The Nome daily nugget., 1935-04-01
Prepared by National Geographic Society.
 Washington, D. C.-WNU Service.


 Washington. D. C.-WNU Service
 A T DAWN comes the clang and A peal of countless bells. The 4 n din Is startling in It's unex- pectedness. It sounds like battle call-or an alarm that Guadalajara Is burning.
 Hurriedly you get up and go out on the hotel balcony.
 All these churches" says a voice at your elbow, "and every bell with a different tone." It Is the man from the room next to yours, Spanish friend from the sugar plan tations, in pajamas and straw san dals.
 'I first came here more than forty years ago, from Spain," he adds. "We made the last stretch in a four-mile stagecoach on leather springs, after a night battle with bandits. We got in just at dawn. with these same bells ringing. Nothing here has changed much the same people, habits, churches. and bells Even the bats are still here. Read at night, and your light draws the moths; turn out the light, and the bats fly in to eat the moths. But they don't eat their wings-next morning moth wings are all over your floor."
 In the street below now black garbed women, their heads covered, are walking quietly to mass-wom- en of all classes, peon and aristo- crat, but hardly any men. Battling heavily, a water cart turns the cor ner, sprinkling the streets and raising that ammonia smell of old adobe towns where humans and beasts have long crowded the ab- sOrbent soil too closely. You meet that same smell, mixed with the scent of roasting coffee, when at early morning men wet the dusty streets of Alden or Baghdad.
 "Ice" "Breadw "Morning pa- perw All voices of the awakening city as truly as cackles, crows. grunts, and squeals are the alarm clocks of the farmer. Before the doorway halts an old man on a mule. carrying two big cans. A sleepy girl, with clay jar, comes out and buys some milk. And the man rides on, calling his singsong "Leche, leche." milk, milk. in a de- spairing vail, more like a cry of pain than an invitation to buy. Turkeys for Sale. Now country boy in a ragged straw hat comes driving a flock of turkeys. He carries long stick, with whip-like piece of string on one end, for flicking any errant tur- key on the neck. He urges them on by missing sounds, his tongue against his upper teeth, in the fa- miliar Indian warning. They mar ket thousands of turkeys on foot here, as in parts of Texas. the in- quisitive, shapely birds marching with quick, graceful strides, necks jerking sharply with each step. One strutting gobbler. with pendent red wattles long as prophets beard, ruffled his bronze plumage and dragged his wings.
 By the time you dress, clap your hands for coffee, and read Mex lean paper still damp and smelling of fresh ink, all Guadalajara Is swarming. Tramcars are crowded; so are busses.
 Bobbedhaired senoritas, in bright organdie, silk hose, and high heels, chatter and giggle their cheerful way to work in stores. beauty and curio shops. at switch boards or typewriters. Many are pure Andalusian types with blue eyes and blond hair, small shapely hands and feet. The ease and joy with which man may look upon womankind in Guadalajara are pro- verbial "In all Mexico, no others are so fair"
 "Surely St. Peter must have opened the gates of heaven to let down such beautiful damsel," Mexicans say when maid of pull chritude Is passing.
 Along with the crowd, ogling the girls, come sleek young bank clerks, bookkeepers in the brewery, the factories, motorcar and other agen- cies, spick and span in flannels of Hollywood cut, carving sticks, smoking pungent native cigarettes.
 The sidewalks of Guadalajara Walk them at this hour and you see the city eye-high and close up.
 WOrkmen idly dig up the pave ments, as always; traffic police in white gloves blow whistles and wave cars to stop. And they do stop; for one dispute with an alert Guadalajara traffic cop and the big jail yawns for you. On an open space soldiers are drilling and women wait before the colossal prison to get in at visiting hours. "They built the jail big enough to