Evening star., 1950-02-22
McLemore
FoIls Off Motorcycle;
Wife Writes Column
Bv Jean McLApoye

BY Jean McLemOre
Editors Note-Henry's wite,
Jean, is Writing the column to-
day for reason Which she
explains beloW.)
There is no doubt whatsoever
in my mind that my husband is q
very wise and brilliant man.
Sometimes he is so darned wise
and brilliant that it lays me low.
1t makes me wonder if I am
worthy to be allowed to hang up
the clothes, find the things that
have been irrevocably lost and
clean the razor of a man of such
infinite wisdom.
The American Motorcycle Asso-
citation Racing Festival is being
held here in Daytona Beach.
Henry has been going every day
to the try-outs and the practice
runs. Watching all the young
sters go zizzing and whizzing by
was finally too much for him SO
yesterday he decided to try it. too.
Now just imagine a 43-year old |
man who always calls a taxi If |
he is faced with the physical or
deal Of walking four blocks decid-
ing to put on a crash helmet and |
be helped Il guess onto a racing |
motorcycle so that he could see
how it felt to do the dangerous
turn from the beach. speedway
onto the asphalt road. He found
out just how it felt.
In Bed Bandaged Up.
He fell off the motorcycle the
minute he hit the asphalt and
skinned himself from head to foot. |
They took him right to the doc
tor and then brought him home |
where he is now. He is in bed
all bandaged up and yelping like
hyena who has just found out
that he. lost his money in the
photo finish.
You would think that some one
had begged Henry to ride that
motorcycle. whereas I'll bet you
that whoever owned the machine
would have given him five dollars
to let it alone. The motorcycle is
undoubtedly in bed today, too, |
getting itself well for the big race
three days from now. |
My gentle invalid is perfectly
furious-not with himself. mind
you, but with the motorcycle he
rode. He claims. and who am
I to doubt his word, that he didn' t |
hurt himself in the slightest when
he "just slipped quietly off the
thing" but that the motorcycle
chased him, knocked him down
and ran over him. No matter
what shape that machine is in. it
will get no flowers from Henry
(Speed McLemore.
Temperature of 10S.
Another claim that he keeps
making in his weak invalid's voice
at the top of his lungs is that he
has a temperature Of 108. He
won't let me take his temperature
and he feels like one Of the Gu
cumber family. but he still insists
that his temperature is exactly
one hundred and eight.
When I asked him just how he
knew this he assumed the cunning |
expression Of a witch doctor and
said very simply that he had ways
of. knowing. Eyes. indeed. I have
ways of knowing" he kept repeat
ing. I think that all of this would
be of great interest to the medical
profession, and perhaps later on
I can persuade him to write a
learned paper on the subject.
The motorcycles are roaring
down the beach right in front Of
me as I sit on the porch writing
this and I can hardly keep my
eyes on the typewriter for watch
ing to see man slip quietly oil
his machine and then have the
thing pursue and chase him till it
finally gets him down. Maybe it
will even growl at him. who
knows? I've simply got to stop
writing this and give my full at
tention to the motorcyclists going
by. Think what I might miss.
Man bites dog. maybe.
Distributed BY McNaught Syndicate, Inc)