Winds whistled up the river, and winds whistled down from the hills, and they met to swirl and gather fury and rattle the city’s millions of windowpanes. They carried a mixture of sleet and fine snow, the first herald of the winter to come. In the business district they swung signs madly back and forth, and roared around the corners of high office buildings, and swept madly against struggling trolley cars. They poured through the man-made cañons; they dashed out the broad boulevards—and so they came to the attention of Mr. Roger Verbeck, at about the hour of midnight, as he turned over in his warm bed and debated whether to rise and lower the window or take a chance with the rapidly lowering temperature. “Beastly night!” Verbeck confided to himself, and put his head beneath the covers. He slept—and suddenly he awakened. A moment before he had been in the midst of a pleasant dream; now every sense was alert, and his right hand, creeping softly under the cover, reached the side of the bed and grasped an automatic pistol that hung in a rack there. From the adjoining room—his library—there came no flash of an electric torch, no footfall, no sound foreign to the apartment, nothing to indicate the presence of an intruder. Yet Verbeck sensed that an intruder was there. He slipped quietly from the bed, shivering a bit because of the cold wind, put his feet into slippers, and drew on a dressing gown over his pajamas. Then, his pistol held ready for use in case of emergency, he started across the bedroom, taking short steps and walking on his toes. A reflection entered the room from the arc light on the nearest street corner. This uncertain light was shut off for an instant, and Verbeck whirled quickly, silently, to find another man slipping up beside him. It was Muggs—a little, wiry man of uncertain age, who had been in Verbeck’s employ for several years, valet at times, comrade in arms at times, willing adventurer always. Muggs bent forward until his lips were close to Verbeck’s ear. “I heard it, too, boss,” he said. “Somebody in the library!” Verbeck nodded; they crept nearer the door. Inch by inch, Verbeck pulled aside one of the curtains, until they could peer into the other room. A gleam from the corner arc light penetrated the library, too. It revealed the interior of the room in a sort of semi-gloom, causing elusive shadows that flitted here and there in such fashion that they scarcely could be distinguished from substance. Also, it revealed an open window near the fire escape—and it showed the form of a man standing before Verbeck’s antique desk in a corner. Muggs bent beneath his master’s arm to see better. He felt Verbeck grip his shoulder, and looked up to find him indicating the open window. Like a shadow, Muggs, who also held a weapon in his hand, slipped through the curtains, crept along the wall, and advanced toward that window to cut off the intruder’s retreat.

"The Black Star" is a wonderful crime-adventure book by the creator of the famous "The Mark of Zorro." The author worked as a police reporter before becoming a prolific and successful writer for pulp magazines and Hollywood. His real-life experiences often find reflection in his novels. The book, presented here, features a villain, The Black Star, a master to escape from the police. Yet the successful amateur detective who finally captures him, discovers that sending the Black Star to the police would ruin his fiancée's family. Now, he needs to outwit the law and the Black Star to ensure a happy ending.

Presents the story of the first three African American astronauts and those who followed.

The upcoming election in the former iron curtain country of Maldisia has become the focus of intense concern throughout the world. The warlike factions in Moscow will use the country to complete the final link in their insidious nuclear “Ring of Fire.” To accomplish this, their socialist puppets, who are masters of political intrigue, must be kept in power. The US and NATO countries have to rely on this small Eastern European nation’s politically-inexperienced democratic parties to unite and win against overwhelming odds. The democrats’ chances are further diminished by the ominous presence of Black Star, a secret organization of former KGB agents and terrorists. Their psychotic leader, Scorpius, will employ bribery, kidnapping, murder…whatever it takes to achieve the Soviets’ objectives. Desperate to influence the election, the US State Department calls on Marc O’Neill to travel to Maldisia, under cover, and surreptitiously mastermind a campaign for the democrats. O’Neill, a successful election campaign strategist, accepts the challenge, not fully recognizing the extent of the danger involved. Once Scorpius recognizes O’Neill’s true roll, he becomes a highly vulnerable target. His safety depends on the courage and skills of Karl Sabo, a battle-hardened CIA agent assigned to protect him.

People, young and old, need stars to guide them. They need models to construct their own identity, to build their self-esteem, to change the way they see the world and to overcome their own and others’ prejudice. During my childhood, many stars were pointed out to me. I admired them, dreamt about them: Socrates, Baudelaire, Einstein, Marie Curie, General de Gaulle, Mother Teresa... But nobody ever spoke to me about black stars. The world of my education was white, from the colour of the school walls to the pages of my textbooks. I knew nothing about my own ancestors. Slavery was the only black subject ever mentioned. In this vision, the history of Black people could only ever be a vale of tears and strife. Can you tell me the name of a black scientist? A black explorer? A black philosopher? A black pharaoh? If you don’t know the answer to these questions, then, whatever the colour of your skin, this book is for you. Because the best way to fight racism and intolerance is to educate ourselves and to broaden our imaginations. The portraits of the men and women in this book are a product of my own reading and my interviews with scholars. Starting with Lucy and ending with Barack Obama, and along the way meeting Aesop, Dona Béatrice, Pushkin, Anne Zingha, Aimé Césaire, Martin Luther King and many others. These stars have allowed me to reject the idea that I am a victim, to renew my faith in mankind and, above all, to believe in myself. - Lilian Thuram This translation of Lilian Thuram’s bestselling 2010 volume, Mes Etoiles Noires, by Laurent Dubois (University of Virginia), finally brings his anti-racism work to the attention of an English-language audience (the book has already been translated into several European languages). At a time when the Black Lives Matter movement has reminded us of the need to tell more complex stories about our shared past, this volume constitutes a timely intervention by a prominent black sporting figure.

For major league baseball, the decade following Jackie Robinson's 1947 debut was one of slow yet persistent change. Four other black players made their first, brief big-league appearances that year, followed by only two in 1948 and four in 1949. But by the end of 1959, 122 black ballplayers had made it to the big leagues. Like Robinson, their lives were made difficult off the field, and on it they dodged beanballs and spikes. This book brings attention to the accomplishments of this transitional generation of African American players--made up of men like Luscious Luke Easter, Sam "The Jet" Jethroe, and Sad Sam Jones--many of whom spent years in the minors, the Negro leagues, or both before getting their shot. Chapters on each season from 1947 to 1959 incorporate biographical and career profiles for 25 players who stood out during baseball's integration. A final chapter covers the outstanding minor league players who for various reasons never got a real chance to play major league ball. Appendices include a roster of black major leaguers from 1947 through 1959, a list of black-player firsts and statistics on the year-by-year population of black players in the majors.