CHEMICAL TREASURE TROVE 



I had been warned of the miraculous transformation 

 in this old friend of mine. So, when I found him en- 

 trenched behind his horseshoe desk that is built into 

 his modernistic, air-conditioned office, I hailed him with 

 a raucous request, "Let me see your feet." 



"Hell's bells !" he exploded, "youVe been talking to 

 that dizzy bunch in the New York office. "No," he went 

 on with slow emphasis, showing me his shoes, "I do not 

 wear cowboy boots to the office. But," he added with 

 a grin, "I do wear them Sundays." 



"Dutch" is inordinately proud that over the week 

 end he is entitled to wear both his trouser bottoms 

 tucked into the tops of said boots. According to the 

 niceties of range etiquette this means that he has a 

 thousand head of steers on his ranch. 



"I sure do like it down here," he went on in the true 

 Tajos vernacular, "and do I like running a chemical 

 plant in the South! Why, I wouldn't go back to that 

 frozen Michigan, not for" He broke off, not able to 

 name a price that did not sound too ridiculous. 



Right here Doctor Beutel becomes a symbolic figure. 

 His pro-South ideas are shared by hundreds of North- 

 ern chemical operating men who have been playing 

 headline roles in the chemicalization of the South. These 

 ideas are grounded on dollars and good sense. They are 

 the good reasons why three out of four of the four 

 billion dollars put into new chemical plants during the 

 past four years has been spent south of the Potomac. 



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