Paging Mr. Tarantino

Haverhill Daily Evening Bulletin, March 22, 1889. Odd, skeletal bit of reportage. Did the fact that the combatants were Japanese substitute for a motive behind the fracas?

Her silken undergarments afire

Salt Lake Telegram, June 3, 1922. Is it because Salt Lake City is a faraway foreign capital that I cannot make heads or tails of what should be a straightforward bit of scandal-mongering?

She fainted while her underwear was on fire. Sheesh, what a mystery are the autonomous functions of the human body! But how odd that her dainties should catch fire and not the rest of her clothing. (Is silk particularly flammable, compared to other pre-synthetic fabrics?)
Then again, perhaps she was wearing only her underwear at the time–that would help explain their exclusive and limited combustion.
Or maybe she wasn’t wearing them at the time: She might have built a symbolic bonfire of her knickers on the hotel room floor before shooting the dude and herself.
The questions multiply the mysteries. . .
Anyway, I’m guessing “hotel attaches” are to house dicks as sanitary engineers are to garbagemen. Or maybe “attache” applies only to house dicks small enough to fit through transoms. But now let’s proceed to the intriguing literary aspects of the story.

Dress to transgress

Tucson Citizen, June 6, 1904. I’m surprised to learn that Youngstown once had an “aristocratic” sector. I got stranded there once and it struck me as an undifferentiated shit hole.

Fun while it lasted

Chicago Tribune, January 11, 1917. If only these kids had used their singular gifts to fight crime, not perpetrate it. Not doubt it was the frequenting of “jazz cabarets” that steered them off the path of righteousness.

Coney Island maybe

New York Times, August 14, 1907. Tawana Brawley surely made stuff up, but she invented nothing. I’d say it was a lucky break for hostler William Engels that Bridget Dwyer flaked on her court appearance.

Trial offer

Chicago Tribune, March 7 and 8, 1914 [click on images to enlarge]. The cartoon is by John T. McCutcheon, same guy who drew this one. He seems to have had an enduring interest in the phenomenon of the unprosecutable female murder defendant. The defense attorney’s contention that a female jury would be easier and not harder on Stella C. is supported by this previous posting on the subject. But who knows?

Kill City

Chicago Tribune, September 7, 1919. Trib cartoonist John T. McCutcheon touches on some of our favorite themes. But why no vampire autos, I wonder?!

High plains jamboree

Chicago Defender, September 15, 1928. Even more than most dudes, Dr. Martin here should not have been stepping out on his wife. He’s the last word in gallant cavaliers, our Dr. Martin. My theory is that Dr. and Mrs. Martin were actually S&M buffs acting out some creepy, well-rehearsed power-exchange ritual. They probably went through a couple of school marms every year.

Burn, Wick, burn

San Francisco Chronicle, October 30, 1904. This isn’t the only case of collateral damage through mistaken identity I’ve run across in my acid-throwing researches. The upside, I guess, is that the victim would henceforth never again be mistaken for anybody else. I’m curious about this charge against telegrapher Jack Austin. Is it a crime in Washington to send letters to waitresses? Anyway, why wouldn’t he have send a telegram?

Annie get your lawyer

Baltimore Afro-American, August 15, 1903. One wonders: was she expecting to find money in the negro’s trousers, or was the plan to fence them? In any case, I hasten to explain that, although Annie was a very handsome woman in her time, this story is otherwise pure bullshit. The hapless trouser thief was not the celebrated marksperson but a former burlesque ecdysiast fallen on even harder times. The real Annie Oakley brought 55 libel suits against various newspapers, 54 of which were successful. The Hearst papers were responsible for putting this counterfactual gem into circulation in the first place, and they tried to fight Oakley’s lawsuit by hiring a private dick to dig up some compromising dirt on her. They failed. The Hearst papers were always at the cutting edge of “human interest” journalism. As one Hearst reporter memorably put it, “A Hearst newspaper is like a screaming woman running down the street with her throat cut.”