Jan. 18, 1958

After a long, persistent search, a collection agency operative the
other day located–in jail–a young man who had become six months
delinquent on a bill he owed. And he told his pathetic story.

He is a foundry worker and his mad passion in life is his hopped-up motorcycle.

His trouble started several months ago when he was motorbiking eastward
on one of the freeways and saw a police car in pursuit. He turned on
the juice to more than 100 mph and was outdistancing the law when he
ran out of gas. For this offense he was fined and his driver’s license
suspended.

Three months later he again ran out of gas while being chased by the gendarmes at great speed. This time he went to jail.

"So you see, the reason I couldn’t pay our bill all these months," he
explained to the collection operative, "I was so broke I couldn’t even
buy enough gas to get away from the cops."

The collection guy, who thought he’d heard everything, acknowledged the
motorcyclist’s logic, then quietly stole away, to return another day.

SPEAKING OF crime
and punishment, a man arrested in a liquor store holdup had a market
stickup three days before pinned on him because the gun used on both
occasions was painted a wicked chartreuse.

This is a blow to police reporters. Hitherto, points out Sid Hughes,
they’ve had to be concerned only with a robbery suspect’s description
and type of gun. Now, color of gun.


TWO WILSHIRE BOULEVARD
publicity men, Bill Day and Rudy Wilson, got to reminiscing about their
boyhood in L.A. and they have decided to come forward and confess their
part in the eerie, mysterious noise which terrified residents of the
Virgil Avenue-Temple Street area about 45 years ago.

The noise was front page news for a few days and was attributed to escaping underground gas from old oil wells in the vicinity.

Actually the noise was created by a bunch of youngsters, including Bill
and Rudy. They ran a 100-foot resined cord through a hole in a 10-foot
square galvanized iron real estate sign and pulled it back and forth.

They became so expert they could evoke everything form a low rumble to
a high shriek which could be heard as far as what was then, at least,
Westlake Park.

Gosh the best my sissy gang could do was yank trolleys off the wire at the end of the line after the motorman had switched them.

I HAD
high hopes that my recalcitrant typewriter would turn over a new platen
with the new year but it’s apparent I was just a dreamer.

We’ll be chugging along fine, me with my touch system, Elsie with her
nuts and bolts, until we come to a word to which she is allergic.

No matter how much control I try to exercise, old Elsie persists in
spelling perpahs for perhaps, fihgt for fight, gun for fun, nears for
earns, fell for feel, guess what for heel and assorted other
transpositions.

Perpahs it’s metal fatigue.

FOOTNOTES —
The Palms Women’s Club held an Oriental Luncheon the other day. That
is, the decoration motif was Oriental. The food was tamale pie … No
word from Westbrook about Eleanor Roosevelt being selected the most
admired woman for the 11th consecutive year. A thing like that could
get frustrating … Anybody else notice they completed those traffic
islands along the Miracle Mile just in time — to start tearing up the
street again. Or as one businessman puts it, "again and yet" … By the
way, did you notice the panelists on the TV program "The Last Word"
vetoed the White House-approved word "finalize" as "personally
unattractive" … And so ends Be Kind to Matt Weinstock Week,
proclaimed by Book Editor Rex Barley on finding some books of short
stories he thought I’d like. Sorry, too busy not finding any good ones
in the magazines.