Miscellany: Aug. 3, 1925

Depew

“Chauncey Depew,” intoned a clerk in a Brooklyn police court last week. The furtive-eyed perspiring group of profaners of public morals, committers of malicious mischiefs, waiting there for their cases to be called, gaped, nudged one another, bent forward excitedly to hear charges read. Chauncey Depew, it was alleged, had made indecent advances to one Mrs. Louise Kracher, had addressed her in profane language. The malodorous crowd leered knowingly at the culprit—a bald, skinny little man with glasses.

“Are you any relation to the financier?” asked the magistrate.

“No, your honor, but my father admired him extravagantly and conferred a great honor on me when he gave me his name. . . .”

The court dismissed charges against Chauncey Depew.

Licensed

In Seattle, one Oscar Lemdahl built a cottage, shingled it with 2,300 discarded automobile license plates. Said a punster : “Garage men for many miles about have pandered to his licentiousness.”

Carved

In North Bergen, N. J., one Emma Albert, one Otto Carver, were up in a Ferris Wheel. The wheel swayed at the top of its circle; Miss Albert’s forehead was carved in a horrible fashion. The carving was caused by Carver’s teeth.

Baffled

In Manhattan, Gabrielle (Mrs. John De Fuller), “The World’s Only Half-Woman,” famed circus horror, sideshow spectacle, born without legs, height 2 ft. 8 in., weight 128 lb., disappeared from her home. Her husband, “a strapping six-footer,” was positive she had not been kidnapped, did not think she had eloped, was baffled. . . .

Tail

In San Antonio, Texas, was born of normal human parents a child with a tail (length unspecified). On physicians’ advice, the father, the proud mother decreed that the tail should be amputated when the child attained an age of seven months.

Hand

In Chicago, one John Donahue, broker, was playing bridge. He dealt himself a hand and was casually arranging the cards when suddenly the blood rushed to his face, then drained away; his wan lips twitched. “Beg pardon?” asked the opponent on his left, one Neutz, who had been waiting for Broker Donahue’s bid. “One diamond,” whispered Donahue. “Three spades,” said Neutz. “Four diamonds,” said Donahue, “five . . . six . . . seven.” But Neutz, holding ace, king, queen, jack and four low spades, and supported by his partner, went up to seven spades, began to play them. On every trick Donahue discarded a diamond; he had held 13 of them, a perfect hand—many times rarer than a hole in one at golf. The stupidity of his initial bid robbed him of a chance to win.