Nothing, nothing, then something. The spring is always heralded at Jasperwood with these flowers, and some small blue shoots that pop up amongst the ground cover. I am waiting for the Spring Mood to hit, that quiet happy contentment that the best days will soon be upon us - the flowering trees, the new green in the lawn, the sense of gathering momentum, of industrious beauty. Hasn't hit yet. But there's not a year when it hasn't.

The Diner! I'll put it at the end, too. But I'll put it here in case you don't get down that far. Could happen.

There's little to say about the weekend. Had a lot of work to do, and I did it. Not particularly satisfying work, though - when you've lots of deadlines and zero inspiration and a general sense of fatigue about the whole idea of "ideas," as in "coming up with," it's a slog.

So, something else.

In the course of researching something, I came across one of those stories that makes you wonder if there was ever a follow-up, or resolution. It's 1937.

		News from 1937: Uh oh. Any more information about this plaster-pated collegian with the John Held Jr. hair part?
		There's a lot here, isn't there? Not living with Mom, perhaps because he got accepted to the U of M. Why did he go there? To get away from New York? He testified against his father in a larceny charge. His grandfather and grandmother have different names.

Mr. Turk, as noted, was not ill. He was doing just fine. Local realtor and businessman. Pops in an ad in 1942, when he wants to sell the Cozy Cafe at 38 Spring street. (Nothing comes back; address may have shifted over the years.) In 1944 he's still trying to get out of the hash-slinging line.

		Want ad from the local paper.

He seems to have been an early resident of the area, and done well. He's in the paper for this or that into the Fifties. No local obit. Which is odd.

He must have had a day or two of concern, wondering what had happend to his grandson. Waiting for him to come to the house, perhaps.

The conclusion to the story.

There was no follow-up about how things went after that.

I wonder what movies he watched. In April 1937 it was mostly light-heartened musicals and romance.

If he went to the Paramount, full of guilt, wondering what he was going to do, well . . .

Wouldn't have been great if he'd sat down and heard "Birthday" opening.

For once we have an ornate, and somewhat mysterious, description:

Why were they little?

She is bad, bad, bad.

And drunk, too.

She drives home drunk - laughing like the she-devil she is, of course - and arrives at the perfect 1956 dream:

Her husband isn’t happy, grabs a gun - and her - and finds the boyfriend with whom she’s been tippling and canoodling. Pops him in the street.

We switch to our main guys:

The Chief and Jeff Chandler. One’s a newspaperman and the other is the lawyer who will be trying the case. Chandler meets his family at the train station, except they’re divorced . . . maybe? Wife is a chilly. Kids miss him. He gets back on the train.

Six minutes in, including credits and we have the whole thing laid out.

Say, the chief is missing a tooth.

This shot messes with my head. He’s sitting on the bed? And the floor?

Anyway. You suspect you know how it’s going to play out. There was a pretty girl on the train he was flirting with, so you suspect he’s not married married.

I should note that the defendant’s home is really set up for gracious living:

Two things. One, it has a really bad evil nasty mean local town sheriff, and you’re rooting for his comeuppance. Two, Chandler has two courtroom drama set pieces, and while he’s fine, the script isn’t. The closing speech to the jury is ridiculous.

While you have it up, scrub back to the opening. Great theme. Drunk and careless.

That will do. Matchbooks. Of course. Substack up around 11. And here we go.