The midland journal. (Rising Sun, Md.) 1885-1947, 1939-02-17

NJ EW YORk.-At the OLD beanery
IN for the hired help in the New
York World building, a few years
ago, there was quite a stir and
stew of ambi-
Dream Book ton. Swapping
Came Through dreams, one
As Advertised Maxwell Ander-
son was going to
write a play; Louis Weitzenkorn had
the same idea; big, jovial Phil Stong
had written 16 novels, to the quite
considerable Indifference OF all pub
fishers, but Mr.. Stong said all this
was Just a little practice workout
and he promised to deliver later on.
Swarthy, saturnine James Cain
thought he might have the making
of book or two in his system, but
said little about it. Young, whippy
Dudley Nichols, a demon reporter,
trained as an engineer, had a writ
ing career neatly blue-printed. Paul
Sifton, burned up by social injus-
tice, was going to write few plays
and tear the lid off things in gen.
eral. Ben Burman, whom Phil Stong
could carry around in his pocket,
was going to be bell-ringing nov
elist. se@a Y's.1
A kindly Destiny presided over
'RA the old beanery. The above play
wrights, novelists and Holly
wood big shots probably could
have bought the then sinking
world with their collective re-
sources Of today-although MIR.
Sifton, after pulling two or three
Iurid Broadway plays, now is
sunk voluntarily in the sOme-
what undramatic federal wage
board, as its assistant director.
The spot news of this chronicle is
that Mr.. Burman has been honored
with the Southern Authors award for
his recently published novel, elbow
for Landing" This is the highest
literary award in the gift of the
South, in which non-fiction also was
judged. His previous books include
s'Steamboat Round the Bend,'
which became Will Rogers last
screen play, and several other Mis-
sissippi yarns. He has more or
less of a personal copyright on river
tales. i.. stUa4. 80 s1 4
Mr.. Burman once told me how his
dream was almost sidetracked. He
quit the World, to become an author
with no luck, and, at long last,
only dime. The fragrance of fresh
ly baked buns in shop window de-
throned his reason and he shot the
dime for four buns. Back in his
garnet he found a letter from a
magazine. saying they liked his
"Minstrels of the MIST which they
had had for months, and which he
had given up as lost. Would he
come up and consult them on a mi
nor change? He would, but lacked
carfare.
He had seen a pretty girl in a
nearby studio. He didn't know
her, but he told her his troubles.
She was similarly situated, but
Staked him to three two-cent
stamps. He raised a nickel on
them at a stationery store, saw
the editor and got not only
check, but q big hand on his
story. III
And, naturally, he returned
and married the pretty girl, who
thereafter illustrated his books
as they. traversed, mot only his
pet river. but Damascus, the Sa-
hara desert, Bagdad and other
such mother-lodes of literary
raw material.
T oUIS SHATTUCK GATES, sill
~ ver-gray and semi-corpulent,
heavy-spoken and decisive, is
Bourbon whose Wall Street Office
looks out over
Miners Salute the House of
TOpnofcher in Morgan and the
Copper World New York Stock
s. exchange, and
yet thousands OF small mining men
up and down the Rocky mountains
today are sending him congratula-
tons.