 A boy engages in a fight-to-the-death battle with an eagle. A beggar saves more than $10,000. An office manager gives his stenographers time for primping. Can you imagine that? This is Lindsay McCarrie bringing you another session of this series in which we hope to surprise you with some odd facts and news stories, just to give you, well, something to think about. We'll be back with the first item in just a moment or two. First, can you imagine that squib for this time? I discovered this item in a Chicago newspaper, of June 4, 1911, and it might well be taken to heart by many modern business executives. On the day before, A.J. Callahan, then Chief Clerk of the Office of the City Corporation Council, posted this bulletin. The 10 most competent girls in this office will be allowed to primp for 15 minutes each morning. They will report at 8.45, primp for 15 minutes, and be ready to work at 9 a.m. Immediately, a flurry of pleasurable excitement ran through the girls of the office, and after due consideration, they posted the following schedule. 8.45, inspect braids. 8.46, straighten puffs. 8.48, fluff hair. 8.49, adjust belt. 8.50, rub face with powder bag. Which, according to the girls, was the most important item for the consumed five minutes. 8.55, look at the face, head, and hair in mirror. 8.57, examine waist and skirt, smoothing out wrinkles. 8.58, carefully lay away hat. 8.59, hang up coat. 9, get busy. Remark the spokeswoman for the girls. And you needn't laugh, either. We are not allowed any more time than is necessary. Ask any married man if his wife can finish primping in 15 minutes. Explaining his motivation in this rather odd order said Chief Clerk Callahan. It's the right kind of pride. The girl who primps is to be commended and not sneered at. Give a girl a chance to primp a real chance, and she'll do better work all day. The eternal feminine is getting more feminine every day. Even if a good many of them are shouting for votes and divided skirts. But after all, that was in 1911. I wonder how many office girls need a special bulletin, allowing them to print these days. Oh, hum, will progress never cease. Well, here's a news item from Filo, California in the year 1905. And it's calculated to teach all little boys and girls not to throw rocks at birds. A farm boy named C.D. Estel was plowing, and when he paused for a rest, he noticed a huge eagle in a tree. Unthinkingly, he began throwing stones at the bird, hitting it two or three times. The eagle at last flew away from the tree and circled high above Estel's head, the boy watching the maneuvers with interest. Suddenly, the monstered eagle swooped down toward Estel and hit him a terrific blow with one of its wings. Then, Estel managed to remove a picket from a nearby fence, and by the time the bird was ready for its next attack, Estel was prepared to protect himself. Time after time, the eagle lunged at the boy, finally knocking him to the ground. But all this time, Estel was getting in his innings with the picket, ultimately breaking one of the bird's wings. This so enraged the eagle that it sunk its talons on the boy's arm and the lad fainted. When he awoke, the eagle was lying dead near the fence, and Estel prepared to spend several unpleasant weeks under the care of a physician. The eagle measured ten feet from wingtip to wingtip, and its talons were eight inches long. Well, boys and girls, let that be a lesson to you. There have been many accounts of hidden fortunes stored away by eccentric mendicants and peculiar beggars to you for what purpose no one has ever known. For instance, in Philadelphia many years ago, Elizabeth Stork, a beggar, was found dead at the age of 85 years. In a cupboard in her barren room was discovered $500 in cash, and authorities later found that she owned the house in which she lived and the adjoining property, both valued at $6,000. And yet, Elizabeth Stork died of starvation and exposure. Can you imagine that? But here's a case that ended entirely differently and all too tragically for one of its participants. It was on the fourth day of August 1926 that a party of sightseers were unfolding themselves from one of those so-called rubber neck buses at Pell Street in the Bowery to explore New York's Chinatown. Isn't this exciting, Fred? Chinatown. Sure is. Nothing like it back in 8L. Fred. Fred, listen to me. Huh? Oh, what is it, Mabel? That old man there. He's coming right over to you. Oh, well, he's probably just a beggar. He'll go away. Well, sir, I ain't had nothing to eat for two days. How about helping an old man to a cup of java? How's about it? Well, uh, well, here's... There he is. He's fucking annoying you. Come on, beat it. Leave my customers alone. You rich people ought to be ashamed of yourself coming down here this way and refusing to help us, poor folk. You ought to be ashamed of yourself. Yeah, I got as much right here as you got. I said to get out of here. Hey, hey, hey. What's going on here? Listen, copper, this mug's been annoying my customers. Not only begging from him, but he's been insulting them, too. Oh, is that so? Well, come on, you. I'm going to take you in. No, no. Hey, what do you got in that bundle? No, no, no. It's just a bunch of old newspapers, isn't it? Nothing. Come on, come on. No, no, no. No, no, no. Give me that. Money. Paper money. Give it to me. Give it to my mind. It's my agenda. No, no, no. Here's one more $500 bill, Captain. It's in the lining of his coat. Is that all you got? Yeah, yeah, that's all. What's your name? Frank Jacobs. You married? No, I live alone. Address? Number 60 Stamble Street. Well, how long have you been collecting this money? For over 40 years. How old are you? I'm 66, I think. How much is there altogether, Dyer? $12,385, sir. All right. Dyer, take him to Lieutenant Reid and have him booked on soliciting alms and interfering with pedestrians. Yes, sir. Come on, Jake. Come on. Oak Street Station, Lieutenant Reid speaking. Yes, Ed. Huh? Is that so? Uh-huh. Okay, I'll take care of it right away. This is Lieutenant Reid. Call Petroman Dyer on the bow where he beat and have him report to Inspector McAuliffe at headquarters right away. Okay. Now get me Inspector McAuliffe. Oh, Inspector, Reid at Oak Street. Say, I'm coming over to see you right away. Yes, sir, it is important. One of our men just brought in a bit... Dyer, where'd you go after you left Oak Street Station in your prisoner? Well, he came to headquarters and gave the money to the property clerk. You sure you came directly to headquarters, Dyer? Well, no, sir. I did visit a friend of mine on Pennell Street. Where on Pennell Street? 607. Come on. Take a run over there. Come on, Lieutenant. Yes, sir. Hold, sir. Yes? Yes, that's me. Come in. No, no, no. Of course not. Come in. Oh, hello, Dyer. Hello, Bill. Give me that fountain pen I left here a while ago, will you? Oh, yes, sure. Right here. Here you are. I'll take that. That's all right, Bill. This is Inspector McAuliffe. Oh. Mm-hmm. Look here, Lieutenant. Well... Two $500 bills stashed in this pen. What about it, Dyer? I took them. I didn't think nobody would miss them. I needed the money. I took them. Sure, I took them. And so that simple beginning wherein a professional beggar accosted a busload of New York sightseers resulted in revealing him as the wealthiest beggar in the history of the Oak Street Station and in the arrest of a New York policeman for appropriating $1,000 of Frank's long-saved fortune. Can you imagine that? For obvious reasons, several of the names and addresses have been changed in the foregoing dramatization. But the facts were exactly as you heard them. Now, as our musical can you imagine that this time, let's do a little more melody sleuthing. First of all, I want you to listen to a portion of Beethoven's minuet in G. You all remember that, of course, don't you? Well, now, let's, uh, change the melodic pattern just slightly at the end of the phrase. And we get, of course, it's that beloved old favorite of war times, the Rose of No Man's Land. We have it once more, ladies and gentlemen. Another session of Can You Imagine That? We'll return soon on this same station. And until we do, this is Lindsay McCarrie saying goodbye now.