Verhovayak Lapja, 1941. július-december (24. évfolyam, 27-52. szám)
1941-08-28 / 35. szám
August 28, 1941____________________Verhovayak Lapja high hills which constitute much of the attractive residential section. From the initial part of the name one knows that it has harbor facilities. I saw a Russian freighter there, and I suppose it’s still there due to the outbreak of the German-Russian war. And by the way, the city is “loaded” with Orientals, Japanese especially. At 1:30 P. M. I boarded a standard train (there are no streamliners in this part of the country) for Seattle, a distance of about 187 miles due north of Portland. On my way up I was amazed and almost spellbound seeing the gigantic and flourishing lumber industry of Washington. There were logs, logs, logs floating down to their destinations. Many of the farms along the way are in the hands of the progressive little Japanese, who don’t mind working hard, one reason they advance so rapidly. The waters of Puget Sound held my interested attention. I saw an airplane plant in the state of expansion, in accordance with the Defense program. Do you recall the Tacoma Narrows Bridge which some months ago collapsed shortly after its opening? Well, I saw it— what was left of it. Oh yes, I forgot to mention that I had a young lady partner next to me on the way to Seattle. She was not, however, an heiress, just a simple Western girl, but an interesting conversationalist, though she talked so much of the “glories” of her state of Washington that I almost thought she worked for the chamber of commerce. Her mother sat across from us, a seat above, and she kept an eye on ladykiller Jozik, though, I must say, it was a pleasant rather than evil eye. I know, just another mother sizing up a prospect for her daughter. In just 4 hours, at 5:30 P. M., we arrived at Seattle. I got a taxi (ahem!) and hastened to the town’s best hotel (ahem! again), to register overnight until the departure of the morning train to Portland. At the hotel I had a “serious” conversation with my bellboy about going to the gay and live spots of the town during the evening. The information -he gave me was satisfactory. But after taking a very hot bath and lying down with the intention of resting for a few minutes I fell soundly asleep, and it was not till the next morning that I got up. Thus my plans were foiled by my fatigue. What I saw of Seattle was mostly from the hotel window, which offered an excellent bird’s-eye view of the city. Seattle is an important American city, with its industries and port facilities. Several railroads serve this big city, among them the Northern Pacific Railway, whose train took me up to Seattle, and the Great Northern Railway, whose train brought me back to Portland. At 8:20 A. M., Monday, July 7th, I boarded the train back for Portland. This time another route was taken, and no waterways were followed. Yes, and I sat all alone, still no heiress in sight. Arriving in Portland at 2:20 P. M., I again looked over the town. I wrote some post cards. Here let me say that I should have kept my original intention of sending cards only to my parents, to let them know of my whereabouts, for I stuck my neck in the noose when I forgot to send cards to some of my friends. They are still “peeved” about the incident. At 6:40 P. M. I boarded the “Beaver” of the Southern Pacific Lines, bound some 887 miles for San Francisco, California. The gods were still against me, for no one sat next to me, not even an heiress! However, there was a sales manager in the seat across from me, and he, several others of the mischievous class, and I, spent a goodly portion of the time in the men’s dressing-lounge room. Under the “leadership” of this traveling sales manager, we had quite a “session”—well, you know sales managers and salesmen, don’t you? But in spite of this gathering I managed to see much of the scenery, and Oregon all the way down to California remained beautiful and full of luxuriant growths. The only unpleasant memory I carried with me was the fact that in Portland I was disappointed, for there I thought I’d see my clergyman friend formerly of Pittsburgh, but he had left for the ’’Iron City” to marry his brother. Early in the morning we entered California. I was thrilled because the name brought me closer to my host and hostess, Mr. and Mrs. Steinmetz, though I was still hundreds of miles away from Los Angeles—not even near San Francisco, which itself is far from Los Angeles. We were now following the Shasta Route, with the Sacramento River seemingly leading the way. This route is especially scenic. There is but one track (common in the West), and if the conductor doesn’t stop you you may open the window part of the vestibule door and poke your head out at the sights. There is very little dirt from the locomotive, as the Western trains burn oil instead of coal, oil smoke being lighter, thus rising skyward fast, and cleaner, too. The train was always on the side of a mountain, affording a thrilling ride. Mount Shasta was visible for some time. Its snow-covered peak glistened like a diamond ring. After leaving the mountains and coming to the various towns, the Spanish motif of California was already apparent. Soon we’d be in San Francisco. At 1:50 P. M., Tuesday, July 8th, we arrived in San Francisco, a very impressive city indeed. We were ferried across the bay, which highly pleased a landlubber like myself, and the Golden Gate Bridge was really something to observe. I was sorry to say good-by to my train friends who had gathered with me in the men’s dressing-lounge room, especially the ringleader, the traveling sales manager. Again, in accordance with “putting on the dog” act, I booked at the Sir Francis Drake Hotel, listed among San Francisco’s finest. But this happened only after I had taken an excellent, though not complete, sightseeing tour of the city, for a soliciting agent of the sightseeing bus company “grabbed” me before I had time to say “Jack Robin.” I suppose he saw the awed look on my face and decided to take pity on me—and increase his commission. But I was really glad, for a sight-seeing tour is an excellent way for any stranger to take in a place. San Francisco appealed to me very much because of its steep hills. You know, I am a Pennsylvanian, that’s why. Little cable cars run up and down the very steep hills of the city. The homes are beautiful, with stucco finish, in hues of white, pink, blue, green, gray, etc. I’d hate to see that in the Pittsburgh area of Pennsylvania! Only one thing marred my happiness in San Fran cisco. A barber there trimmed my mustache so short that instead of looking like a Magyar I looked like a Frenchman (the barber had a French name), and I didn’t want that, for I am proud of being a Magyar and I had written to the Steinmetzes that they’d recognize me by my “Magyar face.” I should have brought along with me the barber in Portland, who trimmed my mustachio exactly according to my specifications. I was burning with anger, and he got no tip!—that butcher-barber in San Francisco. Yes, and I almost forgot to mention that when I was preparing to leave the Sir Francis Drake Hotel I looked out of my window and saw a neon sign across the next street, which read, “Old Budapest.” Was I sorry that I didn’t see that the day before, for then I would have eaten a fine, Magyar meal. I had enough time to run over, introduce myself to the young couple from Budapest who are running the Hungarian restaurant, express my regrets at not having known of the place in time, and say good-by. Oh well, that’s life. At 12:00 noon, the following day, Wednesday, July 9th, I boarded the Southern Pacific’s “Noon Daylight,” the first streamliner since the “City of Portland,” and there was still 470 miles to go before reaching my main destination. I must say that the “Daylight” (there is a “Morning Daylight” and a “Noon Daylight,” so called because they are day trains) is the last word in trains, and the finest train I ever rode. I am sorry that lack of space forbids me to say more. The route of the “Daylight” is very scenic, dotted with many fruit groves, and the winding mountains afford rare views. For instance, miles below the top of the mountain we could see the returning “Noon Daylight” waiting for us to pass (single track). Going up one of the mountains, the train got stalled, and after much struggling for about 20 minutes, we finally got started. Before we got going there was an audience, the highway being near the track, and motorists parked their cars to watch the procedure. This made our arrival in Los Angeles a half hour late. The Fates continued to be against me, for no heiress was in sight, instead a young Army man set next to me. Oh well... Arriving in Los Angeles at 10:10 P. M., I was slightly nervous and excited when I alighted from the train, because at last I was in Los Angeles, and the Steinmetzes would be waiting for me. As I walked through the long tunnel to the station, I thrillingly anticipated the meeting, and wondered whether or not they would recognize me by my “Magyar face!” (To Be Continued) Page 3 A-C-E-S (A Verhovay Member) Are you one of those people who reply, “Oh, it was good” when asked what they thought of a movie or play, or something on the menu? Well, if you are, I sincerely hope that all your friends have identically the same taste as yourself. I recommended a show on someone else’s approval and almost got shot for it. It’s a fact that at one time aluminum cost more than gold. It even has been stated that people used to plate gold bars with aluminum and sell the bars for straight aluminum, an old version of the gold brick trick. The present defense program calls for ye olde pot and pan that in flight once decorated father’s skull. Now, the pot3 and pans will still be flying, but in a different way of course. While on a business trip through Homestead, Pennsylvania, I noted the following hand painted sign: “Intire Stock to Be Sold.” Some months ago Albert Jozik noted the spelling of wEIner (lor wIEner) above the lunch counter of a five and ten cent store in downtown Pittsburgh, and knowing that that particular chain has its main offices in nearby McKeesport, his local patriotism and adherence to the rules prompted him to write a letter to the manager. The manager replied by expressing his sincere gratitude for the constructive criticism and interest shown. Miss Betty Carol Balega must have a “magic margin pen” to be able to write the volume she does. Not content with volumene, she has quality, which is the peak of journalism. Even adults can “remember” some of the stories she tells, and relive the good old days when the swimming hole was used for swimming and not for trailer camp sites. Do you consider it useless information to know that the modern cash register was born on an ocean liner? Asthma Mucus Loosened First Day ForThousands of Sufferers Choking, gasping, wheezing spasms of Bronchial Asthma ruin sleep and energy. Ingredients in the prescription Mendaco quickly circulate through the blood and commonly help loosen the thick strangling mucus the first day, thus aiding nature in palliating the terrible recurring choking spasms, and in promoting freer breathing and restful sleep. Mendaco is not a smoke, dope, or injection. 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