Father Smith Now Star Gazing; Shinzo Heldup, Vol. 1, No. 7, March 27, 1945

EXTRA! EXTRA! Fenessy went to work again. Don't be alarmed -- he's not on anything movable. He is working for the Cincinnati Post. His job is to melt the used type metal so it can be used again. So far he has succeeded in burning his own neck, but has failed to injure anyone else in the building. Give him time.

By this time, most of you know we are having a horseman holiday. No races anywhere in the good old U.S.A.

Sgt. and Mrs. Jim Robinson (Doll Herking) are the proud parents of a little girl, born Dec. 15th. Incidentally, Sgt. Jim has an A.P.O. number now.

Our first war trophy adorns the Blue Room. Simon sent a Nazi helmet to hang in the place. Benton is trying to keep in shape for the return of the old Ram Rod. How many of you recall the threat that Ram Herking made about giving the old Dog the lift and slam the day he came home. How about that Ram, does that still stand?

We don't have a kitchen in the Blue Room anymore. The back room is now the Dog House or Benton's Benzine Department. The Dog will invite or entice you into his den, and when you come out you're cleaned. Name your own game, choose your own weapons, makes no difference to the Dog. I made a few trips back myself and came out feeling like I made a few round trips in a concrete mixer. I'm still dizzy and broke.

Joe Rechtin stops in as usual and wants to know if Wayne is home on the rotation plan. Rechtin can't understand why Uncle Same don't let his herring out for a short snorter or something. Joe says, "Wayne is my dish."

Joe Pharo is stationed close enough to home to be able to drop in for weekends now and then. Norb Pharo is still taking the usual amount of kidding about his card playing and his age. Joe Usher and Bill Bridges drop in every Sunday afternoon and spread their net to catch poor fish in a poker game. And do they get 'em. The women seem to predominate in numbers now that all of you GI's are away. But just wait, there will come a day.

Father Schmidt is getting so good that he can now give you a complete forecast on your future by just looking at the moon and the stars. If any of you want your horoscope read, just write to Ed Q. Smith c/o the Blue Room. Please enclose your date of birth and $1. If you want the deluxe reading, send $2.

Dixon and Shinzo are the two men pictured on the right.
Photo Credit: Mark Pharo
From the Collection of Mary Pharo Meldon

Shinzo Heing was held up and his paper money taken away from him the other week on his way down Torrence Road. Some 8-ball got him in broad daylight.

Doc Prinzbach said he is going to take a vacation for about three months whenever Jule gets home. Mr. Prinzbach is only working 12 hours a day.

Social Events, Vol. 1, No. 7, Tuesday, March 27, 1945

With all the ice and snow we've been having, I can tell you the skis and sleds are getting a workout. Your overstuffed editor hasn't mustered up enough courage to take a whirl at the skis as yet, but give me time. Benton took Fennessy out one night for a bit of skiing and I hear from the Dog that Uncle Bulgey did OK for the first half of a trip, so maybe I'll take a shot at it.

New Year's Eve was headed for one of those slow evenings with nothing planned in advance. Some of the gang gathered in the Blue Room during the course of the afternoon and evening and no one knew what was up when shades of night started to fall, but as the action took place, Good Old Bill Buerk came through. Buerkmanor was ours for the night. And what a night! Your editor is just a little bit hazy as to all that went on, but I was there.

Fennessy sure did look sweet in one of the girl's nighties. I remember that well. And another thing that is very clear in my mind is that I was NOT taken for a ride just before lunch was served as I was at a previous party. In fact, I was the cook, apron and all. Benton liked my cooking so well that he gave the Bee the cold shoulder for the rest of the night. He even winked at me, imagine.

But all in all, it was one swell party. And to Mr. and Mrs. Bill Buerk, thanks a million for a hell of a swell time. We all liked it. Monday, January 1st, found quite a few patrons of the Blue Room suffering from "sinus" trouble. Doc Flagge would look like Ned in the third reader if he tried to ease the pain. It was brutal.

The balance of the week went along at the rate of 24 hours a day with nothing out of the ordinary happening. But Saturday, January 6th, we found out that Mr. and Mrs.Wm. Buerk were married five years. Here we go again. Yeah, the same damn thing over again. I don't have to tell you guys and gals that all the Blue Room bunch needs is just an excuse to throw a party or get plastered. Well, that's all it was -- just the excuse we needed and we were off. All of you know damn well what that meant. What a night. Sometimes I wish Bill and Pat Buerk weren't so damn nice.When you go to their house, the place is yours -- they even help you wreck the place.Why don't they get tough once in a while and tell us to scram? Instead, they ask you to stay for breakfast. I think their only salvation will be if they move so far away they won't be bothered with this gang.

Well, after that, we let Saturday, January 13th slide by with no action, but the 20th found us at the home of Mr. and Mrs. Dog Benton. Again, more drinks and more "sinus." Well, it's hard to say who was the best host. It was another rare occasion. The 27th, it was Mary Ellen Butler who took the gang out of the cold. I'm telling you, the pace is getting too fast for the old Neighbor. But rest assured, I'll try to survive till the real party takes place and each and every one of you are present.

Fennessy Hits Moving Van, Vol.1, No. 2, March 4, 1944

Trolley bus off of Eastern Ave. in front of Highlands School
Photo Credit:  Mark Pharo*
Spring 1949

This, my good friends, is a late news flash, so late in fact, that we had to stop the press in order to get it in this issue. We have taken these steps just to prove to you that we are ever on the alert for news that may have some little interest for you.  Now let us refer back to the "Purely Personal" column where you will note that John Fennessy is a motorman. Call it that if you will.

It is indeed quite common to see mothers leading their children to school with a firm grip on their child's hand -- children ranging in age from 6 to 16, ever conscious of the dangers that lay in the path of children when Fennessy is loose with a street car.  Just for your information, Fennessy took his pre-flight training at the Hyde Park barn.  His instructor must have been, not Mr. Jeykl, but Mr. Hyde, for the barn has the title of the HYDE Park barn, and who else could go around the city streets ever seeking out women and children hoping for the chance to run them down. Well, whoever gave Uncle Bulgey his training sure had something on the ball. If ever you have seen the glint in the eyes of other motormen as they rattled along the streets of our fair city, you can forget all those glints, for Fennessy has a glint all his own.

The "Horror of the Highway" really has that evil look.Well, let's get down to the point. Last Thursday about noon, some poor Eight Ball was driving his moving van along Gilbert Avenue, never dreaming that someone like Fennessy was at the controls of the oncoming street car. But alas, that was the Eight Ball's mistake.

Back about a square was the fearless Fennessy and as soon as he saw a truck on the tracks all of his pre-flight training came to him.  With the daring of a demon, he let loose with everything he had and scored a perfect hit on the poor Eight Ball and his truck.

All of our local papers carried an account of what happened, but to the Times-Star, we take off our hat. The picture they carried to show what had been done was a knockout.

Never in all my life have I seen a better display of hillbilly furniture set on any street. No doubt it could have been in a little better order, for the stove was where the sofa should have been, and the pot with the lid on that should have been under the bed was on the dining room table. Light globes were popping louder than popcorn in the lobby of the Orpheum Theatre. Things were in a general disarray. Fennessy stepped off his car with that look of satisfaction on his face just in time to see the Eight Ball climb out from under the living room rug.

I might also mention that Fennessy's face looked like he made too close of an examination of a meat chopper while it was in operation. The papers said that Fennessy was hit by flying glass. We were wondering just how much glass the Eight Ball threw at him. Brothers, you can only take my word for it -- he did a perfect job. Again calling to mind his training, he went back to the barn and was given another car to start all over with.

*Photo Credit: Mark Pharo provided this photo, taken in the spring of 1949, from his aunt's front porch. Although it has nothing to do with Fennessy's wreck, I couldn't resist including this picture. Hopefully, I'll eventually be able to find the original article in the Times-Star.