Gordon
Mackay

GORDON MACKAY was born Massachusetts in 1878. 

By 1911 he was employed by the Philadelphia Times, and his columns on baseball were already being circulated nationally. In early 1913 he was working as a sportswriter for the Cleveland Leader, and was already well known as a sports reporter. He also had written for newspapers in Boston. 

He married to Inez Kane  around 1913 at the age of 35. Gordon and Inez Kane were living with Inez' mother and siblings at the time of the 1920 census, at 2229 North 13th Street in Philadelphia. Gordon Mackay was already working as a newspaper reporter in Philadelphia by this time. By 1925 he was working for the Philadelphia Inquirer, and was referred to in one of the Inquirer's advertisements as "That king of baseball writers and recognized authority on boxing, wrestling, and other sports".

In 1930 Gordon Mackay was sports editor of the Philadelphia Record. Gordon and Inez Mackay were living in April of that year at a home they had bought at 5850 Pendridge Street in Philadelphia, with their three children, Gordon J., Elizabeth, and Jane. He was then reporting for the Philadelphia Record. 

Gordon Mackay was one of 13 reporters who in 1931 made up a panel responsible for picking the American and National League All Star Teams, which in those days were post-season awards, as the mid-season All Star Game had not been instituted yet. In November of 1931, he wrote a column for Record which was reprinted in the Frankford Gazette of Northeast Philadelphia, concerning the demise of the Frankford Yellowjackets, an early NFL franchise.

 By 1935 Gordon Mackay had come to work in Camden, as a featured columnist and reporter with the Camden Courier-Post. In Camden he wrote about more than sports. His column, which was published several times a week, was entitled Is Zat So? A wonderful writer with a great command of the English language, Mackay wrote on a variety of subjects, and seemed to be acquainted with virtually everyone in Camden and Philadelphia, great and small. A prolific worker, Gordon Mackay also wrote news articles for the Courier besides his regular column, 

Gordon Mackay passed away in 1941.

Assorted Articles by Gordon Mackay 

1922

Philadelphia

Boxing- Tommy Loughran vs.- Gene Tunney

12/18/1925

Philadelphia Inquirer

Football - The Pottsville Maroons

11/9/1931,
11/13/1931

Philadelphia Record,
Frankford Gazette

Football - The Frankford Yellowjackets

1/3/1938

Camden Courier-Post

Camden - East Camden, Bernard J. "Barney" Tracy

1/4/1938

Camden Courier-Post

Camden - Republican Politics in Camden County

1/5/1938

Camden Courier-Post

Camden - Camden Police Christmas Charity Activities

1/7/1938

Camden Courier-Post

Camden - "A Living Wage" & George Hertline's Bet

1/8/1938

Camden Courier-Post

Camden - The Stanley Sanhedrin, Dave Weitzman, 
                 Dora Rose, Gene R. Mariano, Samuel P. Orlando

1/13/1938

Camden Courier-Post

Camden - Andy Bonito's Italian Bakery
(known as Oriti's Pastry from the 1940s through early 1970s) 

1/14/1938

Camden Courier-Post

Camden - Dave Weitzman, Motor Vehicle Inspections

1/15/1938

Camden Courier-Post

Camden - John McKenna, bar owner, McKenna's Cafe

1/17/1938

Camden Courier-Post

Camden- Child entertainers, show business

1/18/1938

Camden Courier-Post

Camden- Republican Politics, 
                Florence Baker, David Baird Jr., Mary Kobus

1/20/1938

Camden Courier-Post

Camden, Sports - Andy McMahon

1/21/1938

Camden Courier-Post

Camden, North Camden - Tom Homan; Dan McConnell
(Note: subject's name was misspelled as "Holman")

1/22/1938

Camden Courier-Post

Camden, Vaudeville - H.L. Keely

1/22/1938

Camden Courier-Post

Camden- John Roskze

1/26/1938

Camden Courier-Post

Camden, Politics - David Baird Jr.

1/27/1938

Camden Courier-Post

Camden, Business - Sig Schoenagle

1/28/1938

Camden Courier-Post

Camden DeSoto Car Dealer - Morris Puro

2/8/1938

Camden, Immigrants  - Mark Marritz, Pat Iarossi, 
Ann Pennington, The Dooleys

6/1/1938

Camden Courier-Post

Camden, Boxing - Frankie Conway

6/8/1938

Camden Courier-Post

Camden, YMCA - Ken Smullen, William Partenheimer

6/10/1938

Camden Courier-Post

Camden, Lawyers - L. Scott Cherchesky

6/1/1939

Camden Courier-Post

Camden, Law School, Peter Albano

Tommy Loughran Has His Work Cut Out
For Him When He Faces Tunney

By Gordon MacKay
Philadelphia, PA
1922

Philadelphia Inquirer- December 18, 1925

POTTSVILLE IS KING

Speaking of champions, and who can mention the name of the Pottsville Maroons without speaking of champions.  The Chicago Cardinals are trying to cloud the title to the kingship by framing up a pretty putrid sort of buncombe.  But the Cardinals can frame their stuff.  Joe Carr as president of the National Pro League can rant and rave and gesticulate and ban, the Westeners can rail and bluster, but where-ever the football fan reads the dope, Pottsville is the professional champion of football.
     Pretty scurvy trick that worked, we'll inform the universe.  The Cardinals, in order to tie Pottsville
and thus place themselves in alignment, for a battered crown, revived the disfranchised Milwaukee
team and beat them.  To form an eleven, to have a sufficient ensemble aboard the field, four Chicago
high school boys, we are informed, were imported for the occasion.  The names of the kids escape us
for the minute, but we understand they have made a clean breast of the whole affair.
     Pottsville has been the target for a lot of official acts since the Maroons came down here to play the Four Horsemen.  They invaded territorial rights, but verbal permission was given to them, and it was the official who was to blame and not Pottsville.
     But the strangest part of the whole matter is how the Chicagoans hoodwinked themselves.  They
had never seen the Maroons in action, as we understand, and thought Pottsville had some sort of hick team, comprised of boys who carried straws stuck in the corner of their mouths and who had to currycomb their hair every morning to get the hayseed out.
     So the Cardinals merrily challenged the Pottsville boys to play a game in the Illinoisan metropolis.  Doc Striegal, manager of the Maroons, wired and asked if it was for a title.                 

THOUGHT IT WAS EASY

Covering their face with their hands to smother the broad smile that curved their manly lips, the
Cards wired right back and said it was for the title surely.  Certainly, certainly.  Who were these hicks from a jerkwater burg named Pottsville who thought they could beat the great Cardinals of the greatest city of Illinois?  Faugh!  Perish the thought!  Well the Maroons went out to Chicago and took the Cardinals just as the exalted General Grant took Richmond. Didn't take the Maroons quite so long as it took U.S.G., but it amounted to the same thing.
     So bitterly disappointed were the Chicagoans over the fact that they had tossed away their own title that the manager is said to have broken down and wept.  Not figuratively speaking, but actual tears did the noble-hearted son of the wide open space shed.  Then came this hodge podge known as the victory over Milwaukee and now the Cardinals feel they have a chance for the title.  But we're just the same as the Veteran Athletes.  So far as we are concerned we sat at the banquet board of the champion football players in the world of the commercialed cowskin, and that goes for us to the end of the chapter.
     Furthermore we want to say that whenever you speak of sports in the coal countree, you speak of SPORTS too. Pottsville handed the crown, the laurel, the bay and the garlands to their heroes, and did it niftily, ornately and meritoriously.  But that isn't all they handed to them.  They got a brown traveling bag that made the writers mouth water. They got gold  footballs, they got sweaters, they got jeweled emblems, they got a lot of presents, and everyone of those boys knew there was a Santa Claus before Pottsville got done showering them with gifts.

MERITED HIS PRAISE

No wonder Herb Stein, the  peerless center said to this writer, astonishment in every word, surprise in every tone. 
        "Did you ever see anything like it?  I wouldn't expect anything like this from a college, but to a
professional team.  By gee, it's wonderful!"  Wonderful was the very term.
     Incidentally Pottsville is going out and do its football on a big scale next season.  It wouldn't be a bit surprising if a stadium with a capacity of 15,000 were built, and the Maroons given a throne in keeping with the dignity of their rulership.  But stadium or no stadium, Missus Pottsville's football family are all Maroons, and they are the champions of the world.
     Laugh off that one, Chicago-

Frankford Gazette - November 13, 1931

GORDON MACKAY WRITES ABOUT YELLOW JACKETS

Expresses Regret At Passing of Great Gridiron Machine

Gordon Mackay, well known sports writer in “The Philadelphia Record” on Monday, had this to say of the Frankford Yellow Jackets --

“The current depression and internal troubles appear to have doomed professional football in Frankford. The mere fact that Shep Royle quit active connection with the eleven, that Louis Castor, one of the pioneers in founding the eleven, brought suit and that the players have decided to travel, bring vividly to mind that the Jackets seem to have reached the end of the trail. The principle reason for a dubious future lies in the idle looms of the district. Frankford is a textile center, and when looms are not humming and cotton and other staples not produced, the prosperity of the community is seriously endangered, and sport suffers along with other things.
      No matter the future nothing can dim the prestige, power and advertising the Yellow Jackets brought to a thriving home and prosperous community. For years and years an intercommunity rivalry existed between Frankford and Holmesburg. Geography and sport conspired to create a natural enmity between the villages, an enmity that existed not only along the broad lines of sport, however.
      The annual football duel between these rivals was one big autumn festivity in that section. Victory had adorned the banners of both until finally Frankford had an enormous idea, a great vision. Professional football was pushing its nose at this time and Royle, Castor, Howard Bowker and others of the invincibles determined on a plan so radical as to stamp Frankford as its originator.
      The community would enter the National League of Professional Football. This idea might seem trite nowadays, but fifteen years or more ago, when Frankford broached the proposition, it was not only one of the most radical steps in sport, but one of the most dramatic attempts around here in many seasons.

Frankford Showed Great Civic Spirit

Skeptics abounded on every hand. New York, Chicago, cities of that size might support a professional football team. But Frankford? Bah! Here were Penn, Temple, Villanova, a host of colleges all drawing football support from the army who marched to the gridiron stands every week-end.
      But the soul of the adventurer and the iron of the pioneer were in those young men of Frankford. They formed the Frankford A. A., subscribed for its stock, swept a big community idea right into the consciousness of the Northeast. It was the first time a community the size of Frankford dared brave the wrath of the gods and dared to launch a project of such size and moment.
      The noble experiment in Frankford was watched with eager and intense eyes at home and abroad. Shep, Howard, Lou – all lads who made the Jackets a landmark in Frankford, all plunged ahead with lusty spirit and growing funds. Behind the team marched a solid phalanx of support, the community of Frankford.
      The first season was weathered. These doughty lads masked their home address under no municipal costume. No sir, these lads who went here, there and everywhere to play, East and West, were the FRANKFORD YELLOW JACKETS. The name of the community wandered about the whole world, and parts of the nation where pro football teams dwelt became Frankford conscious.
      It was the greatest advertising the community ever had. It did more good than 100 orators and was of more value than 200 ballyhoos. Frankford football spoke for itself and its community. Within a few years the experiment was stamped with success and doubt and trepidation no longer existed in Frankford on the El.
      Once, perhaps twice, the championship was won and added laurels came to the players and added luster to the community. The Frankford idea spread into Green Bay, Wis., and Portsmouth, Ohio.

Crash Imminent, Dissolution Inevitable

It was always with a mind that could sense progress that these pioneers dealt with the question of football in Frankford. It was always with a point of view where money wasn’t the ultimate to be considered. In fact, these adventurers and experimenters never profited a cent personally from football – all the money was given to community projects, hospitals and other institutions of like nature and value and use.
      So Frankford and its football became a fixture and folks paid less attention outside. Frankford’s place in pro football was firmly and definitely established. We hope our outlook is wrong, we hope that Frankford remains secure in its old place. But things look doubtful, and let us hope that such a community drama, a community adventure, shall not perish from the gridiron."

Camden Courier-Post - January 22, 1938

Camden Courier-Post - February 1, 1938

Is Zat So?
by
GORDON MACKAY

STOUT fellas like Connie Mack and t Gerry Nugent would sum up the situation like this:

'Time to warm up a new pitcher and send that bird to the showers."

Big Business needs to warm up some new pitchers to put the ball over the plate at the hearings before the various legislative committees of the Congress. None of those who have toed the rubber heretofore seems to have anything on the ball, and are trying to get by with a prayer rather than plenty of stuff.

Let's look over the lads who stepped out of the bullpen to don the spangles for Big Business. The first was William Knudsen, head of General Motors. In his line Knudsen is one of the big boys of the motor world, and knows his stuff about making whizcars from the sprocket to the windshield.

He told and told truly that General Motors wasn't employing so many men because the demand for new cars slackened, and there was no use in building cars when nobody would buy them; That is so axiomatic that it shouldn't be taken as a pearl of great price or revealing any tremendous wisdom.

Mr. Knudsen also found that policies of the administration had created a reign of "fear," So he replied to a question to that, effect pumped at him by Senator Lodge, the youthful son of Massachusetts. When Knudsen declared that the administration inculcated fear by its acts, Senator Byrnes asked the motor magnate what corrective remedy he would apply to allay fear and to repel the recession.

'That was the poser. Summed up in a nutshell Knudsen didn't have any answer. All he knew was that what Roosevelt did was wrong.

WHY SALARIES SO LARGE EH WOT?

Personally I would propound a question to General Motors' Knudsen and all the other Knudsens. Trade in automobiles went to pot during 1937, especially during the latter part of the year. Workers were thrown into idleness, wages were reduced because hours of labor, were curtailed. At the same time the salaries of the executives headed by Alfred P. Sloan with more than $500,000 amounted to more than three million dollars.

Supposedly these executives received those tremendous salaries because of their value to the corporation. The thing that sticks in my craw is how to evaluate an executive's salary. He gets $500,000 when business is good, he gets just as much salary when business hits the skids,

The worker doesn't continue to work 40 hours a week when no automobiles are sold. Then why should Mr. Sloan; et al, receive the same salary during bad times as in flourishing times? 

You would be informed if you asked that question that Sloan and his associates are worth every nickel they get because of the business they bring to General Motors. All right. But are they worth as much salary when business is rotten and they apparently have fallen down on the job like a ton of bricks?

You don't pay workers, full time when they haven't the work at hand. You don't pay a worker who falls down on the job and lets business go to blazes as much salary as you, do when business booms and the goose hangs high.

If Sloan and his associates are worth $500,000 in boom times because they make business for the corporation, they most certainly should take a big cut when they let trade go to pot and bring rotten days to General Motors. Bad logic, poor reasoning to say that. Sloan is worth as much money when he lets business become poor, as he is when business booms. No can do! Doesn't sound right.

DU PONT ALSO WORKS "IN FOG"

Big Business sent Lammot du Pont to the mound with instructions to shoot them down the middle and not to work the corners of the plate. Mr. du Pont said the businessman was in a "fog of uncertainty” because he did not know what the Administration was doing. Perhaps there have been a groundwork for that belief.

Morgenthau wants the budget balanced, Ickes and Hopkins want WPA and relief, supplied with more money. Eccles argues for spending, expenditures. In that respect the administration not only has Mr. du Pont guessing but persons devoted to the New Deal as well.

Taking the du Pont word for the fact that he was in "a fog of uncertainty" over the Administration's policies, du Pont also proved that he was in some, thing of a mist himself over several other matters.

He attacked the Wagner Labor Law as "uncertain" regarding the dealings between employer and employee, then followed this by saying that du Pont had no labor troubles because the corporation "followed the law." On one hand du Pont didn't know what the law meant, on the other he knew it so well that by strict obedience to its provisions du Pont warded off any possibility of labor troubles.

Du Pont also stated that he held, the policies of the New Deal in great fear, yet under Roosevelt the du Pont dividends became richer and more lush than ever before. The "fog of uncertainty" had not blotted dividends out of existence, in fact it seemed to have bolstered, them.

Despite this "fog of uncertainty" du Pont said that his corporation planned to spend $35,000,000 in plant expansion in 1938, which didn't make sense to the committee in view of the fact that all corporate spending had been supposed to have been suspended until the magnates were able to see "through the fog of uncertainty".

Big Business’ last nominee for the slab was a rookie named Jimmy Cromwell. His mother is the wife of E. T. Stotesbury, partner in the House of Morgan. Jimmy's wife is the former Doris Duke, one of the richest women in the United States.

Jimmy went to Washington to ask the repeal of estate taxes, to free the poor toiler by sticking a sales tax un everything he bought. Jimmy proved he had plenty of courage if his common sense might have been open to argument.

Cromwell's big moment was when he declared that his wife had 50 millions in tax exempt securities. In other words the poor sucker named John Q. Public had to pay taxes that protected this Duke wealth that didn't yield a nickel to Uncle Sam.

If the Doris Duke Cromwell bonds were stolen it would be the sucker money provided by the plumber, the shoemaker, the printer and other forms of civic life that would pay the police to recover the bonds.

If the Duke heiress should be "snatched," it would be the money of the newsdealer, the reporter, the automobile mechanic that would pay the police that would save Doris Duke Cromwell.

For sheer unadulterated brass you have to hand it to Jimmy. With the Duke-Cromwell domicile paying not one cent for protection out of this tremendous wealth, Jimmy had the gall to ask the plumber, the newsdealer and the other protectors of his wealth and his wife's wealth to pay two cents sales tax on a pound of steak, to run the government.

Warm up ·another pitcher, pronto.

Camden Courier-Post - February 2, 1938

Is Zat So?
by
GORDON MACKAY

PENNSAUKEN and politics are allied and tied together like ham and eggs. The boys and the girls, too, play the game in that township eight days in every week. You find more cliques, coteries and cabals in Pennsauken than might be expected in a place thrice its size. Every time you step on a man's toe in that place, you've trod on the bunion of a political leader, or at least a person who believes himself a political leader.

The Democratic leader, at least on the nights that the Pennsauken Democratic Club meets, is Charlie Rudd. Charlie is a tall, good-looking barrister, with a yen toward peace and a hankering for victory. In appearance Mr. Rudd is both natty and personable. In brains Mr. Rudd, while no Jim Farley, speaking politically, knows his way around.

One of the principal assets I find in Brother Rudd is his absolute refusal to take himself so seriously that he has to order his hats direct from the manufacturer. Mr. Rudd, as president of the Pennsauken Democratic Club, opposes W. L. Napoleon Rogers, C. P., who as head of the United Republican Club of Pennsauken, Is the big potato of the majority. Mr. Rogers' political sense, I might state, has been greatly heightened. He is a person who reflects the benefits that come through the chastening rod. Since he accepted the defunct nomination of the G. O. P.-less majority in the Board of Freeholders and bared his neck to the blasts, Les has been a huge light and learned to keep the cards he plays closed to his necktie hereafter.

The United Republican Club of Pennsauken has a conspicuous home, around the corner from the rival headquarters.

HARMONY EVER CLUB WATCHWORD

Once inside the precincts of the United Republican Club and harmony sits on the bough like a bird. Sweetness and light fairly ooze through the pores of the members, as they stand at attention and "Heil Rogers" to their heart's content and the danger that the welkin may be shattered.

Peace, amity and harmony form inseparable triplets in the club meetings. Outside the structure the merry members of the U,RC. run as fast as their legs can carry them to grab back their hammers and start working on their leaders. The noise that you hear as you near Pennsauken on nights that the United Republican Club meets is the whir of the grindstones sharpening the axes to be wielded, after harmony hall had its innings and scores no errors, also no runs or hits.

Talk with the leaders of Pennsauken and you discover that everybody is back of W. L. Napoleon Rogers, but some of them carry their knives in their hands waiting the chance to poke it so far into Les' back that you can use the handle for a hat rack.

Perhaps Br'er Rogers is aware of the manner in which harmony masquerades in this fashion. but if not we take this opportunity to inform Les to that general effect, as Mr. Rogers and myself are buddies from the word go, with 'to ---" added .... Having given Old Pal Les a boost and warned him in advance, because we like the C. P. at that, we return to our first idol, Charles Rudd, barrister, Democrat, the man who can keep Walter Olsen, of the township committee, quiet on meeting nights.

Mr. Rudd's greatest worry is Mr. William Harker. Mr. Harker is president of the New Deal Democratic Club which comprises, as near as I can learn, Mr. Harker, member of the township committee, and a lithograph of Franklin D. Roosevelt. It seems that Mr. Harker, like the well known Julius Caesar, would rather be "first in Gaul than second in Rome."

HARKER FLOCKS ALL BY HIMSELF

Mr. Rudd's friends will insist that I have misspelled, the word "Gaul" in talking about Mr. Harker but who am I to bother myself with the family quarrels of Pennsauken politics? My Idea was to write about C. Rudd, the attorney and political leader to point out the fact that Pennsauken Democrats could travel farther and do much worse than follow the banner of the urbane and taciturn Charlie Rudd.

We always have had the deepest admiration for the political leader who refuses to envision himself as a combined pocket edition of Demosthenes, Napoleon, Roosevelt and Lincoln. And in this respect we find that Br'er Rudd measures up to our qualifications. He takes the bitter with the sweet. When he says nay, nay and yea, yea, he means it.

One of the most touching spectacles, one which shows the real brotherly love that exists under the gruff surface of Pennsauken politics, is to see Les Rogers buttonholing Charlie Rudd in a corner of Camden City Hall to offer Charlie 30 pieces of silver, if he will hogtie and harrow the Pennsauken Democratic Club.

'Tis a majestic spectacle, too, my countrymen, to witness the lordly manner in which Charlie tells Les to take his low offer and begone. For Charlie's education has enabled him to read of two certain miscreants named Judas Iscariot and Benedict Arnold, and Charlie Budd wants no part of the role of either.

Charlie's cup of joy ran over In November, 1936, when certain gentleman named Roosevelt ran for President. The G.O.P. ran for cover at the same time. Charlie smiled the smile that won't come off when F.D.R. swept through Pennsauken like rumor that Les Rogers had kissed George Brunner.

Since that red-letter day alas!

Der Fuehrer of the First Jersey Belch, Adolf Hague, Insisted on Meinherr Moore for Governor and that cooked the goose of victory for Charlie in Pennsauken last November.

BUDD LUCKY AS CHIEF OF 600 FAITHFUL

The unanimous manner in which Pennsauken refused to vote for Moore pained Charlie Rudd as a Democrat greatly, but didn't trouble him so much as a leader. Why should the camel strain at a gnat and swallow a mountain, or words to that general effect?

To attend a meeting of the Pennsauken Democratic Club is to at tend a convocation of Democrats who are fighters every inch. They fear neither the storms, that rage, the winds that blow, no the United Republican Club just around the corner.

Of course, they give due credit to such men· as Freeholder Westcott, the Hustling Heckler, for aiding the Democratic cause by sitting in the Camden County Board of Freeholders as a Republican member from Pennsauken. 

Now that Charlie Budd can take a deep breath without hearing some good Democrat cuss Moore to the skies, you'll see his qualities if leadership evoke great response. Meanwhile the Democrats of Pennsauken are to be complimented on having such leader as Charlie Rudd. Charlie Rudd is darn lucky to be the president of a club that has more than 600 Democrats in Pennsauken.

And if Charlie finds that the club is in need of funds to make a real fight, let him see Bill Davis. If that man can keep his present financial system intact, not only can he take the Pennsauken Democrats out of the red, but he might be borrowed for that purpose by the Democratic National Committee.

Camden Courier-Post - February 2, 1938

Camden Courier-Post - February 3, 1938

Is Zat So?
by
GORDON MACKAY

SQUIRE BENJAMIN FOGELMAN relishes a title that has made him both fortune and fame in the past decade; For the squire. is that large and vocal gentleman known as "Benny the Bum," who has one of the night spots in Philadelphia,

Mr. Fogelman has been a choice, acquaintance and friend of mine for many years, and there is much about Benjamin, the Vagrant, to interest one and also to weld him to friend ship with Bee, the Bee.

Our original tete-a-tetes with Benjamin, the Nomad, date back to the days when Mr. Fogelman was casting sheep's eyes at repeal and wondering when legitimate liquor would smooth his pathway into the night life of the Quaker city ...

Mr. Fogelman's business, as we noted, was largely comprised of losing bets on prize fights. Benjamin, the Hobo, at the time we speak would willingly bet on anything and everything. And, there were those who accommodated Benjamin, the Wanderer by betting him to a standstill, and also seeing that he did not win by taking care of the jury before the fight started.

It was during a run of ill luck that Benny, the Traveler, came to me, not with tears in his eyes, but with wistfulness in his face and anguish in his tones. Somehow or other, Benjamin seemed to believe that sports writers possessed occult information denied to other denizens of this mundane sphere. So he beseeched us to yank him out of the depression in which he found himself by always betting on the wrong gee. 

TWO KNOCKOUTS ON SINGLE CARD

It so happened that when Benjamin, the Bee, appealed to us there was a fight program arranged for the following Monday night at the Arena. On the card were two gentlemen, one named George Courtney and another whose name escapes me for the nonce. Both could box, both could hit.

Courtney and the other disciple of the manly art were in separate melees. Thus, as Mr. Fogelman, still suffering from the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, appealed to the writer for a good tip, we said:

"Take Courtney- and the other bird to win by a kayo."

Benjamin, surname Fogelman, looked at us in a surprise as mute as it was telling. He scratched his head for some time, then said:

"Is that on the level, I could get about 9 to 2 on that bet?"

"It's on the, level for me," I retorted, "and just to prove my heart and tongue are clicking together, I'm writing that fact in the sheet."

“Wait a day or two will you?" begged Mr. Fogelman. As it was not the intention of the writer to spill same prophecy until the Sunday edition, it was with willingness we consented. At that time in our naive way we didn't figure what was rambling through the brain of Bee, the Bee.

In Sunday's fight dope we went to bat, predicting that Courtney would knock out his man and that a similar performance would be recorded with my second favorite winning via a kayo.

On Monday night, the evening of the fisticuffs, Courtney and the other favorite won as per prediction and in a manner so described. Among those who wanted to pat the majestic back of the writer was Mr. Fogelman, the smiling as only Benjamin, the Vagrant, can smile.

CLEANED UP AT 5 TO 1

The mirth, jollity and glee that bathed Mr. Fogelman in such a glow of satisfaction was uncorked even to a greater extent, as he insisted that he drive me back to the office in his own particular gasoline chariot.

"I got 5 to 1 on a kayo," chortled Benjamin, as we rode officeward." "And did I clean up? I didn't get any bets on the decision, but when I said knockout in both of them, I got 5 to 1. Made a parlay on a half a dozen of them, too,"

Which was the furtherance of a beautiful friendship, made all the loftier and cemented the harder be cause after that we gave Mr. Fogelman no tips on bets on pugs. It is enough to tempt the lass and jade called Milady Fortune once, never twice.

Mr. Fogelman, however, continued to pick them in his own way. His picking was extremely one-sided, always wrong, he said. Meanwhile, the business of losing bets seemed to make Benny prosperous, and in a fit of brain inertia he opened a night club. ,

At least that is the manner in which the boys along the Rialto on Broad street gazed upon the venture fathered by Bee, the Bee. Mr. Fogelman, however, seemed to look upon ill-starred ventures with a patronizing eye. He plunged into the vortex called Philadelphia night life with a vengeance and plenty of the do-re-mi, as the boys along the asphalt in mid-city Philadelphia say. 

Finally Mr. Fogelman hit upon a fine advertisement for his place. The night life was filled with spots called Chez This and Chez That, and Palais This and Palais That, so Fogelman, with that instinctive luck he owns, called his spot "Benny the Bum's." The name spread like wildfire. In side the palatial night club one found that it was as ritzy as any thing New York offered. Hence prosperity has followed Benny.

Months had fled since we conversed with Benny until the other day, when we ran into him through sheerest accident. The greeting we received was effusive not to say elaborate. Mr. Fogelman intimated that he would rather have Mackay for his guest than Governor Earle, although Benny is quite a friend of the Governor's at that. In fact the Delmonico of Broad street in Philadelphia knows persons, personages and personalities. Benny is all to the good with all of them.

Perhaps his innate modesty would compel him to refrain telling his best story. Mr. Fogelman and a friend were in New York and decided to visit the hot spots. Mr. Fogelman had his card of introduction, okehed by a so-called big shot. The door man turned a frosty face at Benny and his pal.

"I don't know that guy," said the sentry, "you blokes may be all right, but don't you know somebody that can okeh you?"

Quickly did Mr. Fogelman spring to the breach.

"Sure, Benny, the Bum," said that worthy himself.

"Come in," yelled the doorkeeper, "I'm a great friend of Benny, the Bum, myself."

Camden Courier-Post - February 3, 1938

Junior Red Cross Activities Told to Astonished Elders
12,000 Members in County Learn Meaning of Real Charity
Through Aid to Sick and Needy School Classmates

By GORDON MACKAY

Bright-faced boys and girls of the Collingswood schools, representative of the 12,000 members the junior council of the Red Cross has in Camden County, astonished their elders last night by the nature and scope of their humanitarian work,

These revelations were made at the meeting of the Camden County Chapter of the Red Cross, with Dr. Leon N. Neulen, superintendent of Camden city schools, presiding.

So remarkably humane did these boys and children reveal themselves that they shared honors with Fire man Harry Cooling, of the Collingswood fire department, who was an unsung hero until last night, too.

Henry D. Rooney, familiarly known in Red Cross circles as "Pop" and the man in charge of the first aid efforts of the organization, disclosed the hero role that Cooling played some months ago.

"Cooling was a student at the first aid school we were maintaining at Collingswood," said Rooney, "and he was in class one night studying when a call came to him. The police department had found a woman overcome by gas.”

Errand of Mercy

"The Policeman who found the victim knew the fire department was at first aid school that night. So he telephoned to the firemen for assistance and Harry Cooling responded. He revived the woman and then summoned a doctor.

"The physician sent for an ambulance to take the victim to the hospital. The doctor said to Harry: 'You're going with us,' That woman became unconscious twice when on the way to the hospital and each time Harry revived her. She is alive and well today."

While Harry shone because of Rooney's tale, the youngsters basked in the sunlight of their own description of the work they did, told with modesty, and actually astounding the elders on hand.

William Stevenson, who is chairman of the junior council in Collingswood and a senior in the high school, opened the program for his associates. He disclosed that every student in the high schools and every pupil in the elementary grades is a member of the junior council. They are organized to take care of needy pupils, and the anonymous manner in which such humanitarian work is performed was explained at length by the young spokesman.

$967 Spent In Aid