Gaiety & Garbage

This week slim little James John Walker officially ceased to be Mayor of the City of New York. Into his job with its full power of appointment and dismissal stepped Joseph Vincent McKee, president of the Board of Aldermen. Reason: Under the city charter a mayor who absents himself for more than 30 days loses his office. Mayor Walker sailed for Europe Aug. 3. If Mayor McKee were not a reliable Tammany Democrat, he could turn the Municipal government topsy-turvy before Mr. Walker returns late this month, gets back the job to which he was elected.

When 21 U. S. mayors went to France last spring and cut many a caper in the news, Mayor Walker was not among them (TIME, May 25, et seq.). Late in July, however, it was suddenly announced at City Hall that the Mayor's health was in a bad way, despite his ten-day rest in April in California. His physician. Dr. William Schroeder Jr., who is also his Commissioner of Sanitation, ordered him to "Europe for "rest." As a by-product of the trip, the Mayor and his Commissioner would inspect foreign garbage plants, get pointers to improve the New York system. Together they sailed on the Bremen Aug. 3. Soon began a typical Walker "rest" junket--a series of wisecracks, banquets, beer parties, clothes, flowery speeches, songs, night clubs and general gaiety which completely eclipsed the efforts of the other 21 mayors to have fun.

Mayor Walker arrived at Bremen with a headache. Max Schmeling, champion boxer, pounded his back in welcome. He looked over the street cleaning plant. His arrival at the Hotel Adlon in Berlin was compared to that of the Maharaja of Baroda. Women kissed him in the lobby. For his head he took aspirin, went out to a musical show, later toured the night clubs, was overwhelmed by U. S. tourists. He called on Baroness von Huenefeld, presented her with a lucky coin carried by her late Atlantic-flying son. Berlin's garbage plant was given a brief inspection.

At Carlsbad the Walker reception was compared to that of Edward VII. Medical examiners found him "organically in good condition." He settled down to take the cure for two or three weeks, reduced his cigarets to two per day, cut out veal. It rained steadily. He stood the discipline for five days, then set out again on his gay travels. At Pilsen he inspected the brewery, emptied a row of steins in less than two minutes, begged someone to push him into a foamy vat. A delegation of actors met and praised him at Prague. An enthusiastic Czech presented him with a wire-haired fox terrier. When he reached Budapest he complained of writer's cramp from prodigal autographing. There he was given a bottle of 1827 tokay. The official reception at Vienna was delayed three hours by his tardiness. He danced at Baroncrest, was given a statue of Minerva, complained: "I seem to live in hotel lobbies and banquet halls. I'd like to get out on my own, lose my way. One trouble with me is I've got a funny face and am easily recognized."

Last week he reached Cannes, found himself competing with the Sultan of Morocco for official honors. Delayed trunks caused him to spend his first day on the Riviera in his hotel room with "nothing to wear." Finally he emerged in a bright indigo costume, to find himself quite inconspicuous among all the gaudy red, green and yellow clothes of the resort. He made a brief excursion to Monte Carlo, looked over the gaming rooms but did not take a chance. Toasted as the "greatest wet in America." he exclaimed: "If any proof is needed, I'll furnish it forthwith," gulped down a glass of champagne.

This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so reader's discretion is required.