National Affairs: Pittsburgh Phonograph?

One evening last week Mayor William Nissley McNair of Pittsburgh hopped up on a platform in Fifth Avenue High School to address a meeting of Communists. After taking a long swig of water from a milk bottle, he began: "Who is this Mr. Bourgeoisie? I'd like to meet him. From what the chairman says, he must be a pretty fine fellow. I'm here to answer the charges of the Communists. The chairman has announced that the issue before you tonight is that of Communism or Fascism. That's a lot of baloney." "Boooo!" "We're ordinary people here in Pittsburgh. We don't want to be bothered by Communists and Fascists. . . ." "Boooo! Boooo!" "I'm Mayor of Pittsburgh. I deserve a little respect. . . ." "Horsefeathers!" Flushed with exasperation, Mayor Mc-Nair cried: "If you weren't so fooled and befuddled by a lot of Russian Communists you'd—" By this time the disorder was so great that the Mayor, shielded by two plainclothesmen, was forced to retreat through the fist-shaking, shrieking crowd to the street. There he told his secretary: "A few more talks like that and we'd wipe out these Communists." Pittsburghers gloomily shook their heads. A born windmill tilter, William McNair punctuated 30 unprosperous years at the bar with a monotonous series of espousals of lost causes. A Bryan stumpster, he ran for everything unsuccessfully until Pittsburgh, as normally Republican as Mecca is Mohammedan, threw out its corrupt and long-lived G. O. P. machine last autumn (TIME, Nov. 20, 1933). Lawyer McNair happened to be the Demo cratic candidate. Pittsburgh Democrats say of their Mayor: "We voted for a machinegun but got a phonograph record."