Southern California. The train escapes from bleak Nevada, climbs through red, grey, brown, purple mountains, drops gently into a valley, slides toward the Pacific. The air becomes mysteriously, sensually warm. Orange groves, green and gold, line the way. Umbrellas are stuffed under berths. Overcoats are donated to porters. Crutches are flung from car windows. Passengers stand and sing praise, a queer glint in their eyes. It is the air of Southern California.
Last week a cinema actor* crouched on a cinder track at Pomona, Calif. He had been called the world's fastest human. A...