Milwaukee celebrates

Oct. 11, 1957

Matt Weinstock

Oct. 10, 1957

A woman named Mary was waiting for a bus at Melrose and Vermont when an elderly gentleman sitting alongside bent down and picked up a small diamond ring.

He quickly thrust it into his pocket, then, as if his curiosity were too great, took it out, admired its sparkle and displayed it to Mary.

It looked like a valuable ring, and Mary was about to suggest that he advertise it in the Lost and Found, but he rambled on about never having found anything in his life and being alone in the world, his wife having died, he said, a year ago.

Suddenly, he insisted she try it on, and when it was on her finger he broke the spell by saying:

"You can have it for two bucks, lady."

Mary handed it back, glared at him, got up and walked away.

Just then another woman sat down and the next time Mary looked, the old guy was admiring the worthless piece of glass on her finger.

But, admits Mary, it certainly had a beautiful setting.

FALL-OUT--No, Virginia, we're not changing the words to "How High Their Moon" or "It's Only a Man-Made Moon."

Quick-on-the-draw note: A letter mysteriously delivered to my desk had inscribed on the envelope, "By Satellite"--with a professional-type sketch of the Russian moon hurtling through space emitting its beep-beep-beep...

A man watching the World Series over TV in a Vine Street bar marveled at the unusual shot from behind the pitcher's mound showing the batter, catcher and umpire--taken with a Zoomar lens from center.

"Gosh," he said, "I wonder where they take that from?"

"Didn't you know?" said bartender George Fedor. "From the new satellite!"

G.B. inquires plaintively, "May we also soon expect spherical drive-in stands with pseudo-antenna selling satellite burgers?"

MOZART'S "Haffner Serenade" will be performed at USC's Bovard Auditorium tomorrow night, opening the Music Guild season, and William Steinberg, who will conduct the chamber orchestra, believes he has the explanation for some of its puzzling un-Mozartlike passages.

Critics have long wondered why there are no flutes in the first movement, no oboes in the second and hardly any tympani at all.

Steinberg's research disclosed that Mozart wrote the piece for the wedding of the daughter of Sigmund Haffner, Salzburg burgomaster, in 1776. Well, the musicians at the clambake also served as waiters and they had to take off when the cook called out "Hot food!" As for the tympanist, he was the headwaiter.

OK, SO the Dodgers are coming. Now let's have a moment of agonizing reappraisal.

In luring them here, some of our best people made a sickening spectacle of themselves, indulging in reckless, hysterical, fishwife conduct and thereby holding up Los Angeles to nationwide ridicule.

More than the Brooklyn Dodgers, the third-largest city needs a little dignity or at least less hypocrisy and demagoguery. Perhaps it is too much to expect.

LOOSE ENDS--The new $1 bills are in circulation. They're the same as the old ones except they have the name of Robert R. Anderson as secretary of the Treasury instead of G.M. Humphrey and "In God We Trust" above the big "One" on the other side...

Jan Herd can't help wondering if the exhaust fumes from the additional trucks needed to pick up combustible rubbish will contribute as much to smog as was eliminated by the ban on incinerators...

A brochure for Friendly House, 538 S. Harvard Blvd., which rehabilitates women alcoholics, is titled, "One for the road--back"...

A Rand McNally ad in Time states, "any day now the earth will launch its first man-made satellite..." Oops, trapped by an advance deadline.

Court beat

Oct. 10, 1957
Los Angeles

Oh for the life of a court beat reporter in 1957: Confidential magazine, an appeal by convicted killer Caryl Chessman and the murder trial of L. Ewing Scott, not to mention the daily grind of the court calendar. There are so many wonderful cases, but alas, only one Larry Harnisch, and I worry that I won't be able to do justice to all the details. (The Confidential magazine case, if  you were wondering, resulted in a hung jury and promises of a retrial).

The Scott case is particularly significant because of its unusual challenge: The prosecution had to persuade a jury that the defendant was guilty even though police were never able to find the (alleged) victim's body. I was fortunate to be given access to the district attorney's files on the Scott case and they are massive, but far too extensive for the purposes of a blog.

So for today, let me introduce a few of the main characters as jury selection begins.

 

Ray Graham / Los Angeles Times
For the prosecution, Deputy Dist. Atty. J. Miller Leavy, shown in 1953 during the trial of Barbara Graham.

 

Howard W. Maxwell / Los Angeles Times

And the defendant, Leonard Ewing Scott, caught off-guard by Times photographer Howard W. Maxwell with a miniature camera, joking with reporters in his jail cell, April 26, 1956.

 

And Scott in his 1956 mug shot.

Email me

Snapshot

A typical example of retouching from The Times photo archives:

 

Steve Fontanini / Los Angeles Times, Dec. 28, 1973
From left, J. Miller Leavy of the Los Angeles County district attorney's office, with Dist. Atty. Joseph Busch and Joseph Carr, on Leavy's last day after 41 years as a prosecutor. Leavy was the prosecutor in the Caryl Chessman, Barbara Graham and L. Ewing Scott cases, among many others. 

Great moments in newspaper graphics

Oct. 10, 1957

A typical example of infographics in the Stone Age:

 

Braves take series

Oct. 10, 1957

Now here's a hed bust for you. Lou Burdette? Ouch! At least the story has it right. (Typo box score for The Times, 1881-1986: Lou Burdette 164; Lew Burdette 626).

Smog and Sputnik

Oct. 10, 1957

Paul V. Coates--Confidential File

Oct. 9, 1957

People can be pretty wiseacre sometimes.

Especially yesterday.

All I was trying to do was conduct a "pulse of the public" poll on a very timely subject: Major League Baseball's arrival in Los Angeles.

Inasmuch as the arrival of a major league team affects every man, woman and child in this city, it was obviously my duty to the public to get public reaction to the move so I could tell the public how the public feels about it.

(This is a very important service performed by any newspaper worth its ink. It is known in journalistic circles as the "reaction story," and takes a back seat to nothing--with the possible exception of complete race results, the daily weather forecast and the obituary column).

But somehow, yesterday, I found the public extremely uncooperative.

The first two people I called weren't even at home. That's how much they gave a damn.

And on my third try, I got an embittered old lady.

"Madam," I stated, "I'm conducting a poll for the Mirror-News. What is your personal reaction to the announcement by Walter O'Malley that the Brooklyn Dodgers are coming to Los Angeles."

I could hear her clearing her throat. I picked up my pencil.

"You're with the Mirror-News?" she questioned.

"That's correct, ma'am."

"So why don't you do something about the smog," she snapped. "Your friends over in City Hall tell me I can't burn a few little scraps of paper in my incinerator, and yet you let cars and trucks and buses run all over the place.

"That's what's causing it. Cars! Not incinerators!"

"Please madam," I interrupted. "I'm talking about the Dodgers..."

"Well, I'm not," she cracked back. "Get rid of the cars and you get rid of the accidents, too. It'll be safe for pedestrians to cross the street again.

"Like it was when I was a girl."

She snorted indignantly and hung up.

I dialed again. It was a man who answered this time.

"You happy about the Dodgers coming here?" I asked.

"I'm glad you called, Mr. Coates," he told me. "I was going to call you."

"Oh?"

"I wanted to ask you how come they got that satellite up there before we did?"

"Well, frankly, I don't..."

"Like you to conduct an investigation on this."

I promised him I would and said goodbye.

But I don't discourage easily. I dialed another number.

"This is Johnny," responded a young voice.

"Johnny, this is the Mirror-News," I said. "We're taking a poll on the Dodgers."

"Dodgers?" he pierced.

"That's right."

His laugh cut into my ear. "Baseball! When are you guys going to grow up? Why don't you tackle something serious like juvenile delinquency. Take a poll on that?"

"But Johnny..." I interrupted.

He cut me short again.

"It's a crying shame," he screamed, "the way this younger generation is running around nowadays.

"It wasn't like that when I was a kid," he finished. "Two years ago."

I may not be an Elmo Roper, but at least I'm persistent.

Because, undaunted, I continued my survey on the Dodgers. And here is what I learned:

Three percent of the people believe L. Ewing Scott should be acquitted.

Three percent said they'd never let Confidential magazine into their homes, but they'd read it in somebody else's house.

Seventeen percent were watching an old Western movie on TV.

And 87% voice objections to smog, delinquency, Russian moons, traffic tie-ups,  and/or public opinion polls.

After adding it all up, I found I had surveyed 110% of the people, which is impossible.

I'm sorry I started the whole thing.

Location sleuth

Another shot from "Act of Violence," showing downtown Los Angeles.

 

As crazy as two waltzing mice

 

Oct. 9, 1957
Ventura, Calif.

Renzee Louis Alameda, 36, was the quietest man on the block. The 6-foot-2, 190-pound ex-Marine, a USC graduate, was unmarried and had lived alone at 2412 Ridgeley Drive for the last 10 years. He spent his days as a substitute music teacher with the Los Angeles Unified School District and his nights at home playing the piano by the hour.

He was a member of the Screen Actors Guild, The Times said, and had appeared at the Pasadena Playhouse and in films as Richard Azano.

On the evening of Oct. 8, 1957, Alameda noticed that his landlady had placed trash cans at the curb. Realizing that this was a signal that the Communists were coming, he fled to Santa Barbara, The Times said.

At 7:40 p.m., California Highway Patrolman Robert E. Reed, 36, pulled over a car on the southbound 101 near Point Mugu because the driver refused to dim his lights.

As Reed began writing a ticket, Alameda made a U-turn and sped north on the highway at 90 mph with Reed in pursuit before crashing into barricades on a section of freeway that was under construction. Alameda jumped from the car and began running, but was caught when he twisted his ankle, The Times said.

Reed, Highway Patrolman Dale Fletcher and another officer transported Alameda to Ventura General Hospital for treatment of his injured ankle. A fight broke out when hospital staff tried to put Alameda in the psychiatric ward because he grabbed a bottle of disinfectant from a surgical tray and drank it.

As Reed, Fletcher and two orderlies struggled to restrain him, Alameda grabbed Reed's revolver and shot him in the chest, killing him almost instantly.

Alameda's only explanation: "I couldn't stand the idea of being locked up."

The Times noted that "Alameda admitted homosexual activities in Los Angeles, of being a peeping Tom and other abnormal activities," as if this explained his behavior. The next day, Alameda broke a light fixture in the Ventura City Jail and tried to slash his throat with a piece of glass.

On Oct. 23, 1957, a court ruled that Alameda was insane and committed him to Atascadero State Hospital. He died in San Luis Obispo County on July 28, 1960, at the age of 39. His behavior was never explained.

Reed was survived by a wife, Marilyn, and daughters Janet, 9, and Christy, 4. The Times said he was the first officer killed on duty in Ventura County. Robert Eugene Reed, who would have been 37 on Oct. 16, 1957, was buried at Ivy Lawn Cemetery.

Email me