Evening star., 1943-07-31

I have fits me. Shirts that were
bought for 17h neck droop' dis
mally on q 16 neck. Pants that
once fitted a Al waist so snugly,
now give me kangaroo pouch ap-
pearance in front. Double breasted
coats lap around, and even my shoes
flop little.
suppose the remembrance Of the
missionary barrels came to me be-
cause have just been reading Wen
dell Willkie and the tribute he pays
to American missionaries for the
part they have played in helping
build up Americas reservoir of good
will all over the world.
Wonders at Courage.
We all know how magnificently
the missionaries behaved in the face
of the Japanese invasion in the
South Pacific. To me, a preachers
son, who used to assist in the pack
ing of the barrels to be sent to dis
tant lands, it is a wonder that the
missionaries did not utilize the
Japanese invasion as perfect ex-
cuse to flee their homes and thus
escape from all the things that
had been sent to them in charity
barrels from the folks at home.
I helped pack those barrels from
the time I was 8 or so until I
was 16 or II and went away to
school. And, I would not hesitate
to lake a solemn pledge that I
never saw anything go into them
that the donor could possibly use,
or any of his poor relations could
use. Here might be the contents Of
barrel going to the missionaries
in some remote South Sea island:
An old, moth-eaten wool coat that
had seen its best days during the
blizzard of '88. A velvet dress with a
train. Il can hear the generous
donor Of this faded, out-moded ar
ticle saying. IT just feel that this lit
tie touch of gayety will brighten up
Sister So-and-So's life.") Broken
roller skates. (Just where the mis-
sionary children were going to skate
in the South Pacific on broken
skates still puzzles me. And there
never were any keys with the skates.
The missionary kids had to have the
same sized feet even to walk around
with the skates on)
Preserves Packed Last.
Deacons weighing 240 pounds
would arrive at the barrel-side with
frayed shirt, intended for a mis-
sionary whose picture they had seen,
and who, they knew, couldn't weigh
more than 1875. Old worn-out muffs,
whose original form never could be
determined, would be carefully
packed in sawdust and newspaper.
Yellowed, white kid gloves would be
stuffed in, and after that, the most
dreadful assortment of bloomers and
long underwear and fuzzy stockings
and hats with plumes on them.
Shoes were an essential item Of the
well-stocked barrel, and such shoes!
Even a hobo on his uppers would
turn up his nose at them.
Even crockery was included. Mis-
sionary crockery always had one
distinguishing mark-it was either
cracked or had no handles some
times wonder if missionary ever
picked up a cup without having to
balance 1t in his hand. There was
always one woman. at least, who in
sisted on sending preserves. The
preserves were always packed last,
put right on top. I have often Won
dered how that velvet dress looked
with peach preserves all over its
train. Or how the button shoes felt
when some unsuspecting soul poked
his or her foot in and pulled it out
covered with blackberry jam.
AS clinching proof of how shoddy
the stuff was that went to the mis-
sionaries I will confess this: I was
always on the lookout for something
could use myself But in all my
many years of missionary barrel
packing I never once saw single
thing worth Switching.
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