I owe you one hat.
To Mrs. Dave Messing — aren't you glad you didn't listen to my wager - offer?
The story took place a week ago. The Messings, Stephensons and Beaumonts rode together (we drove Steve's car and burned his gas) to Omaha to attend the 50th anniversary of chiropractic for Dr. M. B. De Jarnette.
Steve, Dave and I handled the front seat chores (I had to sit on the hump and Dave drove) and when it came to a point in discussion of Dr. De Jarnette's first visit to Nebraska City, I very gracefully and casually said that the doctor's late wife, Todde, accompanied him to Nebraska City when he first came to town.
Ohhhh . . . I was in the presence of the Great Friend - Historian, A. M. Stephenson.
"Beaumont, you're crazier than blazes," Steve said in his usual mild tone.
"Aw, come on, Steve," I answered. "Dr. De Jarnette and Todde drove an old car to town, had car trouble and hoofed it the rest of the way."
"They did not!" Steve said (he was getting red around the collar). "HE drove to town ALONE!"
"Trouble with you, Steve, you've been around Dr. De Jarnette so long you've come to believe everything he says. Just tain't true," I answered.
"Awright, Mr. Newspaperman," he said (the wager was coming now). "If you are so sure, I'll just bet you a new hat that you don't know what you're talking about."
Mrs. Dave (Jeannie) Messing and Millie were admiring Helen Stephenson's fur and I turned and interrupted their thoughts:
"You gals want a piece of the action? How about joining me and we'll stick ole' Steve for something good."
"You sure about yourself?" Jeannie asked.
"Just pick the style of your coat, Mrs. Messing, I'd never bet if I wasn't sure."
"Ivan, you be careful," the Queen Bee warned.
"Fuss, fuss, mother. It's a sure thing . . . Okay Mr. Stephenson, you're on. I wear size seven and one-eighth and I want something with ear flaps so I can have some peace and quiet on the next trip!"
"Deal?"
"Deal," was the response.
I could hardly wait to get back to Nebraska City and dig out that winning authority.
Some years ago I did a story on Dr. De Jarnette (it was never printed) and I remembered the detail of the conversation with the late Mrs. De Jarnette . . . ah, yes . . . here it is . . .
" . . . Major courted Todde in his 1918 Model T. She lived in Waverly and he was attending Chiropractic college in Lincoln . . .
The courtship blossomed into marriage October 14, 1925.
"The couple was married at the Reiner home at University Place in Lincoln . . . and they set out on their own . . . driving a Model T, loaded with luggage and dreams. Nebraska City, here we come."
"YA-HOO! I win . . . of course."
I was demonstrating my ability to click my heels and trying to think of the RIGHT hat, when Millie picked up the papers and thumbed through them.
"Ivan," she said, "I think you better settle down and take another look."
(I could tell by the tone, that something was wrong, wrong, wrong, right here in River City).
"You didn't turn the page of the story you wrote, Mister Beaumont," Queenie said with a snort.
Yup, there it was on the next page . . . "Dr. M. B. De Jarnette, armed with a diploma from the Chiropractic college, made his first appearance in Nebraska City several months before he and Todde were married."
I never figured to give up that easy . . . Maybe I made a mistake when I wrote the story . . . I kept on reading . . .
"Ivan," said the Queen, "Give it up. You lost."
"Never . . . ah-ha! ah-ha! Lookit here . . . Dr. De Jarnette, Todde and her parents visited in Nebraska City long before."
"It won't hold water," Queenie insisted.
"Whattya mean, woman - of - the - house . . . I wrote it."
"Read on, man - with - the - Singing Sword," she said.
"but at the time Dr. De Jarnette had no thought of opening his practice in Nebraska City."
"Awright. Awright. I blew it."
"You sure did, Mister Newspaperman," she said in that not - too - friendly tone.
" Wonder if I could interest Steve in one of Wayne Supernaw's special Pioneer Seed caps?"
Bingo!
You haven't read an ad in any mailed issue of the News-Press of bingo games. The U.S. Post Office will not permit advertising of that sort and since we do considerable business with that department, we must abide by the rules.
It makes no difference who sponsors the lottery, whether it's a church, VFW or the Girl Scouts, the advertising of such a game is a no-no in the eyes of the Post Office.
That's really unfortunate because in the News-Press communities, it's a pleasant time of compansionship and fun.
Seems a shame we can't tell the world about it.
On the lighter side . . . the NU bandsmen do their own song en route from the band room to the stadium on Big Red days.
Band-Miss Gayle Cushing provided the words. You've heard the tune, but like most of us, never picked up the words.
Here the trumpets playin'
Hear the crowd a-sayin'
NU Band is on parade.
Hear the trombones blowin'
Hear the drums a-rollin'
NU Band is on parade.
Sound off! Sound off!
Sound off loud and clear.
Let the team all know
the band is here.
Sounds of all Nebraska.
If someone should ask ya
we're the Scarlet and Cream.
Larry Hart, the Nebraska City man who now writes, cuts and sells records in Nashville, called the other day after he saw the pictures in the paper of General Eisenhower's visit in Nebraska City.
Larry was among the several thousand people who greeted the Republican presidential candidate at the Missouri Pacific depot. He found himself in the picture of the crowd.
On the flip side of the conversation, Larry's new record, "Big Red USA," has just been released and 5,000 records have been sold at first count. Larry has eight other "football" records out and is watching how they move on the turntables. They include songs on LSU, Arkansas, Florida, Ohio State and on pro teams.
"It's a lot of work," he admits, "but it's fun too. I like it."
Lose something?
Call Merle Short. He's particularly good at finding things, like his pipe that went through a grain unloading system during the recent harvest.
Stubborn Merle never gave up. Naw . . . it wasn't a corn cob.