We use Optical Character Recognition (OCR) during our scanning and processing workflow to make the content of each page searchable. You can view the automatically generated text below as well as copy and paste individual pieces of text to quote in your own work.
Text recognition is never 100% accurate. Many parts of the scanned page may not be reflected in the OCR text output, including: images, page layout, certain fonts or handwriting.
GAS STATION OWNERS DIE YOUNG
297
^5 plained that he was not only an an' nouncer now, but a dealer as well.
"Gentlemen!" Taylor exclaimed. "Here's an announcer who read his commercials so persuasively he convinced himself!"
BEN knows almost everybody in Hollywood, but he insists he hasn't made a nickel out of his personal friends. They came in for a while for the novelty of having radio's Ben Alexander fill up their tanks, but soon seemed more annoyed than pleased at his success. That's Holly wood.
Sometimes Ben meets a friend under unexpected circumstances, as when the handbag hospital across the street from the Cahuenga station burned down. Fire engines roared in; the hook and ladder was run up. A fireman, ax in hand, scrambled up the rungs toward a smoking window. Half-way up the ladder, he happened to spot Ben across the street. Letting out a whoop, he clambered down, rushed over to the station and pumped Ben's hand. "Why you old rascal — !" Then remembering the fire he raced back across the street, up the ladder and to work.
Hollywood stars who call at the station are sometimes more a handicap than a help. They're one of the
reasons why nobody but an attendant is allowed to put a car on the hoist. One day a man from Monticello, N. Y., drove in. Before anyone noticed, he had raised his car four feet on the hoist, with him inside.
Just then Martha O'DriscoU drove up and yelled a greeting to Ben, who was pumping gas out front. The man from Monticello recognized the star, got out of his car for a better look, and stepped into four feet of space. He was knocked cold on the pavement.
Although Ben's two stations are only two blocks apart, they cater to different clienteles. At the Cahuenga station he gets Hollywood business men, and at the Yucca station, housewives driving in from San Fernando Valley. Women, he's found, rarely know anything about cars; expect more service than men, and won't allow anything to be done for the car because, "My husband won't let me buy anything without his OK."
The toughest customers Ben has to deal with are those who, like himself, drive new cars, trade them in early, and dish out nothing but punishment in the interim. "I never keep a car long enough to wear out the battery," Ben confesses, "so I never bother to have it checked. People like me make terrible customers, and I'm darn glad I'm less prevalent!"
If the best man's faults were written on his forehead, it would make him pull his hat over his eyes.
Little boys would learn to write much faster if blackboards had the appeal of fresh cement.
Compliment: The applause that refreshes.
Civil Service is something you get in restaurants between wars.