Word: fathers
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Dates: during 1930-1939
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Within the secretive confines of the Navy Department in Washington, a small war went on last year. Shy but stubborn Acting Secretary of the Navy Charles Edison, who inherited the experimental instinct from his great father, Thomas Alva Edison, wanted the Navy to try out small, speedy, motor torpedo boats and submarine chasers. Motored "mosquito boats"* and subchasers did perilous and effective duty along European coasts during War I, afterward were further developed by the British and Italians. Grey, stubborn Admiral William Daniel Leahy, who until last June was Chief of Naval Operations, stuck by his principle that the Navy...
...flight ended in Flushing Bay a few minutes after the takeoff; he cracked up Haile Selassie's own plane; he never got to China because he collapsed in a hotel chair, broke his arm. Last week Colonel Julian made his altitude record: he flew to the defense of Father Divine himself...
...little black Father's well-heeled heavens an altercation had begun to sputter like a fish fry. What started it was a love feast ten long years ago. In 1929 Mrs. Verinda Brown had sat down at the paradisal table set by Father Divine with chicken, ham, potatoes, rice, corn, cabbage, scalloped tomatoes, hominy, carrots, beets, a two-foot cheese, five different kinds of pie, ice cream, and "two cakes as big as automobile tires." After three hours, she rose and cried: "I feel different than when I came...
Enlarged, enriched by this experience, she and her butler husband became angels, contributed all their savings to the Divine treasury, said she. Later, 54-year-old Mrs. Brown began to feel different again. Into court last week she marched to confront an inscrutable little Father Divine. He might be God to thousands of Negroes and white people, but he was God no longer to disgruntled Mrs. Brown. She wanted her money back. So did some others she represented. Mrs. Brown began to testify. At that moment the Black Eagle swooped from Harlem...
...anti-fascist novels, written at 3,000 miles removed from fascist reality, are too often the sort which make a Führer out of every bully. James T. Farrell's Jew-hating young Brooklyn Irishman, a bellicose introvert who sells Father Moylan's Christian Justice, is a convincing individual in Tommy Gallagher's Crusade (Vanguard, $1), but the tract-like limitations of the story are implicit in the original title: Tommy Gallagher-American Storm Trooper. Mari Sandoz's third book, Capital City (Little, Brown, $2.50), lacks even a credible character. A panoramic, pamphlet-pat story...