.
; “A man of warm and well-disposed heart with
a very small capacity is highly superior in
human society to him who, with the greatest
talents, is cold and languid in his affections.”
~—Sir Roger de Coverley Papers.
5
... WITH LOVE -- YOUR DAD"
! Dear Son:
1 saw Mr. Blumberg on the
| street several days ago and he
asked me how you were getting
along. He has the remarkable
. characteristic of being a very
. busy man yet not too busy to
| stop and chat with you for a
few minutes. Most successful
business and professional men
are so wrapt up in their careers
and dollars that they zip right
by you like a ‘beebe’. Maybe
he is the fellow who has been
sending you the anonymous dol-
lar bills.
As we were talking a friend
of mine asked me if I had a
match—he wanted to light a
cigarette. I told him that I was
sorry but I didn’t have one. Mr.
Blumberg reached down into
~ his pocket and said, ‘‘Here’s
one.” After our friend had
gone, I asked Mr. B. how it
occurred that he always carried
matches with him even though
he didn’t smoke. He replied
that it was merely as an accom-
modation for those ‘who run
out.”” Now that’s an idea, Son,
and your father won’t be found
again without a match booklet
in his pocket.
A domestic problem arose
yesterday when Jannell was in-
vited to a Boy Scout banquet.
This brought up the question as
to whether she was, or was not
too young to embark in the
social world. Mother said she
was too young for a ‘“‘date,” but
I joined the Union Forces. She
surrendered at Appomatox
Court House, with the provision
that I drive the youngsters to
the place of great hilarity, and
likewise drive them home. I
am ashamed of myself, but I
peeped in at the window to see
how Jannell was conducting
herself, and am proud to tell
her brother that she not only
acted like a lady, but displayed
good table manners, not stab-
bing any of her neighbors in
the wrist like you always
threaten to do.
After I had driven them
there I came home, and Mother
and I had a little talk in the
sitting room. We spoke of the
time when you were only seven
and Jannell had just arrived.
And here you are in college,
and Jannell having a prelimi-
nary coming-out party.
Son, your parents may never
see twenty-five again, but they
are quite a few years from the
wheel chair. Your mother still
attracts strange masculine eyes
when we go on a shopping tour
in the city. And your father
can make you puff when he gets
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NURITO on this guarantee today.
Use
4
you on the tennis courts. Of
course, the barber does not
need to expend near the energy
he used to when I get sheared,
but my liver and heart are
quite good.
One thing to remember is
that in order to keep young we
must not only keep ourselves in
good physical condition, but
must keep our minds cheerful
and young. That is one of the
reasons I am glad the Epworth
League made me their sponsor,
You see, Son, I get to mix in
with the high school kids again,
and if there is any sure way to
keep young mentally, it is to
associate with the younger gen-
eration.
Mother has broken me of the
habit of grabbing onto the
chair-arm when I arise, and I
find that my legs have still a
lot of live power. Maybe my
joints squeak once in a while,
but you never hear me say,
“Guess I am getting old.” Some
folks become old hens and old
roosters long before their time
.cal of young people,
‘... the greatest Fountain of Youth is your mind.”
by J. NORMAN WEBER
because they get grouchy, criti-
inactive
and pessimistic. Oliver Wen-
dell Holmes, former justice of
the United States Supreme
Court was young up to his
death at the age of 82. So re-
member, son, the greatest
Fountain of Youth is your
mind,
You’ll' have to excuse me now
while I go and kill the chicken
for tomorrow’s dinner. Frankly,
Son, I was always a coward at
wringing chickens necks, and
this I must do, because I am a
poor aim with the hatchet. But
please don’t let your mother
know that I am afraid of a
chicken, for she still thinks I
can whip a dozen dragons
single-handed. I haven’t faint-
ed yet, and if I ever do it won't
be from old age, it'll be from
chicken-neck wringing.
With Love,
Your Dad.
P. S. Don’t forget to brush
your teeth after breakfast ‘and
before going to bed.
FORMER BROKER WINS
SOME fighters go into the
racket for glory, others go into
it for love—Bob Olin went into
it for business reasons,
Bob was doing pretty well as
a customer's man in Wall
Street at the time he won the
“New York Daily News” Golden
Gloves’ light heavyweight
championship. He hadn’t even
wanted to enter that contest,
except for the fact that Edgar
Baruch, an officer of the Wall
Street firm that Bob worked
for, told him that the best way
to get customers was to be an
All-American, a tennis cham-
pion or a prize fighter. Bob
chose the squared circle.
He found that by fighting a
couple of times a week, and
distributing the gold watches
that he accumulated as prizzes,
that his account in the firm was
almost trebled. The ‘demand
for watches grew, but then, so
did his list of customers.
Somehow, the glamor of the
ring squirmed its way under
Bob’s skin, and he was wide
open for the proposition Harold
Scadron was to make him one
day. Harold, who is one of the
better managers, saw Bob put
away a flashy amateur opponent
in record time, and dropped
around to his dressing room.
“I can make you light heavy-
weight champion within five
years,” he said. Bob grinned
amiably. “I mean light heavy-
weight champion of the world,”
Scadron said, “not of the ath-
letic club.” Bob was sold.
But Harold was wrong. It
took him six. :
The night of his first profes-
sional fight found Bob Olin
restive, but far from nervous.
It was a matter of seconds
rather than rounds before he
was back in his dressing room.
He had won his first ring
skirmish by a knockout. His
share of the purse was forty
dollars — but he had spent
eighty dollars buying tickets
. for friends.
The future champ was soon
to learn that the life of a prize-
fighter was one of hard work
and devotion to training rules.
Scadron insisted on complete
obedience from the very start.
Long periods of arduous train-
ing and dieting followed in an
effort to build up Olin’s rugged
constitution. He marched on
toward the championship with-
out a detour until the night he
met Tate Littman of Milwaukee
in the elimination tournament
for a crack at Maxie Rosen-
bloom’s crown. Bob didn’t have
very much trouble with Litt-
man, and tagged him on the
jaw with a haymaker, ending
his aspirations toward the
crown. Ending, at the same
time, Olin’s hopes in that direc-
tion — he broke his hand on
Littman’s jaw.
The long pull grew harder
after that, since the hand re-
fused to mend properly. Olin’s
impatience to get back into the
swim resulted in a premature
match with Arthur Huttick, a
200 pound heavyweight. Hut-
tick outweighed Olin by 28
pounds. In the first minute of
the first round, Bob dropped
the big two hundred pounder,
and cracked the hand anew. He
coasted through the remaining
rounds, relying solely on his
left, but the wise boys along
the ringside shook their heads
~O0lin was through.
Until this time Bob had none
7 9 A 5
12 TOWN WEEKLY MAGAZINE SECTION
A 000A
BATTLING BROKER
Bob Olin was doing well as a broker when he won
an amateur bout that sent him on his way to being
8 contender for the heavyweight crown.
LAURELS IN FIGHT RING
of the identifying marks of the
pug, no dented nose, no puffed
eyebrows, no scars. It was the
fight with Al Gainor that
changed all that. Gainor tag-
ged him under the eye with an
overhand right and laid it open,
It bled freely and his seconds
urged Olin to quit,
Olin refused, insisting that
Monsell’s solution be applied
to the cut. In case you've never
heard of it, Monsell’s solution
is the most fiendish substance
in the ring second’s armamen=-
tarium. It is forbidden in
many states, because it no
sooner gets under the skin
than it forms a hard substance.
This lump must be removed
surgically within a few hours
or paralysis of the optic nerves
sets in—hence the bulging eye-
brows. He won the decision.
Meanwhile Champ Rosen-
bloom was still an elusive crea-
ture. It wasn’t until Olin in-
vaded the West Coast domain
of the champ that a match was
arranged. It took Olin fifteen
rounds to blast ‘“‘Slapsie Maxie”
right from under the light
heavyweight tiara. In the last
round of the battle, Maxie, in a
clinch, whispered hoarsely into
Olin’s ear, “Hiya, champ,” so
obvious was it that Olin was the
victor.
With the championship, Olin
inherited a raft of bad luck.
The usual phonies joined the
new champ’s retinue. Easy as
the money came in, still easier
it went out. Despite the fact
that he had never made So
much’ money in his life, Olin
was continually broke,
His sister Frances, a pretty
blonde kid of twenty, was the
_ apple of his eye. With his
share of the Fanis Thanapopo-
lous bout in Beantown, he fi-
nanced an operation for her
chronic appendicitis. Ian the
meantime, the champ signed to
defend his title against Joha
Henry Lewis.
Less than a week before the
fight, his father’s excitement
over Bob’s championship and
Frances’ operation brought on
an attack of coronary throm-
bosis. And Frances died under
the operation. Bob called off
the Lewis bout and went west
to forget. On the coast, he
cancelled a return go with
Rosenbloom, The newspapers
started riding him and called
him yellow... They were right.
Bob Olin was yellow—with
yéllow jaundice. He was
brought back to New York on a
stretcher,
He fought John Henry Lewis
shortly thereafter and lost the
decision.
With the passing of the title,
Bob forsook the light heavy
ranks. He had no desire to re-
gain the crown—it had brought
too much hard luck. Instead,
he started to earn a chance at
Joe Louis. In his comeback
campaign, Olin has limited
himself strictly to heavy-
weights.
The most amazing match in
the heavyweight division was
that he lost to Tommy Farr, the
Welsh heavy. Bob knocked
Tommy down five times but lost
the referee’s decision, 48 points
to 471%.
He has since added to his
string of victories and insists
that the time is not far off
when he will have the cham-
plon in the ring with him.
Then, may the best men wint