West Texas ‘Auction’ SNYDER West Texas has been inundated by an auction announcement of properties owned by “Ike & Mamie” to be auctioned off by “Col. Wallstreet.” The four by eight inch sheets turned up at the Abilene Democratic dinner here last week and are in general currency throughout the plains. They read: it PUBLIC SALE As we are leaving the White House in the near future, will sell the following at auction: 1Isenhower manure spreader 1Nixon fertilizer attachment 1Benson drouth aid, used very little [Pair tax cutters, large size, good as new. About 400 lbs. campaign promises, never used. 2 of Mr. Wilson’s kennel dogs. 1Dulles mowing machine. Dullas hell. Several sets price supports, slightly used. tackle and many articles too numerous to mention. Mr. Nixon will sell one used phonograph and used records such aS: “It’s All Over Now,’ `I Can’t Believe W e Are Through,’ and ‘California Here I Come.’ IKE & MAMIE, OWNERS Col. Wallstreet, Auctioneer 91 ..,””771 7-1r: :00 The one great rule of composition is to speak the truth. Thoreau Orxtai Ohnrr rr We will serve no woup or party brat, will hew hard to the truth a-s we find it and the right as wr see it. independent Liberal Weekly Newspaper Vol. 4S TEXAS, OCTOBER 24, 1956 10c per copy No. 27 In Hone ,,,, a Coon Martyr AUSTIN When it came to naming streams in Texas, early settlers in most cases showed little originality. In the state are 26 Bear creeks, 37 Elm creeks, 23 Indian creeks, 30 Caney creeks, 36 Cedar creeks, 32 Spring creeks, 25 Walnut creeks, 23 Turkey creeks, and 39 Cottonwood creeks. But there are exceptions. San Jacinto river received its name from friars of the Presidio San Augustione de Ahumada, who, while exploring the coast, ran upon the stream. When they tried to pull their boat through it, it was so choked with water hyacinths they failed. They did, however, succeed in naming it San Jacinto, the anglicized version of Saint Hyacinth. Spanish padres were cred ited g other strew ras named by ‘ .nission San Fr Tejas. Hon oree e Indian girl who he fathers to teach her their language and their religion. When she chose to abandon her home and her people rather than leave the mission and her work there, she was called “Little Angel,” and Angelina was named in her honor. San Saba probably was San named by fathers who discovered it on that day, but the name has been shortened to its present form. Kate creek, with headwaters in Howard County, honors Kate Lowe, an early business woman who lost her life when she tried to rescue a pet coon from a burning saloon. And Marys creek, which rises in eastern Parker County, was named for Mary Le Bone, an Indian woman who was drowned when the creek went on a sudden rise. Memory of a one-eyed Indian. who was driven from the area by white settlers was perpetuated in One Eye Creek, which rises . in Cherokee County. Deadman creek is the name of two streams in the state, but the one which rises in Callahan County was first called Willow Creek. When an unidentified dead man was found at one of the crossings, the name of the river was changed. Deadhorse Creek, rising in Hill County, was so named because horses going there for water often bogged down and died in its marshes. Alarm creek in Erath County was named when Major George B. Erath and his surveyors camped there. They promised to sound an alarm for settlers in case of an Indian raid. Pipe creek, beginning in Bandera, was named when a pioneer returned to its banks to get his pipe although the Comanche Indians were hot in pursuit of his party. He got the pipe and the stream got its name. Mesmerizer creek honors a pioneer who had great faith in the power of mesmerism. Planning to tame buffalo, he constructed a stockade and rounded up a number of the animals, but it was they who did the mesmerising. They left nothing of the log pen but firewood. The creek near the scene was called Mesmeriser’s creek, and later the name was shortened. ALICE NEILL lot Against the Nigger People’ TYLER District Judge Otis Dunagan sat in his office and talked. “Don’t think this a suit against the nigger people,” he. said. “Actually it an organization for the nigger people, b u t after all, three fourths of its directors are white people.” Judge Dunagan had just handed down a temporary order prohibiting the NAACP from doing business in Texas \(maintaining local chapters, collecting dues, or filing permit to do business here in the future. Attorney General John Ben Shepperd, who has known Dunagan since they were boys, stunned a crowded courtroom at the end of the state’s closing argument with an emotional attack on the NAACP. “False prophets,” he \(Continued on Texas Youth, Some of It, oes on a Tear SAN ANTONIO “Hurry up, Daddyo,” the girl said. She had on a red knit sweater. “Lock ‘er up, George,” said one of the boys. They set out through the rows of parked cars for the far-off coliseum. Girls filed through the gates, girls with their dates, in pairs, alone, in cocktail dresses, in blue jeans and white shirts, in black slacks, in pink sweaters and black skirts. Pink and black are Elvis’s colors. “An autographed picture of Elvis!” the man at the microphone exclaimed through his foghorn voice. “And in one out of every twenty five of these packages there’s a bracelet, an Elvis Presley bracelet!” Shrill cries echoed LAREDO “M or did a” in Mexico means “bite,” and for many underpaid Mexican officials it means extra cash in their pockets when they employ the term in the meaning of a tip for services rendered. One of President Adolfo Ruiz Cortines’ goals is to abolish the “mordida” by hiking salaries of government employes whenever possible. It’s a pretty handy system even for the bitten, sometimes, espe Ramon Garces cially if a fellow wants to get through customs quickly, or talk the traffic cop out of taking you in for crossing a red light, or make the corner cop forget about you having only one license plate. Sometimes a “mordida” is valuable in other more serious business. Last week, a $129 “mordida” got four thrill-seeking teenaged airmen from Laredo Air Force Base out of a jam that originated `Frightening, Isn’t It?’ Asks Elvis in SA through the huge barn, up into the ribs of the dome. “Only a dollar, hold up your hands you that want ’em …” Hands shot up all over the floor, in the balconies. An old man in natty sports clothes, with silk white hair, but trim, strode through the crowd, his watch chain swaying. A blonde about 17 brushed against him; she was outlined in a black knit dress. A group of young would-be hoods in white sports coats were glued together in an aisle against the female hysteria they hated. In a runway off the main floor, a lovely yoling redhead in a tight in Nuevo Laredo’s famous “Boys Town,” which houses an estimated 500 prostitutes. \(ProstituThe incident came to light nearly three weeks after it happened, and it mushroomed into an international affair that threatened to close Nuevo Laredo to U. S. military personnel. Young-looking Colonel Milton B. Adams of Laredo Air Force Base first brought up the whole affair of “mordidas” in the base paper when he mentioned a conference he had held with Nuevo Laredo’s mayor and police chief concerning “the increasing trend of arrests and fines of our people” across the border. Bill Hall, publisher of the South Texas Citizen, looked into the matter and found that the incident that led to the conference was a rape charge brought by a prostitute against the airmen, all of them 17 years old, and frequent visitors to Nuevo Laredo’s redlight district. The woman, Maria Dolores Badillo, a shapely 16-year-old pink sweater with a gold sacred heart suspended from a chain around her neck accenting her even more and a black skirt is arguing with a policeman. “After I get to see him go back …. I never fainted in my life over a man …. I paid my whole two dollars, my last money! I’m not gonna go clown there, I’ll get all shook up …. I don’t want a car, I just want to see him, I want to talk to him, is that all right? Well, if he’s not coming through here how come I have to get out?” About half a dozen little girls up the ramp are trying to get past another cop. “What’s that guy got that appeals to us?” one of them asks nobody. “I doan know I jus’ like the way he sings an’ puts it over. that’s all.” “Ohh!” says a crane-like pimplefaced girl. “If I could just be somebody this evening!” “If I could jus’ get up close to him and see him and if he’d jUst say hello to me!” “Gosh he said hello to one girl and she threw her arms up and fainted.” “Oh if I could just get backstage!” From a balcony a girl maybe 14, her hair blonded, shouts to a boy standing in the ramp: “Hey Jack, Jack, is Elvis there?” The boy, his fists doubled in his pockets, rocks back and shakes hiS head and says “Naahgh.” Fouinice little girls in high-waisted overall black skirts and pink blouses run around the balcony trying to get down to the dressing room. FOUR CARS parked end to end block them off from the stage. A no woman’s land of thirty yards is roped off in front of the cars. From the right flank a football cheer starts: “Go, go, go, go, go, go, go!” A girl in black from neck to ankle sits apart from the crowd where he FOght see her. Oscar Davis, the fog voiced one, is back at the mike. His hair is caked to the side of his oversize head. Because you’re good people Elvis is going to do twelve, yes, twelve songs for you. “And how would you like him to do ‘I want a Woman’?” Screams, that’s ‘Waaaaatch Him,’ Screams a Teenager how. But be patient, be patient. They start the filler half of the show, a singer, two aging acrobats, a tight rope clown. “Presley’s got lots of hair. It runs in his family, a lotta hair,” a girl says. They sit quietly, waiting. The girl in the pink sweater is lurking around the men’s dressing room now. She hasn’t seen Elvis yet, but she’s still looking for him. She says she’s a senior at Blessed Sacrament High School in San Antonio. She comes up to the edge of the coliseum floor occasionally to see the acts, then fades back to the rear, watching the dressing room. She slips over to a dark corner of the runway, gets her purse off a chair and primps. Now come Elvis’s boys, the Jordannaires … hi, hi, hi, hi, with their heads juggling and their elbows in. a fizz, warming up the ozone for the boy who’s on the runway. Three old ladies, whitehaired, on the back row of the balcony seat, clapping. BACK at the women’s dressing room, the sense of his coming is upon them. Somehow the redhead has worked around to the policeman guarding the path to the car runway. “I’m not gonna do nothin’!” she cries out. “After all you can chain me to that fence. I’m not a monkey.” Two dozen girls press against. a cop’s arm on the stairway leading down to the dressing room, half of them clutching big brown envelopes with “Presley” on them. At 9:10 a white and brown Pontiac drives up to the dressing room door. It is he, Mr. Presley. Screams: “Elvis!” He has on a green tie and a nubby green coat the shade of carpet grass. He waves to the girls and goes in. His face is heavily powdered. “Act like you’re singing,” says a photographer. “Oh I don’t want to do that,” he says easily. “You have to fake it; ,it
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