Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1929-12-26
BY HUBERT w. KELLEY.

BY HUBERT w. KELLEY.
MEXICO CITY, December 26.-
(N.A.N.A).- is morning in the
Avenida Juarez in the heart of tht
continents Oldest and least known city
The pale sunlight tingeS the bleachec
bones of ancient domes and towers. Il
warns the delicately tinted facades OF
newer buildings. 1t glistens on the
marble statues along the wooded plaza
of the Alameda
The ancient buildings, dimly ornate
with Spanish carving, are leaning, their
CorniceS wavering, their faces cracked
with assures. Earthquakes, the soft
yielding subSoil of the city and the
e4actions of time are razing those
memorials of Spanish grandeur as all
things venerable have been cast down
by the revolution. But those buildings
will fall only to make way for new and
steel, even as the traditions of Cortes
and Diaz have fallen to make way for
the people. But it all takes time and
earthquakes.
Three or four streams of traffic ply
the thoroughfare, hundreds of taxiS,
in which one may ride any reasonable
distance for two-bitS American; in
Vulnerable buses, the limouSineS of the
wealthy, truckloads of beans, charcoal
and flowers, and, near the curbing, the
modern American street cars, which
carry one tremendous distances for 5
cents.
Many Prefer Walking.
But many prefer walking to riding
In the City OF Mexico, even If too vigor-
Gus exercise in the rarefied air does
make even the native pant for breath.
And so the broad sidewalks swarm with
natives in European dress, reading the
morning newspapers as they stroll,
scanning books in the spirit of the new
educational movement, or lettering at
the modern shop windows, the steel
shutters of which are rolled up at a
late morning hour.
In front of the stone ribs between the
shop windows the innumerable itinerant
merchants overSwarm the city with
their trays and tripods. They stand
sometimes a dozen to a block, even
on such Fifth avenue as the beautiful
Avenida Juarez. Shoe strings or cara
mels, ice cream cones or excellent ciga-
rettes, opals, topazeS, card Of pearl
buttons?
Some of the merchants are trotting
through the pedestrian crowd, weaving
eJ they go but never unbalancing the
tray Of wares on their heads, bound for
some choice corner mile away. The
porters, the burden bearers, run, too
carrying upon their backs huge cases
Of merchandise, sacks Of beans, enor-
mcus baskets of carnations and lilies
sewing machines and all manner of
casgoeS better suited to a truck.
Feet Are Like HoOfS.
They trot. heads down, gray boards
upon hairy chests, their rude wooden
soleS beating a tat-tat-tat upon the
stones. They are the creatures of
Markham'S Man With the Hoe" ter
rible beasts of men with the minds of
children and the dull eyes of animals
Their feet are like hoofs, their short
Ignarled arms are incased in metal
bracelets and wrappings of hemp. They
alone in the Avenida Juarez stir the
memory Of peonage.
A French horn sings ta-te-ya-ta, a
loud speaker over the door of radio
store shouts the raucouS strains of
American jazz, broadcast from a talk
ing machine record. A boy Kisses to
another across the street, as they hur-
ry to school. The tantalizing whine of
mouth organ attracts attention, and
one must turn to look at the miserable
blind one who sits croSs-legged on the
cold sidewalk. He is a young man,
lightly bearded. A rimlesS felt hat on
his shaggy head. filthy zarape over
his shoulders, his denim trousers rag
ged, his feet bare. He is playing sem
timental ballad about a palpitating
heart and an unrequited love.
Senior, in the name of sweet heav-
But pass on. There are thousands of
others. Then the coattail is tugged.
A thin childish voice begs.
Lottery ticket, senior. 1t is lucky
number. A toston-two bits. That is
all. And perhaps it will bring you
wealth. Please, senior. Please. Please.
Please
Pass on; let the poor little girl beg.
Her large dark eyes are appealing; she
is very frail. That thin black Shawl
will not keep her warm. But pass on.
Thousands of others are selling tickets
for the national lottery. They dangle
the blue and red coupons before your
eyes dozen times in a block. The
toothless old woman begs, the barefoot
Indian begs, the tiny boy begs with his
few words of English: "Hollo. Vary
chep. Cohm ohm" It all happens on
the beautiful avenue
Must Have CLASSY Shine.
The pale sun is filtering through the
beautiful trees of the Avenida JuareZ.
Students sit on the ornamental iron
benches along the sidewalk and read
while bootblackS shine their shoes
One must have a CLASSY shine in the
city OF Mexico, even If one has no shirt
All up and down the avenida front the
bootblacks, their parlors slung on their
shoulders, ply their trade. Just a little
more than 5 cents (American) and the
shoes twinkle ebony. Lottery statesmen,
tray merchants, bootblackS and tax
drivers-iS there anything else in the
City of Mexico?
A crone, mere huddle of bones un.
der black shawl, tends her charcoal
stove, no bigger than bucket, at thu
street corner. Her face is weakened anc
very small; her fingers are talons in.
cruSted with dirt. With strangel,
piercing eyes she surveys the morning
pedestrian and, in the presumption tina
she can spot hungry one, shrills ou
to him:
"A tortilla, cheap!"
The hungry one usually does not hear
her. Perhaps one in a day takes ad
vantage of the unusual bargain from
the simmering spicy dish over the rudd,
charcoal.
The blue-helmeted traffic patrolmar
on his footstool in the center of the in
tersection blows blue-jay note on hi
pitch pipe and the yellow buses, tn
red street cars, the gray cars, the por