Source:Danver-1931-02-16/content
The ticklish job of moving in as the new boss of between 900 and 1,000 birds, beasts and reptiles didn't worry Arnold Schaumann, new head keeper at the Highland Park zoo. But he can have it. We're content to remain head keeper here on a small scale.
One of the first things he did was begin shoving the animals around—talk about nerve!—and begin cleaning house. While they were still wondering how he'd taste for dessert, the guy begins scrubbing the floors of their cages!
Some of the zoo boarders, though, took to him from the first. Already he has Betsy, the young elephant, doing tricks. When he appears, she gets down on her knees and bows her head in prayer, slyly knowing there'll be a piece of sugar in it.
Sheba, the lady lion, has also taken to him in a big way. She purrs like a big kitten when he's around. This, of course, doesn't make much of a hit with the gentleman lions, which gaze at him as though they'd like to tie on their napkins.
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Once a popular winter resort of Pittsburgh's homeless, the palm house in Phipps' Conservatory, West Park, Northside, no longer gets the play it did some years ago. "Drifters" once flocked there to warm themselves. They called it "Palm Beach."
The palm house, kept between 60 and 80 degrees, was a swell place for taking on free heat. William Hartlep, supervisor, says they no longer patronize it because there are now so many places where they may loaf in comfort.
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Though thousands pass it daily, King alley—or way—is so insignificant that it rates no mention in the city directory. It runs between Fifth and Oliver avenues, just above Market. The Fifth avenue opening is at the Ritz Theater.
Special Officer Frank Malone, who has patrolled the downtown district for years, assures us this eight-foot crevice really is a city street and that "King alley" is its name. About 10 years ago it was closed for a time, but was reopened.
Office workers use the narrow slit as a shortcut in daytime. At night it is unlit and deserted. The only openings are the exit-doors of the theater and rear entrances of shops. Tangled fire escapes overhead give it a weblike roof.
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Traffic rule: "Pedestrians have the right of way at intersections." Yeah—so do sparrows!
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Glenn Riggs, KDKA's popular lad, knows what a bride thinks about as she enters the church—aisle, altar, hymn!
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One of the new spats converts is K. R. Hammers, schoolmate and close friend of Mayor Kline, who has been wearing them all along. . . . Al Abrams, the sports writer, has a birthday only once in four years, February 29, and figures he's 6½ years old. . . .
Council didn't kick about the cops hiring autos while bandits were running loose a few weeks back. If it hadn't been for the veteran hackers, who helped chase the bad guys out of town, they'd probably lifted the steps of the City–County Building. . . .
Many folks think "Judge" A. L. Schiel, of Heinz', is a lawyer, but he got the title when he played "hizzoner" in an amateur show years ago. . . . Harvey Gaul's boy, Jimmy, is at Harvard learning to be a palaentologist [sic], which takes plenty of brain cells. . . .
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Probably the most expensive box of candy sold recently in Pittsburgh cost $50. It was a five-pound affair, the candy packed in an imported teakwood box covered with fine French lace. It held $5 worth of chocolates and bon-bons. And plenty of love and kisses, no doubt.
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J. Harry Letsche, Jr., of Ben Avon, ho was an infantry captain during the war, recently ran into General Pershing at breakfast in a Chicago hotel and recalled an incident in France. Both enjoyed a hearty laugh over it.
At that time, it seems, Captain Letsche was an excellent drill master but not much on military etiquette. While drilling his men one day, he spied the commander walking across the field alone. He called his men to attention and awaited the general.
Pershing, however, decided to go the other way, and the well-meaning captain—not to be found wanting in the niceties of military manners—ran after him and saluted. "Good morning, general," he said. "I'm Harry Letsche of Pittsburgh."
The commander-in-chief returned the salute, tolerantly acknowledged the introduction, and passed on.
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"I believe in freedom of the press," says a valentine showing a lad giving a big-eyed girlie a great big hug. Some readers do brighten a colyumist's day.
