Monday, Feb. 24, 1947
Extremist. In Chicago, R. B. Heehler got a ticket for speeding, 15 minutes later got a second ticket for speeding, four hours later--as he crept along, with vengeful caution, at 8 m.p.h.--got a third summons for impeding traffic.
Long Shot. In London, Ranee, a female elephant at the zoo, felt a cold-in-the-trunk coming on, was dosed by her keeper with a pint of rum.
One-Night Stand. In Regina, Sask., two women boarded a night train to Saskatoon, awoke next morning still in Regina, snowbound, stepped off to eat breakfast, returned to find the train gone.
Collector's Items. In Paris, police needed six trucks to haul away the odds & ends (including some granite statues, a park bench, 139 wigs, two dozen ice skates for the left foot) amassed over 15 years by Kleptomaniac Robert Bury.
Mermaids Again? In Los Angeles, seasoned salts were baffled when the U.S.S. Caliente's heavy anchor chain got itself tied into a perfect lover's knot, had to be "untied" with acetylene torches.
Reconvertibles. In Washington, Veterans Administrator Bradley announced the VA adviser on women's affairs had closed up shop: women veterans have turned out to be no problem. In Tulsa, nostalgic ex-service women at Tulsa University named their sorority Beta Khaki Gamma.
Change of Pace. In Hilo, Hawaii, Dr. William F. Leslie, after losing 1) one automobile in a tidal wave, 2) his second car in a storm, 3) his third new car in a dock accident, announced that he was in the market for a horse & buggy.
Help! Police! In Springfield, Mass., Stanley Bochan was busily cracking a safe when he suddenly got scared, concluded that crime doesn't pay, telephoned police to come and get him.
Song Hit. In London, when Soprano Josie Fearon bore down on a high note during a BBC broadcast, a heavy, "unbreakable" glass tumbler shattered to bits in the home of Listener Philip Mansel, 60 miles away.
Open the Door, Harwood. In Des Moines, Harwood Helen was haled into court for disturbing the peace, warned by the judge that he must never again lock his landlady out of her own outhouse.
Muted Horn. In Richmond, Ind., Conductor Fabien Sevitzky bided his time during a prelude until the score called for a crashing chord, blew his nose once on the downbeat, once on the upbeat--satisfactorily but inaudibly.
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