Epistles from Pap: Letters from the man known as 'The Will Rogers of Indiana' Part 25

The s.h.i.+p has a tiled swimming pool, well-patronized. The cabins, dining room, bar, latticed verandah, etc., are air conditioned, and well need be.

This is a fine way to rest and eat. Other than the s.h.i.+p's activities, all you see is a very few cargo s.h.i.+ps, five miles to invisibility away, porpoises, flying fish, a gull or so, occasional low, dim landheads, the sky, the stars and moon--and water, reasonably calm but still as restless as a candidate on election night.

SAILING DOWN THE 'RIVER OF JANUARY'

To The Graphic Greencastle, Ind.

We are southbound out of Rio de Janeiro (River of January, because I am told it was discovered in January). . . We docked early on the morning of Dec. 7th and sailed out at 6 p.m. next day.

I was standing at the rail when we docked. I have had feelings of helplessness many times, and more or less acute. But when I looked down some 30 feet and saw that crowd of coated, black haired and hatless men, and saw those upturned faces ranging from swarthy to ebony black, and heard that strange Portuguese as it came up in increasing volume along with its accompanying pantomime . . . I wondered and wondered what I was going to do and how.

By that time pa.s.sengers were descending the accommodation ladder and strangers had come up. Shortly, the cabin boy came with a short, thin, wiry, coal black haired young fellow. He said, "You are Mr. Durham?"

"Yes," I said.

He handed me a card bearing the name of a well known American firm doing business in South America and said, "We received word you and your daughter were arriving and I am down to ask you to be our guests so we may have the pleasure of entertaining you while here. May we have that pleasure?"

"Son," said I, "you most certainly may--and before you have time to change your mind." And I meant it.

He looked a trifle puzzled. We went inside the Verandah Cafe and right there another less swarthy and older man accosted me in like manner, for a like purpose, and handed me a card of another well known American firm.

We sat down and ironed it out: the answer was most simple--and most satisfying to both hosts. We saddled ourselves on the young fellow the first day and on the older man the second day.

Come to think it all over carefully, that thing could have been rehea.r.s.ed by said parties of the first part. Things fit in too well.

UNIQUE TRAFFIC PATTERNS

In Rio they drive cars mostly by horn. The balance of it is done by guess. The din and confusion is terrific. Added to this, pedestrians pay no attention to cars and drivers give no heed to pedestrians. The latter cross and re-cross the streets wherever and whenever they get the notion.

The first day in Rio we spent driving the downtown congestion along the beaches, and other sight-seeing. The big percent is one way traffic. To get a block or so away from where you are you execute some geometric figures they didn't have in the books when I took geometry.

This day we had an accident. Driving in the downtown congestion a car from the lane to our right pulled into us, tearing off the right hind fender of our almost brand new convertible. Traffic stopped momentarily only. You would think the two owners were exchanging pleasantries. They gathered up the pieces and pulled out what was left of the fender to keep the tires from sc.r.a.ping, and away we went. No cops, no report, no exchange of license numbers, no fight, no profanity, no nothing. It was a bit discouraging.

At noon we gathered at the head office, collected some more officials and our host took us to lunch at the Jockey's Club. . .

With the aid of all present I ate those things for which Rio and Brazil are most noted. Some most excellent, some so-so. The famous coffee at the Jockey's Club, and elsewhere for that matter, must have bitter root and paint remover in it.

That afternoon, we drove to Petropolis, the summer capitol, about 40 odd miles up in the mountains over one of the few good highways. The paved highways of Brazil, a country larger than the U.S., have a total mileage of 450 miles. That wouldn't reach from Greencastle to Topeka, Kansas. Petropolis must be a half-mile above sea level. At places, where the highway ran near the cliff's edge, you could look down and see where you had been some 15 or 20 minutes before, but you'll never know how you got from there to where you are now.

CAVERNOUS EX-CASINO

On the way is the Quintandinha (or some such spelling) Hotel--the biggest I ever saw. Here is where the Pan-American Conference was held. There it was on the mountain side, all quiet, no one about and just beginning to look a bit like our cattle barn east of Russellville, or "Happy" Cal's derby hat. The hotel is closed.

The reason? It depended on its casino to keep it going. The new president of Brazil was instrumental in enacting a law making casinos illegal. So now the gambling element of Brazil is thinking of getting a new president. So you see, the world is pretty much the same all over.

We drove up under whatever it is that great big hotels have in front of them and there stood six or seven cars. Most of them held Del Mar sightseers. n.o.body could get in. Our host disappeared somewhere and came back directly, saying we would get in. I asked, "How." He said, "Folding money." So you see, we are still pretty much the same, all the way around.

Did you ever see a whale of a big hay loft with all the hay left out? When we stepped through the front door into the dimness of that hotel, that was my thought. No lights and total silence.

Everything on a tremendous scale and everywhere in semi-darkness.

That conference room must be the size of our court house lawn, hitch rack and all. The flags of all the nations still hang.

Hundreds of thousands of cruzeiros changed hands nightly under, and surrounded by those flags. Inside, I saw a swimming pool 25 feet deep at the deep end. The fellow who I think took the folding money told me in broken English the dome of the hotel was bigger than that of St. Peter's in Rome. I doubt that. I said to him, "It certainly would hold a pile of clover hay." That went clear past and beyond him. But who am I to tell a Brazilian how big his dome is?

DOM PEDRO AND HIS MANY FANS

In Petropolis we went through the Palace of Dom Pedro. I'll not try to tell you just who Dom Pedro was, and how he came to be, because I don't know. I should, after all the Dom Pedroing I went through that afternoon, but I got confused. But Dom Pedro had to be some boy. Between him and his wife or wives and his sons and daughters and grandsons and granddaughters, and their activities, there wasn't much left to say about anybody else.

At the front door pious looking attendants slip felt slippers, open at the heel, over your shoes, and from there on through the palace you slide your way along the highly polished wooden floors (original). Dom Pedro, his wife (let's give him credit for only one) and their get were everywhere, in oil, bronze and marble, horseback and on foot. But Dom himself seemed to take pretty much to horses for the big pictures the big scenes. We saw the throne room, bed rooms, dining hall, nursery and its cradles, uniforms, swords, state dresses, black-hair combs a foot high, old china and gla.s.sware and ladies fans.

Let me tell you about the fans. My Aunt Jennie Black was a fan fan--the kind that folded up--and the art was to fold and unfold them gracefully. Remember? In a way, cigarettes are to our coeds what fans were to Aunt Jennie and her era. Well, don't think Dom Pedro's queen and women folk weren't in there fanning hard with their fans, and long, long before Aunt Jennie and hers. A room the size of Crawley's pool room was full of them in gla.s.s cases.

Hundreds, yes almost thousands of them: Wood, bone, ivory, tortoise sh.e.l.l, amber and whatever else that could be made into fans. Delicate filigree, gold, silver, mother of pearl, inlay of superb workmans.h.i.+p and so fine it should be magnified to show it is really hand work. Yes, they had fans in Dom's day, and just as many as Brooklyn has now.

And away back behind was a small cubby hole room where Dom and his Senators, or Cabinet, or advisers, or whatever it was he had, met and considered matters of state. Then Dom, after being duly advised, would go out and make his own laws. Up home you had Huey Long and some others I mustn't name out loud do about the same thing, so you see, we are pretty much . . .

BRIGHTENING PROSPECTS

Two full days in Rio is hardly enough to get much idea of a foreign city of a million and a half to two million in population. One man expressed it this way. "Rio has a limited number of rich to big rich, and a world of poor to very poor. We lack a middle cla.s.s. We are very short on middle cla.s.s. After the war people of Brazil flocked to Rio, and, far far oftener than not, left a position and life much higher than the one they attained, or could ever attain, in Rio."

Right now, they are slowed down almost critically by reason of a shortage of American dollars. They want and badly need to buy from us, but have no stable currency to pay with. Added to this, it would appear to the average outsider, they have some unfortunate and crippling legislation that doesn't help this situation.

We went to a c.o.c.ktail party at the Copacabana Hotel. And there we met some 20 to 25 men from the States in various commercial and financial activities in Rio. It was the general opinion that the financial and industrial situation is rather bad. No impending panic seems evident, but a ripple of pessimism exists. As the evening advanced and the c.o.c.ktails expanded, that pessimism dissipated. By the time some of us got to where a c.o.c.k's tail blended into the rest of his feathers and where the c.o.c.ktail party blended into the dinner party, it appeared a boom was about to start.

LABOR AND CLIMATE

Sailing out of Rio at 6 p.m. Dec. 8th, next morning early we docked at Santos. We loaded 400 tons of rather inferior bananas for Montevideo and Buenos Aires, all hand work except for the crane that lifted the sling of loaded bananas off the dock and lowered them into the hold. When they wanted to move a car up or down the track, about 50 men would surround it and push, and slowly she would begin to roll. At 11 a.m. the city siren blew and everybody quit work right then and there until 2 p.m. That gave us two full daylight days in Santos.

I had been told in Rio that another representative of one of the companies would meet and take care of us at Santos. The first day we drove to Sao Paulo, referred to by Brazilians as the "Chicago"

of Brazil. To me, that is a Churchillian understatement. It is the manufacturing city of Brazil, some 50 odd miles up in the mountains from Santos. The two cities have rail and truck connections. I asked our host how come manufacturers would unload raw products or knockdown parts onto railroad cars or trucks, make the haul up to S.P., manufacture or a.s.semble it there, then rail or truck it back down to Santos or Rio. Why not do it at Santos or Rio and cut out all that haul and extra handling?

The answer was "labor conditions and climate differences--mostly the former." After seeing those 50 men gingerly moving that banana car of half the capacity of one of Sir Herbert Martin's box cars, I began to catch the idea.

We had lunch in a super cla.s.s French restaurant. For some unknown reason our host and his sprightly wife wanted to take us to The Jungle--a real, for sure Brazilian jungle some 140 kilometers on beyond Sao Paulo. We started, but long, long before The Jungle we practically ran out of road. They were improving and re-locating the highway. We held a caucus. Our host was as game as they come.

. . Open revolt came when our host said he had inquired and was a.s.sured the road would get better farther on and that he would have us back aboard s.h.i.+p by midnight, perhaps before that time. A vote was taken. Three were for returning then and there, with one not voting. We turned around and headed back for Sao Paulo.

On the way out toward The Jungle we met truck after truck loaded high with sacked charcoal enroute to Sao Paulo where it sells as high as a doctor's bill back home. It is used in cooking. There seemed to be no coal. Gasoline is expensive and oil men tell me it is not as good as our "regular." No Ethyl.

Our host, knowing we had driven from Rio to Petropolis, at the day's end told us we had traveled almost half of the total good road mileage of Brazil.

NO MINK SOUTH OF KEY WEST?

At Rio and Santos we lost upward of a third of our original pa.s.sengers. Newcomers filled all the vacated cabins, Portuguese or Spanish speaking peoples. Most of them were business men and not tourists out for a lark. Talk started about going through customs at Buenos Aires, and how many cigarettes and how much liquor we could take in. For some reason opinion on number and volume differed. . . As to liquor, the question centered around whether it was liters or number of bottles that counted, and if so what size bottles. All of which didn't help those who had it in jugs. I never will know how the jug crowd came out.

Sugar Foot's problem is something else. It has to do with a neck piece Mummy or someone else in the family besides me is sending to Ann Drew in California. Now you know why it is taking this roundabout way of getting to California, so why ask me that simple a question? But so far on the trip there has been no place for the display of furs, and the only way that comes to me now that we can achieve that air of affluence is for the hot water system of the flying machine to give out when we are 2,000 feet in the air going over the Andes to Santiago. But let's hope it doesn't. I don't want anything to happen to anybody that high up, much less Sugar Foot and me. I wouldn't want that to happen even to a Republican--provided there are any of them left up there by this time.

I see I started out telling you about Aura May's problem and wound up in politics. Her problem is this: she didn't declare said alleged mink neck piece on leaving the States. Now some low fellow tells us we will have trouble getting "back-in" with it.