FROM THE WAYCH TOWER

Sun (Auckland), Volume IV, Issue 1071, 8 September 1930, Page 8

FROM THE WAYCH TOWER

By

“THE LOOK-OUT MAN."

JUSTIFIABLE HOMICIDE Four Yugoslavians have been sentenced to death for complicity in blowing up a Trieste newspaper, resulting in the death of a sub-editor. I care not if the four aro shot. Let who so will their wor?h deride. This Yugoslavian deed is not The usual type of homicide. The guilty may their crime requite, But all of us, from chief to cub, In gratified relief unite To praise the man who killed a sub. No more the scowling martinet Will massacre the choicest copy, And murmur (1 can hear him yet): “This yarn is tripe, these headlines sloppy.” No threat or promise of reward Disturbed his cynical aplomb. No wonder, then, we all applaud The men who cast the fatal bomb. But this I’ll grudgingly admit, That while his body shot to glory. His final thought before he quit Was: “This will make a darn good story.” * * * THE CITY'S DIN “Quieter Queen Street l ’ is the heading to an article on the new, silent tram rails. The travelled bore who is fond of talking about the din and hubbub of New York says that if Queen Street becomes much quieter than it is now he would prefer to live at Coatesville, or some place that is really noisy. SONG OF THE SHIRT In celebrating their anniversary behind the stately columns of the present tabernacle in Upper Queen Street, Auckland Baptists will hardly forget the humble spot where their local activities were begun 75 years ago. The original tabernacle, which still stands, has gone through the vicissitudes customary with ancient buildings. It is now, as anyone who goes to the corner of Wellesley Street and Federal Street to have a look at it can see, the home of “The Period Furnishing Company.” Not so long ago, however, it was a shirt factory. The song of the shirt succeeded the hymns of worshippers. It was the seamy period of its career. THE ARTFUL DODGER

Some people have such a curious aversion to contributing at street collections that they will doclg<\|rom one side of the street to the other to escape the painful task of saying “No” to an importunate collector. One man. who lives in Symonds Street and works in Albert Street, has got it down to a fine art. He crosses Albert Park, walks down Victoria Street a* far as the Central Hotel, and then turns along High Street as far as Durham Street. A swift dash across Queen Street from Durham Street East to Durham Street West takes him safely through the danger zone. The route taken by this contemptible person is made public so that the general staff of the next street-collection can lay Its plans and bring him to heel. THE LANDMARK Noticing that an architect is calling tenders for the demolition of the D.S.C. chimney, just below Albert Park and the Northern Club, one is compelled to reflect that the smokestack as a part of the civic decorative scheme is being gradually pushed out into the suburbs. There was a time when the brick stacks of breweries and a flourmill or two rose practically from Queen Street. There were some other big chimneys in Mechanics’ Bay, but now only the stump of one of them remains. A few months ago the brick stack of the Northern Roller Milling Company, below Shortland Street, was demolished. Earlier those sombre landmarks, the tall twin funnels of the Hobson Street Power Station, went the way of all men’s transient works. And now the D.S.C. chimney, too, is to be razed. The white-tiled letters, “D.5.C.,” will no longer shine across the City, and wool-gathering typists, office boys, even paragraphists, will be deprived of one of their stock puzzles—wondering what D.S.C. stands for. APTLY NAMED Friends of the “Texas Terrier” rally round:— An item in the Watch Tower column suggests that lack of originality was shown by the Texans when they decided to nickname Walter Logan the “Texas Terrier.” It holds that something like the “Kansas Wildcat” would be far more appropriate and bloodcurdling. We incline to the opinion that, while such a term would certainly lend glamour to his reputation and perhaps even act as a draw, the term would in itself be inappropriate to his nature and style of wrestling. Having seen Logan perform in both of his matches here in Auckland, we would like to say that, in our opinion, the nickname is unusually appropriate. Logan’s method of wrestling is, like a terrier, to worry his opponent and keep at him, darting in at an opening for a fall. Reports from men who know him are to the effect that his nature is quiet and exceedingly reserved. Logan’s wrestling is a product of study, and he is anything but a wild cat in his methods. —R.M.C.