A FINE FIX FOR NERVOUS NELLIE (FAT NELLIE SERIES Book 2)
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These volunteer firemen hold a heavy pressure hose and shoot a strong stream of water into the burning Baehr building. Almost every man on the force was on the job and fought stubbornly on into the night. This photo shows firemen at work in the early stages of the battle at the Baehr building.
The ladder in the foreground is at the window where two women and a baby were rescued. Ambulance attendants and volunteers work swiftly as they prepare to take Richard Raymond to St.
Joseph's hospital. Raymond and two firemen were injured when an explosion sent bricks and debris hurtling through the air. Miss Patti Collins waits at the window as smoke swirls around her. Wilma Fairley is on her way down the ladder. At the bottom of the photo is Carl Johnson. After getting to the ground with little Todd, Johnson went back for the child's mother. This photo shows him helping her from the window to the ladder. Also shown in the photo are Martin Nelson, left, state fire marshall, Ray Gildow, right, facing camera, and Joe Hall, back to camera. The other fireman is unidentified.
Smoke poured from the window so heavily that Miss Collins could scarcely breathe as Johnson made his third trip up the ladder. A city crewman is shown here taking down some Christmas decorations and wiring while the fire rages in the background. This photo of the Baehr building shows the huge clouds of smoke which rolled skyward shortly after an explosion ripped out the section of the third floor shown in the foreground yesterday afternoon. The photo was taken from a roof across the street. This was the east end of the Baehr building following the explosion yesterday.
Despite the blast, a bedroom dresser, far right corner, remained standing throughout the blaze. This photo shows street crews clearing ice and debris from the sidewalks and from Front Street. The aftermath, 29 December Brainerd firemen scaled the walls with ladders to get at the fire from the roofs of the burning structures.
From the outside things looked almost normal at Fifth and Front this morning. However, two of the buildings shown here suffered heavy damage. Escaping with the lightest damage was the building on the corner, formerly the Hoenig Funeral Chapel. Lyle Anderson, owner of Service News Agency, attempts to get a soggy bundle of magazines out of the way of water which poured into his quarters last night. Three firemen stand on one roof and shoot a stream of water through the window into one of the second story apartments, their efforts were hampered by false ceilings in the building.
A fireman stands on one roof keeping a stream of water cascading onto another roof in an effort to halt the flames. Iron Exchange Building on the west side of 6th, it occupies almost half the block between Front and Laurel, ca. Iron Exchange Building burns, 22 July Source: Jamie Christianson Toman. Firemen at work on Iron Exchange Building fire, 22 July Iron Exchange Building fire. Aftermath of the Iron Exchange Building fire.
Remains of the Iron Exchange Building after the fire. Iron Exchange Building demolition, Downtown fire area. Aerial view facing north. Taken from the alley behind the stores. Fire at its peak. By the time we had completed our toilet the train stopped, and we were told to get off if we wanted any breakfast. We followed our porter to a side track where, in an old freight car, was breakfast. We climbed up the high steps, paying our dollar as we entered, and found for ourselves places at the long table. It was surrounded by hungry people intent only on helping themselves.
Everything was on the table, even to the coffee. We went back to the car and managed to make a tolerable breakfast on the cold chicken and other eatables we found in our basket. But the weather! It was simply perfect, and we soon forgot little annoyances in our enjoyment of it. We got camp chairs, and from morning until night we occupied the rear platform. As we got further South the land grew more interesting. We gazed in wonder at the groves of cacti which raised their heads many feet in the air, and topped them off with one of the most exquisite blossoms I have ever seen.
At every station we obtained views of the Mexicans. As the train drew in, the natives, of whom the majority still retain the fashion of Adam, minus fig leaves, would rush up and gaze on the travelers in breathless wonder, and continue to look after the train as if it was the one event of their lives. As we came to larger towns we could see armed horsemen riding at a speed, leaving a cloud of dust in their wake, to the stations. When the train stopped they formed in a decorous line before it, and so remained until the train started again on its journey. I learned that they were a government guard.
They do this so, if there is any trouble on the train or any raised at the station during their stop, they could quell it. Hucksters and beggars constitute most of the crowd that welcomes the train. From the former we bought flowers, native fruit, eggs, goat milk, and strange Mexican food. The pear cacti, which is nursed in greenhouses in the States, grows wild on the plains to a height [Page 13] of twenty feet, and its great green lobes, or leaves, covered thickly with thorns, are frequently three feet in diameter.
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Some kinds bear a blood-red fruit, and others yellow. When gathered they are in a thorny shell. The Mexican Indians gather them and peel them and sell them to travelers for six cents a dozen. It is called "tuna," and is considered very healthy. It has a very cool and pleasing taste. From this century-plant, or cacti, the Mexicans make their beer, which they call pulque pronounced polke.
It is also used by the natives to fence in their mud houses, and forms a most picturesque and impassable surrounding. The Indians seem cleanly enough, despite all that's been said to the contrary. Along the gutters by the railroad, they could be seen washing their few bits of wearing apparel, and bathing.
Many of their homes are but holes in the ground, with a straw roof. The smoke creeps out from the doorway all day, and at night the family sleep in the ashes. They seldom lie down, but sleep sitting up like a tailor, strange to say, but they never nod nor fall over. The whirlwinds, or sand spouts, form very pretty pictures on the barren plain. They run to the height of one thousand feet, and travel along the road at a gait, going up the mountain side as majestic as a queen. But then their race is run, for the moment they begin to descend their spell is broken, and they fall to earth again to become only common sand, and be trod by the bare, brown feet of the Indian, and the dainty hoofs of the burro.
Some one told me that when a man sees a sand spout advancing, and he does not want to be cornered by it, he shoots into it and it immediately falls. I can't say how true it is, but it seems very probable. We had not many passengers, but what we had, excepting my mother and myself, were all men. They all carried lunch-baskets. Among them was one young Mexican gentleman who had spent several years in Europe, where he had studied the English language. He was very attentive to us, and taught me a good deal of Spanish. He had been away long enough to learn [Page 14] that the Mexicans had very strange ideas, and he quite enjoyed telling incidents about them.
They had never seen the like before, so they filled them with earth, and, putting them on their backs, walked off to the place of deposit. It was a long time before they could be made to understand how to use them, and even then, as the Mexicans are very weak in the arms, little work could be accomplished with them. Once a settlement of natives decided to overpower the devil. They took one of their most sacred and powerful saints and placed it in the center of the track. On their knees, with great faith, they watched the advance of the train, feeling sure the saint would cause it to stop forever in its endless course.
The engineer, who had not much reverence for that particular saint or saints in general, struck it with full force.
That saint's reign was ended. Since then they are allowed to remain in their accustomed nooks in the churches, while the natives still have the same faith in their powers, but are not anxious to test them. We followed him to the rear platform and there looked curiously at the mountain he pointed out.
It rose, clear and alone, from the barren plains, like a nose on one's face. It seemed to be of brown earth, but it contained not the least sign of vegetation.nn.threadsol.com/55322-cell-phone.php
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It looked as high as the Brooklyn bridge from the water to top, and was about the same length, in an oblong shape. It was perfectly straight across the top. Through curiosity alone, to get a good view of the land, we decided to climb that strange looking mountain. From here you cannot see the vegetation, but it is covered with a low, brown shrub.
Can you imagine our surprise when we got to the top to find it was a mammoth basin? Yes, that hill holds in it the most beautiful lake I ever saw. When the Americans who were superintending the work on the railway found it, they decided to have a nice bath. It had been many days since they had seen any more water than would quench their thirst — in coffee, of course. Accordingly, some dozen or more doffed their clothing and went in. Their pleasure was short-lived, for their bodies began to burn and smart, and they came out looking like scalding pigs.
The water is strongly alkaline; the fish in the lake are said to be white, even to their eyes; they are unfit to eat. One woman who came down here to make herself famous pressed me one day for a story. I told her that out in the country the natives roasted whole hogs, heads and all, without cleaning, and so served them on the table. She jotted it down as a rare item. While yet a day's travel distant from the city of Mexico, tomatoes and strawberries were procurable. It was January. The venders were quite up to the tricks of the hucksters in the States.
In a small basket they place cabbage leaves and two or three pebbles to give weight; then the top is covered with strawberries so deftly that even the smartest purchaser thinks he is getting a bargain for twenty-five cents. At larger towns a change for the better was noticeable in the clothing of the people.
The most fashionable dress for the Mexican Indian was white muslin panteloons, twice as wide as those worn by the dudes last summer;. The women wear loose sleeveless waists with a straight piece of cloth pinned around them for skirts, and the habitual rebozo wrapped about the head and holding the equally habitual baby. No difference how cold or warm the day, nor how scant the lower garments, the serape and rebozo are never laid aside, and none seem too poor to own one. Apparently the natives do not believe much in standing, for the moment they stop walking they "hunker" down on the ground.
Never once during the three days did we think of getting tired, and it was with a little regret mingled with a desire to see more, that we knew when we awoke in the morning we would be in the City of Mexico. We got off, but we saw no city. We soon learned that the train did not go further, and that we would have to take a carriage to convey us the rest of the way.
Carriages lined the entrance to the station, and the cab-men were, apparently from their actions, just like those of the States. When they procure a permit for a carriage in Mexico, it is graded and marked. A first-class carriage carries a white flag, a second-class a blue flag, and a third-class a red flag.
The prices are respectively, per hour: one dollar, seventy-five cents, and fifty cents. This is meant for a protection to travelers, but the drivers are very cunning. Often at night they will remove the flag and charge double prices, but they can be punished for it. We soon arrived at the Hotel Yturbide, and were assigned rooms by the affable clerk. The hotel was once the home of the Emperor Yturbide.
It is a large building of the Mexican style. The entrance takes one into a large, open court or square. All the rooms are arranged around this court, opening out into a circle of balconies. The lowest floor in Mexico is the cheapest. The higher up one goes the higher they find the price.
The reason of this is that at the top one escapes any possible dampness, and can get the light and sun. Our room had a red brick floor. It was large, but had no ventilation except the glass doors which opened onto the balcony. There was a little iron cot in each corner of the room, a table, washstand, and wardrobe. It all looked so miserable — like a prisoner's cell — that I began to wish I was at home. At dinner we had quite a time trying to understand the waiter and to make him understand us. The food we thought wretched, and, as our lunch basket was long since emptied, we felt a longing for some United States eatables.
I found we could not learn much about Mexican life by living at the hotels, so the first thing was to find some one who could speak English, and through them obtain boarding in a private family. It was rather difficult, but I succeeded, and I was glad to exchange quarters. The City of Mexico makes many bright promises for the future. As a winter resort, as a summer resort, a city for men to accumulate fortunes; a paradise for students, for artists; a rich field for the hunter of the curious, the beautiful, and the rare.
Its bright future cannot be far distant. Already its wonders are related to the enterprizing people of other climes, who are making prospective tours through the land that held cities even at the time of the discovery of America. Mexico looks the same all over; every white street terminates at the foot of a snow-capped mountain, look which way you will. The streets are named very strangely and prove quite a torment to strangers.
Every block or square is named separately. The most prominent street is the easiest to remember, and even it is peculiar. It is called the street of San Francisco, and the first block is designated as first San Francisco, the second as second San Francisco, and so on the entire street. One continually sees poverty and wealth side by side in Mexico, and they don't turn up their noses at each other [Page 18] either; the half-clad Indian has as much room on the Fifth Avenue of Mexico as the millionaire's wife — not but what that land, as this, bows to wealth.
Policemen occupy the center of the street at every termination of a block, reminding one, as they look down the streets, of so many posts. They wear white caps with numbers on, blue suits, and nickel buttons. A mace now takes the place of the sword of former days. At night they don an overcoat and hood, which makes them look just like the pictures of veiled knights. Red lanterns are left in the street where the policemen stood during the daytime, while they retire to some doorway where, it is said, they sleep as soundly as their brethren in the States.
Every hour they blow a whistle like those used by street car drivers, which is answered by those on the next posts. Thus they know all is well. In small towns they call out the time of night, ending up with tiempo serono all serene , from which the Mexican youth, with some mischievous Yankeeism, have named them Seronos. I N Mexico, as in all other countries, the average tourist rushes to the cathedrals and places of historic note, wholly unmindful of the most intensely interesting feature the country contains — the people.
Street scenes in the City of Mexico form a brilliant and entertaining panorama, for which no charge is made. Even photographers slight this wonderful picture. If you ask for Mexican scenes they show you cathedrals, saints, cities and mountains, but never the wonderful things that are right under their eyes daily.
Likewise, journalists describe this cathedral, tell you the age of that one, paint you the beauties of another, but the people, the living, moving masses that go so far toward making the population of Mexico, are passed by with scarce a mention.
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It is not a clean, inviting crowd, with blue eyes and [Page 19] sunny hair I would take you among, but a short, heavy-set people, with almost black skins, topped off with the blackest eyes and masses of raven hair. Their lives are as dark as their skins and hair, and are invaded by no hope that through effort their lives may amount to something. Nine women out of ten in Mexico have babies. When at a very tender age, so young as five days, the babies are completely hidden in the folds of the rebozo and strung to the mother's back, in close proximity to the mammoth baskets of vegetables on her head and supended on either side of the human freight.
When the babies get older their heads and feet appear, and soon they give their place to another or share their quarters, as it is no unusual sight to see a woman carry three babies at one time in her rebozo. They are always good. Their little coal-black eyes gaze out on what is to be their world, in solemn wonder. No baby smiles or babyish tears are ever seen on their faces. At the earliest date they are old, and appear to view life just as it is to them in all its blackness.
They know no home, they have no school, and before they are able to talk they are taught to carry bundles on their heads or backs, or pack a younger member of the family while the mother carries merchandise, by which she gains a living. Their living is scarcely worth such a title. They merely exist. Thousands of them are born and raised on the streets.
They have no home and were never in a bed. Going along the streets of the city late at night, you will find dark groups huddled in the shadows, which, on [Page 20] investigation, will turn out to be whole families gone to bed. They never lie down, but sit with their heads on their knees, and so pass the night.
SIX MONTHS IN MEXICO.
When they get hungry they seek the warm side of the street and there, hunkering down, devour what they scraped up during the day, consisting of refused meats and offal boiled over a handful of charcoal. A fresh tortilla is the sweetest of sweetbreads. The men appear very kind and are frequently to be seen with the little ones tied up in their serape. Groups of these at dinner would furnish rare studies for Rodgers. Several men and women will be walking along, when suddenly they will sit down in some sunny spot on the street. The women will bring fish or a lot of stuff out of a basket or poke, which is to constitute their coming meal.
Meanwhile the men, who also sit flat on the street, will be looking on and accepting their portion like hungry, but well-bred, dogs. This type of life, be it understood, is the lowest in Mexico, and connects in no way with the upper classes. The Mexicans are certainly misrepresented, most wrongfully so.
They are not lazy, but just the opposite. From early dawn until late at night they can be seen filling their different occupations. The women sell papers and lottery tickets. The laundry women, who, by the way, wash clothes whiter and iron them smoother even than the Chinese, carry the clothes home unwrapped. That is, they carry their hands high above their head, from which stream [Page 21] white skirts, laces, etc.
Gestefeld, "among all the sad things in Mexico, was an incident that happened when I first arrived here. Noticing a policeman talking to a boy around whom a crowd of dusky citizens had gathered, I, true to journalistic instinct, went up to investigate. The boy, I found, belonged to one of the many families who do odd jobs in day time for a little food, and sleep at night in some dark corner. Strung to the boy's back was a dying baby. Its little eyes were half closed in death. The crowd watched, in breathless fascination, its last slow gasps.
The boy had no home to go to, he knew not where to find his parents at that hour of the day, and there he stood, while the babe died in its cradle, his serape. In my newspaper career I have witnessed many sad scenes, but I never saw anything so heartrending as the death of that little innocent.
Tortillas is not only one of the great Mexican dishes but one of the women's chief industries. In almost any street there can be seen women on their knees mashing corn between smooth stones, making it into a batter, and finally shaping it into round, flat cakes. They spit on their hands to keep the dough from sticking, and bake in a pan of hot grease, kept boiling by a few lumps of charcoal. Rich and poor buy and eat them, apparently unmindful of the way they are made. But it is a bread that Americans must be educated to.
Many surprise the Mexicans by refusing even a taste after they see the bakers. There are some really beautiful girls among this low class of people. Hair three quarters the length of the women, and of wonderful thickness, is common. It is often worn loose, but more frequently in two long plaits. Wigmakers find no employment here. The men wear long, heavy bangs. There is but one thing that poor and rich indulge in with equal delight and pleasure — that is cigarette smoking. Those tottering with age down to the creeping babe are continually smoking.
No spot in Mexico is sacred from them; in churches, on the railway cars, on the [Page 22] streets, in the theaters — everywhere are to be seen men and women — of the elite — smoking. The Mexicans make unsurpassed servants. Their thievery, which is a historic complaint, must be confined to those in the suburbs, for those in houses could not be more honest.
There cleanliness is something overwhelming, when one recalls the tales that have been told of the filth of the "greasers. Put an American domestic and a Mexican servant together, even with the difference in the working implements, and the American will "get left" every time. But this cleanliness may be confined somewhat to such work as sweeping and scrubbing; it does not certainly exist in the preparation of food. Pulque, which is sucked from the mother plant into a man's mouth and thence ejected into a water-jar, is brought to town in pig-skins.
The skins are filled, and then tied onto burros, or sometimes — not frequently — carried in wagons, the filled skin rolling from side to side. Never less than four filled skins are ever loaded onto a burro; oftener eight and ten. The burros are never harnessed, but go along in trains which often number fifty.
Mexican politeness extends even among the lowest classes. In all their dealings they are as polite as a dancing master. The moment one is addressed off comes his poor, old, ragged hat, and bare-headed he stands until you leave him. They are not only polite to other people, but among themselves. One poor, ragged woman was trying to sell a broken knife and rusty lock at a pawnbroker's stand. The police are not to be excelled.
When necessary to clear a hall of an immense crowd, not a rough word is spoken. It is not: "Get out of this, now;" "Get out of here," and rough and tumble, push and rush, as it is in the States among the civilized people. With raised cap and low voice the officer gently says in Spanish: "Gentlemen, it is not my will, but it is time to close the door. Ladies, allow me the honor to accompany you toward the door.
What a marked contrast to the educated, cultured inhabitants of the States. Beneath all this ignorance there is a heart, as sympathetic, in its way, as that of any educated man. It is no unusual sight to see a man walk along with a coffin on his head, from which is visible the remains of some child. In an instant all the men in the gutters, on the walks, or in the doorways, have their hats off, and remain bareheaded until the sad procession is far away.
The pallbearer, if such he may be called, dodges in and out among the carriages, burros and wagons, which fill the street. The drivers lift their hats, but the silent bearer — generally the father — moves along unmindful of all. Funeral cars meet with the same respect. In passing along where a new building was being erected, attention was attracted to the body of a laborer who had fallen from the building. A white cloth covered all of the body except his sandled feet. These little scenes prove they are not brutes, that they are a little better than some intelligent people would have you believe.
The meat express does not, by any means, serve to make the meat more palatable. Generally an old mule or horse that has reached its second childhood serves for the express. A long, iron rod, from which hooks project, is fastened on the back of the beast by means of [Page 24] straps. The meat is hung on these hooks, where it is exposed to the mud and dirt of the streets as well as the hair of the animal.
Men with two large baskets, one in front, one behind, filled with the refuse of meat, follow near by. If they wear trousers they have them rolled up high so the blood from the dripping meat will not soil them, but run down their bare legs and be absorbed in the sand. It is asserted that the poor do not allow this mixture in the basket to go to waste, but are as glad to get it as we are to get sirloin steak.
Men with cages of fowls, baskets of eggs and bushels of roots and charcoal, come from the mountain in droves of from twenty-five to fifty, carrying packs which average three hundred pounds. One form of politeness here is, that when complimenting or observing anything that belongs to a native, they will reply: "It is yours. A "greeny" from the States who was working for the Mexican Central tested some beer that was on its way to the city.
It is yours," was the reply. Green was elated, and trudged off home with the keg, much to the consternation and distress of the poor express man, who was compelled to pay out of his own purse for his politeness. A young Spanish gentleman who, doubtless, was employed by the express company, said, after a few moments' conversation, "The express company and myself are yours, senorita.
A peep into doorways shows the people at all manner [Page 25] of occupations. Men always use the machines. Women and men put chairs together and weave bottoms in them. They also make shoes, the finest and most artistic shoe in the world, and the cobblers can make a good shoe out of one that is so badly worn as to be useless to our grandmothers as a rod of correction. The water-carrier, aguador , is one of the most common objects on the street. They suspend water-jars from their heads, one in front, one back. Around their bodies are leather aprons to protect them from the water, which they get at big fountains and basins distributed throughout the city.
As a people they do not seem malicious, quarrelsome, unkind or evil-disposed. Drunkenness does not seem to be frequent, and the men, in their uncouth way, are more thoughtful of the women than many who belong to a higher class. The women, like other women, sometimes cry, doubtless for very good cause, and then the men stop to console them, patting them on the head, smoothing back their hair, gently wrapping them tighter in their rebozo. Late one night, when the weather was so cold, a young fellow sat on the curbstone and kept his arm around a pretty young girl. He had taken off his ragged serape and folded it around her shoulders, and as the tears ran down her face and she complained of the cold, he tried to comfort her, and that without a complaint of his own condition, being clad only in muslin trowsers and waist, which hung in shreds from his body.
Thus we leave the largest part of the population of Mexico. Their condition is most touching. Homeless, poor, uncared for, untaught, they live and they die. They are worse off by thousands of times than were the slaves of the United States. Their lives are hopeless, and they know it. That they are capable of learning is proven by their work, and by their intelligence in other matters.
They have a desire to gain book knowledge, or at least so says a servant who was taken from the streets, [Page 26] who now spends every nickel and every leisure moment in trying to learn wisdom from books. Still, the Mexican way of spending Sunday is of interest to people of other climes and habits. With the dawn of day people are to be seen wending their willing footsteps toward their church. The bells chime with their musical clang historic to Mexico, and men and women cross the threshold of churches older than the United States.
Pews are unknown, and on the bare floor the millionaire is seen beside the poverty-stricken Indian; the superbly clad lady side by side with an uncombed, half naked Mexican woman. No distinction, no difference. There they kneel and offer their prayers of penitence and thanks, unmindful of rank or condition. No turning of heads to look at strange or gaze on new garments; no dividing the poor from the rich, but all with uniform thought and purpose go down on their knees to their God. How a missionary, after one sight like this, can wish to convert them into a faith where dress and money bring attention and front pews, and where the dirty beggar is ousted by the janitor and indignantly scorned down by those in affluence, is incomprehensible.
No Mexican lady thinks it proper to wear a hat into church. She thinks it shows disgust; hence the fashion of wearing lace mantillas. In this city of rights there is nothing handsomer than a lady neatly clad in black with a mantilla gracefully wrapped around her head, under which are visible coal-black hair, sparkling eyes, and beautiful teeth.
A ragged skirt, and rebozo encircling a babe with its head on its mother's shoulder, fast asleep; black, silky [Page 27] hair which trails on the floor as she kneels, her wan, brown, pathetic face raised suppliantly in devotion, is one of the prettiest, though most common, sights in Mexico on Sunday morning. This is the busiest day in the markets. Everything is booming, and the people, even on their way to and from church, walk in and out around the thousands of stalls, buying their marketing for dinner.
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Hucksters cry out their wares, and all goes as merry as a birthday party. Indians, from the mountains, are there in swarms with their marketing. The majority of stores are open; and the "second-hand" stalls on the cheap corner do the biggest business of the week. Those who do not attend church find Mexico delightful on Sunday.
In the alameda park three military bands, stationed in different quarters, play alternately all forenoon. The poor have a passion for music, and they crowd the park. After one band has finished, they rush to the stand of the next, where they stay until it has finished, and then move to the next. Thus all morning they go around in a circle. The music, of which the Mexican band was a sample, is superb; even the birds are charmed. Sitting on the mammoth trees, which, grace the alameda, they add their little songs.
All this, mingled with the many chimes which ring every fifteen minutes, make the scene one that is never forgotten. The rich people promenade around and enjoy themselves similar to the poor. In the Zocalo, a plazo at the head of the main street and facing the palace and cathedral, the band plays in the evening; also on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Maximilian planned and had made a drive which led to his castle at Chapultepec. It is feet long, wide enough to drive four, or even six teams abreast.
It is planted on the east side with two rows of trees; one edging the drive, the other the walk, which is as wide as many streets. The trees are now of immense size, rendering this drive one of the handsomest, as well as most pleasant, in Mexico. Maximilian called it the Boulevarde Emperiale; but when liberty was proclaimed the name was changed to the Boulevarde of the Reform. On the same drive are handsome, nay more, magnificent [Page 28] statues of Columbus, Quatemoc, and an equestrian statue of Charles IV.
A statue of Cortez is being erected. This paseo is the fashionable promenade and drive from five to seven P. The music stands are occupied, and no vacant benches are to be found. Those who call the Mexicans "greasers," and think them a dumb, ignorant class, should see the paseo on Sunday: tally-ho coaches, elegant dog-carts, English gigs, handsome coupes and carriages, drawn by the finest studs, are a common sight.
Pittsburg, on this line, is nowhere in comparison. Cream horses, with silver manes and tails, like those so valued in other cities, are a common kind here. The most fashionable horse has mane and tail "bobbed. Cats and dogs appear minus ears and tails. Pets of every kind are much in demand. Ladies carry lap dogs, and gentlemen have chained to them blooded dogs of mammoth size.
The poor Mexican will have his tame birds; even roosters are stylish pets. Mexico, while in the land of churches, would be rightly called the city of high heels, hats, powder and canes. Every gentleman wears a silk hat and swings a "nobby" cane. There are but two styles of hats — the tile hat and the sombrero.
Every woman powders — lays it on in chunks — and wears the high heels known as the French opera heel. The style extends even to the men. One of the easiest ways to distinguish foreigners from natives is to look at their feet. The native has a neat shoe, with heels from two inches up, while the foreigner has a broad shoe and low heel. These people certainly possess the smallest hands and feet of any nation in the world. Ladies wear fancy shoes entirely — beaded, bronzed, colored leather, etc. A common, black leather shoe, such as worn by women in the Slates, is an unsalable article.
Yet it is nothing strange to see a lady, clad in silk or velvet, lift her dress to cross a street or [Page 29] enter a carriage, and display a satin shoe of exquisite make and above it the hosiery of Eve. In fact, very few women ever wear stockings at all. This city is a second Paris in the matter of dress among the elite.
The styles and materials are badly Parisian, and Americans who come here expecting to see poorly-dressed people are disappointed. Like people in the sister Republic, the Mexicans judge persons by their dress. It is the dress first and the man after. Founded in Clarksville in as the Masonic University of Tennessee, the school that in would become known as Rhodes College relocates to Memphis in Tann used pressure tactics and legal threats to dupe single mothers into giving up their babies, which she sold to wealthy or desperate couples through her "adoption" agency.
Billed as one of the largest stores in the U. Banning David O. It is the fleshpots of Pharaoh, modernized and filled to overflowing. It is a barbaric symphony of passion and hatred, spilling from a blood-tinted screen. It is mental and physical putrefaction. Filmed in and around Memphis in , King Vidor's classic "Hallelujah" — the story of a sharecropper and a seductress — is one of the first major-studio films with an all-black cast.
The city acquired the property after Saunders went bankrupt. Insurance statistician Frederick L. Memphians object, pointing out that Chicago, for example, had hosted the "St. Valentine's Day Massacre" that same year. Edward D. Jude Thaddeus. Jude Children's Research Hospital in Memphis, which becomes the world's leading institute in the battle against childhood cancer. Named by pilot Robert K. After the success of Nat D. Williams' "Tan Town Jubilee" show aimed at black listeners in , WDIA abandons country and pop and switches entirely to programming aimed at black audiences, hosted by black on-air personalities.
King and Rufus Thomas. Memphis businessman Kemmons Wilson opens the first Holiday Inn — a single-story motor court — in August , at Summer. Reviewing Elvis' acting debut in "Love Me Tender" in , an unimpressed Time magazine critic wrote: "Is it a sausage? It is certainly smooth and damp-looking, but who ever heard of a pound sausage, 6 feet tall? Is it a Walt Disney goldfish?
It has the same sort of big, soft beautiful eyes and curly lashes, but who ever heard of a goldfish with sideburns? Said one organizer: "Occasionally, when things would be a little bit dead in the dealers' room, he would break out the whip. A prime example of s Polynesian exotica, the Luau restaurant opens at Poplar in February The Memphis Press-Scimitar lauded the establishment for its tiki statuary, war clubs, stuffed sharks and waterfall entrance, "with a banyan tree rising toward the roof, dotted with coral and giant clam shells.
In what the judge said was "the first time he can recall that a white man was represented in City Court by a negro attorney," Sputnik's lawyer was Russell B. Sugarmon Jr. Its striking modern design by Memphis architect Roy Harrover now partially obscured by an ugly parking garage, the current Memphis International Airport terminal opens on June 7, Killed in a Viet Cong ambush, Army Sgt.
Calling himself "Mr. Pusser, the McNairy County sheriff known for his one-man campaign against moonshine, prostitution and illegal gambling, was the inspiration for the movie "Walking Tall. On Feb. Strike news took second place to weather news when a storm dropped Martin Luther King Jr. Witnesses say the youth was unarmed. Jones, 76, died March 15, April 4, Dr. April 16, The city sanitation strike ends.
Workers win union recognition and wage increases. Willis and Benjamin L. The union of white country and black gospel vocalists was intended to "set an example of racial partnership" in the wake of King's assassination, according to publicity, but both chains folded, in part because a major investor was financially embattled Tennessee gubernatorial candidate John Jay Hooker.
Asked one board member: "Is this book fit for women to read? Hard to believe, but it is not until Nov. One compromise: In Memphis, no nudity. May 21, Inspired by the new availability of liquor-by-the-drink, Memphis investors open the first Friday's restaurant and bar outside of New York, spurring what would become the Overton Square-centered nightlife explosion of the next two decades. The location currently is occupied by Babalu, a Mexican restaurant.
The decision preserves the park. April 20, U. The decision forever changes local education. S cities, absolutely positively overnight. June 4, The Park Commission ends the popular practice of staging commercial rock concerts in the Overton Park Shell after complaints about "criminal" behavior in the audience. According to the Memphis Press-Scimitar, crowds "at various times smoked marijuana, drank alcoholic beverages, took drugs and openly participated in love-making. Mugshots show an injury to the singer's nose that apparently resulted from a rebounding champagne bottle that Jerry Lee had tried to hurl out a rolled-up window.
Benjamin L. The Memphis in May International Festival is organized in The first "honored country" is Japan. Soon after, Presley's body is moved to Graceland. It comes as an ugly shock. Patterson Jr. It is now the second most-visited home in the U. Distraught over the death of his 8-year-old son, who had been treated for leukemia at the hospital, a marijuana-smoking and.