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...York Times. Mr. Speers has been traveling through the flooded region, reporting to his newspaper conditions as he has observed them. His has been a story of destitute thousands forming shamefaced breadlines; of stagnant waters, breeding places of countless mosquitoes; of a lost cotton crop and a lost corn crop; of the collapse of the credit system hastily thrown together to relieve the stricken area. Mr. Speers writes as no sensation monger and the Times, though Democratic in policy, has never been an extremist organ, has even opposed the calling of a special flood session of Congress. Yet Mr. Speers...
...vacation-bound presidential special crossed South Dakota, the state turned into a 400-mile-long cheering section. Farmers stood in fields of young, ankle-high corn, forgot mortgages and vetoes, cheered. Townspeople gathered at railroad stations; in their hands were hats and flowers; in their hearts were peace and goodwill. Senator Peter Norbeck of South Dakota, long an insurgent, exclaimed, "We will not go into past regrets." Representative Charles A. Christopherson, farm-relief advocate, announced that all doubt concerning a third term had been swept away. The President made no speeches, no promises, receded not an inch from the posi...
...Monroe Sunday dinner menu consists of roast lamb, creamed potatoe's, corn on the cob, cake, orange sauce, tea, coffee, milk or buttermilk?all served for the sum of 13˘. The refugees are quartered in regulation army tents...
...English. They are (in the words of Herbert C. Hoover) "as much like French peasants as one dot is like another." Many of them wear French peasant costumes; have their shoes peg-nailed by a community shoemaker, his last held between his knees; eat hoe-cakes of home-ground corn meal, baked over live coals on three-legged iron spiders. Unable to realize that the present flood is the greatest in the history of the Mississippi, hating the thought of herding into refugee camps, they cling to their homes and threaten to add great loss of life to the other...
Over mountains, across deserts, between corn fields, down a thousand Main Streets goes the jogging army?Arabs, Finns, great Danes, bandy-legged Italians, blackamoors, Kansans, Californians, Georgians, the Tarahumura Indians of Chihuahua, Mexico, whose sandals go clump-hua-clump-hua. . . . They sit in ditches and catch their breath. They sleep in haystacks, hotels, Hupmobiles. They suck lemons, swallow dry toast, regird their loins and start jog-jog-jogging again. Only the fools sprint. It is 3,000 miles from Los Angeles to Manhattan, where a $25,000 prize, fat vaudeville contracts and the plaudits of a multitude await the first...