The Press: New .Face For Chicago

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Few persons outside the Hearst organization know exactly why Col. Knox and Publisher Hearst parted after three years association, but those who know the Colonel attribute it to bewilderment and positiveness—bewilderment at the problems of big-city publishing; positiveness that he is always right. The story is that he first won The Chief's pleasure by his economy tactics, lost it when he carried the scheme to the point of firing high-up oldtimers. Col. Knox is exceedingly affable, forceful, dynamic, "Pelmanic." From the days when he rode with the Roughriders in Cuba, Theodore Roosevelt has been his idol. He has a physical examination twice a year, is careful about his diet, drinks cautiously, plays indifferent golf, likes best to ride a Morgan horse. He likes to make speeches, does not speak well; loves jokes of all varieties. His chief interest outside of journalism is his service on the Board of Indian Commissioners (since 1911 when President Taft appointed him). In 1924 he ran for the Republican nomination for Governor of New Hampshire, openly aspired to become U. S. Senator, was disillusioned. In New England, where his Manchester Union thrives, Col. Knox is a celebrity. His neighbors suspect that he could not bear the prospect of remaining there after his brief but spectacular career in the great world, that his pride demanded that he work into metropolitan publishing again.

"To Get Votes"

Day after day last week a perspiring crowd milled about the eighth floor of Los Angeles' dingy Hall of Justice. They bought ice cream bricks from concessionaires, waited for hours in hope of admittance to a stuffy courtroom which held only 65 spectators. Inside the courtroom a prosecutor conducted the tedious business of proving what practically everybody assumed to be true: That former Deputy District Attorney David Harris Clark was the man who fled the Hollywood office of Political Boss Charles H. Crawford just after Crawford and Journalist Herbert F. Spencer were shot to death (TIME, June 1). But what the crowd, and all of southern California, wanted to hear was: What occurred in the office? What political mess underlay the affair? What part was played by the "liberal" magazine,

The Critic of Critics, of which Spencer was managing editor?

Defendant Clark, who knew the answers, had uttered not a word since he surrendered for arrest three months ago, few days before the election in which he was a candidate for municipal judge. (In that election, while he sat behind bars, 67,000 Los Angelenos voted for him. He was not elected.) Now, at last, he took the stand. Calm but deathly white, he came quickly to his point: He shot Crawford & Spencer in self defense. Said he:

"Crawford told me he wanted me to take Roy Steckel, the chief of police, my friend, out to a place and frame him. I told Crawford, 'You damn dirty dog! You low down skunk! I'm going to ... preach to the world over the radio everything that's happened in this room.' Crawford told me 'No can talk to me

that way.' He reached for his gun. I shot him. Crawford yelled 'Get him, Herb!' I saw Spencer coming from behind me, reaching for his gun. I shot him too."