Golden Gate Bridge Opened to Motor Traffic First automobiles shown arriving in San Francisco from Marin county across the Golden Gate bridge, fol lowing the recent gala opening of the span to motor traffic. Inset shows Mayor Angelo Rossi of San Fran cisco cutting a chain with an acetylene torch, thus officially opening the Waldo approach to traffic. Spelling Champ Wins $500 Prize Wl >:' •••• 'JffiKmk A. First prize of $500 was awarded Waneeta Buckley of Louisville, Ky., (right), recent winner of the title of "Best Speller in the Nation." She won the thirteenth national spelling bee at Washington, sponsored by newspapers at the new National museum. Waneeta’s runner-up was diminutive Betty Grunstra of Passaic, N. J. "Plebeian,” spelled cor rectly by Waneeta, after Betty missed, decided the contest. Betty’s second prize amounted to $300. DETROIT BISHOP •vav.'mtowv.'.v.'. ■■■mililll1 HI——hn .•■•■•■•■•:-.->:.v..■ .-.-Aittriowafraa;-JKefrM.■.» A...»^;.'llfcMi •* .>#W» • . .- 1 •■:•*■:■;:■a- /«.w. ju.» Like bones of some huge prehistoric monster the skeleton of the TVA dam at Pickwick Landing on the lower Tennessee river rises into the air, showing the recent progress of the work. Down the Ladder to Success Ry ELIZARETH G. GRAY © McClure Newsnaper Syndicate. WNU Service. ALONG, low prune-colored car purred softly up to the curb, sending a flurry of dust to screen a drab, forlorn little figure in its path. A smart young Adonis, of few complexes and sincere gray eyes, alighted, crossed the broad sidewalk, and entered the revolv ing door of Camerwarner’s Depart ment Store. The young girl stood at the curb and watched the man disappear, meanwhile flicking off the halo of dust that dimmed her unadorned comeliness, and soliloquized: “That settles THAT question! No more expanded ideals and contracted waist lines. A career is the mother of starvation; a job is the twin to necessity; Long live the job!” And forthwith she followed the apostle of the prune-colored para dise through the revolving door, with a dynamic force that savored well for the success of any job that trailed an income at its heels; leav ing behind her, on the seven winds of chance that blew about the doors of this huge pit of oblivion, her art, pride and hopes; blindly descend ing the ladder of ambition even un to the last rung; down into the abys mal bargain basement of Camer wa rner's. She halted on the first rung down long enough to fill in an application blank as long and lucid as a ticket to California. The second rung down led her to the bargain basement, at sight of which she not only skipped a few heart beats but slid down several more rungs. If she couldn’t sell her Art, how in this age of brain storm ing intelligence tests could she sell such. The exhibit before her re sembled a cubist’s idea of a thou sand shipwrecked souls fighting for their lives in a storm-tossed sea. All morning she stood on burning, tortured feet, listening for oppor tunity’s knock, smiling acknowledg ment to the good-natured greeting* of her fellow workers, and the softly padded threats of the floor walker. This latter sent her toppling head long to the very lowest rung of all, and she saved herself from total ni hility only by clutching frantically to the last straw of happiness she possessed, her pencil. And as she sketched she smiled, and as she smiled the Three Fates got busy. The first, a kindly soul, transported her from the Stygian at mosphere of Camerwarner’s to the Elysian Fields of romance; the sec ond one, feeling ill-tempered and wicked, sent the watchful floor walker to the higher regions in search of the King; and as though to atone for her sister’s act, the third Fate sent a customer to the tired little girl at the dress goods counter. When the flery-eyed dragon of the floor acres returned a few min utes later, followed by the grand mogul himself, he stared, rubbed his eyes, and tweaked his finely chiseled mustache at the sight that greeted him. The new sales per son was measuring off yards and yards of phantastic fabrics to a crowd of smiling, chattering wom en. Heloise glanced up, flushed with enthusiasm and success and sent a challenging flash into a pair of sin cere, gray eyes that met hers for a questioning second. Toward closing time that evening she leaned wearily on her disman tled counter, figuring up the day’s receipts. There came a noticeable hush in the surrounding activities of primping, powdering and palav ering; a big event was casting its shadow aslant her book. And there came to pass a miracle in this land of nether regions; the King was con fabbing with one of the lowliest of all lowlies in his domain! He was saying: "I hear you were hired this morning as inexperienced help. Would you mind telling me what selling methods you applied in getting rid of all this-er-junk?” Said she: “Certainly not, sir. You are right in supposing that I was hired this morning as VERY inex perienced help. Necessity closed the deal for both parties concerned. As to getting rid of the er-junk. . . I decorated one hundred homes this afternoon, so cheaply and charm ingly, that they could not be resist ed. That is all.” “You decorated homes with THAT?” he repeated, pointing to the remaining bits of material. She passed him the sketch she had made during the silent walche3 of the morning: a drawing of the interior of a living room. So he said: “It will be too bad to lose so efficient a sales girl, but—" Heloise laughed; the low silvery note echoing disallusionment, dis couragement. "Fired!" she said, in so tired a little voice. "Fired from my first job. Somehow I can’t feel as dejected as I should under the harrowing circumstances, for I simply couldn’t put in another day with old hatchet-face watching me every minute. I am disappoint ed, but it has taught me that as a salesgirl I would make an excel lent interior decorator.” "As I was about to say. Miss—•” "Miss Hammond,” she supplied, indifferently. "Miss Hammond. Thank you. To morrow morning please report to the Art department.” Thus did she climb down the lad der of ambition into the very lap of luxury and love.