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Yesterday

Weirton Again

NO WRITER ATTRIBUTED

The shades of a happier, more opulent day hover over the trial of Ervin F. Brown, a member of the defunct Hoover bureaucracy; his naive confessions on the witness stand are of the stuff from which "Of Thee I Sing" was made. Mr. Brown was chief investigator for the Immigration Bureau of the Department of Labor in New York, and he is accused of accepting bribes from a criminal alien who was awaiting deportation. Brown's bribe-taking operations, however, do not compare with his other activities. A generous man, he singled out deserving Republicans for reward; these men were made deputy inspectors in his department at a salary of one dollar a year. They were then furnished with badges which they showed at appropriate moments thereby cowing traffic policemen and impressing their friends.

But some of the deserving were not content with this simple pleasure, and demanded and got more. One such man made a trip at government expense to Boston, and, according to Brown, brought back a large supply of "hair tonic for the boys." Boston was too petty for the imaginative Mr. Brown; he went off for a pleasant little jaunt to Paris on government funds and almost succeeded in bringing back a Turkish dancer. In between times he made trips to Washington to take liquor to his uncle, the late Mr. Doak, Secretary of Labor, "who had heart disease."

Unfortunately these haleyon days could not last forever. Mr. Hoover retired to become the squire of Palo Alto, and Mr. Brown awoke one morning to find himself on trial for accepting bribes. But the unkindest cut of all was when his mistress turned on him and became the chief witness for the prosecution. Poor Mr. Brown's cup is filled to overflowing. As his lawyer so feelingly put it to the jury, "Subconsciously, somewhere in his mind, Brown hopes to be a hero in the mind of the woman he loves. Love is a strange thing indeed. He is married. He and his wife have adopted a baby. But he is frank about it. He is sincere in his love. He is infatuated. He is mad. But he is not a crook. Poor, deluded Brown--he fell for that she-wolf in sheep's clothing." TERTIUS.

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