A boy engages in a fight to the death battle with an eagle.
A beggar saves more than ten thousand dollars.
An office manager gives his stenographers time for primping.
Can you imagine that?
This is Lindsay McCarrie bringing you another session of this series in which we hope to
surprise you with some odd facts and news stories just to give you, well, something to
think about.
We'll be back with the first item in just a moment or two.
We
And here's the first Can You Imagine That Squib for this time.
I discovered this item in a Chicago newspaper of June 4, 1911, and it might well be taken
to heart by many modern business executives. On the day before, A.J. Callahan, then Chief
Clerk of the Office of the City Corporation Council, posted this bulletin.
The ten most competent girls in this office will be allowed to primp for 15 minutes each
morning. They will report at 8.45, primp for 15 minutes, and be ready to work at 9 a.m.
Immediately, a flurry of pleasurable excitement ran through the girls of the office, and after
due consideration, they posted the following schedule.
8.45, inspect braids. 8.46, straighten puffs. 8.48, fluff hair. 8.49, adjust belt. 8.50,
rub face with powder bag.
Which according to the girls was the most important item for it consumed five minutes.
8.55, look at the face, head, and hair in mirror. 8.57, examine waist and skirt, smoothing out
wrinkles. 8.58, carefully lay away hat. 8.59, hang up coat. 9, get busy.
Remarked a spokeswoman for the girls.
And you needn't laugh either. We are not allowed any more time than is necessary. Ask any married
man if his wife can finish primping in 15 minutes.
Explaining his motivation in this rather odd order, said Chief Clerk Callahan.
It's the right kind of pride. The girl who primps is to be commended and not sneer that.
If a girl a chance to primp, a real chance, then she'll do better work all day. The eternal
feminine is getting more feminine every day. Even if a good many of them are shouting for
votes and divided skirts.
But after all, that was in 1911. I wonder how many office girls need a special bulletin
allowing them to primp these days. Oh, how well progress never ceased.
Well, here's a news item from Filo, California in the year 1905, and it's calculated to teach
all little boys and girls not to throw rocks at birds. A farm boy named C. D. Estle was
plowing, and when he paused for a rest, he noticed a huge eagle in a tree. Unthinkingly,
he began throwing stones at the bird, hitting it two or three times. The eagle at last flew
away from the tree and circled high above Estle's head, the boy watching the maneuvers
with interest. Suddenly, the monster eagle swooped down toward Estle and hit him a terrific
blow with one of its wings. Then, Estle managed to remove a picket from a nearby fence, and
by the time the bird was ready for its next attack, Estle was prepared to protect himself.
Time after time, the eagle lunged at the boy, finally knocking him to the ground, but all
this time, Estle was getting in his innings with the picket, ultimately breaking one of
the bird's wings. This so enraged the eagle that it sunk its talons in the boy's arm and
the lad fainted.
When he awoke, the eagle was lying dead near the fence, and Estle prepared to spend several
unpleasant weeks under the care of a physician. The eagle measured ten feet from wingtip to
wingtip, and its talons were eight inches long. So, well, boys and girls, let that be
a lesson to you.
There have been many accounts of hidden fortunes stored away by eccentric mendicants and peculiar
beggars to you for what purpose no one has ever known. For instance, in Philadelphia
many years ago, Elizabeth Stork, a beggar, was found dead at the age of eighty-five years.
In a cupboard in her barren room was discovered five hundred dollars in cash, and authorities
later found that she owned the house in which she lived and the adjoining property, both
valued at six thousand dollars. And yet, Elizabeth Stork died of starvation and exposure. Can
you imagine that?
But here's a case that ended entirely differently, and all too tragically for one of its participants.
It was on the fourth day of August, 1926, that a party of sightseers were unfolding
themselves from one of those so-called rubberneck buses at Pell Street and the Bowery to explore
New York's Chinatown.
Isn't this exciting, Fred? Chinatown!
Sure is. Nothing like it back in Adel.
Fred, Fred, listen to me.
Huh? Yeah? Oh, yeah. What is it, Mabel?
That old man there, he's coming right over to you.
Oh, well, he's probably just a beggar. He'll go away.
Listen, mister, I ain't had nothing to eat for two days. How about helping an old man
to a cup of java? How's about it?
Hey, well, uh, well, here's...
Hey, hey, he's here.
He's fucking annoying.
Come on, beat it. Leave my customers alone.
You rich people ought to be ashamed of yourself coming down here this way and refusing to
help us poor folk.
I told you to beat it. Now go on, get out of here, will you?
Yeah, I got as much right here as you got.
I said to get out of here. Hey, hey, hey.
Hey, what's going on here?
Listen, copper, this mug's been annoying my customers. Not only begging from them, but
he's been insulting them, too.
Oh, is that so? Well, come on, you. I'm gonna take you in.
No, no.
Hey, what do you got in that bundle?
No, no, no. It's just a bunch of old newspapers. It ain't nothing.
Come on, come on. No hand to do it.
No, no, no. No, no. Give me back those... Give me those...
Money. Paper money. Lots of them.
Give it to me. Give it to me. Mine. It's mine. I did it.
Go on, now. Go on. Keep your mitts off of this.
Come on, Pop. You're going with me now. Come on.
Here's one more $500 bill, Captain.
And the lining of his coat.
That all you got?
Yeah, yeah, that's all.
What's your name?
Frank Jacobs.
Married?
No, I live alone.
Address?
Number 60, Scammo Street.
How long have you been collecting this money?
For over 40 years.
How old are you?
I'm 66, I think.
How much are they all together, Dyer?
$12,385, sir.
Uh-huh. All right.
Dyer, take him to Lieutenant Reed and have him booked on soliciting arms
and interfering with pedestrians.
Yes, sir. Come on, Jake. Come on.
Hello?
Oak Street Station. Lieutenant Reed speaking.
Yes, Ed.
Huh?
Is that so? Uh-huh.
Okay, I'll take care of it right away.
This is Lieutenant Reed.
Call Patrolman Dyer on the Bowery Beat and have him report to Inspector McAuliffe
at headquarters right away.
Okay. Now get me Inspector McAuliffe.
Hello, Inspector? Reed at Oak Street.
Say, I'm coming over to see you right away.
Yes, sir. It is important.
One of our men just brought in a beggar.
You're Patrolman Dyer?
Yes, sir.
Dyer, where did you go after you left Oak Street Station with your prisoner?
Well, he came to headquarters and gave the money to the property clerk.
You sure you came directly to headquarters, Dyer?
Well, uh, well, no, sir.
I did visit a friend of mine on Pennell Street.
Where on Pennell Street?
607.
Come on. Let's take a run over there. Come on, Lieutenant.
Yes, sir.
What's your friend's name, Dyer?
Holt, sir.
Mr. Holt?
Uh, yes. Yes, that's me.
Man, if we come in?
Oh, no, no, no, no, no, of course not. Come in.
Oh, hello, Dyer.
Uh, hello, Bill. Give me that fountain pen. I left here a while ago, will you?
Uh, yes, sure. Sure. Right here.
Here you are.
I'll take that.
That's all right, Bill. This is Inspector McAuliffe.
Oh.
Mm-hmm.
Look here, Lieutenant.
Well.
Two $500 bills stashed in this pen.
What about it, Dyer?
I took them.
I didn't think nobody would miss them.
I needed the money. I took them. Sure, I took them. I missed them.
And so that simple beginning wherein a professional beggar
accosted a busload of New York sightseers
resulted in revealing him as the wealthiest beggar in the history of the Oak Street Station
and in the arrest of a New York policeman
for appropriating $1,000 of Frank's long-saved fortune.
Can you imagine that?
For obvious reasons, several of the names and addresses have been changed
in the foregoing dramatization.
But the facts were exactly as you heard them.
Now, as our musical Can You Imagine That this time,
let's do a little more melody sleuthing.
First of all, I want you to listen to a portion of Beethoven's Minuet in G.
...
You all remember that, of course, don't you?
Well, now, let's change the melodic pattern just slightly at the end of the phrase.
...
And we get, of course, it's that beloved old favorite of wartimes,
the rose of no man's land.
...
..