Henry Lambert of the Under-current Co. and a party of friends
were out during the evening in a big Winston-6 touring car, one of the finest in
Parkersburg. They were going out 13th St., and just as
they approached the intersection of Avery, the small sons of Frank Bickel,
Russell and Frank, were coming up Avery, started to cross 13th immediately in
front of the approaching machine. Lambert steered his machine as quickly as
possible, but it struck the rear wheel of the buggy, smashing it, and throwing
the boys to the street. Fortunately, they escaped serious injury. Lambert, in
excitement, gazed backward to ascertain what injury had been done, and losing
control of the machine, collided with the curb on the opposite side of the
street, breaking the steering gear.
There are still a few packages of garden seeds left in the
Chronicle office, which we will be glad to give to anyone who will call for
Returning from Harrisville, where he had been with a team,
Rhoden Richards of Big Springs got in the river near this place, the high water
being over the road. He lost a barrel of salt, and also got a bad wetting. Only
luck kept him from losing his team and his own life.
Those who watch television are often treated to what is known in
world circles as the new American domestic comedy. It always involves bickering,
rowing, crude talking American couples. The arguments, the loud talk and the
rudeness, and general common behavior, is passed off as humor.
Yet, there is very little funny about the now ordinary domestic
scene comedy we see so much of. A new play in New York, featuring four married people, is
devoted to almost nothing but what one drama critic called clawing, scratching,
biting and kicking one another--and it is a success.
The commercial producers, who make all the common rowing comedy
we are treated to on television and at the movies, seem to profit from it. The
interesting thing, then, is why do audiences like this sort of thing.
Must we go down this road? Is this what America seeks to
give the world as its typical national humor? One hopes not. Let us have some
more of the Charlie Chaplin style of talent, of the W.C. Fields, Buster Keaton,
Ben Blue and Robert Benchley styles! None of these greats shouted anyone down,
in the present fashion of the New York stage.