Just in case you're interested . . .
NBC news and Time magazine put Nebraska City "on the map" with stories about the fuel shortage and the special results — four days of classes in the City schools.
NBC and Time just didn't happen to drop in town to see what was going on. Here's how the story developed:
After the school board meeting, the News-Press telephoned the story to Associated Press in Omaha in a cooperative news sharing effort in which we all participate.
Ed Nicholls, AP bureau chief in Omaha, fired the Nebraska City story to "Katy," the computer in Kansas City. "She" immediately sent it across Nebraska plus, Iowa, Kansas, Missouri, Oklahoma and to New York where AP headquarters dispatched the story nationally via "Super Pete," another computer, to all newspapers, radio and TV stations.
And just in case you're interested . . . Time magazine and NBC are subscribers to the AP . . . all they had to do was read what was coming on the teletype from Nebraska City.
Thanks to our friends, Mr. and Mrs. Carl Peters, we have received a 108-page souvenir issue of Orange Bowl Week in Miami.
The page one headlines read:
Nebraska makes it three straight in Orange Bowl.
HUSKERS FEAST ON IRISH STEW.
The newspaper is chocked full of Orange Bowl events and is much more than one evening's reading.
Bill Nixon handed this to me the other night at the Masonic installation. It's from the Atchison County Mail at Rock Port. I passed it down the row and had to get help to take it away from Richard Kimmel who was getting quite a bang out of it.
Well, to save Richard a lot of explaining to Laurine I thought it best to reprint it:
A man who was too cheap to subscribe to his hometown newspaper sent his little boy to borrow his neighbor's copy.
In his haste the boy ran over an $8 hive of bees and in 10 minutes he looked like a warty squash. His father ran to his assistance and failing to notice the barbed wire fence, ran into that, cutting a hole in his anatomy as well as ruining a pair of $10 trousers.
The old cow took advantage of the gap in the fence and killed herself eating green corn. Hearing the racket, the wife ran out, upset a four-gallon churn of cream into a basket of chicks, drowning the entire batch.
In her haste, she dropped a $135 set of false teeth, which the family dog buried thinking it was a new type of bone.
The baby, having been left alone, crawled through the spilled cream and into the parlor ruining a brand new $250 carpet.
During the excitement the oldest daughter ran away with the hired man, a stray dog broke up 11 setting hens, the calves got out and chewed the tails off four fine shirts on the clothes line and the cat had a batch of kittens.
All of this was because the man of the house chose to borrow his neighbor's copy of the newspaper rather than give a paper boy $1.75 a month.
We're sure this wouldn't happen in Nebraska City, but if you happen to see yourself among the lines, you only have a few more days before the annual special subscription offer expires.
The number is 873-3334. Ask for Aldean Grundman.
Mr. and Mrs. Glen Noble will be leaving as curators of Wildwood Period House and Center, but they aren't leaving town.
The Nobles will return to their home at 502 North Seventeenth Street.
Glen Noble is a tough man to put down. After "retiring" from the Nebraska State Employment Service, he and his wife, Lillian, took over the Wildwood project. It was a mammoth project, but thanks to the Steinhart Foundation and so many helpers, Nebraska City can be proud of a fine accomplishment.
"I'm not sure whether the Nobles will be "retiring" again, but whatever, we wish them a much deserved rest and happiness.
They are a special type of people. It takes special people to deal with the general public.
Our family lived across the street from the Nobles in Myrtle Taylor's house a number of years ago and we can attest to their patience . . . Clarissa, the salesgirl, used to pick Mrs. Noble's flowers then sell them to her and to the other neighbors.
So . . . you can see we've had fun since the surprise lillies first bloomed.
Mr. and Mrs. Cecil Anderson are pretty proud of their son, Paul, who "cut a record" at a music clinic.
Paul plays bass clarinet in the All-State band sponsored by the Nebraska Music Educators Association.
The record is 33 1-3 r.p.m., and features fanfare and allegro and symphonic overture for bands.
(Paul also plays bass guitar in the Odyssey Combo).
Paul doesn't think too much about it, but his mother, Simone, who bosses the custodial duties at the News-Press is pretty pleased.
Congratulations, Paul.
There's a new world in her room.
How many of you fathers have explored the bedrooms of your daughters?
Really, it's a new world there, with bulletin board, dozens of little bottles of makeup, a dressing table and those little items that teenage girls seem to accumulate in high school years.
Well, the other day, I happened to step into that other world — Clarissa's bedroom.
I hadn't really planned such a challenge, but I was awakened that morning at 6 o'clock by . . . "brr . . . brr . . . brr . . .."
That was her hair dryer.
I didn't ask what was going on . . . for fear of getting my head chopped off, but I did take a few moments to look over THAT room.
The bed was made nice and neat and there were several stuffed animals on it. I received explanations on what each was and how she happened to receive them.
"Hey, Clarissa, what's this?" the king and master of the house asked.
"That's Chatty Cathy. Don't you remember?" she said.
Golly, do I remember . . . Clarissa just HAD to have Chatty Cathy, the little doll that said such exciting things as "I'm sleepy," and "Please brush my hair" when the string was pulled.
I remember well that Christmas. Clarissa was four years old at the time.
"And what are these other two?" I questioned as I picked up two other dolls next to the bed.
"That's Thumbelina and Raggedy Ann," she answered. (At that early morning hour Clarissa isn't much of a conversationist).
So, I turned the knob on the back of Thumbelina . . . the music was "rock-a-by and good night . . . " (Oh, the memories were flowing).
The "domestic engineer" (that's what Millie calls herself) called to me that my bacon and eggs were ready.
"What is taking you so long?" she asked.
"Clarissa is showing me some of her old dolls as payment for my suggestion on what she should wear to school today," I answered. (You oughta seen the look the teenager gave me).
It made me feel kinda good to think that the teenager had taken such good care of the dolls after so many years.
"Oh, yes," I said, "and Raggedy Ann. My, honey, you sure have taken good care of your dolls. That's a nice thing to do . . . say, what are the stains on Raggedy Ann?"
"That's where I vomited."
"Goodbye, Clarissa."
"So long, daddy. Come back sometime."