Confidential File
I try. Believe me, I try.
At every opportunity, I warn you all of the countless pitfalls of life in these treacherous times of high-pressure merchandising.
Repeatedly, I’ve written you little lectures on the pointlessness of purchasing more than one lifetime membership to a dance instruction studio.
I’ve cautioned you time and time again about the risk of signing your name on a blank contract.
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I suppose we should be smoking Fatima cigarettes (an early sponsor) at the Daily Mirror HQ in honor of the show, but we're not. The "Dragnet" formula was set in concrete the first time Webb stepped before the microphone, and it never varied: A long-suffering, thin blue line of dedicated, hardworking, underpaid officers threading their way through a landscape of dithering housewives; folksy, long-winded clerks and cashiers; and sullen, cop-hating suspects. Except to make a point under rare circumstances, there are no corrupt officers and no police brutality in the world of "Dragnet." At its best, which was brilliant in the beginning, "Dragnet" was a welcome alternative to shoot-'em-up shows that dominated radio programming. At its worst, "Dragnet" was a ghastly self-parody of a robotic Sgt. Joe Friday delivering rambling, almost-angry monologues about the ills of American society. Not that Webb ever became too upset; Gort, the extraterrestrial police officer in "The Day the Earth Stood Still," showed a wider range of emotion than Webb had as Joe Friday.
But at the same time, the show is terribly unrealistic. There are never any unsolved cases in "Dragnet." Especially in the early years, Joe Friday is part of an all-white police department working in an all-white city. His first partner, Ben Romero, is perhaps the only Spanish-surnamed person in Los Angeles with a Southern accent. Taken in that light, the show is ridiculous. I'm glad Jack Webb got a commemorative stamp, and I wish he were around to see it (he died in 1982). But we'll be using "Twilight Zone" stamps around here. Rod Serling — now there was a writer. |
August 10, 1958: Ernie Bushmiller’s “Nancy,” in which Nancy and Sluggo unravel a mystery.
Aug. 10, 1899: Two drunk salesmen go to a house in Sonoratown (North Main Street) and ask for food. "The lady of the house told them it was against her principles to feed drunken beggars."
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Aug. 10, |
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Photograph by Bob Chamberlin / Los Angeles Times One of the restored Selig statues at the Los Angeles Zoo. |
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Photograph courtesy of the Dodgers.
Vin Scully and Walter O’Malley before the Dodgers moved to Los Angeles.
Is it a stretch to suggest that Walter O’Malley was the man chiefly responsible for pro sports in Southern California?
Consider that the Lakers might not have moved to L.A. as early as 1960, or that the American League might not have expanded to L.A. in 1961. Never mind about the Kings and Ducks who came much, much later.
Without O’Malley’s decision to bring the Dodgers to Los Angeles, everything might have been different.
| Aug. 9, 1974, Paul Conrad on Richard Nixon's resignation. Nixon's resignation comes at an interesting time for the Daily Mirror because we're gearing up for the 1960 presidential race, awkwardly putting the end of the story before the beginning.
In the 1940s and '50s, under the influence of political editor Kyle Palmer (Nixon was a pallbearer at Palmer's funeral); James Bassett, who took leaves from The Times to work on Nixon's 1952, 1956 and 1960 political campaigns; the editorial board; and anonymous columns by "The Watchman," The Times was not only a Nixon supporter but a powerful ally. And then … but I'm getting ahead of the story. Scroll down and take a look at the masthead in 1974. Aug. 9, 1974: The Late Final leads with Gerald Ford being sworn in as president. |
 Aug. 9, 1974: Home edition, Nixon Resigns in "Interests of Nation."
The Times' editorial on Nixon's resignation says: "He departs in disgrace, the victim of a thirst for power that was his strength and his frailty. It was a power he used with effectiveness and imagination in many areas, including development of the new relationships for the United States and China and the Soviet Union. But it was a power that corrupted him, leading him to abuse his authority to the point of obstructing justice, encouraging him to justify any means for the end of maintaining himself in office."
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| Aug. 7, 1939: Only a few more Nuestro Pueblo installments are left. In September 1939, Joe Seewerker was hurt in a car accident and the columns stopped except for a final farewell in October. |
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Aug. 9, 1899: "With the trophies of his summer's explorations spread out about him, Dr. Cole has turned his parlor into an anthropological museum. One table is covered with water jugs and incense pipes, the sofa hidden under stone axes, mortars, pestles, weaving shuttles and pottery; another table is decked with a row of grinning skulls and huge crossbones; beneath it comfortably repose all the parts of a skeleton, from the toe bones to the shoulder blades, waiting to be wired together, and strewn about are bows and arrows, baskets, jugs of twisted twigs made water-tight by pitch; modern Indian pottery, photographs by the score, and a hundred-pound stump of petrified wood. The skulls are a particularly valued possession."
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The Rev. George L. Cole of Los Angeles tells amazing stories of a weird, ancient culture that flourished in the cliffs of New Mexico. A race of people 7 feet tall (this grew to 8 feet in later stories) with curious teeth who worshiped the sun and considered the turkey to be a sacred animal. They also played flutes made of pelican bones, Cole said. (Pelicans in New Mexico, eh? I wonder how that happened). Here's another sample of Cole's scholarship: (Sept. 5, 1900): "One bit of pottery is supposed to have been a tear bottle, in which penitents collected their bewailings and buried them." I'm horrified when I read old stories about these grave robbers with their crackpot theories about ancient people. What's worse is a later account that says: A Sept. 5, 1900, story in The Times says Cole's human remains and artifacts were sent to Northwestern University. A Feb. 22, 1908, story says his collection of relics was to be put on display at Venice Pier. Unfortunately, The Times evidently didn't carry an obituary on Cole, so it's unclear what became of him. His son, Fay C. Cole, was affiliated with the Field Museum in Chicago. |
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Aug. |
Mushroom Trouble
For some unknown reason this has been a big year for Lapiota morgani, the poisonous plant resembling the mushroom, which grows on lawns and in shaded places. As a result, about a dozen persons, more than in preceding years, have been rushed to hospitals. However, there have been no fatalities.
The cases follow a pattern. Someone, usually a European who claims to know the difference, eats them or gives them to friends to eat. Result: a stomachache.
Lapiota morgani, the commonest variety, is only mildly toxic. In fact, some people are
immune. Continue reading
Confidential File(Press Release) “COOK’S MUSICAL NOTES, by Ira Cook:
“If you’re statistically-minded about your music, just tune to the Ira Cook Show on KMPC, and we’ll keep you posted on the progress of the never ending parade of platters.
“To date, I have received just over 3,000 45-speed records and 660 albums.
“Now, just for fun, let’s see what we can do with these figures . . .
“If I had started stacking up my 45-speed records on Jan. 1, 1959, I would have, today, a stack 20 feet high!” . . .(signed) Publicity Department, KMPC, Hollywood.
— Well, Ira, there’s no use crying over spilt milk.
Ernie Bushmiller's "Nancy," Aug. 8, 1956. I usually don't spend much time thinking about the age of Nancy and Sluggo. They're cartoon characters, after all, and Bushmiller cartoon characters at that. They're sort of ageless, like the kids in "Peanuts." I generally figure they're somewhere in late elementary school or maybe junior high. Then a strip like this comes along and I'm not sure. |
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I was a little taken aback today when I came upon
your clutch of articles on Preston Sturges, and was suddenly reminded that he died exactly 50 years ago in that tiny room at the Algonquin Hotel in New York. I began researching my Sturges biography ("Between Flops") 33 years ago when I was received at the hilltop mansion of Rudy Vallee, where Sturges was the subject of conversation between rounds of tennis. I think now of the embarrassment of riches I had in
writing that book–Joel McCrea, William Wyler, Billy Wilder, Eddie Bracken, Colleen Moore, Orson Welles, Bill Demarest, three of his four wives–and how today I'm reduced to interviewing the children of those people–and glad to get them. Mr. S., incidentally, turns up in this book I've just finished, in that Spencer Tracy was the star of "The Power and the Glory," the film that supposedly invented the flashback (it really didn't) but does look suspiciously like "Citizen Kane." The late Earl Felton's comment about Sturges fits
him best: "He was too large for this smelly resort, and the big studios were scared to death of him. A man who was a triple threat (writing, directing, and producing!) kept them awake nights, and I'm positive they were all waiting for him to fall on his face so they could pounce on him and devour this terrible threat to their stingy talents… In this, alas, I was right. They pounced, and they got him good. But Preston knew the great days, when he was turning out marvelous pictures… those days when his can glowed like a port light from everyone kissing it!" |
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Aug. 8, 1889: I have read some ghastly stories in these old papers, but "Hog Horror" is about the worst I have seen so far.
Mrs. McFadden, one of the city's toughest prostitutes, exposes her 11-year-old daughter to the business.
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Bidding starts at $2. |
A tired old car died suddenly Tuesday while stopped for the signal on Olympic Blvd. at Georgia St. It was first in line in the center lane with the blinkers flashing for a left turn. The driver tried to start it but the engine wouldn’t catch.
Meanwhile, those backed up behind were becoming impatient. Of course, the driver immediately behind made no offer of a shove. This simply isn’t done, except by drivers of other old cars. And so the disgusted driver got out and pushed the weary old bus to the
curb, miraculously avoiding being clobbered by cars approaching in the other lanes.
He let it get its breath and after a while, with considerable wear and tear on the battery, it started. It has been running since. Continue reading
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