Indiana's political machinery is grinding itself to pieces over utilities regulation. The House has ordered its judiciary committee to immediately report on the Bender-Mendenhall bill to abolish the Public Service Commission—a direct rebuke of the Senate, which the House accused on Monday of being controlled by utility lobbyists. The Senate struck back by forming a committee to investigate this "affront to its dignity." Meanwhile, Governor Jackson remains silent on whether he has the power to dismiss commissioners, and attorneys in the legislature are skeptical he does. On the international front, a devastating coal mine explosion in Ebbw Vale, Wales has killed at least 52 miners, with 135 initially buried and rescue efforts hampered by deadly gas. In California, a woman named Mrs. Louise Lenzen defended chaining and strapping seven children—including an 11-year-old girl to a bed and a 3-year-old with hands bound—claiming it was "the only way I could keep track of them."

This page captures the raw intensity of 1920s Progressive reform battles. The utility commission fight reflects nationwide tensions between farmers and industrial interests—the same ideological split tearing at the Republican Party. President Coolidge's veto of the McNary-Haugen farm relief bill, also covered here, had just ignited fury among Western and Southern farmers who felt economically abandoned by Eastern industrial elites. The Welsh mining disaster underscores how industrial safety remained a global scandal a decade after the Great War. Meanwhile, stories like the Lenzen case reveal the casual brutality toward children that would take decades to criminalize, even as the nation claimed progressive values.

• Charlie Chaplin is under federal investigation for back taxes, with the Treasury Department placing liens exceeding $1,500,000 against him—in an era when that represented a genuine fortune that could bankrupt a studio.
• Indiana University's Extension Bureau is launching a course on 'real estate practices and principals' in Indianapolis, an early sign of how the 1920s real estate boom was beginning to professionalize what had been a gentlemen's game.
• A young Delaware County prosecutor named Joe H. Davis has publicly exposed corruption in Circuit Judge Clarence W. Dearth's court, testifying before the House Judiciary Committee about rigged juries—a remarkably bold move in an era when judges wielded near-autocratic power.
• The Pan-American Good Will flight squadron continues its journey despite losing two pilots (Woolsey and Benton) in a mid-air collision, with the remaining planes heading toward Paraguay while bodies are shipped home—aviation was still so dangerous that international diplomatic missions involved acceptable casualties.
• A classified ad mentions the Marion Military Home receiving a $700,000 federal appropriation, revealing how federal money was flowing to war veterans' facilities during the supposedly 'do-nothing' Coolidge administration.

• Aimee Semple McPherson, the California evangelist mentioned here as planning a return to New York, would become one of the most famous (and infamous) religious figures of the era—her 1926 disappearance and alleged kidnapping dominated headlines and cast suspicion on her integrity for the rest of her life.
• The farm relief battle detailed on this front page was part of a larger war: President Coolidge vetoed McNary-Haugen twice, and when farmers achieved 80% support (as William Settle claims here), it revealed how thoroughly rural America had split from Coolidge's Republican establishment—a fracture that would help elect Franklin Roosevelt in 1932.
• The Welsh coal mine explosion killing 52 would have been one of hundreds of such disasters in the 1920s; Britain's coal industry was in catastrophic decline, which would trigger the General Strike just 14 months after this paper was published—making mine safety a political tinderbox.
• Charlie Chaplin's $1.5 million tax lien was connected to his legendary earning power in silent films, which would evaporate almost overnight once talking pictures arrived in late 1927—the same year as this newspaper.
• The city manager form of government being promoted here (Cincinnati's Colonel Clarence Sherrill earning $25,000 annually) represented cutting-edge municipal reform that would define American governance for the next 50 years, yet was still exotic enough to require evangelists like Robert Gorman to travel the country explaining it.