Radio doings (Dec 1930-Jun1932)

'I felt the whizz of the bullet as it passed my right cheek' 9hd 3ff« ■ WILL relate this story as it was told to me I on a bleak winter's night by one of the participants in this little drama, one who was for some twenty years a burglar and a criminal— wanted by police on two continents. Since the early days of radio (he said) I have been a most interested fan. So it was not unreasonable for me to be drawn as if by magic to a big radio set whenever I saw one. Just so on a certain December night not so very long ago when I was burglarizing the home of a very wealthy banker in a certain Eastern city. For several weeks I had been watching his house, awaiting the first opportunity to gain an entrance and make what I figured would be my richest haul. I knew this banker usually went to Florida or California for the winter, leaving his palatial mansion in charge of a caretaker. On the night I made entrance into his home I had previously watched for the leaving of this caretaker, and had followed him till I saw that he was comfortably settled in a seat at one of the principal theatres. I knew this would give me at least one and one-half hours of uninterrupted time that I could count upon to carry out my plans, and so returned to the house and jimmied a side window leading into the library. I encountered no burglar alarms, or private watchman, and had gained entrance with perfection. I had hardly been in the place a minute when I saw a big radio set sitting on the library table. It seemed strange, now, as I looked back that I, a burglar of some 20 years practice, The true story of the Reformation of Willy Blake is more fantastic than any fiction story could be. Nick Harris, world famed detective, writer, radio entertainer and philosopher, tells the dramatic tale of two men and a radio. The names used are aliases, as the principal characters are at the present time living in Los Angeles and operating a gasoline and service station. should stop my work and turn on the instrument with as much anticipation as a boy of 15. The set was tuned to some distant point. I was thrilled as I heard an announcer give his call letters, and tell of a program that was to be broadcast nearly a thousand miles from where I was. In my anxiety I had not overlooked the fact that a light in the room might draw attention from the outside, and so I carefully concealed the lighted globe just enough to permit its rays to fall on the radio, but not to permit any shadows to be cast upon the drawn curtains of the window. I felt I could have at least 10 or 15 minutes for myself to enjoy this radio concert before I started to clean up the rich man's valuables. The program was coming in Tine. almost forgot I was a burglar in a strange house, when suddenly I was startled when I heard the announcer say that "we are now to hear Jimmie Snodgrass, the King of the ivories, who is going to play for you one of his favorite, famous offerings on the piano." What a shock that was to me! Jimmie Snodgrass! An inmate of Jefferson City Penitentiary, and he was playing from the radio sta A CRIMINAL TUNES IN tion of this penal institution. I knew him well. Why shouldn't I? As I had just been released from the same place but a short time before, in fact, I almost shared cells with him during my stay there. He told me he was sent up for a stretch on account of a burglary job he committed while under the influence of liquor. I later heard that his music had so charmed radioland listeners that a movement was then on foot to secure his pardon, yet there he was, inside of that big prison while I had my freedom and was at that very minute in the act of committing a crime against organized society that would send me back to some such place for the balance of my life. Naturally as I listened to Snodgrass playing, my thoughts carried me back to Jefferson, and the four years that I spent there. I also thought of my first five years in Sing Sing, and the several other inforced visits at similar institutions in later years. It sure was a funny feeling I had that night and I wondered if I should call the game quits and walk out of the house. I felt, however, that I was a marked man; all the detectives and thousands of ex-cons had my number and so what could I gain by turning straight at this stage of the game. Why quit it cold and miss getting the haul when I had everything settin' pretty that night. These, and a hundred thoughts kept flitting through my mind as I listened to the melodious strains of Jimmie's music. Suddenly I was brought to myself when I heard the clink of a glass as though some steel instrument was tapping the window pane. It was a familiar sound. I knew instantly its meaning. I looked at my watch and it told me that I had been in the house but 15 minutes, hence I knew this noise was not caused by the return of the caretaker, and as I said before, I recognized the sound as part of my own calling. I flicked out the small light and clutching my revolver, I crouched in a corner behind a massive open chair. After looking across the library and into the spacious drawing room I was soon able to trace the sounds. I even placed the very window, hidden as it was from the outside by heavy clinging vines and shrubbery. Yet as I watched I could see the silhoutted form of a man as he raised the window after breaking the glass and turning the catch. I was almost tempted to smile. To think that two of us burglars had picked out the same place to rob but a few minutes apart. Perhaps he was someone I knew. I was acquainted with a lot of them. I crunched lower RADIO DOINGS