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[[2 newspaper articles attached to page]] [[left-hand article]] Buenos Aires Tries ‘Pedestrian Control’ Much Like D. C. City Carries On Program Of Education With Loud-Speakers (No. 20 of a Series.) By W. H. SHIPPEN, Jr., Star Staff Correspondent. BUENOS AIRES.—The heretofore emancipated pedestrian of this metropolis today forfeited his liberty—his right to dodge, hop, skip and jump (and sometimes bleed and die) for the freedom of the streets. A pedestrian control something like that recently inaugurated in Washington went into effect on May Day. The innovation was introduced on a labor holiday when almost no motor vehicles, public or private, were in operation. [[image: photo of author]] T. H. Shippen, Jr. For days now the efficient police have been carrying on an educational campaign like that in Washington. Loud speakers and screens were mounted at principal intersections, on which were projected practical (and often humorous) suggestions about how to walk in compliance with the new regulations. The pedestrians of this city are noted all over the world for their daring, dexterity and nonchalance. There exists some doubt as to how they will take to the new restrictions. Today was no real test, as the pedestrians had the streets to themselves from dawn until midnight. The only taxicabs abroad charged double fares—one fare for the ride and the other to console the driver for his humiliation in being compelled to work for himself on a labor holiday. Persons who usually go about in opulent private cars spent the day unobtrusively—their chauffeurs were on holiday, and they had no desire to invite undue attention to themselves. Police Are Plentiful. The police, too, were unobtrusive, but plentiful. While thousands of workers assembled in the wide avenues for a parade in the afternoon, the officers lined the curbs, alert, well-armed and smartly uniformed. Their discipline is of the best—you have the word of two of “New York’s finest” for it. The way the mounted police handled their horses in advance and at the rear of the marching column won the praise of officers who had helped put down riots at madison Square Garden. There was not the least disorder in the marching procession—thousands of young men with almost no women or elderly marchers. All were strangely quiet. Only an occasional clenched first was raised in the Communist salute. One red banner bore a modification of the Communist sickle and hammer. The inscriptions on the banners were not demands on the Government for shorter hours, more pay on relief, etc., but rather requests for larger youth opportunities in the fields of education and employment. one sign said, “No help, no protection for the Nazis or Fascists!” Today only the blue and white flags of the Argentine floated over the wide avenues. Other flags, especially the swastika of Natzi Germany, had been the signal for riots in the past—for the smashing of windows and the charge of the mounted police. Today all foreign flags were banned. Along the line of march many plate windows were protected by sliding doors of corrugated iron—an unnecessary precaution. Last night we noticed a squad of mounted police in the vicinity of a hotel popular with visiting Germans. There had been a demonstration there previously, but none developed today. Americans Well Received. Steamships up and down this coast usually manage, as unobtrusively as possible, to be at sea on May day—their masters are happier to have it so. American ships of war and commerce get a friendly reception here. Residents of B. A. still talk about the visit of the Army’s “flying fortresses” on the occasion of the presidential inaugural, and President Roosevelt has gripped the popular imagination. Residents say that when United States Navy ships are in port officers and men of the Argentine navy can be seen fraternizing with the visitors. All this is true, one native of Argentina told me, despite the fact that the nation’s pride has been wounded by the refusal of the United States to accept Argentine beef. They can understand how the United States produces enough beef for her own needs, but think it unfair to exclude a fine product on the grounds of quality. The two countries are alike in many ways—the “melting pots” of the New World. The Argentine may be of English, Irish, German, Italian, Scandinavian or Swiss descent, but he’s as much an Argentine as the Spanish pioneer—from his viewpoint, anyhow. I met one the other night whose name was even more indicative of his ancestry than “Jeremiah Aloysius Patrick O’Leary.” He couldn’t understand a word of English, but spoke perfect Spanish (I’m told), gestures and all, despite an Irish brogue! Tomorrow: Birds of the pampas and lagoons. [[end left-hand article]] [[start right-hand article]] Pampas and Lagoon Reveal Birds Strange to Dr. Mann [[handwritten]] May 16 [[/handwritten]] National Zoo Collectors Explore Beautiful Lakes Near Buenos Aires Dr. William M. Mann, director of the National Zoological Park, is now in Argentina collecting birds, reptiles and animals. Among those accompanying him is William H. Shippen, jr., feature writer of The Star staff, who here presents the 21st of a series of articles about Dr. Mann’s expedition. By W. H. SHIPPEN, Jr., Star Staff Correspondent. BUENOS AIRES.—The wild birds we saw today on pampas and lagoon surprised even an experienced collector like Dr. Mann. Flamingoes, wild swans, cormorants, black ibis, coots and wild ducks waded, swam and circled the green lakes, while the vast plains and planted groves were alive with bird life. Tinamou, the big Argentine patridges, ran ahead of our car; oven birds fluttered about their clay apartment houses, erected on fence posts and in trees along the roadway, and grave little owls watched our passing. [[image: photo of author]] W. H. Shippen, Jr. These latter live underground, the uninvited guests of the viscacha, a burrowing rodent. They are not as brazen about moving in on strangers as their cousins of the United States, which exist in prairie dog villages, where their life is complicated by the presence of rattlesnakes. The members of our party and an American consular officer were guests today of the owners of a big estancia about 150 miles southwest of B. A. Broad leagues of grazing land surrounded a winding, rkedgrown lagoon from which hunters had been banned for years. Find Flamingo Colony. In motor boats, with engines throttled down, we approached a colony of flamingos peacefully sunning on the green shore. They were of the Chilean variety, accustomed to a colder climate than the Cuban types, many of which have been imported to Florida. They took off in perfect formation, flying single file. The individuals looked like flying sticks, with long necks and legs stretched in a horizontal line, and the flock might have been a string of roseate pearls against the blue sky. Dr. Mann took color movies of the spectacle. Several black-necked swans rose ahead of us and the water and low shore line teemed with wild ducks, coots, plovers and cormorants—the latter making gluttonous forays upon the pejerrys, a small game fish rippling the surface of the lagoon in all directions. The natives call the black cormorants “fish eaters.” In Spanish the name sounds a bit profane, as well it might, for the cormorants feed upon a prize table delicacy—one of the most esteemed of fresh-water edibles. The sea-going Gaucho at the controls of our boat cast fierce glances at the feeding flocks. He told the consular officer, in rapid-fire Spanish, that the “fish eaters” gang up on the pejerrys. They form a great circle on the water, each cormorant diving inward and closing in, driving the fish into a smaller and smaller area until they can be gobbled up in one grand finale. Fresh Fish Luncheon. The boatman was also fisherman for the estanchia, and should know what he was talking about. I did not witness his story, although I can testify to the veracity of part of the tale—the edibility of the pejerry. The fisherman cast his net upon the waters and we had a luncheon dish (it was the second or third course, I believe), which had been alive and kicking all the way to the frying pan. In addition, there were succulent little shrimp from the lagoon—a treat the “fish eaters” had overlooked. The estanchia buildings of old brick and tile were surrounded by a grove in which lived thrushes, wrens, doves, song sparrows and many vivid, semi-tropical songsters I never managed to identify, even with a zoologist present. Life on the estanchia, I am told, is much of the same pattern as that on the Western ranch—free and easy, with plenty to eat, more leisure than luxury, and nothing to worry about today that can’t be postponed until tomorrow. Our hostess, the wife of the estancia manager, was amused, rather than harassed, when her native servants, a bit confused by so many unexpected guests for luncheon, were slow about getting food on the table. She spoke French (learned in a convent in Paris), Spanish and Portuguese, the tongue of her native Brazil. If she was surprised to learn that several of her guests understood none of these languages, there was nothing about her gay and gracious manner to indicate it—rather, she seemed to apologize for having neglected to study English. Her husband was a native of Holland, who had spent most of his life in Brazil. He know English and proved a willing interpreter. A Pleasant Memory. The hours we spent cruising about the lagoon will on remain a pleasant memory. The Latins, who had made the excursion many times before, became even more excited than their guests, pointing out the natural beauties of their country. Their exclamations, ready laughter and swift, musical comments mingled with the cries of birds high in the air or on some far shore. We returned across the pampas at dusk. The sun was setting behind us, and ahead a huge, orange moon rose through the autumn haze. Gauchos on sturdy, cattle-wise ponies called greetings, or courteously directed us on our way, and flocks of birds wheeled into the sunset. There were few automobiles on the highway to B. A.—only farmers’ carts, mounted on two huge wheels, and boys and girls carrying jars of wine for the evening meal. The vast pampas, with picturesque life, extended to the edge of Buenos Aires—a city of 2,500,000. The contrast surprises even the natives. Our host, a resident of B. A. for many years, exclaimed: “Sometimes I cannot believe it myself! Now we are on the pampas, with all those cows and gauchos! Then a few bumps, and caramba!—a traffic cop he pinch us, yes?” “In that case, senor,” said a member of our party, “would you mind slowing down a bit? We do not wish to be protected into another world with such magnificent promptitude!” Tomorrow: Markets in B. A.
