“Great Scott! I’ve Kept You Rigid for Almost Two Hours! Why Didn’t You Stop Me, Miss Simmons?
Body Surfers
It appears that Bob Lee, who, as reported here, was knocked down by an unidentified object, which turned out to be a young man, while wading at Newport Beach, has cast a slur upon a noble sport, body-surfing — riding the
waves to shore without benefit of boards, water wings or other appurtenances.
“In the old days,” B.G. of Wilmington writes, “before the shoreline was filled with feather merchants (turistas)
and the beaches were cluttered by breakwaters, the sport was wonderful.
Now we practice it at the mercy of every wave jumper. I am a native and I have been playing the surf for 30 years, taking time out to eat, of course, and have yet to be struck by a body surfer. However, my husband, also a native, recently had four stitches taken in his chin to repair the damage caused by an idiot who attacked him with his thick skull. These people should get out of the way before they really hurt someone.”
NOW THAT the subject has been introduced, let us get to the business at hand, the funny thing that happened to writer Jack Quayle on the way to shore at the Alamitos Bay peninsula.
He rode a big wave in from far out with Darr Smith and, as the roller deposited him on the sand, he discovered in disgust that he had lost his upper plate en route. The word of the disaster spread and body surfers, a clannish lot, converged and spent the afternoon combing the ocean bottom. They didn’t find it but they kept bringing Jack pieces of shells and flotsam and asking if that was it. One well-wisher pointed out that Jack, should he be attacked by a shark, stood the chance of getting bit by his own teeth.
Upshot was that Jack had to get a duplicate set, a financial blow. But the same day he found a check in the mail. A story that had been making the rounds for three years had sold to a magazine.
Tune in again for further clues to literary success.
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IN THE VIEW of Jeanne Weston, Hillsdale wasn’t the only champion at the Hollywood Park meeting. For her money, a little old lady from Boston in the next seat deserved equal billing.One time the woman asked a neighbor how long the track was. A mile, he replied. “It can’t be,” she said, “they are having a mile and a quarter race.”Discussing a certain horse she asked, “Who’s driving him?” He patiently explained the men who rode the horses were called jockeys.In analyzing another horse she looked at her program and said. “Oh, I wouldn’t bet on him, he’s wearing a very heavy jockey.”
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PUBLIC AT LARGE — Let us not bother further about longest words. The Germans, Felix DeCola says, are way ahead of us. For instance, waffenstillstandsunterhandlungen — 32 letters — which means armistice negotiations. And schutzengrabenvernichtungspanzerwagen — 37 — meaning tank, literally “rifleman’s
trench-destroying armored wagon” . . . Darlene Tucker nominates for oblivion the TV scene showing a graveside funeral at which the sheriff puts his arm around the widow and says, “He wouldn’t want you to cry”. . . Seymour Mandel tells of a fellow so broke at the end of the month, he tried to pay his Diner’s Club bill with his Bankamericard.
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ONLY IN L.A. — The biggest attraction at Dodger games at the Coliseum, Clark Roberts
avers, is a fellow who roosts in a front row seat near third base and tries to trap foul flies and hot grounders with a butterfly net.
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AT RANDOM — Japan’s latest contribution to the auto world, the Daihatsu, was unveiled the other day in Hollywood. It’s a pickup type three-wheeler with the single wheel in front and will do 40 m.p.h. with a 900-lb. load, gets 65 miles to the gallon and costs $985. Just the thing for hauling hors d’oeuvres to guests around a swimming pool . . . A resident in the 20000 block of Parthenia St. in Reseda — unimproved with deep ruts — has put out a sign, “Next time take the train” . . . Bob Bowden reports a Volkswagen on Ventura Freeway with a bumper sign, “You have just been passed by 36 h.p.”
ladailymirror.com 