Evening star., 1941-03-17
BY CHARLES S. FOLTZ, Jr.

NEW YORK. March II (P).--An
American child in Europe these
days Is Hans Anderson fairy
prince to most European kids
particularly if he's going home.
We were three when we started
the trek from Bern, Switzerland, for
first home leave since the start of
the European war We're still
three, but thanks only TO the COM
bined efforts of Swiss, French,
Spanish, Portuguese and other in
nocent bystanders met along the
way.
They pulled Chip-he's almost S
now-out of bus doors, train win
dows and portfolios. They found
milk for him in France where milk
is as rare as an air raid in Akron,
Ohio They dug up white bread for
him in Spain where even Europe's
usual dusky bread can't be had.
Not that he needed the food. He
had been living in Switzerland,
which is decidedly on the spot in
totalitarian Europe but which is
still the land of fabulous milk and
honey compared to the rest of the
food-frugal continent.
Old Mems Faces.
He's an average American boy
with child's gay face. He picked
up many friend his own size along
the way. But many wore old mems
faces. drawn and pinched, and many
wore rags that zoo frequently were
pitifully loose on undernourished
frames.
To them and to their elders Chip
represented what might have been
in Europe without war and what
still was in that never-never land
to ali Europeans-America
Perhaps that's why they were so
nice to him and smiled sadly at
his laughter. Perhaps that is why
the customs control, the money
control, the passport control and
all the other controls on the from
tiers we passed sped us through
with the scantiest check.
Somebody had given him a little
Swiss flag and little American flag
to tic on the back of his rucksack
for the trip. If the flags of the
port he was leaving and the port
he was heading for failed to inspire
comment he'd say himself in
French, German or English, I'm an
American"
Magic in the Words,
Ch1ldlike, he had learned the
magic of the word in Europe. He
knew that when his elders said 1t
they were stopped by rich men, poor
men, beggar man or thief to answer
a hoard of questions starting with,
"Are you coming in to this?o
When a kid says 1t these days
there's even more magic in the
words, for there are mighty few
American kids left on the Cont
nent.
Chip had learned pride in the
phrase long before-particularly dur
ing the first few months Of the war
in France when that nation went to
war without enthusiasm and with a
WEAKNESS that In retrospect seems to
have been a premonition of its fate.
He learned it still better on the
way back to the America he knows
as little more than a name.
Barcelona. We took a walk from
the Plaza de Catalunya out the
Rambla. Everywhere Catalans
stared-not at us. but at Chip. In
two blocks he had a train of beggar
boys at his heels, but they didn't
beg.
"What Magnificent Shoes."
The sun was bright and hot on
the Barcelona streets. Chip wore
heavy snow boots because shoes were
rationed in Switzerland and they
were all he had for the trip home.
We had worried about those boots
and Chip said they were like
stones"
He klip-klopped out the Rambla
with us now, trying to talk to one
Of the little boys about his own size,
but twice as old In years and many
times older of face. The boy didn't
understand. He just stared round
eyed at Chips heavy snowboots and
said "Que zapatos magniflcos"
What magnificent shoes. That
boy had nothing at all on his feet.
One Of the others wore ancient bed
room slippers. The others wore rags.