The Bulletin’s Day Book

Leaders of anti-Nazi organizations have recently complained against their identity being confused with that of the Communists. It seems that the Nazis in New York, as in Berlin, are pointing at every concerted effort to oppose them as being the handiwork of the Reds.

That this makes the face of the non-Reds turn red is a fact which was eloquently set forth by a leader of a militant band of anti Nazis, who recently cried, “Geez, we don’t know what to do. If we try to show our real feelings against the Nazi so-and-sos, the brownshirts promptly start shouting, ‘Red menace!’ and we thereby expose our dignity to the disrespectful attitude of night sticks. If we sit by, twiddling our thumbs, the Nazis will march upon us without opposition, and we’ll get it anyway.”

What to do? What to do?

It is quite true that many of the more informal anti-Nazi demonstrations have taken on a definite Communistic aspect. There was that demonstration held in Yorkville the other night, for instance the one in which so many clubs were swung and so much overlyripe fruit brought into play.

We had the pleasure of standing in the rain during an hour’s laudation of the Soviet Government and rather uncomplimentary discussion of Hitler. Even the ten-piece brass band, which blared forth the strains of the Internationale every now and then and the select chorus of some twenty-five hundred voices singing the same refrain did not compensate for the dirty trick the weather man pulled shortly before the meeting got under way.

It may have been the spirit of the Communists that made the cops sore the other night. Fof more than an hour about thirty of New York’s finest stood about in the rain, sort of fostering the meeting. They were definitely chagrined at the weather, the length of the speeches, and other sundry elements that added to their discomfort and, above all, the cheers and huzzahs which indicated that the crowd liked this sort of thing.

Then to have to follow a spontaneous parade after the meeting that was adding injury to injury. (We’ll tell about insult later.) When the parade arrived at Second Avenue with no indication that it would ever break up, and what with the weather being murky and threatening to unleash more showers and with visions of hours of patrolling stretching before the weary guardians of the law, it was decided to put a sudden and ungentle end to all this. This they did, and the story has already seen print.

One peculiar phase of the disturbance was this: Among those arrested was one Helen Feldman. She was charged with having used abusive language in her dealings with the police.

During the festivities the boys in blue took many a jolt alongside the jaw. They were on the receiving end of a number of properly aged cantaloupes and mushy apples. One of them took a cobble stone on the back of the neck. And all this without a whimper, mind you.

But when this little lady began using abusive language, the feelings of the police were hurt. Injury they could stand; insult never. As an objective observer who learns his lessons well, we might suggest that hereafter the Communists be guided by the following bit of wisdom:

“You can hit a cop

With a tall paving block,

You can throw a stone

At his doughty dome

But, do not hurt his feelings.”

The Nazis have started a school for speakers. They are teaching Hitlerites to follow in the footsteps of the Fuehrer, that spell binding Adolf. For a couple of hours twice a week the elocutionists and have their workouts in the Kreuzer Hall on Eighty-sixth street.

Here they learn the proper manner of approach in seeking funds, sandbagging into the organization prospective initiates, and moving to laughter and tears audiences which are later lined up for the graduates. If the German element had a better sense of humor, these gentlemen could speak in the normal Nazi manner and have their hearers rolling in the aisles.