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Matt Weinstock

January 15, 2008 |  7:54 pm

Matt_weinstockd Jan. 15, 1958

No one wants to disillusion the politicians, a high-minded group, but duty dictates that a conversation between two fortyish women in the Crenshaw shopping district be recorded.

When George Watkins first encountered them they were eating hot dogs and waiting their turn at a table set up by a deputy registrar of voters outside a drugstore.

Realizing the processing was slower than anticipated, the more determined of the pair said, "Let's register after we go into the drugstore." The other said OK.

THEY CAME OUT a few minutes later, eating ice cream cones, and the first said, "What are you, a Republican or a Democrat?"

"I don't know," was the reply, "what are you?"

"I don't know either," said the first. Then she said, "I got an idea." She plucked a coin from her purse and said, "If it's heads, you be a Republican and I'll be a Democrat. If it's tails, I'll be a Republican and you be a Democrat."

The other said that would be fine and the coin was flipped.

Cringing slightly, George moved out of hearing range. He couldn't take any more.

NO MATTER what you hear to the contrary, it's still a practical world. Louise Kay Thompson, who operates an antique shop on South Sepulveda Boulevard, reports that she has recently consummated the following sales: A wooden potato masher to tamp garbage down the disposer. A tin trunk for a dog bed. A big wooden salad bowl for a cat bed (so it won't sharpen its claws on the furniture). A tobacco cutter for chopping off fish heads on a fishing boat. A workman's lunch pail for a handbag. A large China cookie jar for a bathroom wastebasket.

THE KIDS are at it again. A young Rolling Hills mother says, "My 3-year-old girl keeps running around, saying, 'I'm a mashed potato.' " How do I convince her she isn't?" ... And Harry Cimring reports his 5-year-old returned from kindergarten singing, "Joshua hit the bottle of Geritol, Geritol, Geritol. Joshua hit the bottle of Geritol and the walls came tumbling down."

BILLY PEARSON, the jockey who won all that money answering questions about art on TV quiz shows, has opened his own gallery in La Jolla, where he now lives. However, a reporter trying to reach him by phone was told by the operator there was no listing for him. The reporter finally got the number from the Chamber of Commerce. And what is the name of the gallery? Bill Pearson's Fine Arts. Such is fame.


AVIATION WEEK has an item datelined San Diego about the driver of a huge truck hauling an Atlas ICBM from the Convair plant to Cape Canaveral, Fla., being stopped and cited by a California Highway patrolman. The charge--illegally using flashing red lights. So the driver kept them off until he came to the Arizona state line, then turned them on.

We not only can't (always) get our missiles off the ground, we can't get them out of traffic.

AT RANDOM--Ruth Anderson of San Bernardino doesn't like the new dress styles either. As she puts it, "Who's the bag in the sack?" ... Sudden irrelevant thought: Wonder if Public Relations Consultants, 9235 W. 3rd St., ever consult, seek counsel or communicate with Communications Counselors of Inc. 8720 Sunset Blvd. Or vice versa ... It must have occurred to Walter O'Malley that we've got a pretty smart team of dodgers here already ... Anonymous message left on my typewriter: "Only one thing was missing from Jayne Mansfield's quiet little wedding--Elvis singing 'O Promise Me.' "