They do it in Nebraska City.
Overheard . . .
. . . at the morning coffee session in the Friendship Room at Otoe County National Bank between Dr. M.B. De Jarnette, a chiropractor and Dr. Rod Koerber, M.D.
"Dr. Koerber, I feel terrible. What's wrong with me?"
"Ummmmm, let's see . . . Do you drink much alcohol?"
"Never touch the stuff," Major said.
"Do you smoke?" Koerber questioned.
"Certainly not!"
"Do you stay up late at night?"
"No!" the blustery De Jarnette snorted.
"Well, tell me. Do you have sharp pains in your head?"
"Yes! Yes! That's it exactly. What's wrong with me?"
"Your halo is on too tight," Dr. Koerber answered.
Equal nations
The Nebraska Oil Jobber printed this on a comparison of the U.S. and Russia.
"Russia has more territory than the U.S., a larger population, a greater number of natural resources and the Soviet Union has had over 50 years to put into practice a completely socialistic system. Yet for us to equal their way of life, we in the U.S. would have to . . .
"Cut our paychecks by 75 percent.
"Move 60 million back to the farm.
"Abandon two-thirds of our steel making.
"Tear up 14 of every 15 miles of highway.
"Tear up two-thirds of our railroad tracks.
"Knock down 70 per cent of our houses.
"Rip out nine-tenths of our telephones.
"Junk 19 out of every 20 automobiles.
"Destroy 40 million TV sets.
"Then all we would have to do to be equal is to find a free-enterprise country that would sell us wheat on credit to keep us from starving."
She shakes like jelly
The Nebraska State Fair was fine, the exhibits and displays outstanding, the horsemanship a marvel and the midway . . . well, there's always the side show.
We were standing in front of one of the shows watching a "demonstration" of the next performance and admiring the quality of the material.
(Now, this is the truth):
The hawker pointed to Millie in the crowd and asked if she had her ticket to see the show. She shook her head "no" and the next thing I knew we were "guests" of the hootchie-kootchie.
"C'om," she said as she tugged at my arm, "you're always talking. Now let's go in together."
And away we went.
Don Mason was chicken. He said he preferred the roller coaster ride.
P.S. The show was fine, the black comedian amusing and the girls . . . well, I'll never tell Don about 'em.
The plaque
Today's Wormy Applewood Plaque goes to the Alabama State Patrol.
Newspapers carried the story the other day on the pending divorce of Gov. Wallace and his attractive wife, Cornelia.
The First Lady admitted to tapping the governor's phone because she wanted to find out who was spreading rumors about her. One of the rumors was that she had been sleeping with every officer on the Alabama patrol.
The Wormy Applewood Plaque goes to the Alabama State Patrol chief and his staff for what must have resulted in a unique recruiting program.
To Neal Martin
George Johnson, 1512 Fifth Corso, said he never worked so hard on anything in his life as he did for the 30 minutes it took to land a 28-pound Buffalo using a 15-pound test line. And he enjoyed every minute of it.
He pulled the fish from the Auburn lake. Understand there's a big "cat" in the lake and when he is caught, the rule is the fisherman must release him . . . dunno about that.
Hey, Neal . . . did I ever tell you about the time I took the family fishing for Bluegill at Lake Jacoma near Independence, Mo.?
It was during a weekend visit to an old Navy buddy. We decided to take both families, plus his dad on the venture. That was when I learned about the "true" fisherman.
The old gentleman insisted that I go to this certain place and get Australian Gray Crickets. I agreed, and then fussed because they cost 4 cents apiece. The fish were biting, so much in fact that I couldn't keep up with the pole handling job of the children.
Finally the crew dwindled down to my Navy friend, and his dad and me . . . just we three sitting on the bank with poles and a jar of Australian Gray Crickets.
The Bluegill were hitting. We were having a lot of fun when I noticed that other fishermen along the bank started edging toward us, and boaters pulled in closer to our area.
"Whattya using for bait?" one of the fishermen called to us.
"Worms," returned the old gentleman next to me.
Later . . . another fisherman "Whattya using for bait?"
"Doughballs," the old gentleman answered. (I was [illegible] so much fun I could have cared less.)
We averaged 1 fish every 3 minutes for 6 hours of the weekend.
That's a true story, Neal . . . and if you don't believe it, you can ask the old gentleman who was sitting beside me.