The Washington times. [volume] (Washington [D.C.]) 1902-1939, 1935-02-09

w
mingle with the mighty from
the dizzy State of Louisiana
and to lend his talents to the
plotting of the ship Of state
which seems to have become
the personal property of the
KingfiSh OF the Southwest
none of that.
Harry Costello gave me too
many thrills when he was
carrying the mail for George
town University for me to
ever wish him ought but the
best.
He has entertained me too
m any long hours with the
tales of the open road which
he has traversed on many
continents since he tossed his
books though the archway of
Healy Tower and his book
strap after them.
And he has dragged into this
office too many exclusive and
weird stories of that strange
industry, college sports, for me
to ever forget nearly five years
of pleasant professional associa.
tons,
Back to the Wars
And so, it is with no little
alarm that learn he is hitting
the big toboggan and perchance,
almost before these lines of
type are dry may be manning a
machine gun on the front steps
of the State Capital at Baton
Rouge.
But that is like Costello. His
soul is naturally restless. He
must be on the move!
He always wanted to be
where the action was exciting.
It is true that oftimes the
grind of a sport writer's life may
become arid and barren of slim
illus. The game isn't entirely
what it appears, particularly to
those who think that it must be
great to get passes to every
thing and be in the middle Of
the excitement which surrounds
athletic competition-three hun.
dred and sixty-five days of the
year.
Same Old Smell
I imagine the drab life Of
daily passes, the continual
smell of arnica and ointment
and the hollow campus and
gymnasium and locker-room
gossip pail on the veteran of
the press benches no little.
And I presume that particu-
larly to man of Harry Cos
tello's background which, briefly,
commences as a schoolboy in
Connecticut, wends it's way
through t he corridors of
Georgetown, thence to France
and Russia and eventually to
South America and a lot of
other spots on this globe. the
lure of the athletic joust some
times gets to be a kind of a
pain in the neck and eventually
the impulse arrives for broader
outlet.
And, not knowing just how
soon Senator Huey Long will
call for his bowl. and call for
his pipe and call for his pub
licity corps, I am naturally in
suspense as to whether or not
sometime he might call for
Costello and inquire:
"Who will keep the bridge
with me?" thrusting a sawed.
off shotgun into his pudgy
hands withcNt even awaiting
an answer.
At which I am sure, Costello,
of all people I know, would not
vince.
Asked No Quarter
Harry Costello never turned
his back on an assignment dur
ing the two decades and more I
have known him.
On the football field, the
bigger and fleeter they came,
the better he liked to tackle
them.
His war record was such that
he was selected as one of that
1ndomitable corps which would
bivouac Archangel and finish a
task there few battalions would
even attempt. Now, this may
never have occurred to many of
you, but a winter in Archangel
is just about equivalent to a
winter in Little America, only
the latter expedition has no
enemy except the elements.
In the equally fascinating
whirl of Journalism, Harry Cos
te1lo always had the bit in his
teeth.
Sportsman, soldier, man-about-
town. Washington never before
knew a more friendly, likable,
world-wiSe, MISUNDERSTANDING
for-y'u guy than Harry Costello,
who holds the confidence of
men high and low in the affairs
Of things.