Law enforcement officers know that it takes help from citizens to get a job done and another example of that happened last week in Nebraska City.
Cynthia, daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Walt Anderson, saw a girl walking along U.S. 75 and when she told her parents about it, her father called the sheriff's office. The girl was returned to her family a short time later.
The Andersons have a radio monitor in their home and had heard the emergency call for volunteers to assist officers in the search for the missing girl.
Congratulations, Cynthia, for being an alert young lady and helping some worried parents.
We sit on the same row as the Norm Stehlik family at Hayward park for the football games. That put two pipe smokers together and it was no surprise that Norm and me should happen to light our pipes at the same time.
Millie was sitting between us and didn't say much. I did feel sorry for her, though, because Norm's tobacco doesn't have the same aroma as my Cherry Blend. He must have noticed the same thing about my pipe smoke because he stayed fired up.
I didn't want to say anything at the time, but Norm surely must have had a mixture of discarded lettuce leaves taken from his vegetable rack, dried prunes, cookie crumbs and paper shreddings from a copy of Family Circle.
True, the wives didn't say much but they did look at us with strange expressions once in a while.
Morton House Kitchens will put on two shifts for new work for the plant in Nebraska City.
The company has an order to make several million cans for Tabby cat food for the plant at Golden Meadows, Louisiana.
The Nebraska City plant is able to get tin plate for the job — something that other plants are having more difficulty with — and can produce the product for a lower cost.
Morton House can division crews can manufacture 250,000 cans a day with two shifts running (about 25 people).
The job is quite a compliment for the Nebraska City plant and the work comes at a time when a great deal of interest and effort have been exerted to keep the plant going.
The Way it was . . . in the 1950s.
Junior and Senior High students laughed at the styles, but got with it last week when the schools had 1950s parties.
Actually, it was the moms and dads who had the most fun.
While the girls concentrated on saddle shoes, bobby socks, pants with the cuffs rolled up or long skirts with can-cans, the boys really greased it up.
We happened to notice that Athletic Director Jim Brockhaus was wearing jeans with the cuffs rolled up a couple of notches, white socks and penny loafers at a school party.
And we just happened to be around when three boys were getting ready for the party.
"I'm not going to put any of that stuff on my hair," Bill Peterson said.
"Yowie! Lookit me and this greasy stuff in my hair," (Ernie) Lechner said.
"Gimme some of that stuff. Let's see how it looks . . . ugh . . . you mean we're supposed to rub this into our hair?" No. 1 son asked.
"Well, now listen, fellas," the king said. "If you're going to rock baby you've got to put a little dab into your hand, rub your hands together and put it in your hair with a boogie woogie here and a boogie woogie there."
"If I have to do that I'm not going to go," Bill said.
"Oh yes you are," Ernie said, "we're all in this thing together. WOW! Let me look in the mirror again."
"Hey, dad," the growing boy with the clumsy feet said, "did you really grease up with stuff like this when you and mom went places?"
"You can bet your best pair of boots, buster," the master said, "and what's more you've got to whip a duck tail on you neck, pull up your collar on the back and put on an Elvis style wiggle and walk."
No. 3 daughter had some doubts about wearing a dress. After all, didn't they wear jeans in those days also?
"They sure did, honey," I replied, "but let me show you how your mother looked." (I brought out the Fairbury yearbook and thumbed through the pages.)
"Golly, mom," the youngest said, "if you wore that kind of a dress to school, what did you wear when you and dad went out?"
"Well, one time I . . ."
"Let me interrupt this little chit chat for a moment, Queenie, and explain to the child. You see, young lady, the long skirts were popular in those years and despite the pants style of today's crazy world, girls did wear dresses in the 1950s. As a matter of fact, when I first met your mother at the skating rink she was wearing a red dress that stretched to the top of her shoe skates."
"Really?"
"Yup, chil' really."
Well, to cut this story off we must report that the kids had a grand time. "Ernie" had doubts that his hair would stay down and put a little extra hair dressing on it. I added another little touch: stocking caps.
The only conclusion that I can come to about having a 1950s party is that there is a benefactor — City Utilities. I swan, if your house was like our's, then your kids grabbed the bottles of shampoo and headed for the showers.
The motorcycle enduro.
Brad Yost joined us as we drove our car down several roads to watch some of the motorcyclists in the enduro held here last Sunday.
The "mud hole" course west of the city wells was a special attraction. We saw two cyclists axle deep and splattered. They didn't seem to mind it and we watched as what appeared to be a father-son team help each other. They took it as a matter of fact situation and worked their way out of it.
Meanwhile, we took a look at the Kawasaki 90 and the recently purchased Honda SL 175 (Kyle Reinhard's old bike) and decided that we preferred smoother routes.
Brad said phooey to that and was anxious to compete. We settled for a snack at the Port cafe and talked with several of the cyclists. They filled us in on the hazards of the race route.
Thanks to the Otoe County Wildlife club and Mead Lumber company we joined about 50 other sportsmen in the blue rock shoot — for fun. It had to be for fun because our aim was pretty bad.
Orville Carlisle suggested using tracers. That hit a familiar ring. We used tracers on 20 mm guns overseas and learned on the first round how to correct our aim.
Ralph Reed handed me a handsome shotgun and offered it for the shoot. "You don't even have to aim it," he said, "it'll track down the rock for you." (I've heard a lot of stories, but nothing that could match a trap shoot remark like that.)
I thought I was doing fairly good for a beginner until I saw a little fella who couldn't have weighed more than 60 pounds, struggle with the weight of his gun and splatter target after target. I was ready to go home right then, but stuck it out.
There was only one thing that could have improved my score — Larry Mumm didn't have to say "LIVE" quite so often.