Busy and Big 'B. A.' Built 

 On a World of Ideas / $ 



Argentines Prove Agile in Dod^iijb 

 Traffic Worse Than Washington^ 



of 25 Cfs. 



W. H. Shippen, Jr. 



(No. 18 of a Series.) 



By W. H. SHIPPEN, Jr., 



Star Staff Correspondent. 



BUENOS AIRES . — Visitors who 

 have seen Chicago for the first 

 time, and without ample forewarn- 

 ing, ought to sympathize with an 

 innocent from 

 North America 

 getting his first 

 glimpse of B. A 



This city is 

 too big, too 

 noisy, too crowd- 

 ed and too busy 

 to see, hear or 

 estimate in a 

 day or year. Per- 

 haps, however, 

 a newcomer in 

 a day could com - 

 prehend certain 

 differences that 

 would be ob- 

 scured by the 

 montns. 



For instance, I get the idea that 

 B. A. is part of everything her 

 builders nave seen — in Paris, 

 Madrid, Berlin, London, New York 

 or Chicago. The Argentines take a 

 little of this and that from here 

 and there, and mix it together after 

 a formula of their own. 



A downtown skyscraper, for ex- 

 ample, looks like an office building 

 —-yet it's an apartment house. The 

 structure narrows as it mounts up- 

 ward. The outer design resembles 

 that of Rockerfeller City or trie 

 Empire State Building. On the 

 other hand, the builders discarded 

 structural steel in favor of rein- 

 forced concrete. 



Traffic Belittles D. C. Jams. 



The extent of traffic congestion 

 on downtown streets would bewilder 

 a seasoned Washingtonian. Rush- 

 hour traffic creeps for miles in B. A., 

 where it's a matter of blocks in 

 Washington. Motor cars, trolleys 

 and buses tie themselves in knots 

 around 6 or 7 in the evening— the 

 hour when the office employe leaves 

 work and generally goes to a mov- 

 ing picture show before dinner- 

 served too often — between 9 and 

 10 p.m. 



Through a bedlam of traffic and 

 street noises dart nonchalant bus 

 riders whose daring is only ex- 

 celled by their dexterity in emer- 

 gencies. They brush street cars, 

 taxis and speeding automobiles off 

 their sleeves with a Latin shrug, 

 and no able-bodied citizen ever 

 thinks of entering or alighting 

 from a bus unless it is in motion 

 in the middle of traffic. Yet, they 

 tell me, the death toll is quite low. 

 After several rides through traf- 

 fic, I am inclined to believe this. 

 On many occasions, I, being a re- 

 porter with his full share of am- 

 bulance chasing, have reached for 



my pencil and paper — to take notes 

 on a tragedy that never occurred. 

 I couldn't say why, unless it is that 

 the Argentine has developed great 

 pride in dodging motor vehicles, 

 and, like the heroes of the bull 

 ring, wins most approbation when 

 he escapes death by the fewest 

 inches. 



* * * * 



After meeting various members 

 of the consular service here and 

 on the way South, my idea about 

 the desirability of their jobs has 

 altered somewhat. I used to think, 

 in all ignorance, that to be in the 

 consular service was to sit on a 

 veranda overlooking the sea while 

 a native fanned one with a punkah 

 and one decided, between sips at 

 a gimlet, whether to accept the 

 invitation of the Russian princess 

 to dinner that evening. 



However, from what I have seen, 

 this is a pretty good composite pic- 

 ture of a consular assistant's day 

 in these parts : 



A North American is to be cre- 

 mated at 7 a.m. A consular agent 

 must be on hand to certify the 

 validity of the corpse, or something. 



Then a United States citizen is 

 to be married. He insists on some- 

 body from the consular office as a 

 witness. After that the agent has 

 an engagement with the local chief 

 of police — it seems a North Ameri- j 

 can is in jail. 



■ ■■■■■■■■ i 

 Buffalos and Dowagers. 



Then he may be called upon to 

 help land a cargo of buffalos, Gila 

 monsters, etc. (As in one case I 

 know about.) When he has ob- 

 tained, all permits, official stamps, 

 papers, etc., and seen the shipment 

 through, he may be cornered in his 

 office by a visiting dowager with 

 an absessed molar. 



Now a visiting dowager with an 

 absessed molar is just as dangerous 

 as a couple of buffalos and a crate 

 of Gila monsters, especially if she 

 has political connections. She must 

 be "expedited" to the very best — 

 and gentlest — dentist ! 



Later there's a formal dinner, 

 given by the wife of an official who 

 wants to form three tables of 

 bridge, and after that an assign- 

 ment by the boss to sub for him on 

 the speakers' platform at a charity 

 mass meeting to raise funds for 

 something or other. Then a late 

 dinner— say 10 or 11 p.m.— in honor 

 of a visiting celebrity he never 

 heard of. 



"Is that all for . the day?" 



"All, of course, unless you keep 

 remembering the sunrise ceremony 

 you're booked for tomorrow * * * 

 and the worst is, you do all that 

 smiling! Like this!" 



The agent smiled. 



(Tomorrow: More B. A. Notes.) 



'Chicken House 1 Also Is Good 

 To Eat, Visitor Discovers 



By W. H. SHIPPEN, Jr.,; 



Star Staff Correspondent. 



BUENOS AIRES— When the Uru- 

 guay left for the States today 

 many former passengers were on 

 the dock to wave good-by — their 

 tribute to a good ship, a willing 



crew and a 

 pleasant voyage. 



Along the rail 

 were f a m i 1 iar 

 face s — friends 

 we would miss 

 pretty keenly aft- 

 er weeks of asso- H 

 ciation. Cruise 

 pa ss engers, of- 

 ficers, members 

 of the crew . . . 

 no telling when 

 or where we 

 would see them 

 again ! 



Uncer tainty 



a d d S to the W. H. Shippen, Jr. 



drama of a sailing — the realization 

 (half admitted) that, after all, new 

 friendships, quickly made, can be 

 as soon forgotten, however impor- 

 tant they may seem at the moment. 

 Still, some of my best friends were 

 met on boats.* 



Nobody hated to see the ship go 

 worse than two New York detec- 

 tives who will be here for weeks 

 yet unwinding the red tape involv- 

 ing an international extradition. 

 They hope to take home a Sicilian 

 charged with the fatal knifing of a 

 countryman. 



Some of the passengers brought 

 up the ship's orchestra to the 

 promenade deck. The musicians 

 played "The Sidewalks of New York," 

 for the special benefit of the detec- 

 tives, while the breach widened be- 

 tween vessel and wharf. The "cops" 

 brought out their handkerchiefs 

 and pretended to blow their noses. 



One of them snorted, "They 

 would have to bring that up, 

 wouldn't they!" But "they" were 

 Well out in the harbor, where the 

 ship was swinging her bow around 

 to the north. 



We felt a bit let down, going back 

 to the hotel. The crowd which had 

 bummed around together for three 

 weeks was breaking up. The party 

 from Hawaii already was on the 

 way to the Andes, to catch trout 

 and to travel up the west coast. 

 The young prospector soon would be 

 going to the back country — the 

 salesmen, executives, etc., had their 

 jobs to look to . . . even the animals, 

 some of which we had become fond 

 of on the way down* had entered on 

 another existence. 



* * * * 



Good Food Is Served. 



But Buenos Aires has its con- 

 solations. Food is . one of them — 

 good food, well-cooked and fault- 

 lessly served, in great abundance 

 and variety. The beefsteaks of the 

 Argentine should be tasted, rather 

 than described. How guilty I felt, 

 passing that stuffed Hereford, a 

 masterpiece of the taxidermist's art, 

 which stands at the entrance of La 

 Cabana, gazing pensively upon those 

 who enter and depart. In those 

 glassy, bovine eyes I read a sad re- 

 proof ... I had eaten, in all prob- 

 ability, at least, her cousin. 



Steaks are grilled over an open 

 charcoal fire at the entrance, grilled 

 and sliced 2 inches thick, to be 

 wafted away and served on minia- 

 ture ovens that keep them sizzling 

 hot. Alongside each steak lies a 

 gaucho knife for carving. And each 

 steak sells for about a quarter in 

 American money. 



I remembered those steaks, my 

 first Argentine love, until I met the 

 spitted poultry they serve at a place 

 Which, translated, is called "the 

 chicken house." Indeed, this was 

 the resort of many chickens, all fat- 

 tened in their youth, and whirling 

 on spits before a crackling fire of 

 hardwood. The chickens outdid 

 themselves" to surpass the ducks in 



their well-filled skins turning a nice 

 brown. 



Life Begins at 9 P.M. 



The "chicken house" is something 

 like the Occidental in Washing- 

 ton, except that it is much larger. 

 Up until 9 pjm. it is practically 

 dark, with only a few waiters hur- 

 rying about polishing glasses. The 

 only real sign of life is the majes- 

 tic chef and his assistants attend- 

 ing the spitted poultry before the 

 glowing fire. 



Then at 9 p.m. the crowd begins 

 to arrive — dark Latin beauties, turn- 

 ing a bit plump even at tender ages 

 but furred, gowned and jeweled to 

 outdo Paris or New York. 



Their escorts are sleek and dressed 

 almost too well. They wear Clark 

 Gable moustaches, or perhaps Clark 

 Gable got his ideas from the same 

 place — Paris— and their hair is 

 brushed to polished perfection. 



The conversation is gay, animated 

 and constant. One never hears a 

 loud or raucous voice or the sudden 

 little silences which sometimes fol- 

 low. 



The diners do a lot of talking and 

 stow away a lot of food. I was puz- 

 zled to know how they accomplished 

 this double function until I learned 

 how long they dallied over a meal. 



The Argentine allows himself 

 plenty of time to talk as well as 

 eat, without trying to do both at 

 once. 



I'm endeavoring to learn . that 

 myself, at the suggestion of my 

 wife. 



Tomorrow South American pedes- 

 trian control. 



