In Denver

Judge Benjamin Barr Lindsey of Denver's famed juvenile court has been a busy man since he came out flatfootedly for trial or "companionate" marriage, plus birth control (TIME, Jan. ,24). He has had to explain himself over and over again to businessmen, ministers, mothers, youngsters. Not having read what he wrote, many people think he advocated "free love."

When he was invited to speak at Denver University, the student council became alarmed, canceled the lecture. Whereupon, a "Thinkers' Association" sprang into being and invited Judge Lindsey to debate against the Rev. Dr. Burris A. Jenkins of Kansas City, Mo. How strenuously "thinking" is viewed with alarm in Denver was evidenced last week. Vice President Ralph Batschelet of the Thinkers' Association, thoughtfully taking his way to his fiancee's house, was set upon, dragged into an automobile by four men, stripped, punched, flogged and pitched into a ditch on the outskirts of town. Secretary Margaret Parlow and other "Thinkers" were threatened. Miss Parlow put a revolver in her large vanity bag and said: "I'm ready to fight!"

Clackety-Clack

A Mrs. Ellen Gaylord, young and pretty, teaches arithmetic in the Park School, Cleveland. As teaching careers go she has not been at it very long, but long enough to find out that the phenomenon of two and two equaling four is dull dumplings to young minds. You have to bring two and two to life somehow if you want to hear four discussed at recess. . . . Last fortnight Teacher Gaylord invited some fathers and mothers to her classroom, in the morning. In front seats, grinning, sat a picked team of 15, her best mathematicians from the sixth, seventh and eighth grades. Teacher Gaylord singled out a father with more apparent bounce than the rest and had him act as captain of another team--composed entirely of fathers, who straightway fell to talking about slide-rules and decimal points. . . .

The figurers went to the blackboard in pairs--a father, a pupil. Teacher Gaylord, crouched on her chair between them, snapped out the problems.

They were problems in the multiplication and division of compound fractions. "Find 83 1/3% of 460." Clackety clackety-clackety-clack, went chalk in the fingers of a shrewd urchin. Clack-ety-clack-et . . , but before the blushing adult competitor had finished his third tier of multiplication, the urchin stood triumphantly at ease. It was quicker when you recognized 83 1/3% as 5/6. . . .

The pupils won the game, eight matches to seven. Fathers explained to mothers: "I was all out of practice." Mothers consoled fathers: "Never mind. The children will never get out of practice after being trained by that Teacher Gaylord."

"Wave"

In Princeton, N. J., Martin A. Gearhart, 33, graduate student of social science, wrote and sealed a letter to his wife, and inhaled illuminating gas.

In Davenport, Iowa, George W. Cannon, Jr., 14, high school student, admirer and correspondent of several actresses, wrote a long letter saying "to die will be a glorious adventure. ... It is my belief that my spirit will some day enter into the body of a playwright and will call forth the story of a boy who loved to dream, the story of a boy who was so disillusioned that he couldn't stand it any more," and inhaled illuminating gas.

In Hempstead, L. I., Thomas O'Donnell, 18, high school senior, wrote a letter to his mother explaining he felt he was being a financial hindrance to her and his sister; wrote appointments of schoolmates as pallbearers; marched to the stage of the school auditorium, took out a revolver similar to one he had brandished lately in the school play, (Seven Keys to Baldpate by Earl Derr Biggers) and shot himself.

In Elizabeth, N. J., Clark Kessler, 16, high school student, entered a church, turned on illuminating gas, took poison, was found dead by the rector.

In Davenport, Iowa, three days later, Blanche Gabathuler, 15, was reprimanded by her grandmother for singing at table instead of saying grace. She rushed from the house, flung herself under a freight train.

In Elmira, N. Y., Edith M. Stewart, Elmira College senior, drank poison; friends said because she feared suspension for having attended a dance at nearby Cornell University without permission.

Thus, last week, progressed what theorists and newspapers described with morbid jubilance as "the student suicide wave." The total self-destructions since New Year's readied 21. Dire views continued to be expressed on the evil influence of new philosophies, new psychology, and of high-pressure school requirements. At the University of Baltimore, 13 undergraduates were inspired to form an Anti-Suicide Club, with the powerful motto: "Live and let live". . . . President Raymond Allen Pearson of the University of Maryland submitted: "Abnormal living is causing this chain of student suicides . . . imitation of what they see in their elders". . . . Amelita Galli-Curci, operatic soprano, went to Chicago, where her press agent inspired her to shrill: "It would be better if more young people loved music. . . . There would not be so many suicides". . . . Sociologist Rudolph Binder of New York University submitted that economic pressure was to "blame," citing suicidal phenomena during hard times and times of saturation in sentimental fiction in Germany. . . Dr. Alfred Adler of Vienna, psychoanalyst, reminded people that the motive for suicide is often a neurotic desire for revenge, as in Japanese hara-kiri (self-disembowelment) upon the doorstep of an insulter. . . .

An avid press dragged in the school or college affiliation of every unfortunate creature who tired of life during the week. The "wave" rolled strongly on. But not every one remained oblivious to the fact that schools and colleges were implicated very faintly if at all in a condition long evident in the U. S. Professor Herman Harrell Home of New York University ventured to say "that there are less suicides among college students than in any other class." Well might he have added that "the inquiring spirit of the youth of today," as he called it, operates quite as violently among young truants, boy-bandits, street sheiks and thrill-hunters as it does among students. Only, as a rule, the violence is directed upon a victim. Last week, for example, one Floyd Hewitt, 16, of Conneaut, Ohio, listened with Mrs. Frederick Brown and her small son Frederick Jr. to jazz music on the Browns's radio, until he "couldn't stand it any longer." Then he made advances to Mrs. Brown, gave chase, seized Frederick's baseball bat, caught Mrs. Brown on the stairs, clubbed her dead, chased Frederick into the cellar, around the furnace, caught and clubbed him dead.

Also last week, Michael Ponkraskow Jr., 11, of Richmond Mill, L. L, "made mad" by a slap from his father, left home, borrowed a pistol, held up Shopkeeper Marcus Gold, for supper money, murdered Mr. Gold.

Also last week, news came from Paris that Ernest Rodriguez, 17, onetime employe of the Wells Fargo Bank, San Francisco, had been apprehended and convicted for a $6000 series of check forgeries beginning at Butte, Mont., and passing through Reno, Denver, Toronto, Montreal, Havana, London, Paris, Amsterdam, Berlin, Lucerne, Naples, Rome, Florence, Nice, Berne, Madrid, back to Paris.

In behalf of none of these three boy criminals was it urged, nor against them was it charged, that they had been "over-educated," as in the case of notorious Nathan F. Leopold Jr.,* and Richard A. Loeb, who happened to be students at the University of Chicago when their mental disorders moved them to murder Bobby Franks.

"Fine Boys"

The mystery surrounding gruff, impetuous, well-loved Dr. Mather Almon Abbott's resignation as headmaster of Lawrenceville School (TIME, Feb. 21), remained a mystery. And Dr. Abbott, withdrawing his resignation, remained headmaster. Whatever it was that had prompted the resignation--an offer from another school? a quarrel with the trustees over a four-year-old medical supervision policy?--was kept secret, and Dr. Abbott was kept headmaster, chiefly through action of the Lawrenceville boys. They posted a deputy to keep strangers from their grounds. They observed a self-imposed censorship of conversation. If that traditional confidant and encyclopedist of Lawrenceville's most intimate affairs, the keeper of the Jigger Shop, knew anything, he too kept silent. The Lawrence. undergraduate newspaper, printed a big headline: "DR. ABBOTT IS LAWRENCEVILLE." Joseph Espy, student school president, and Gordon Smith, vice president, performed the unprecedented act of appearing before the trustees in Manhattan. What they said they did not repeat. The school behaved itself while they were gone. Soon Dr. Abbott said: "My withdrawal [of the resignation] is definite. I am very happy. . . . They are fine boys."

Blood & Eggs

President A. Lawrence Lowell of Harvard University spent several hours last week sitting among newsgatherers in a Cambridge police court. Many another famed son of Harvard was there with him. Blood and eggs had stained Harvard Square in the largest town-and-gown outbreak of recent years (TIME, Feb. 21). Thirty-three students and six "townies" were on trial for disturbing the peace. Distinguished counsel argued counter-charges against the Cambridge police, who had, complained the riotous students, been unnecessarily brutal with their nightsticks. Nothing more serious than fines and reprimands promised to result from the hearings, but the testimony was not without its highlights:

P: One Oliver D. Ferguson of Paducah, Ky., appeared to have fought for Harvard with the most brilliance. He had kicked one policeman in the stomach, another in the chin. Not until a police club gashed his forehead could he be thrust into the patrol wagon. Policemen described him as "very strong."

P: A youth who gave his name as "Daniel Webster" turned out to be one Westheimer. One "Simpson" turned out one Sandwahl. One "Laurence Ellis" was one Laurence L. Liss.

P: Officer Gohane broke his club in two pieces. Officer Prior drew his pistol when the mob cried, "Get the damn cop!" Clubbing began soon after the students tried to tip over a patrol wagon. Besides ice and eggs, bottles, both pint and quart sizes, were hurled. Some of the students were suspected of having drunk intoxicants from some of the bottles. . . .

Distinguished counsel and Judge Arthur P. Stone could not refrain from smiling, now and then, at the testimony. After a while, President Lowell, leaving subordinates to represent the university, returned to his duties.

*Last week Murderer Leopold, incarcerated at Joliet Penitentiary, seemed in a fair way to stand trial for the murder last year of a prison warden by six convicts who, last week on the eve of being electrocuted, gained reprieve by crediting Murderer Leopold with their plan of escape.