The most recent Tracy sequence—in which the indomitable detective battles black-hooded mobsters aboard a space ship—gives instruction in how to kill without even a zip gun. Unable to shoot, because a bullet penetrating the sides of the pressurized space cabin would kill everyone, including him, Tracy resorts to karate. He then demonstrates a knuckle blow to the temple that, delivered with zeal, would not just subdue an opponent. It could kill him.
Everyone who read the sequence now knows how to kill a man bare-handed. It is a piece of instruction that, we may expect, soon will be used wherever muggers lurk—in Central Park, in Grant Park, in the dark byways of Los Angeles, or in any city where Dick Tracy is known and appreciated.
THE NAME'S THE GAME
The christening of Thoroughbred horses is often mere whimsy, seldom appropriate. (The same applies to boats and children.) But Alfred G. Vanderbilt comes up every year with some of the best names on the turf. He considers ancestry and euphony, combining the two so that a certain poetry is achieved. He has now sent out the names of his next year's 2-year-olds and among them is Crashing Bore, a gelding by Social Climber out of Stumbling Block.
Joey Aiuppa, a Chicago ex-convict who police say manufactures gambling equipment, drove up to his residence in a Chicago suburb last month and was met by two officers of the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service. His car was easy to spot. It was a Cadillac with the license number 711-711.
The officers found Joey's car contained 526 mourning doves, frozen and packed neatly in plastic bags. This number was not so lucky. Joey was charged with possession and transportation (from Kansas) of an illegal number of migratory game birds. Then the question arose as to how he could possibly have shot all those birds. Did he, perhaps, dynamite a roost?
"I shot them on the wing, like I always do," Joey insisted.
Good shooting, certainly extraordinary endurance and unbelievable luck. Someone figured out that, since an average hunter gets one elusive dove in three shots, Joey must have been shooting every two minutes eight hours a day for about a week. And Joey showed no sign of a sore shoulder.
There was talk, naturally, that Joey had a bit of help. There was talk, that he had been seen passing out whisky and free shells to other hunters in the dove-shooting area. In fact, there was excellent reason to believe that Joey was not the hot shot he pretended to be.
WOMEN DRIVERS AGAIN