A girl changes her mind as she changes her stocking.
Denmark celebrates the Fourth of July.
A 2,000-year-old aqueduct still carries water.
Can you imagine that?
Greetings to you all.
This is Lindsay McCarrie speaking to you, and we're just about ready to present you
with another session of Can You Imagine That?
A compilation of strange facts and odd news items.
And now, here's the first strange quirk of the news of yesteryear.
I picked it up from a newspaper of more than 25 years ago, and this is the way it goes.
I firmly believe, of course, that every real gentleman worthy of the name will grant any
woman her inalienable right to change her mind.
But here's a case I discovered in a 1911 newspaper which, well, let's see what happened.
It was in the traditional month of weddings, June, that Clyde Rowan of Astoria, Oregon,
traveled to Seattle, Washington to claim his bride, Lenora Murphy, as they were on their
way toward the minister's home for the celebration of the ceremony.
Oh, Clyde.
What's the matter, honey?
Don't look, but I've got a hole in my stocking.
What?
Oh, well, sweetheart, that doesn't matter.
Clyde, I really should go back and change them.
Oh, come on now, Lenora.
A little hole like that won't make any difference.
Here we are right in front of the minister's house.
Come on, dear.
Well, all right, then.
Oh, baby doll.
Come on, honey.
Give me your arm.
No, Clyde, I've got to change my stocking.
When I kneel down in front of the minister, I just know that runner will show.
Please, I...
Oh, well, well, well.
So, Mr. Rowan, this is the happy bride, eh?
Yes, sir.
This is Miss Murphy.
Please wait.
I'll be right back.
Just a few minutes.
It won't take me long.
Well, what seems to be the trouble?
Well, you see, she...
Well, she's gone back to change her stockings.
She found a hole in one of them.
Oh, is that all?
Well, come on inside, then, and we'll wait.
She'll be back in a little while.
Inside the minister's home, the two men watched the minutes drag by until...
Pardon me.
Yes.
Hello?
Yes?
Oh, yes, yes, he's right here.
It's for you, Mr. Rowan.
Miss Murphy.
No, thanks.
Hello?
Yes, honey.
Yes, we're...
What's that?
Oh, but...
Yes, I know, but...
Oh, now...
Oh, but...
All right, honey.
I mean, Nora.
Goodbye.
What seems to be the trouble now?
When will Miss Murphy be here?
She won't.
What?
But your wedding.
There isn't going to be any wedding.
No wedding?
But why...
What did she say?
She said...
She said that while she was changing her stockings, she changed her mind.
And so, Lenora Murphy changed her mind with her stockings and called off the wedding.
Can you imagine that?
Say, did you know that American Independence Day is celebrated officially in far-off Denmark?
Yes, sir.
Every year on the fourth day of July, thousands of Americans and Danes gather within the boundaries
of Rebel National Park in Jutland, just 15 miles south of Alborg, the Danish seacoast
town from which the Vikings set forth centuries ago to explore the North American continent.
Back in 1909, it was the idea of Ivar Kierkegaard, the editor of a Danish magazine published
in Racine, Wisconsin, to found an association which would promote an annual reunion of Danish
Americans in the motherland.
On the fourth day of July of that year, more than a thousand Danish-born American citizens
and many more citizens of Denmark congregated at the capital of Jutland, Aarhus, to celebrate
the signing of the American Declaration of Independence.
Later, Dr. Max Hainius of Chicago instigated the purchase of 400 acres in the rebel hills,
and in 1911, this tract was presented to King Christian X as a gift from Danes now living
in the United States.
A few years after that, a log house called the Lincoln Cabin was constructed entirely
from materials imported from America.
And on that spot every year, the stars and stripes are unfurled to be saluted on American
Independence Day by Danes and Americans alike.
Can you imagine that?
Ladies and gentlemen, are you fond of animal stories?
Very well, here's one for you.
It was in the middle of an almost intolerably dull Sunday evening at the North Side Police
Station of Milwaukee, Wisconsin, February 2, 1930 to be exact, that the telephone rang.
North Side Station, Lieutenant Neustetter.
Hey, there's a wolf loose.
I'd say there's a timber wolf loose on the street.
He's on everybody indoors.
He's on Chamber Street right now.
Oh, quit kidding me, will you?
I'm not kidding you.
There's a timber wolf loose.
All right, all right.
I'll send somebody out.
Cole.
Yes?
Boss.
Yeah?
Somebody called and said there's a wolf loose on Chamber Street.
Follow it up.
Right on.
Not at all certain they were chasing a wild wolf and not a wild goose.
Officer Earl Cole and his partner Officer Otto Voss proceeded to Chamber Street.
But the telephone message was substantiated when at the 14th and Chamber Streets they saw
pedestrians scurrying into buildings and just ahead of a foaming mouth speeding timber wolf
of considerable size.
Cole commandeered a gravel truck, leaped in and took up the chase.
Closely on the truck, Voss followed in his police car with sirens shrieking out through
the disturbed Sabbath evening.
And he was closely followed by two rumbling clanging streetcars.
For four blocks the strange hunting party roared down Chamber Street and then with one
well aimed shot Officer Cole brought the animal down.
A few moments later Officer Voss whipped out his pistol and administered the coup de grâce.
Upon examination of the timber wolf's feet, police decided that the animal had traveled
all the way from the snow-burdened woods of northern Wisconsin in search of food.
Can you imagine that?
But despite the undoubted peaceful intent with which the wolf began his journey of forage,
he did give the citizens of Milwaukee an exciting half hour of high adventure.
In Segovia, Spain, the people there get their water supply from the Frio River about ten
miles away and it comes into their town over an aqueduct that's more than 1800 years old.
The aqueduct is called El Puente del Diablo, the Devil's Bridge.
The natives give it that name because it's such a surprising piece of construction.
The main span over the valley is 847 yards long, 8 feet wide and the tallest arch is
95 feet high.
It's made of granite and there isn't any lime or cement in the whole structure.
Can you imagine that?
Almost 2000 years old, made without lime or mortar and the Devil's Bridge is still carrying
water to Segovia just as it did when the town was a Roman pleasure resort in the days of
Emperor Trajan.
Yep, that's the signal for our thrilling crime drama.
But if you have small children listening right at the moment, don't turn the dial please
because I'll assure you our conception of crime on Can You Imagine That won't curdle
your blood.
Here's the first act.
The Place, Chicago, Illinois.
The Time, late evening, September 30, 1924.
John Strug is bidding his fiancee, Miss Rose Hirsch, a tender farewell.
Well, see you on the morrow darling.
Alright, Jenny, good night.
Just a moment please.
John, he has a gun.
What do you want?
Your money please, all of it.
Don't be frightened, miss.
Your money, sir.
Yes.
Here it is.
Thank you.
Now let me have your address.
I'm going to return this money to you tomorrow.
You can't imagine the terrific situation I'm in.
I've got to have this just tonight.
Well, yeah.
Here's my card.
Thank you.
Have you car fare to get home?
No, no I haven't.
I gave you all the money I've got with me.
Oh, I'm sorry.
Here.
Here's 50 cents.
Thank you.
Again.
Well, that was the way that foot pad went about his nefarious business.
Now let's watch another scene more than five years later in Los Angeles, California, Sunday,
February 2nd, 1930.
Mr. F.A. Zangmaster turns a corner, suddenly finds himself staring into the muscles of
two nasty looking gats.
Stick him up.
Thoroughly surprised and a bit alarmed, Zangmaster throws his hands up involuntarily.
One of his hands strikes the thug's gun, knocks it to the pavement.
Hey, hey, look out.
He's going to fight.
Beat it.
And Mr. Zangmaster once more finds himself alone on a quiet Los Angeles street.
Can you imagine that?
And the motto?
Oh, well, all right.
We'll say it.
Crime doesn't pay.
Now for another of our musical oddities, one of those little similarity sessions which
we give you on Can You Imagine That from time to time.
First of all, I want you to listen to the first few bars of a portion of Edvard Grieg's
Per Gint Suite, number one, the Hall of the Mountain King.
Now listen to the same strain in Waltz Temple.
Did you detect any similarity in that part of the Grieg melody played in three, four
times to one of the most popular modern tunes of a few years ago?
No?
Well, all right then.
Listen to this.
Every night you'll hear the coon a-rushing from the bar.
Just a little flame diffuse when baby start stamps to cry, rockabye my baby, some where
There may be a land that's free for you and me,
And a learning land.
Now, goodbye, my baby, from where there may be a land of the free,
Oh, you and me, under Russian lullabies.
Which simply adds proof to our claim that history does repeat itself even on Tin Pan Alley.
Well, friends, we're bidding you farewell at the end of another session of Can You Imagine That?
We'll return soon, though, on this same station, and we'll be expecting you then.
This is Vincy McCarry saying goodbye now.