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Matt Weinstock, Nov. 16, 1959

November 16, 2009 |  4:00 pm


 
Nov. 16, 1959, Comics 
“I Think I’ll Read the Funnies.”   


Conditioned Reflexes

Matt Weinstock     After a business failure several years ago a young man decided to pursue the career he'd always wanted -- teaching.  He was aware that it meant a drastic change and involved great sacrifice but he and his wife decided it was worth it.
   
He went back to school, and, meanwhile, got a part-time job.  His wife also worked.  To keep the house running smoothly, the three young children were assigned regular duties and responsibilities.  After dinner, for instance, they quietly took their own dishes into the kitchen to be washed.

    Recently after a long, hard struggle the husband got his credential and his teaching assignment and he and his wife decided to celebrate by dining in a good restaurant, something they'd denied themselves for several years.

    [Illegible] an enjoyable occasion with a hilarious epilogue.  [Illegible] when the youngsters finished eating, they picked up their dishes and headed to the kitchen to wash them.  They were nabbed in the nick of time.

::

image     MORE AND MORE American Indians are being assimilated into the social stream and perhaps it's in order, as Chief Wah-Nee-Ota suggests, to let people in a little secret.

    First thing most people ask when they meet an Indian is, "What tribe do you come from?"  It's an innocent and natural question but it tells the Indian the person knows nothing about his people.  The question correctly should be, "What nation do you come from?"  Every Indian tribe is a nation.  At present the largest Indian nation is the Navajo.

    Chief Wah-Nee-Ota, by the way, is descended from the Creek nation, a branch of the Seminole.  The Creeks were never defeated, no peace treaty was ever signed and technically they are still at war with the United States, which, the chief concedes, with a smile, is also a powerful nation.

::

    FOR FREE?
Green stamps, orange
    stamps, blue stamps,
    gold-

I'll be licking till I'm old.
    --PAT SHROYER


::

    THE WRONG NUMBER situation is out of hand again. 
   
A man phoned the Mark Twain Hotel in Hollywood and shouted: "Tell so-and-so he's fired!"  Night clerk Henry Krieger tried to say something but the caller squelched him with, "I don't want to talk to him!" and hung up.  Half an hour later the same person called and said in a conciliatory voice, "Tell so-and-so to be on the set tomorrow."  [Illegible] figures the caller [illegible] he was talking to [illegible]  studio, one digit [illegible]  hotel's number.

    Mrs. John McMurray, who lives in Laurel Canyon has received so many wrong numbers lately she [illegible] to participate.  The other day her phone rang [illegible] a man said, "Hello, Albert." She said, "No, this isn't Albert," which he should have detected from her voice.  But he persisted, "Are you sure this isn't Albert?"  When she said no again he said, "He must have moved again."  She She said this was possible if baffling.

::

    NORTH YOUNG
says he was dining in a Malibu restaurant with the noted Egyptologist, Pith Helmet, and, over an abalone frappe.  Pith was recounting one of his fantastic adventures.  "That was the year," he said, "that I took my wife and kids and 30 camels into the Egyptian Sudan.  Everything went well until-"  Just then an auto dealer at a nearby table jumped to his feet and interrupted, "I think it's high time people stopped exaggerating the roominess of those foreign cars."

::

    AROUND TOWN --
Alberto Diaz of the Belvedere Citizen and Nicolas Avila of La Opinion were confronted with a momentary dilemma in reporting the cranberry crisis to their readers.  Cranberries aren't aren't used much down Mexico way, at least not in tacos.  Anyway, they had to look it up in the dictionary and now they know- cranberries arearandanos . . .You know what some people do these foggy nights?  They litterbug.  Through swirls of mist Walt Stone saw a motorist emptying his ashtray on Melrose Ave. . . . A young man in Palos Verdes drives around in an old hearse labeled "The Body Snatcher"  . . . And a Fiat in Santa Monica had painted on it, "Reductio ad absurdum."




 

   
   
 


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