Judge — July 1938 — page 11: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

together to produce a low and gentle drone. After that it goes home. When the Tasmanian motherling cannot find any sleepers to comfort, it ceases to glow and in time it dies. VERY few weeks our science and industry editor comes in clutch. ing his skull, to utter a fact like the following: They use the oil extracted from raisins to spray on raisins, to keep them from sticking to the paper wrap- per. HE book we are preparing, “One Million Reasons For Not Living In California,” has aroused a tremendous amount of sympathetic interest. Reader Hugh J. Weldon, of Santa Barbara, Cal., is particularly anxious to procure a copy. He says he wants to use it on his wife. “Ever since we were married,” Read. er Weldon says, “I have wanted to go to places like Oshkosh and Kamchatka and Baffin’s Bay. But she says no. She says she likes California.” We are obliged to Mr. Weldon for revealing this depressing condition, which must account for the fact that all California marriages are more or less unhappy. But he adds, rather bitterly, that there is another good point about our book: it will help to keep Eastern- ers out of California. And that, he says, will be a good thing. “The place is lousy with them,” he says. “Of course, Easterners are very fine people. But I always say they are like women, their place is home.” O.K. But before Reader Weldon gets nasty about Easterners, he ought to be informed that traffic conditions in New York, and Philadelphia, and Boston, are the worst in the world, solely because of the California drivers. Every jam, every wreck, every stall on every bridge, when unraveled by the constables, re- veals a horrid California license plate and a carful of sun-kissed California faces. Why can't Californians become ac- customed to the motor car? VERYONE knows the English are awful, but now we have proof. Recently a motorcyclist was had up for reckless driving, and half the inhabi- tants of Sutton Scotney appeared as eye- witnesses. It came out that the citizens of this dear little town spend their lei- sure time sitting on the wall at a place July, 1958 known as Death Corner. They watch the accidents happen. GROUP of longshoremen in San- Francisco are recovering from a demoralizing experience. Some have black eyes, or mice, some lack teeth, some are bruised about the torso, and one complains of a fractured jaw: all are bewildered. It happened this way. A small, friendly-looking man sat on a fence at the foot of Clay Street. He pulled a $20 gold piece out of his pocket and threw it into the street. A passing sailor snatched it. Then the man threw a handful of gold pieces down. Five longshoremen, stepping on the sailor's face, shared the money with a certain amount of friction. The man tossed away more gold, and more, and the longshoremen came on the dead run, The man distributed approximately $600 in gold. He watched the riot until it died, and then he hopped off his fence and walked away along the Em- barcadero, chuckling. He never said a word. COLLEGE girl we know once numbered among her possessions a pair of skiis and a dish. She now has only the skiis and this terse note from the dormitory maid: “Your skys had felling downd Dish wus boken,” Aves caddy on the golf links at Gulfport, Mississippi, was recently asked whether President Wilson, for whom he had once caddied, tipped him well. “No suh,” he replied, “he didn’t give me no tip atall; he jist sont me a little ol’ book wid his name writ in it.” “THOSE SALMON ARE COMING UP FURTHER EVERY YEAR!" comicbooks.com