Matt Weinstock, July 7, 1959

Feverish Fourth Let us calmly reflect on the Independence Day weekend. July 4 came on Saturday and by all rights it should have been observed then and then alone. But a kind of fever now seems to grip people when a holiday weekend rolls around. There is a compulsion to go places or to gather in tribal ceremonies dedicated to food, drink and fierce relaxation. Nothing wrong with that except it becomes a big project. Many offices closed Friday, ostensibly to prepare for the event. And the siege at the supermarkets was awesome. Hardly a pound of ground round or a single wiener escaped the impetuous customers. THEN THERE was the repetitious, head-pounding propaganda about death on the highways. No one is against traffic safety and certainly no one is naive any longer about what he faces when he goes for a drive on such a weekend. One wonders if such overwhelming reminders are necessary. Almost completely lost in the celebration was the reason for it. July 4 used to mean something, something about a war that was fought and a document that was written. Perhaps it has become too safe and sane. A beach resident, anticipating a large family gathering Saturday, thought it would be appropriate to set off some fireworks on the beach. He'd heard that most of them were illegal so he phoned a sheriff's office and asked if he could set off a few safe ones. He described them, one by one. The deputy said no and read him the law. "How about sparklers?" the beach burgher asked. No, not sparklers either. "How about marshmallows?" the beach resident then asked, adding, "I mean if we make sure the edges don't catch fire when we toast them." :: THERE'S FRANTIC competition among radio stations for the attention of listeners and no gimmick remains untried. There's a story going around about a bright young man who rushed into the boss' office with a great idea for an attention getter. "We could make up our own weather reports," he said breathlessly, "then we'd have them exclusively." :: HAD YOUR frightening thought for today? Bill Duniway is haunted by the implications of the big Pentagon fire. It was one of those things that supposedly couldn't happen. But it did. Suppose, in the confusion and excitement, the fire had reached the inner inner secret sanctum and set off the panic button, sending our bombers winging for Russia. A real bigoopser. :: TRAFFIC BOUND residents of San Fernando Valley may be interested in this excerpt from a deed turned up by Denny Olinger of Title Insurance on a piece of property there, dated Dec. 28, 1910: "An easement for an automobile boulevard for the passage thereon and thereover of those vehicles generally known as automobiles and propelled by gasoline, electricity, steam or alcohol, said automobiles to carry passengers only and no such vehicles carrying freight nor any vehicles propelled by horses, mules or animals of any description shall be allowed to be on or use this easement." :: ALTHOUGH 560 million new Lincoln pennies were issued in the first six months of 1959 you don't see many of them and for a strange reason. The rumor has been spread that they're collector's items because of an alleged error in design -- the fact that the o in "United States of America" on the reverse side is in lower case instead of upper case as it was in the previous issue. Actually the o was deliberately changed to lower case as part of the new design. Anyway, some coin dealers are offering the new pennies for a dime and the word has been circulated that they may be worth 15 or even 25 cents. As a result they're being hoarded. Even the banks are having difficulty getting a supply of them. To repeat -- they're not worth a penny more than a penny. :: AT RANDOM -- Roger Beck said it first: "I wonder if the two dogs the Russians sent up there along with the rabbit were greyhounds? Maybe they're going to start a dog track" . . . Jack Jarvis, Seattle columnist, who creates fictitious organizations on his home printing press, is sending friends membership cards in the I Suffer So Beautifully Assn. . . . Famous last words: "Oh, but I don't burn, I tan!"