From The Watch Man

Sun (Auckland), Volume IV, Issue 1031, 23 July 1930, Page 10

From The Watch Man

By

“THE LOOK-OUT MAN.”

BOW WOW! When the Limited express arrived in Wellington on Monday morning a porter found an escaped prisoner in the dog box. . . . News item. He might have found security in lonely rural lands, Then “borrowed” sundry garments at a farm — He could have sought the hilltops, there to bury prison bands And chuckle at the dwindling; alarm . . . Instead of that he risked a trip in regulation togs— Migrated to the station—went completely to the dogs. The methods of the movie “crook” with gun and motor-car Were obviously hopeless from the start. He didn’t have a weapon—and he didn’t have a car, Nor even humble dobbin and a cart . . . And now he knows that canine tricks are liable to flop. When porters are inquisitive at every railway stop. M.E. rut: in ' its [No questh>\ Many responsibilities, major problems, and minor puzzles await Mr. W. G. Wohlmann, superintendent of police at Auckland, who has been appointed Commissioner of Police for New Zealand. As the permanent head of the service, his powers will be extremely wide, and will extend from decisions of the “off with his head” variety to purely sartorial questions. For example, the Mcllveney regime was made conspicuous by the reintroduction of the extraordinary but nowfamiliar shako—a type of headgear the top of which cranes forward cheekily, as though it wished constantly to peer down at its owner’s face. Will Mr. Wohlmann abolish the shako and bring about a return to the more dignified helmet? If he does so, visitors to New Zealand arriving on overseas boats will be deprived of an amusement that invariably is devised as a pastime when the steamers are creeping toward the Auckland wharves —that of making trite jokes at the expense of the shakoed constables who wait near the landing-stages. GANG PUBLICITY When Alfred . a Chicago reporter, was murdered by a gunman, the “Tribune,” which employed Lingle, vowed that it would not rest until the crime was avenged. But its tune changed to a humble note when it was revealed that Lingle was little better than a crook himself, having received payments from gangs. In other words he had been indulging in the popular Chicago sport of “racketeering”—a mixture of blackmail and bribery. This Was discovered by rival reporters in the employ of rival newspapers. Now the whole sorry business has boomeranged into the journalistic community of the wheat pool city, and ’ staff members of other newspapers are involved. Six men, including a city editor (one of a notoriously hardened and capable-of-any-thing tribe) have been named. In due course, no doubt they will migrate sadly to the underworld whence came their surreptitious wealth. * , • SERVICES RENDERED The question is, how did these journalists serve the gangsters? When taking part in racketeering, even in Chicago, one must offer quid pro quo, and it is hardly likely that gangland paid big. sums for such interesting personal items as "Mr. Killer Carson, or ‘The Yards,’ has returned from a short holiday at Niagara,” or “Sixtyfourth Street was the scene of a happy little assault on Saturday evening, when Mr. ‘Red’ Filligan was the recipient of a gold watch and roll of hills.” No, publicity is just the thing that gangsters do not want, and the chances are that the journalists were paid for what they did not write rather than for what they did. This negative form of service is not new to journalism, nor is it regarded with any degree of favour in normal circles. There was the case of a noted dramatic critic who was approached by a New York producer and offered 500 dollars for a good first night “notice” of a certain show. The critic agreed and published a eulogy that was almost saccharine in quality. But underneath it was a little note signed by the critic: “Mr. So-and-So (naming the producer) paid me 500 dollars for the above notice.” SOMEWHAT TACTLESS “Koa”: Perhaps it was merely tactlessness (one hates to believe it was deliberate), but a fearful jape has been played on a farmer of the Auckland Province. For years he toiled on his property in the baekblocks, cursing manuka, gorse, ragwort, thistle and other botanical glories which annoy men of the soil, and, having noted reasonable increases in his but-ter-fat cheques, he plunged into matrimony. A friend of the bride was apart student. She had produced her masterpiece, a landscape gleaming with ragwort in full bloom, magnificent to the artist’s eye. She made a commendable sacrifice and presented the picture to the farmer and his bride. As a result the farmer’s honeymoon was placed almost in jeopardy. What made the pain more acute was that the bridegroom came from South Auckland, where ragwort really does thrive.