The Lampasas Daily Leader (Lampasas, Tex.), Vol. 36, No. 128, Ed. 1 Thursday, August 3, 1939 Page: 2 of 4
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THE LAMPASAS LEADER
A
Mini
SYNOPSIS
CHAPTER IV—Continued
'Will you marry
i
on.
0
j
I
11
Please try to
i
Kirk Rey-
But this mar-
!
arm.
—4
••Of
L * ’
COLUMBUS, OHIO.—The opera
would not come.- Unconsciously, she
to
mm
IM
il
mH
ig Town Is
host at Last
ess?”
apparatus except a bowling alley.
Only Shacks Are Reminder
Of Old Boom Day* in
Wyoming City.
In the opinion of Earl Robinson
and Alex North, composers for the
Ninth avenue second-hand furniture
store.
Lights of New York
by L. L. STEVINSON
"Could—could we keep our wed-
ding a secret?" asked Kay.
"Certainly not. I want people to
know. In fact, that’s the big idea—
• octavus noy cohzn
wnu sanvica
MISS SONIA HENKEL
I BEAUTICIAN
CHILD OF EVIL
By OCTAVUS ROY COI
Barney was
"And make it
Oh.
can’t
P
j
I
)g man's face was grave.
Certainly. Shall I go up
.. National Park* to Offer
More Camping Facilities
SAN FRANCISCO, - Americans
At the rear of the White Star
Hotel lobby, just opposite the dining-
room and near the foot of the stairs,
was a door with a sign:
L
Asleep 25 Years
JOHANNESBURG, SOUTH AF-
RICA.—Anna Swanepoel, a South
African woman who has been al-
most continually asleep for mor*
than 25 years, has been moved from
her bed in the chronic sick home,
Rietfontein, to the Johannesburg
general hospital. She had occupied
the bed for 19 years.
It ,
------—
Dangerous.
Kirk’s in coldness.
"When?"
“This afternoon."
"Who to?”
"Kay Forrest.”
Babe said, “You’re a fine louse.”
“You think so?”
"I know it."
I “Smart girl, ain’t you?”
She stared at him. “So what doe*
this make me?” she inquired.
“Anything you want”
"I’m expected to take it sitting
down?”
"I don’t particularly car*.’*
r
Old School Photograph
........Reflect* Judge** Regrot
MONTEREY. CALIF.—After
imposing a fine of $25 on Ralph
Small, of Stockton, for reckless
driving. Police Judge Monte Hol-
lern drew a mangled grammar
school picture from his wallet,
and beckoned the prisoner to his
side. Pointing to a. small boy in
the first row, he said:
“Isn’t that you?"
"Yes—that’s me, all right,” the
prisoner replied.
Then, pointing to a tall lad in
she back row. Judge Hellam said:
“And that's me. Sorry I had to
do it, but it’s the law." i
1
department store. Thereafter, her
career was interesting, if not totally
immaculate. She acquired gentle-
kman friends, the nickname of Babe,
Jkn intriguing dance technique and
an intimacy with life which com-
pleted her education in an exceed-
ingly practical way.
Thereafter she had been many
things to many persons. Cash girl,
Seventh Avenue dress model, cus- (
tomers’ party girl, manicurist, stu- '
dent at a beauty school—and finally
a full-fledged and rather expert
beautician. And in the course of
her travels she acquired an interest-
ing sophistication, a certain exotic ,
beauty, a husky voice and the pro- )
tective friendship of Kirk Reynolds.
Kirk and Babe were excellent
friends.
As a matter of fact. Babe Henkel
was very deeply in love with Mr.
Reynolds. She admired his virtues
and his vices; she adored him for
what he was—no matter what. She
had come to Beverly to relieve his
boredom; she did not permit soggy
sentiment to intrude upon their
friendship.
This afternoon she had been busy,
but the last customer had departed
when the telephone rang. It was
Kirk: his words close-clipped as usw
al, his tone authoritative.
“Busy?"
♦Hik”________________________
“Come up."
Babe inspected herself in the mir-
ror. She saw a woman slightly
above medium height; well and
firmly rounded. Her face was oval
and framed by sleek black hair
brushed tightly against her head.
Her eyebrows were commas, her
mouth wide but well shaped: an
interesting mouth with a frame of
scarlet Up*. She closed and locked >
th* door, walked up to th* second
floor—not unconscious of admiring
masculine glances—and knocked on
th* door of Kirk’s room.
He passively accepted the kiss she
bestowed upon him. He said. “Sil
down. Babe."
She settled her figure into a chair
opposite.
"What’s on your mind, Kirk?”
"Plenty. Can you take it?”
Two tiny, vertical lines appeared
briefly on her forehead. She said,
"Let's have it."
He said, “I’m married."
Dark lashes, lashes which wer*
heavy with mascara, rose swiftly
from black eye*.
“You’re kidding . . .”
"No.”
That was all. Curt. Abrupt. Cru-
el, even.
—Mtss Henkei'* eye» w*re *teady.
Dangerous. Her voice matched
She asked.
The Columbia university library
Anally yielded “Yes, We Have No
Bananas,” but could do nothing
about “Turkey Trot" or “Missouri
Waits.” From the New York Pub-
lic Ubrary came the sheet Ynusic of
;'-k 4*1,>
looked after him, worry and pride
in her eyes.
Something had happened. She
knew that a boy had gone to Beverly
that morning, and that a man had
returned.
Not so long ago, Arthur French
played before 50,000 persons. Now
he often watches 50,000 persons at
play. Back in 1928 he was captain
of the Harvard foothaU team and
just about single-handed defeated
Yale in the traditional game. Two
days after his graduation, he had
a job. Punching tickets at Manhat-
tan beach. Since then, he has done
just about every chore, except chef
in the kitchen about the resort.
Now he is general manager and
holds the rank of vice president of
the Joseph P. Day Enterprises. He
mi
“What’s wrong, Son?”
You can let me talk . . . and^K
can help me to forget the whole
thing."
"But if you're married to him—”
"I’m not, though. We simply went
through a ceremony."
read like the bills of the old Palace,
Mr. French has constructed a mod-
ern amphitheater with i
capacity of 10,000. The stage re-
He saw that she had been crying.
It was then that he forgot that he
had been ill treated. Kay Forrest
crying I It was impossible. It dis
turbed him profoundly.
He reached over and squeezed her
hand. “Have a good time, Duch-
Life and Death of an American,” it
is easier to compose a new song
than to find an old one, especially if
the latter happened to be a na-
tional hit. Among the recordings
called for by the script are "Yes,
We Have No Bananas," “Missouri
Waltz," and “Turkey Trot.” In th*
first music shop visited, Robinson
and North encountered a girl of
about 18. She had never heard of
“Yes, We Have No Bananas," but
thought it was a swell title. Th*
composers went out feeling like Rip |
Van Winkles.
Doobte Play *
BELLINGHAM, WASH.—Outfield-
er Ed Stewart, of Vancouver, swung
so hard at a fast one that h*
knocked himself out Tuesday night.
He missed th* ball, hit himself in
Getting back to General Manager
French, the Harvard star of other
days. He has still another connec-
tion with athletics. Under his su-
pervision are 82 handball courts, 22
tennis courts, 15 basketball courts, j
several championship swimming :
pools and numerous other aettvi- I
ties, including bridge classes.
She nodded, but the little lump in
her throat made speech impossible.
Barney plunged ahead, hoping tn
attouse her. He gestured boyishly
toward the radiance which was
bathing the country-side.
“Our best and most guaranteed
sunset. Positively genuine, or your
money refunded. Service free to
tourists and patrons of Cathedral
Gardens. Particularly interesting
on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fri-
days. Ladies* Day Tuesday . . .
gee! Kay, isn’t there some way I
can h*lp?" .
It was sudden. Abrupt. Devastat-
ingly kindly—this change from ban-
ter to sympathy. Kay’s defenses
crumbled. Her voice broke and she
said, “Oh, Barney . . .”
He drove with one hand, holding
her arm with th* other,
“Is it as bad as that, Chica?”
She tried to talk, but the words
grandmother of a meml— ____
cast donated the “Missouri Waltz”
record. Then it was learned that
there was no "Over There" record.
If you were a guest of the hotel,
this sign would not surprise you,
inasmuch as you would long since
have found a card on your dresser
divulging the same information,
with this added: that Miss Henkel
was expert and experienced, that
she cheerfully and efficiently dis-
pensed shampoos, finger-waves,
marcels and facials; that her price*
wer* reasonable and her work swift.
But residents of Beverly had not
yet recovered from the shock of
Miss Henkel, nor quite allayed their
resentment.
This resentment had been, at first,
a purely commercial thing emanat-
ing from the second-floor beauty-
salon owned and operated by a
maiden lady named Trelane. Ethel
Trelane. Miss Trelan* had a per-
manent-waving machine and other
impressive accessories and ever
since the commencement of the era
in which ladies ceased to keep secret
their quest for additional pulchri-
tude, Miss Trelane and her shop
had been regarded as the ultimate
of Beverly urbanity.
But with the opening of Cathedral
Gardens and the sudden and bewil-
dering influx of tourists, Miss Sonia
Henkel had come. Mr. Robbie
Morse, proprietor of the hotel, was
reputed to have made the entirely
uncivic remark that Ethel’s handi-
work might be good enough for these
here local dames who never was
accustomed to nothin’ better, but
female tourists had got to have
class.
Shortly after being ushered Into
the world some twenty-five years
since in Brooklyn, New York, Miss
Henkel’s very poor and rather hon-
est parents had christened her Sa-
die. That name had irked the juve-
nile Miss Henkel until the first year
of high school—whereupon she had
abandoned high school and all that
went with it, including the name
Sadie.
Sadie Henkel left home without
particular regrets on either side.
The following day Miss Sonia Hen-
kel applied for—and obtained—a po-
SOUTH PASS CITY, WYO.-Wyo-
ming’s newest ghost town, South
Paas City, has only a few weather-
beaten frame shacks to remind visi-
tors of the days when it boasted of
a population of 0,000 gold-hunters, pi-
oneers and gamblers.
Abandoned more than 30 years
after the rest of the state’s famous
early-time mining camps were de-
serted by their nomadic settlers,
South Pas* City is surrounded by
several booming modem mining
camp*. It lies near the crest of the
Continental Divide on the old‘Ore-
gon Trail, 60 miles northeast of Rock
Springs. ‘‘
In 1860 when the gold rush began,
Easterners and Mid - Westerners
flocked to th* almost-virgin wilder-
ness of Wyoming. Ore was found in
large quantities, and the rapid in-
flux of gold-seekers continued.
Wied AU That Remains.
Gamblers, bartenders and dance
hall girls followed so that by 1865
South Pass City was one of a score
of rip-roaring mining towns, echo-
ing to the clink of picks and shovels
on rock, the blaring music of hon-
keytonk dance halls, the bark of six-
shooters and the whine of the wind.
The wind is ail that remains to dis-
turb the quiet of the hastily-con-
structed boom town.
In 1878, with the decline of metal
markets, the rest of the roaring
frontier communities became ghost
towns. The miners, gamblers and
entertainers moved on to more lu-
crative fields.
South Pas* City, however, sur-
vived, although most of its residents
departed. When modern methods
were introduced in the 1920s, several
large mining Arms established them-
selves near the once-famous town to
extract an estimated $500,000 in gold
are from the surrounding hillsides.
Hung On for Time.
The little town retained its post
office and place on the map while
other communities of its kind were
le membered only in name.
Other ghost towns of the state,
some marked by a few staggering
fraW* shacks, still others torn down
by Die elements and settlers, in-
cT *
oming near Newcastle; Battle, south
of South Pass City in the Medicine
Bow National forest; Rambler, two
miles south of Battle; Eadsville,
atop scenic Casper mountain, and
Lavoy*, in th* Salt Creek Aeld in
Natrona county. '
pened to you.
with your nerves,
out of it if I can.
“Yes . . .’’
"You’d like me to forget that this
cuts pretty deep. You’d like me to
be the clown again ... to kid
along as I’ve always done ... to
make rather an ass of myself.
Right?".
"You make it sound silly."
"I don’t.mean to. I’m trying to
make you see that I understand how
you feel. And-it would help if I
could get you laughing again,
wouldn't it?"
She asked, "Could you?”
"I don't know. But I can try.”
“Then try . . . please." She
caught one of his hands. "But oh!
Barney, if you're being very, very
funny some time and I suddenly
start crying . . . you won’t mis-
understand?”
“No,” he said, "I won’t. Not even
if 1 start crying, too."
He started the car and moved on
through the night They did not
talk, but again she moved so dos*
that her body touched his. There
was something so reassuring in this
brief contact, something so fine in
the stern expression of his boyish
face.
At home they crossed the veranda
and entered the big living-room.
Mrs. Hamilton greeted them from
the chair under the reading-lamp.
“Nice day?" she inquired.
Kay said, “Yes, ma’am.”
"Upstairs, You.
smiling gallantly,
•nappy."
Barney waited at the foot of the
stairway until the girl’s slender an-
kles had disappeared. Then lie
walked, toward hi* mother’s chair.
She rose to meet him, instinctively
knowing that all was not as it should
be.
He put his hands on his jnother’s
shoulders and looked down into her
eyes.
"Tough sledding." he said.
."What’s wrong, Son’"
“Kay’* in a jam. I’ll tell you
about it before she comes down."
His voice broke slightly. “I know
you’re going to help—you and Mar-
garet. Be a* gentle as you can.”
He turned abruptly and walked
from the room. Ruth Hamilton
, ..................................
A „
at the Court of Flame at the World’s
fair, it is the “Rumpus R<»vn.
seems that the “Rumpus Room" is
a place where you can have a lot
of fun and make a lot of noise.
The one at the fair has just about
everything in the way of athletic
bppum.ua ■ uvwiui| alley.
And there's an easy chair and book
table, too. Curiously enough, it’s i
heated with a gas furnace. And
there was a time when I was pun-
ished by being sent down to the cel-
lar. That wasn’t all there was to
it, however. When I got down there
I had to sort potatoes.
(*«U Syndicate— WNU Sarvtoa.l
1
Matrimonial Agency I*
Operated From Prison
lion of a matrimonial agency known
a* the "Idealist club," from Ohio
penitentiary, was disclosed today
with suspension of S. M. Current, a
Bertillon officer.
Current, whose job it was to take
photograph, fingerprints and meas-
urements of prisoners, had been en-
gaging in the matrimonial enter-
prise on his employers* time. Acting
Warden William F. Amrin* said. He
-W**-*UM*«d*d 30 days.
One o f Current’s matrimonial cir-
cular* read:
“Our sgje aim is to help you find
your ideal and we do not cease in
our effort* until the desired goal is
reached. Send in the enclosed
membership application today and
let u* start working for your happi-
ness at once.” I
~---1_
Beautiful, youns Kay Forrest has been employed by Christina Maynard,
photographer, io pose tor a series of pictures, the background of which will be
exquisite Cathedral Cardens, famous Southern resort. Unknown to them, one
Jeff Butler, mean, unscrupulous "swamp angel." has led a friend to spy on the
two women. Kay, of necessity, is scantily clad while posing for the camera
studies Kay frequently stays with Mrs. Ruth Hamilton, her son Barney, of whom
Kay la very fond, and her daughter Margaret. Mrs. Hamilton, a remarkable
woman, conceived the idea of the Gardena following the death of her husband.
One night, after a local dance. Kirk Reynolds, a ne’er-do-well gambler of Beverly,
a resort town, snd Kay go for a rids. Kirk's car collides with that of Harvey
Jackson, and during the ensuing argument Kirk whips out a gun and kills the
young, popular engineer. Kay is completely stunned by the tragedy. Kirk threat-
ens to drsg her Into the thing if she tells even her father. Terror-stricken, she V
agrees to remain silent. However, the next time she goes out with Barney, he
realises something is wrong. She tells him nothing. Mrs. Emma Forrest, Kay’s
mother. Is firm, positive and demanding Her father is exactly the opposite, kindly,
and unassuming. While at home Kirk Reynolds calls tor her, and she to forced to go
with him despite her family's protects. He tolls her the circumstances make It nec-
essary tor her to marry him so she cannot be forced to testify against him if he Is
accused of Jackson's murder. They drive to a neighboring town and are married.
"That sort of marriage can be
annulled. ”
“Dad said that,
riage can't be."
“Why?"
“Because the same thing that
frightened me into marrying Kirk
would prevent that."
“Wil| you ever tell me the whole
truth?”
“I—I don’t know."
“In other words,” he said serious-
ly, “you’re giving me a job to do.
Something pretty rotten has hap-
It has played hell
I’m to snap you
ar* rapidly becoming camping con-
scious, according to Julian H. Salo-
mon, national park service camping
specialist of Washington.
On a tour of th* California camp-
ing sites, Salomon explained this
phase of the national park service’s
work a* follows:
“It was assumed," he said, “that
there were numerous agencies in the
country interested in camp opera-
tions if they could be assisted in
obtaining ‘suitable sites and facili-
ties.
' “It was also thought that smaller
agencies operating camps would be
able to pool their efforts if offered
improved facilities to encourage
better service.
“As a result, through consultation
with local agencies, camp develop
ment was studied thoroughly from
the viewpoint of the committee's
need*. Out of these consultations
came organized camping for family
boys, girls, educational and other
group* utilizing facilities carefully
planned to provide the greatest use
at a minimum cost."
Salomon said that in 1936 there
were only nine camps in operation
in the United States with a total of
37,310 camper day*.
For 1938 these figures were in-
creased to 49 camp* with a total of
376,173 camper day*.
The service expect* to have at
least 00 camp* in operation with a
probable total of 60,000 camper day*
for 1939.
"What do you mean, brave?"
A faint, pitiful little amile flick-
ered across her lip*. “I gave him
the job of telling Mother. And Andy.
That isn’t going to be very pleas-
ant.”
Barney spoke slowly.
“You don’t love Kirk Reynolds,
yet you married him today. You
married him because you are afraid
of something. You are running
away from Beverly because you
don't want to face gossip . . .
which mean* that you know the
marriage won’t be kept secret. You
couldn’t tell your father the truth
and you can't tell me. Have I got
it right?"
“Yes.”
"I think I’ll have a chat with Kirk
Reynolds.”
“No!" She was terrifled. "Prom-
ise me you won’t do that."
“Why not?”
"It would only make matters
worse.”
“What can I do, then?”
"Just what Dad is doing. You can
be my friend. You can, perhaps,
try to make me think that you be-
lieve whatever I have done I* right.
A long search disclosed one at the bly. The day was ending in • blaze
bottom of a pile of old records in a of crimson. He began to fancy him-
self a very injured young man. He
donned a mantle of dignity .
| and discarded it the instant Kay ap-
«k. peared on the sidewalk and climbed
JP.r th! b.s.m.nt ^to th® Car beside him.
cellar. Then it was the basement. I - -
Now, according to what I was told
Two big cars whirled by them,
creating dust-clouds on the gravel
road. Dusk was settling over the
country-side like a benediction. The
air was fragrant with the fine, clean
odor of pine.
Barney wanted to help. He knew
he must do something . . . anything
to shock her out of this emotional
depression.
He said gently,
me, Kay?"
The effect was startling. Her eyes
widened and sne turned in her seat.
She cried, “Oh! Barney—please
don’t.”
The car had stopped, and night
enfolded them.
“Why?" he asked.
"You mustn't . . .”
He held one of her hands between
both of his. “But you’re wrong,
honey, I must. In fact . . ." and
he tried to laugh, “In fact, I should
have asked you long ago.”
She said, then, "I wish you had."
He saw only the top of her head,
heard only the ghost of her voice.
“I’m married, Barney.”
He was shocked “You’re what?"
“I’m married.”
“But Kay . . .” For the first time
he. was beginning to understand that
life was not always kindly. “I just
’don’t get it.”
She shook her head helplessly.
“Neither do I."
She clung to h|m.
understand, Barney.
He said, "I’ll try, honey. But it
me." His face was serious; older
than she had ever seen it. Maturity
seemed to have collided with him.
“How long have you been mar-
ried?"
“A few hours.”
“To whom?”
She looked away.
nolds."
“Good Lord! You mean—when I
passed you this morning you were
on your way to be married?”
“Yes . . .”
“Why didn’t you tell me?"
“1—1 didn’t know. Then.”
His hand tightened on her
“This is all screwy, honey. What
do you mean, you didn’t know?”
“I didn’t. It happened sudden-
ly . . .’’
“But why? Surely, you’re not in
love with him.”
“You know I’m not." She tried to
be brave. “Listen, Barney ... try
to believe me ...”
“I’ll try.”
"I had to marry him—”
“Had to!”
“No! Don't misunderstand,
please . . . It's something I
explain. That's why I told you first
that I love you. It sort of gave me
courage to tell you the rest. I mar-
ried Kirk because I had to . . . be-
cause there were reasons which I
can’t explain to you. Ever.”
He said, “Things tike this can’t
happen, honey.”
"They have happened. And I need
your help more than you can under-
stand. I need to know that you care
for me, that you’r* going to keep on
caring for me. And that you won’t
torture me with questions I can’t
answer."
“Why can’t you answer them?”
“Because I’m afraid."
His jaw was set grimly,
what?"
“That’s what I can’t explain.
Don't you see that I’m telling the
truth . . . that I didn’t do thia
thing because I wanted to?" She
was suddenly more womanly. "If
there was any other reason, Barney,
I wouldn’t be leaving Beverly to-
night, would I?"
“I suppose not , . ." His face
flushed. “You’r* not going to live
with him?”
“Of course riot."
He laughed shortly. This wasn't
the Barney she had known for a
year and a half . . . and she knew
that ah* had changed, too. Two
youngster* faced with ugly fact,
grappling with a problem which was
too big for them. He said, “There
was a reason—of course.”
only tell you—that I couldn’t do
anything else."
"Can’t you trust nje?”
“Yes ... But 1 stiU can’t tell
you."
She felt his muscle* grow taut.
"I’m not a child, Kay.” 1
“That isn’t it. It’s something . . .
Oh, Barney! I can’t explain. I
couldn’t even tell my father. He
asked everything you are ask-
ing . .”
“What did he say?”
“He was hurt ... but h* under-
stood. He was shocked. But he
was kindly—and brave.” ; 2
moved closer to him, so that her
body touched his Then-she spoke,
without taking t*ar-dimmed eyes
from the road. She said, simply.
"I love you, Barney."
His face lighted. He clamped on
the brake* and stopped the car. But
when his arm* reached for her, she
moved away. The eyes which she
turned upon him were Ailed with
tragedy, and she said, "No. Not
that. I—I just wanted you to know.”’
Puzzled, perturbed, he drove on—
though very, very slowly. His voice
was almost a whisper/.
"I love you, too K$y. But you’ve
known that for a long time, haven't
you?" And she answered, “Yes."
1
_
married Mr. Day’s daughter and j
lives a happy home life over in Short
Hills, N. J. He still keeps up with
athletics to a certain extent. Man-
hattan beach is two miles long. At -
least 10 times a day, he travels the
entire length. Then, too, in his
spare time, he invented a football
and basketball, one-third regulation
size, to train youngsters for those
games when they grow up.
• • •
Instead of being stranded, vaude- (
ville is now sanded. At least it is ------ —■---- ------ z— —
out at Manhattan beach. To house 80 they’ll understand that there’s no
.a • . . a • • 1 iiAa ma.
Her thoughts were chaotic. Frag-
The car slowed perceptibly. He
, “You’re not really damn fool
enough to wish that.”
His words were not harfh. He
merely made a statement. He went
on. “You do whatever you want.
-v..« .. .. do the same. If anybody ques-
John*Vph*nip’ Sousa * III" *. thing‘
Kirk was speaking. “I’m drop-
ping you at your house. There's no
need repeating anything. Just re-
member this: keep your guard up
all the time.”
“But when they ask why?”
“Tell ’em anything. They’ll know
you're lying—but they won’t know
the truth. And that’s all that mat-
ters with me.”
There was a car parked in front
of her house. A small car. Barney
was waiting.
CHAPTER V
Barney drove slowly through the
traffic which congested Monument
Square. They passed the White
Star Hotel, gay in its new yellow
I paint with white trimmings, and
|>dera)T theaterproduction, “pe g^,rg^?.y,
: to Avenue. Kay said, “Drop me at
j Dad’s office, will you, Barney?"
The youni
He said. “(
with you?”
“No." She left the car and mount-
ed the narrow dusty stairway lead-
ing to the second floor of the Fraser
Block, that rambling four-story, red-
brick structure which served, after
a fashion, as Beverly's one and only
office building
- Barney gazed upon this section of
Beverly with some distaste. As a
matter of fact, he was far from
happy. He had passed Kay and'
Kirk Reynolds on the road that
morning. He had been waiting at
Kay’s home when she had returnpd
with the same man. And Barney
didn't like Kirk Reynolds. Not that
________ ________________________ he was at all shocked by the fact
“Turkey Trot" and when the play : that Kirk was a black sheep, a
opened, a pit orchestra had to be I gambler and a gentleman of flexible
substituted for a grama phone. The morals ... but he knew that Kirk
i,ember of the 1 was different and picturesque, and
I that Kay was young and impres-
sionable.
He waited, it seemed, iptermina-
ville is now sanded. At least it is
the week-end performances, which I uSe trying to convict ms?’
...w- ' ments of ideas. She said, "I wish I
a" seating hadn’t married you.
v. av.vw. ...« stage re- : car slowed o
sembles the Hollywood Bowl but is sai<L
of original design. It has private j
offices and dressing rooms for the '
stars and a private sun porch where
the artists can enjoy a day at th*
beach out of reach of autograph [
hounds. w.... ....... , i _ . -
grandson of the great bandsman, got nothing to say.
who opened the old Manhattan
beach bandstand, is the band leader
and he swings the marches of his
famous grandsire. Recently he an-
nounced his engagement to Miss
Jean MacDonald of Hazleton, Pa.
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The Lampasas Daily Leader (Lampasas, Tex.), Vol. 36, No. 128, Ed. 1 Thursday, August 3, 1939, newspaper, August 3, 1939; Lampasas, Texas. (https://texashistory.unt.edu/ark:/67531/metapth1253401/m1/2/: accessed July 17, 2024), University of North Texas Libraries, The Portal to Texas History, https://texashistory.unt.edu.; crediting Lampasas Public Library.