Altitude Record

An adventurous aviator is debonair, swashbuckling Colonel Hubert Fauntleroy Julian, the Black Eagle of Harlem. In the course of his Icarian career he has attempted a transatlantic flight, served in a black Emperor's air corps, planned an expedition to China to fight the Japanese.

The transatlantic flight ended in Flushing Bay a few minutes after the takeoff; he cracked up Haile Selassie's own plane; he never got to China because he collapsed in a hotel chair, broke his arm. Last week Colonel Julian made his altitude record: he flew to the defense of Father Divine himself.

In the little black Father's well-heeled heavens an altercation had begun to sputter like a fish fry. What started it was a love feast ten long years ago. In 1929 Mrs. Verinda Brown had sat down at the paradisal table set by Father Divine with chicken, ham, potatoes, rice, corn, cabbage, scalloped tomatoes, hominy, carrots, beets, a two-foot cheese, five different kinds of pie, ice cream, and "two cakes as big as automobile tires." After three hours, she rose and cried: "I feel different than when I came."

Enlarged, enriched by this experience, she and her butler husband became angels, contributed all their savings to the Divine treasury, said she. Later, 54-year-old Mrs. Brown began to feel different again. Into court last week she marched to confront an inscrutable little Father Divine. He might be God to thousands of Negroes and white people, but he was God no longer to disgruntled Mrs. Brown. She wanted her money back. So did some others she represented. Mrs. Brown began to testify. At that moment the Black Eagle swooped from Harlem.

Dressed in a faultless blue suit with a white carnation in his buttonhole, pearl spats and ascot tie, he strode into court, announced thai! he had come to settle the whole affair by paying out of his own pocket Mrs. Brown's $6,500 claim, her $6,000 lawyer's fee. A gratifying uproar filled the court.

Justice Benedict E. Dineen retired to a conference room, summoned lawyers, Father Divine, and Colonel Julian. Reason for his offer: he wanted to restore peace. He haughtily produced a sheaf of warehouse receipts, replied with Oxonian accent: "I own more than $800,000 worth of aged whiskey. I am an adventurer. Within a few days I can raise $50,000 or $60,000. I've spent that much money in two or three weeks on a pleasure cruise."

Between conference chamber and court room the colonel bustled, snapping his fingers in summons, beckoning, bowing, whispering, glaring through his monocle. Once he emerged from conference with the air of a man whose adventurous patience is exhausted. Ostentatiously he tore up a typewritten sheet, announced for all to hear: "I'm all washed up." Back he went, however, to the conference room, like the leader of a forlorn hope. At last, after two days, peace seemed to be assured. Justice Dineen adjourned court and his decision until next day.

But the next day the Black Eagle reappeared with ruffled plumage. This time he was not gloriously alone: he was accompanied by his wife, Essie, orchids on her shoulder. To an attentive courtroom, which included 50 Divine angels, the colonel related how 15 other angels had come to him the night before, asked him to settle alleged claims against Father Divine. It would take "about $50,000," he dismally explained. "My conscience would not allow me to pay one claim unless I paid them all." With a giveaway glance at Essie: "My family wouldn't even consider that."

Once more Justice Dineen adjourned the case. Safely down to earth again, the Black Eagle drew breath after his latest hairbreadth escape.

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