Back in the 1960's a reporter working for me got onto an odd case. A girl had turned up missing and he tried to figure out where she went. Some of his buddies pooh-poohed the idea, figuring she had just taken off with somebody and didn't bother to tell her folks."Jan wasn't like that," said her Mother. "She ALWAYS let me know where she is."
This time, she didn't, for she was at the bottom of the Long Tom River in Oregon. Her killer, Jerome (Jerry) Brudos, an electrician, also killed three other pretty, young women, for which he got life in the State Penitentiary.
Forward a few years: I am at the pen attending a meeting of the Lifers' Club. Jerry complains: "I was working the other day and the guy supervising me isn't an electrician. How can that be?"
Everybody ignores him. They all know he's an electrician, for the weights he used on the bodies were tied with a knot peculiar to one trade and which got him busted -- his.
Jerry died in the pen the other day. He had been there longer than anybody. So long, Jer'. Nobody will miss you.
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"Have you noticed that all the people in favor of birth control are already born?" --Benny Hill.
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My favorite word today is tragedy. N., well-known to Willie the Shake. Def.: Comedy at which nobody laughs.
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