The Lampasas Daily Leader (Lampasas, Tex.), Vol. 28, No. 140, Ed. 1 Monday, August 17, 1931 Page: 3 of 4
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THE LAMPASAS LEADER
THE
OLD MUSIC
TEACHER i
By FANNIE HURjST ||
.
(© by McClure Newspaper Syndicate.)
(WNU Service.)
7“ U“™ HE music teacher was sevents’--
I three. She was u little old lady.
She had not always been so lit-
tie. As a girl, she had been at
least an inch or two taller. These add-
ed inches, coupled with an enormous
amount of vitality, had made her ap-
pear larger than she really was. But
the long years of position at the piano
and the amount of work she had done
sitting hunched over musical scores,
had taken their toll in actual inches.
At seventy-three, she was frankly full
of years; bent, loose-skinned and,
worst of all, racked and all but ruined
by rheumatism.
Her once supple fingers were as
knotted as hickory sticks. They lay
upon the keys, when she permitted
herself to open the lid of her beloved
piano, like so many lumps of inertia.
Horrible, gnarled, stiff old fingers,
knotted and rigid with age. In the
beginning, when the rheumatism be-
gan its first merciless onslaught, the
madam used to have a horror of her
hands. She could not bear to look at
them. She kept them behind her
when visitors called.
But there came the day when she
found herself obliged to be reconciled;
to shift her point of view, to take up
the new threads of a new life.
For ten years the little madam had
now reconciled herself to the fact that
she must live off the bounty of her
former pupils. And they were many.
In her day, the music teacher had en-
joyed brilliant and outstanding suc-
cess in her field. Names that were to
become world-famous had walked out
•of her studio, equipped for the concert
stage. From all over the country chil-
dren had journeyed to her, accompa-
nied by parents or guardians, filled
With the hope that the little madam
would see in them talent sufficient to
warrant her taking them as pupils.
The great Moritzy had been pre-
pared for his triumphant career in
madam’s studio. Lilienthal, Mann, Fo-
renzi, Lanz and Spamer were all of
the brilliant company of madam’s pu-
pils. She had worked with them with
a patience, with an understanding and
with a wisdom that was unfaltering.
Her hour lessons could easily stx*etch
Unto two or three or five. And in the
case of Spamer, probably the most in-
fallible genius of them all, she had
token him free of fee into her home,
ander the surveillance of her constant
guidance, her untiring patience.
No wonder that, at seventy-three,
tnadam looked her age. She had
fought so many separate battles. She
had achieved so many individual suc-
cesses. She had conquered obstacles
for so many human beings. She had
given of herself, of her vitality and of
her time; of her wisdom and of her
curious musical instinct.
It was as if she had been a well of
inspiration and vitality—a well of in-
spiration from which those with the
genius of music could drink. Could
drink, and then go forth and conquer
their worlds.
Madam herself had never been a
brilliant piano performer. But she
was undoubtedly the most brilliant
teacher of her time. She did not play
Brahms with any outstanding facility,
but she knew his heart to the core.
Forenzi ohce said of her that she
knew Beethoven better than Beethoven
could have known himself.
She had a wonderful faculty for pass-
ing on this knowledge of the masters
she loved—to the pupils she loved.
She could train fingers and brains and
hearts' to interpret the beauties which
the great musicians of the past had
captured for the future by means of
little marks on paper. Madam could
Interpret the soul of music and could
give her pupils, in magnified degree,
this gift of interpreting its souk
Though her own fingers, even in her
prime, had never had the facility, the
power, to transfer to the keyboard of
a piano the depths of the music she
studied and loved, her brain had the
faculty of giving others the gift she
lacked.
No wonder her former pupils never
•forgot her. She made them. She cre-
ated them. She lived in them, long
after her active life was ended.
On her seventy-third birthday, as
was their wont, as many of her for-
mer pupils as were within possible dis-
tance, gathered around her. The birth-
day of madam was an outstanding oc-
casion. Not only her pupils, but the
important names of the musical world,
came flocking to her little home, bear-
ing gifts of affection for the little lady
whose day had passed.
Of course there was something pa-
thetic and heart-hurting about these
birthdays. Each one found her a lit-
tle smaller and a little more gnarled
and a great deal more crippled. She
never referred to this last condition,
but those who knew her knew with
what yearning eyes she gazed upon
the young proteges and musical talents
who were brought to her home from
time to time just to be able to say
that they had looked upon and met
the great-Httle madam.
It was difficult to realize, upon these
birthday occasions when the world re-
membered, the lonely, despairing
three-hundred-sixty-four days that pre-
ceded them. Here was a woman whose
life had been crammed to the hilt. Not
with lovers. Not, strangely enough,
with the adulation of men. But with
the devotion and crying need of hun-
dreds of human beings who looked to
her for the fulfillment of their desti-
nies.
Her own life had been crammed
with the task of creating other lives,
of moulding them into success, of
bringing out in them talents and ge-
nius in order that they might shower
the beauties of talent and genius upon
the world.
It was not easy after years filled
with this kind of accomplishment to
sit back, old and gnarled and helpless,
in an easy chair, waiting. Because
that was what it practically amounted
to, those three-hundred-sixty-four days
of the year when madam’s world was
too busy to pause at her door. Checks
came from her erstwhile pupils, gifts
and sometimes letters, but for three-
liundred-sixty-four days in the year
she was practically alone, waiting for
the one day when they remembered
to come.
And this, one day was all too brief.
It began in a shower of flowers. It
ended in the adieus, blessings and the
many happy returns of friends and
benefactors of her wisdom who loved
her. But almost before the door
closed on the last of them, the wait-
ing began again.
And yet, in a way, the little madam,
who hated to be alone, would begin to
console herself the very first night
of the three-hundred-sixty-four that
stretched ahead of-her.
How wonderful it was to be able to
sit there. Lonely? Yes. Locked with
rheumatism? Yes. But secure and
radiant in the knowledge that, even
as she sat there, hundreds of her pu-
pils were spreading abroad over the
world some of the beauty which she
had inculcated in them.
Found Fortune’s Start
in Subway “Gold Mine”
“One day ten years ago,” said a
western millionaire to a Chicago Her-
ald-Examiner writer, “I stood without
a nickel and without the door of a
restaurant in San Francisco. I was
indulging in an optical feast, gazing
at the display of uncooked roasts,
chops and steaks, garnished with wa-
tercress, and altogether lovely, in the
window. The song, or rather its re-
frain, ‘Thou art so near and yet so
far,’ was whispered to me by the
gaunt brownie of hunger.
“Then a prosperous-looking man who
was flipping a half dollar in his hand
dropped the coin, which tinkled
through an iron grate and fell into a
subway below. The man gave an al-
most unconcerned glance in the direc-
tion the coin had gone and then went
away humming a pojThlar air.
“I always possessed some resource
and I was det-ermined to possess that
coin. The occasion is what is fre-
quently spoken of as a ground-hog
-case. I was ‘out of meat,’ also bread.
I spoke to the proprietor of the place.
Told him I had dropped a $5 gold
piece through the grate and asked if
I might go and retrieve it. ‘Certainly,’
he said, and gave me a hatchet with
which I might remove a wooden bar
that had been nailed across a door
leading from the basement to the
opening under the grate.
“There was much litter and dust
down there, and in searching for the
lost coin I found many others which
had been, dropped, in a similar way.
Thus I cleaned up «$8 from that pros-
pect drift. The amount supplied me
with a place to put the able-bodied
appetite which I had concealed about
my person. It also gave me an entree
to a clean shirt and a proportionate
supply of self-esteem and self-reliance.
“I visited men of influence whom I
had not been sufficiently courageous
to meet in the immediate heretofore,
and I have not been seriously insolv-
ent since that day. Thus you may see
on what a slender thread oft hangs
a chance in life.”
Like the Beggar
Melvin Traylor, the Chicago banker,
said in New York the day he sailed on
the Berengaria:
“One cause of American business
success is our American honesty. We
weren’t so very honest in the past.
Our past methods, in fact, compared
with our present ones, make us look
like the beggar.
“This beggar had been blind for
many years, but one day he hustled
up to a steady patron, looked him
straight in the eye and said:
“ ‘Could ye gimme a dime for a cup
o’ coffee, boss?’
“ ‘Why,’ said the steady patron,
‘have you recovered your sight?’
“The beggar nodded.
“‘Dog died, ye see,’ he explained,
‘and not havin’ time to train an-'
other I had to turn deef and dumb.’
Immense Floating Dock
At Southampton, England, is said to
be the largest floating dock. It Is
capable of lifting ships with a dis-
placement of 60,000 tons, covers an
area of approximately 3*4 acres and
has 17,240 tons of steel in its hull.
The height of the dock from the bot-
tom of the pontoon to the top deck
of the side wall is over 70 feet and
the berth in which it is placed has
been dredged to a depth of 65 feet.
The dock consists of a hollow steel
pontoon, or floor, surmounted on each
side by hollow steel walls, the whole
forming a structure like an enormous
letter U.
The Friendly Mosquito
The French or cannibal mosquito
has a great antipathy for humans,
but feeds upon the type of mosquito
which seeks the blood of man and the
lower animal life.
Epolu!ion°/MonG\f
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Salt Merchant of Morocco, Whose Salt Is Also Used for Money.
(Prepared by the National Geographic
Society, Washington, D. C.)
*¥TTHIOPIA (Abyssinia), which has
3—< hitherto got along without a
1 -J money of its own, is taking steps
toward establishing a currency
and coinage system on a gold basis.
Most of the citizens are now using for
their purchases bars of salt, rifle cart-
ridges, and even empty bottles and
tin cans. The money necessary in in-
ternational dealings has been fur-
nished in limited supply by Maria
Theresa Thalers, introduced a number
of years ago from Austria, and by a
small amount of paper money issued
by a branch of the National Bank of
Egypt established in Addis Ababa, cap-
ital of Ethiopia. This bank is to be
purchased by the Ethiopian govern-
ment as a first step in its program to
set up a currency and coinage system.
When Ethiopia issues her first bank
notes and certificates, these bits of
inked paper will represent the latest
link in the very long chain of the evo-
lution of money. In earliest times
man traded or bartered one product
or article for another. But the need
for a common denominator of value
became apparent even with the first
glimmerings of civilization. The skins
of animals served in this way when
man was still a hunter, while shells
became the first money of tribes living
near the sea. When man settled down
and became an agriculturist or a
herdsman, grain and cattle came into
use as his measures of values. The
ox was “big money,” the sheep “small
change.”
There were certain disadvantages in
using live stock as money. For one
thing, it might walk away in the
night; for another, it consumed much
provender. There were difficulties
about very small change for the pur-
chase of such edibles as kettles of
fish and messes of pottage.
The human geography of the Near
East, which had been pastoral, about
this time got an industrial urge. A
way had been found of extracting a
metal from the earth of the island of
Cyprus, handily set in the eastern
Mediterranean. The Romans later
twisted the name of this island in
such a way that the modern word
“copper” was derived from it.
How Copper Became Money.
Copper pots began to appeal, and,
like cattle, were universally, prized.
Merchants would exchange whatever
they had in their stalls for copper
pots, and the demand for them was
more nearly universal than for any
other object. The copper pot was,
therefore, money.
Then Into this region came one im-
bued with an idea of importance. In-
stead of presenting pots for use in fa-
cilitating barter, he would tender the
copper of which they were made. He
would offer it in a convenient form,
made up into a strip which he called
obolus. No definite idea of its size
survives, but it was said that six made
a handful. The obolus mg eked a great
advance toward the use of coin.
The scene shifted to the west. Italy,
as it awoke from barbarism, adopted
a unit of copper as a measure of value.
It called the unit as, a Roman pound
of 12 unciae, or ounces, and it came
Into general use.
Copper served the purpose of money
because of its intrinsic value. The
as had the value of a pound of cop-
per. Human nature being the same
then as now, it soon came to pass that
people made the as in a weight a little
less than a pound and profited to the
extent of the metal thus saved. They
learned to mix certain quantities of
baser and cheaper metals with the cop-
per and their currency deteriorated.
Thus a step toward the develop-
ment of actual money was forced on
the nations. Governing powers found
it necessary to step into the breach, to
test metals used as money, to put their
stamps guaranteeing quality and
weight upon them, and by this avenue
copper coins arrived.
As the centuries passed in the Medi-
terranean area, copper became plenti-
ful and its purchasing power de-
creased.
Rome was getting much of the earth
of Cyprus. Thus it developed that an
average householder of ancient Rome,
going to market to buy for a feast day,
would need to pack a donkey to bear
the weight of the copper for his shop-
ping.
The metal came to be too bulky in
proportion to its value. Yet it held
Its place until another metal appeared
that better served money purposes.
That metal was silver. The map oi
the civilized world was expanding.
Spain had begun to produce.
Civilization moved westward and
Charlemagne established an empire oi
the French in the Eighth century on
a silver standard. He formally de-
creed that the pound of silver should
be the basic measure of value, and a
continent accepted his edict. So Ir
happens that in France today the
word argent means “money,” although
its literal significance is “silver.”
Money of England.
Money history began to be written
in another geographical area. The
English began to talk of the “pound”
in designating a money unit. This i«
the silver pound of Charlemagne.
Originally 240 pennies were made
from the pound of silver, and although
the pound (sterling) has become a
measure of value and not of weight,
the relation to the old value standard
continues—240 pence to the pound
(sterling).
The English word “shilling” has a
geographical origin that is quite differ-
ent. It was first used by the blonde
barbarians of the North. These war-
riors and their opponents were given
to wearing rings and arm bands made
of silver or gold. After battles the
rings of the slain were highly prized
by the victors, and were gathered and
properly distributed by an official who
had charge of this division of spoils.
He was known as the ring-breaker and
was actually the first treasury official
of these northern tribes.
The rings were so made that they
broke up into bits of a somewhat uni-
form size. One fragment was called
a “schillingas.” In the North it was
an early form of money, and from it
came the shilling, so dear to the Eng-
lish heart today.
The world was short of actual mon-
ey from Caesar to Columbus. There
was little progress during that long
stretch and there appears to be some
soundness in the theory that the ab-
sence of a circulating medium of suffi-
cient quantity to make development
possible was, in part, the reason for
the stagnation. Yet, despite its scar-
city, money events were taking place
about the map of Europe and seem,
in retrospect, to have been in prepara-
tion for the coming of better days.
Origin of the Dollar.
Toward the end of the time of short-
age there appeared in the interior of
medieval Europe an individual who
was to write a chapter of money his-
tory that has come down strangely in-
to modern times, and to give a new na-
tion of the West a currency unit that
was to have a profound effect. This
man made the first dollar in all the
world, and gave it a name—which,
though the etymology is not apparent
at a glance, becomes upon examination
the lineal ancestor of the word “dol-
lar.”
The count of Schlick, for such was
his title, dwelt in St. Joachiinsthal
(Joachim’s Dale), a mining region of
Bohemia. The patron saint of the
community was St. Joachim.
Here the count of Schlick, in 1516,
appropriated a silver mine. As his re-
tainers took out the precious metal,
the master laid his finger to his tem-
ple and considered the purpose to
which he should put it. He must have
been a man of perception, for he
seemed to realize that he dwelt in a
money-hungry world, and that his sil-
ver would serve best if made into coin.
At any rate, he devised a new one
all his own. On its face appeared a
reproduction of St. Joachim, and It
was named after that personage and
the community which gave it birth—
Joachimsthaler. It was the first dol-
lar.
Now note the evolution of the word
“dollar" from this, its polysyllabic an-
cestor. When the Joachimsthaler
found its way into medieval Germany
It was warmly welcomed. A practi-
cal people, however, soon tired of the
length of its name, and by a judicious
dropping of syllables it became the
“thaler.” The word in that form still
survives In Germany.
When the thaler passed into the
Netherlands its pronunciation was
somewhat changed. Ther it was called
the “daler.” Then It crossed to Eng-
land, where, by use of the broad “a,”
daler became “dollar.” Under this
modified name and geographical].)
transplanted, the Joachimsthaler o’
the count of Schlick has grown anc
prospered.
WORLD
WAR
YARNS
by Lieut. Frank E. Hagan
“Gone West”
Two outstanding eontributiorts to
current speech were made by the Brit-
ish soldiers during the World war.
One was “Blighty” and the other was
“Gone West.” “Blighty” was derived
from an East Indian word meaning
“over the sea” or “home” and was
probably brought to the battlefields of
France by veterans who had served in
India. So when a “Tommy” was wound-
ed, he accepted his wound philosophi-
cally as a “ticket to Blighty.” The
term was also used as a synonym for
“leave of absence.”
The American soldiers did not read-
ily pick up “Blighty” from their Brit-
ish comrades in arms. Perhaps the
difference between a 3,000-mile trip
across the Atlantic and the short pass-
age across the English channel ac-
counts for the fact that “Blighty”
didn’t figure much in the life of the
average Yank. But he did take over
the expression “Gone Wes't” as a
synonym for death.
There are various theories as to
the origin of this expression. It was
a common phrase in South Africa at
the beginning of the present century
and it was probably taken to England
by British soldiers who had served
in the Boer war and then carried to
France. But the idea goes back much
farther than thqt. Thousands of years
ago the Egyptians spoke of their dead
as those who had “Gone West” and
among many primitive peoples, includ-
ing the North American Indians, there
was a belief that the abode of the
dead was in the west, the land of the
setting sun.
* * *
He Died for Love of a Spy
He was a cadet at the aviation cen-
ter of Issoudun. His brother birdmen
called him Jerry O. which, for the
purposes of this story, is near enough
to his real name. Ha made love to
every welfare girl he ever met—this
upon the word of one of them who is
the authority for this story—that is,
until Marie came to Issoudun. Marie
was a barmaid, the sister of a man
who gave French lessons to the offi-
cers at the flying camp. After he saw
Marie, he couldn’t “see” any other girl.
Their romance flourished for awhile.
And then—Marie was arrested. French
counter espionage officers revealed the
fact that she was a German spy. They
questioned her and Jerry was involved.
He hadn’t betrayed any secrets, for
he didn’t know any to betray. But the
upshot of it was that he was removed
from flying lists and confined to quar-
ters. There he brooded—over the dis-
grace that had come upon him, and
over the deception by his sweetheart.
Eventually he was restored to his
former status and put back on the fly-
ing lists. But he made only one flight
after that. As his buddies watched
him circling around for a landing they
saw that he had apparently lost con-
trol and from a height of about 1,000
meters his plane dived straight for
the ground. The ground officers who
investigated crashes made their exam-
ination and turned in a report of acci-
dent. But that didn’t deceive his broth-
er flyers. They knew that he was too
good a pilot to dive a thousand meters
at the ground—accidentally.
Today a white cross stands in the
graveyard at Issoudun. It bears the
name of Jerry. The welfare girl who
tells this story visited it a year or
so after the war. On it she saw a
huge wreath of imitation green leaves
and bead designs done in the usual
French manner. There was a sun-
faded card on the wreath. It read:
“For the grave of Lieut. Jerry O.
From his great friend Marie M.” Yes,
Marie had been released from prison
when the war was over and she had
returned to Issoudun long enough to
decorate Jerry’s grave. And that’s the
end of this story of Jerry O., Ameri-
can aviator, and Marie M. French, bar-
maid and German spy.
* * *
When Wilson Went Home
President Wilson departed from
France the early afternoon of June
29, 1919, in striking contrast to the
exciting scenes which had marked his
his reception a few weeks before. A
typical Brest day of drizzling, inter-
minable rain and oceans of mud.
greeted the President when he ar-
rived in the forenoon at the French
embarkation center on his special
train.
The George Washington, transport
on which the President made his east-
ward voyage, waited in the outer har-
bor. Only a detachment of M. P.’s
were present as Mr. Wilson rode out
to the vessel. No doughboy guards
were lined up as on the previous occa-
sion when he debarked.
Non-coms of the Forty-first division,
who had served as an honor guard at
the President’s mansion in Paris, the
Fifth Engineers and the One Hun-
dred and Forty-sixth Machine Gun bat-
talion were aboard the George Wash
ington when she sailed for home.
These men had barely completed
their midday chow when the historic
George Washington whistled her fare-
well to E’rance- and, with the Presi-
dent, headed west.
So inconspicuous was the departure
that many American soldiers in the
French port were unaware that day
that their commander in chief had
sailed for home.
((g), 1931, Western Newspaper Union.)
#
X Proposal Lost in £
Old Letter Box £
\ - £
X Bv CLARISSA MACKIE X
S / ♦!*
(©, 1931, McClure Newspaper Syndicate.)
(WNU Service.)
TT SEEMED very queer indeed to
■t Violet Reed, to be In one of those
basement book shops downtown in
New York—yet there she was, a busy
clerk behind the narrow counter. Here,
in New York, Violet was earning her
own living, going to and from the
small Long Island town where she
lived.
It was rather an exciting life for
George Reed’s pretty daughter, though
she knew nobody in town excepting
her employer and fellow clerks. The
former, Jeremiah Peaseless, was an
old man with the quickest mind and
brightest eye that Violet had ever
seen. She liked him, for his absolute
honesty and squareness. She was glad
to be there among the books and with
the other girls who worked in the
shop. There, she could quite forget
that she had ever known and loved a
certain young man last summer, near-
ly a year ago. He had gone home and
she had never heard from him since.
It was a beautiful day in May, when
Violet heard his voice again in the
little bookshop! He was speaking to
Mr. Peasless—and his tones brought a
quick throb of Violet’s heart, and a
faint fluttering in her throat. She
was between two book stacks, and in
a dim corner so that Marcus could
not possibly see her if he should
glance her way.
He was asking for some very rare
scientific work.
“I am sorry, Mr. Blade,” Mr. Peas-
less was shaking his head. “But we
have only the second-hand copy—it
has been much thumbed of course—
but it is good reading just the same.”
“It wouldn’t do at all, Jsremiah—I
want it for my own library—it must
be a new copy.”
“I can get you a new copy. *
“Very well, then, please be cure to
hold it for me!”
Then he was gone and Violet t,ume
out of her dim corner, a bright p.'nk
in her cheeks that increased her love-
liness.
“Please take this order down on
your book, Miss Reed, and afterwards,
perhaps you would like a breath of
fresh air. I want somebody to search
the book shops for a brand new copy
of this book that Marcus Blade wants
to buy.”
“Of course I shall be very glad to
go,” said Violet, and she hurried to
put on her hat and wrap. She looked
up at the sky and saw that it was
blue, indeed, and somehow, just be-
cause she had actually heard Marcus
Blade’s voice after almost a year—
she was thinking about him as she
hurried down the street, wondering
how it had happened that a man
outwardly so true and fine, should
have courted her warmly, sincerely,
all that wonderful summer, and then,
gone away without a word cf fare-
well.
She found the desired book: in the
fourth shop. She took the ht...y par-
cel under her arm, paid for it, and left
the store. As she left the door, she
found rain outside.
The wet sidewalk was to prove dis-
astrous for Violet Reed. She turned
the corner briskly, collided with a tall
man who turned the corner from the
opposite direction, and force of the
contact sent Violet sharply back, so
that she slipped and fell while the big
book skittered across the wet walk.
“I am very sorry—I hope you are
not hurt,” said a familiar voice, as
a pair of strong hands lifted her to
her feet. Then their owner looked
down into the girl’s uplifted face, and
his own whitened.
“Violet!” he gasped. “Is it really
you ?”
She nodded, while she straightened
her hat, and looked about for her
book. And there it was! A small boy
was holding it up.
“O, thank you!” exclaimed Violet,
and she gave him a generous sum,
while Marcus lifted the book and
tucked it under bis arm. He walked
along beside Violet now, in the old
way, carefully helping her at the cross
streets.
“This is heavy reading for a young
girl,” he jested.
“It is your book!” said Violet and
then she explained the circumstances.
It was at the entrance to Peasless’
bookshop that he said something very
important to the trembling girl at his
side. He mentioned the letter he had
written to her. a letter telling of his
love and asking her to marry him.
Having received no reply, he had sim-
ply taken it for granted that her an-
swer was “No,” and had swiftly gone
home with his blasted hopes.
“I put it in our rustic letter box in
the orchard.”
“I never looked there!”
“Then look tonight Tell me, dar-
ling, what would have been your an-
swer?” he whispered.
The look in her brown eyes and her
trembling lips told him, and she nod-
ded, and turning, darted ir.io the shop,
while Marcus hurried after her carry-
ing his own book.
That night Marcus was with Violet
when she took her leisurely train
homewards—he was with her when
she went into the orchard toward the
post office tree. The beloved le
was there in the little wooden box
tucked up in a hollow place, and al-
though the paper was clamp and d5-
colored from moisture, it was plainly
readable, and Marcus enfolded her in
his strong arms while she read it.
“Now, it is really true,” sighed Vi-
olet as she lifted her lips to his.
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The Lampasas Daily Leader (Lampasas, Tex.), Vol. 28, No. 140, Ed. 1 Monday, August 17, 1931, newspaper, August 17, 1931; Lampasas, Texas. (https://texashistory.unt.edu/ark:/67531/metapth907057/m1/3/: accessed July 4, 2024), University of North Texas Libraries, The Portal to Texas History, https://texashistory.unt.edu.; crediting Lampasas Public Library.