Mail Tribune 100, May 1, 1920 Continued
The following news items were drawn from the archives of the Mail Tribune 100 years ago.
May 1, 1920 Continued
OLYMPIC TRYOUTS TO BE HELD PORTLAND
Portland, Ore., May 1. — T. Morris Dunne, in charge of the Olympic tryouts in the Pacific Northwest Amateur Athletic association for the A. A. U., today received word from F. A. Rubien, secretary of the organization, that Portland had been selected, not only for the wrestling, but also for the boxing tryouts to be held on the Pacific coast.
MAY DAY FESTIVAL AT ST. MARY’S ACADEMY
On the afternoon and evening of May 4, a May-day festival will be held at St. Mary’s Academy. Every class has been industriously preparing a “variety” performance, and so a splendid time is assured to anyone who arrives between 1 and 10 p.m.
There are to be, besides the dramatic numbers, a may-pole dance, a unique circus, and various other sports, a “first-aid” booth, a “candy corner,” an art gallery, and even some marvelous side-shows. None need have any fear of not being fully entertained and each one may hope to be rewarded by carrying home a prize. Raffles of choice articles, donated by merchants of the city, are to be held during the course of the afternoon. Contests for pupils of different classes will also close after the one-act plays. Come and be entertained in “ye old-time way.”
By Walt Mason
The shortage of paper makes publishers weep; and prices, the caper still higher each week. The publisher’s legging around in the mart; the publisher’s begging, with aches in his heart; for paper imploring, he’d down on his knees; and prices are soaring like kites in the breeze. And Uncle Sam’s printers use paper as junk; through summers and winters the documents punk that no one confesses to reading, I wot, come forth from the presses as mountains of rot. Oh, Uncle Sam’s spoiling the paper we need for news hot and boiling, the stuff we read. He’s blowing the boodle on volumes of slush, on endless flapoodle that’s not worth a rush. His basements are crowded — admit it he must — with printed stuff shrouded in cobwebs and dust. “Reports” and such litter are there by the stack; it makes a man bitter, sends pains up his back. And new stacks are added to them every day — big tomes that are padded with buncombe and whey. His presses are creaking, they groan and complain, with publishers shrieking for paper in vain.