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Matt Weinstock, Nov. 2, 1959

November 2, 2009 |  4:00 pm


Nov. 2, 1959, Peanuts

Power of a Pet

Matt Weinstock     An old man whose increasing bitterness in his last years antagonized his family and friends died recently.  Despite their feeling toward him and toward each other because of him, they all came to the funeral.  He belonged to an early L.A. family and was, after all, the last remaining link with a colorful past.

    There was tension in the chapel during the service and it carried over to the graveside ceremony.  Even the clergyman who conducted the service was conscious of it.

    And then, after the last "Amen" at the cemetery, as the mourners silently headed for the mortuary limousines and their cars, someone asked, "Who's going to get Clarabelle?"  Someone else exclaimed, "Yes, who is Clarabelle?"

    The tension snapped and suddenly members of the family, estranged for nearly 25 years, were chatting amiably and laughing and exchanging information about children and grandchildren.

    The clergyman and undertaker, seeing the dormant good will gushing around them, signaled the chauffeurs to move away from the cars so the family would have time to make the renewal complete.

    Clarabelle is the old man's profane parrot.


image    A WOMAN made several purchases in an art supply store, then asked timidly if she was entitled to a professional discount.

    The salesman asked, "Do you paint?"  She replied, "I try."  He pursued, "Do you sell any of your work?"  She replied, "Yes, some."

    He made some notes on the sales slip and remarked, "I think you qualify, all right."  Then he added a final notation under Description of Applicant, "Modest artist."


The censor, in his quest for
    things impure,
Finds every limpid stream
    a running sewer,
And lets each low,
    descending sun
See from his hand some
    worthy "Tsk!" begun.
        --DON QUINN


    RUDY CLEYE, the sports car enthusiast who operates the Blarney Castle restaurant, is still talking about the unprecedented incident that happened when he was driving through New Mexico in the recent First American International Rally.

    Near Santa Fe he passed a cattle truck after trailing it for more than two miles.  A highway patrolman promptly stopped him and cited him for doing 72 mph and passing the truck illegally.
Rudy said it wasn't so, insisted he'd passed the truck legally.  He pointed out he was taking part in a rally, not a race, and that there were dozens of other participants behind him.  He explained the drivers were extra careful because a moving violation automatically eliminated them.

    When the officer, making derogatory remarks about sports car drivers, handed him the ticket
to sign Rudy refused and the procession headed for  a nearby court.

    After the officer said his piece the judge asked if the truck had been loaded with cattle.  It had.  How fast was it going?  Under 55.  How fast was the defendant going after passing the truck?  The legal limit, 60.  How had the officer been able to determine that Rudy had required 267 feet to pass the truck, as he had testified, when his vision was obscured?  The officer had no satisfactory answer and the judge, to every one's amazement, not only dismissed three charges against Rudy but cited the officer for possible perjury.


   QUOTE & UNQUOTE -- A garage attendant in a Civic Center building is having such bad luck selecting winners in the weekly football pool that a friend kidded, "Is it true that  you picked the wrong winner of World War II?" . . . You can't fool Harry Kabakoff, newsboy at 7th and Broadway, who says, "The reason so many guys are loaded with money these days is that they started from scratch."