Evening star., 1942-11-09

Yes, horses.
Almost every
Henry McLe"er'' reporter passes
through stage during which he Is
obsessed with the idea of interview
ing animals. I once did 2,500-word
interview with Twenty Grand on
his chances in the Kentucky Derby.
and I believe may say without fear
of contradiction that 1t was the
worst newspaper story ever written.
If it wasn't the worst one, I know
the one that was-my deathbed in
terview with bird dog owned by
Ty Cobb. Those two stories are
standard "don'ts" in every decent
school Of journalism in this country.
For years had the inclination to
put down my pad and pencil and
throttle practically every one OF the
people I interviewed. 1t seemed to
me that they all were either unwill-
ing or two stupid to give reporter
a good story.
Goodness only knows how many
times looked at the man or woman
I was interviewing and thought to
myself that If any one ever inter-
viewed me what ripsnorting, ring
dang doodle OF story I would give
them. For years itched to have a
reporter come knock on my door and
ask to interview me.
Wish Is Fulfilled.
Well, that wish has been fulfilled,
and I want to apologize to every
man, woman, child, and horse that
I ever inwardly cussed out for not
giving good, interesting story.
In recent years. in my travels
about the country, I have gone into
towns where the newspapers were
SO hard up for something to print
that they sent reporter to inter-
view me.
am in a hotel right now, and a
reporter has just left. Whereas I
used to want only to throttle the
people had to interview, I'll guar
antee he longed for trusty musket
or that I would walk to an open
window when no one was looking.
Shakespeare at the height OF his
powers couldn't have made a read
able newspaper story out of what I
said. Somehow, when an inter-
viewer asks me question I am
stricken dumb. open my mouth,
stare at him and finally say huh"
or "ummm" or "ug." I am unable
to answer the simplest question with
even a yes" or a no"
When this young man opened the
door and asked rs this Henry Nc
Lemore?" I just couldn't answer
him. He almost had to look at the
labels on my luggage to find out
If he had the right man.
Describes His Ordeal.
Being interviewed not only strikes
me dumb mentally but it does some
thing to my equilibrium. Normally,
can get around a room as well as
the next fellow. I don't have to
hold on to chairs or grope along
the wall. But let reporter start
asking me questions and I back into
chairs, trip myself, knock ash trays
off tables and usually end up by
ushering the interviewer out by
opening the closet door.
Some day an unkind reporter is
going back to his ONCE after inter-
viewing me and write just what
happened. The story will read about
like this:
To-day interviewed a man whom
I took to be Henry McLemore, al
though he never confirmed this fact.
He spoke in unintelligible monosyl-
lables as he blundered about tho
room.
He has no opinion on any SUBJ
ject whatsoever He doesn't know
where he came from or where he is
going. He has no plans whatsoever
for the future, and can remember
nothing about the past.
Wrestlers Outshine Him.
He seemed definitely shocked
when mentioned the war, and gave
the general impression that until I
told him he didn't know the war was
going on.
He seems completely without
friends or relatives, and has no In.
terest In any subject that this re.
porter could think Of to ask him
about. The man seems harmless
enough. He smiles a good deal az
he bangs about the room, knocking
over one object after another.
"The only time I was really afraid
OF him was when he apparently
tried to lock me in a clothes closet
when I was leaving, which I was
very glad to do"
Once again my apologies to those
I have interviewed through the
years. Even the wrestlers outshins
me from here to way back yonder.
Distributed By McNausht Syndicate, Incl