 Presenting Mrs. Pink Hippo of the African hippos emerging from her special poldman. Like all other gentlemen, old man Hippo has allowed the lady of the family to go first. That is, she did come out, but seems to have disappeared. The first grand splash they've had since the hippos left the river Nile. Where is little palsy-walsy? Ah, imitating a flying fish or a man-eating tiger. California, their new abode, is a strange land. And they're wild, wild to get back home. Now they're down in the moat, but here she comes again. Did we say the lady of the family? Look out folks, it's just another case of girl chases boy. What's wrong, old man? Want to go back to Africa? Here she comes, getting playful again. Talk about pink elephants. Sink or swim, it's too late now. She's still his wife, and they're far, far from home. Well, it's life, just one thing after another. Even if each of them weighs a ton of peace. In 1940, the mightiest units of the French battle fleet lay at anchor in the peaceful harbor at Oran, Algeria. They be surrendered to Germany, willing to allow such a surrender. What will Britain do? The French admiral, Jean-Soul, is in a desperate position. French cruiser Thames, as a launch from the British battleship Hood, is sighted bearing into the harbor. It brings an officer of the Royal Navy, who delivers an ultimatum, join us and sail to the West Indies or be destroyed. It is a tragic necessity. Britain must maintain her supremacy on the high seas. Admiral Jean-Soul rejects the ultimatum. A blinker flashes his reply, we'll fight. French seamen are called to battle stations by the Whale of Sirens. Turrets are manned and the ships are cleared for action. The crews rush to position. They will defend themselves if fired upon. British open fire. Naval guns is followed by the crashing explosion of 15 inch shells. The British gun crews seven miles away get the range and now begins a devastating rain of high explosive shells as the French ships vainly try to return the fire. The town is hit. Her powder magazine goes up in a roaring column of flame and smoke. A great 25,000 ton dreadnought Strasburg escapes to Toulon. Her guns still firing. The Dunkirk is sinking. Death and destruction make the shambles of the once powerful fleet. It is not France that Britain has struck down. It is Germany. The church hills sorrowfully proclaimed it was a melancholy episode forced upon the British Empire. The shores of the harbor are strewn with beached and crippled ships. Only wreckage marks the waters where French naval might floated the day before. Other smaller craft lie at the bottom of Oran harbor whose waters are strewn with their wreckage. Their crews taken to dinghies. Their power useless to the Axis partners. Britain has acted and the question of a world has been answered. High above the Tacoma Narrows, human spiders risk their lives on the job of building one of the world's great suspension bridges. Weaving giant cables from which we'll hang an automobile highway spanning a chasm broad and deep. The powerful supports are drawn tense with precision and clamped to concrete anchors on the shore below. Thousands of tons of steel, mile upon mile of massive cables. 100 feet above the water, here is a job demanding men of iron and nerves of steel. And then on a summer's day in 1940, cloud citizens of the state of Washington gather for the ceremony of opening their new $6 million suspension bridge to traffic. The world's third longest span and the last word in engineering marvels. But the last word had not been said. The summer wind that gently blew along the Tacoma Narrows whispered a word of warning that no man heated. Fatal day and the wind begins to speak with a roar that no man can fail to hear. In a 40 mile an hour gale, the center span weaves like a ribbon in a swinging twist that you wouldn't believe possible unless you could see it as you do now. There's an automobile caught on the heaving roadway. The 11,000 ton center span twists and strains the giant cables that support it. Cables of 6,300 wire strands, each 17 inches thick. Strick and spectators are driven to safety as the bridge gyrates like a nightmare high above the river, twisting, turning, curling. The lone motorist is forced to abandon the car. He has been a few minutes in which to save himself. Face to face with fate, his destiny hanging in the balance. Will he heed the last warning or perish with the doomed structure? But he saves himself by seconds. Sure of steel and concrete can stand such a strain, steel girders buckle and giant cable snap like CUNY threads. There it goes! So divided as to the cause of the disaster, some claim it was the use of solid girders. Others differ. But whatever the reason, Tacoma will rebuild, this time a bridge that will not provide a super thrill in the news.