woods for a man-v.-nature tussle in 1913, emerged two months later wearing a bearskin, a beard, a splendid sun tan, to win national acclaim and a 20-week vaudeville contract. Later it turned out he had spent most of the time hiding in a cabin with a Boston ex-publicity man, who had written Knowles’s “birchbark diary,” sent it back to the Boston Post, which printed it regularly, thus increased its circulation more than 30,000.

Died. William Tyler Page, 74, clerk of the House of Representatives from 1919 to 1931, “minority clerk emeritus” thereafter, House employe for over 60 years; on his birthday; in Chevy Chase, Md. He went to work as a Congressional page when he was 13; Chester A. Arthur was President. As clerk, bald, trim-mustached, meticulous Page wore a tailcoat, a white-edged vest, and manners to match. He became an authority on Congressional procedure. The 100-word American’s Creed, which he wrote in World War I, is still one of the Printing Office’s bestsellers.

Died. Mary Robison (“May Robson”), 84, veteran character actress, “dowager queen” of the screen and stage; in Beverly Hills. A small, sweet-faced woman with a diamond glint in her eye, she made her theatrical debut in Brooklyn in 1884, spent the rest of her life playing pathetic slaveys, sly grandmothers, iron-willed matriarchs, frowsy housewives and alcoholic old harridans. She reached stardom on the stage (in The Rejuvenation of Aunt Mary) when she was 49, reached Hollywood stardom (in Lady jor a Day) when she was 75. Two disclosures followed her death: she was six years older than she said she was; as Mary J. Brown (she was the widow of a onetime police surgeon in New York City) she had drawn some $10,000 in police widow’s pension money over the past 22 years.

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