The NRA has it just where they want it.

An editorial cartoon that appeared in my morning newspaper.

**********

My trip to Walgreens

A young woman named Meghan Roscher wrote a nice letter which appeared in my local daily newspaper today. She is a nurse who works with old people, and says it saddens her to hear rude comments made about seniors from people her own age.

“Ageists!” I snorted, rattling my newspaper. “Those youngsters are guilty of ageism! Why do the young farts always think they’re smarter than us old farts?” I silently blessed Nurse Roscher for speaking up for me and my g-g-generation, and blocking my memories of my youth, when I thought at the ancient age of 60 all old people should be sent to the Soylent Green factory.

An hour later I was standing behind an older woman (and remember, I’m Medicare age, myself) who was causing problems with the queue at the Walgreens Pharmacy. She wasn’t there for a prescription. She had a bunch of non-drug items, and wanted to discuss the sale prices in the Walgreens ad with the pharmacy tech who was assisting her. He was very nice, and without being condescending explained that except for the drug aisles and his job behind the prescription counter he had no knowledge of the store. This just didn't sink in with the lady who continued complaining, and was by then visibly upset. For some reason she put two boxes of candy on the counter, told the pharmacy tech, “Don't charge me for these. I’ll put them back on the shelf.”

“It’s no problem, ma’am,” the kind young man said. “I can page a store manager and she can explain anything you need to know. She will return the candy to the  shelf.” The woman threw up her hands, took her sacks of goods, including toilet paper and toothpaste, and tossed them in her basket. She made a sort of gargling sound, wadded up the ad, then handed it to the tech for disposal. She stomped off. Without missing a beat he called me to the counter and we were conducting our business when she returned and said, “I forgot the candy! I need to take the candy back to the shelf.” He started to explain it again to her, but she grabbed the candy and stomped off again.

Old people! I thought. Old, slow-moving, demanding, selfish, they’re the only ones who matter...yada yada yada...and then of course the thought hit me again, according to my birthdate I'm old too! Not as old as the lady causing the ruckus, but who knows what I’ll be doing in ten years? Slamming my cane down on the counter, cursing the clerk because I don’t understand something? And will that clerk in 2022 be as nice dealing with an oldster as the clerk I saw today?

The young nurse who wrote the letter in defense of seniors, the young man behind the pharmacy counter who was so patient with an irascible, uncomprehending old woman are the people I should be emulating.

When I walked to the front of the store I remembered I needed postage stamps, so I got in line at the register, right behind a young woman who was in her mid-to-late twenties. She was attractive, with dark hair in a bun on top of her head. She turned to see who was behind her, and her eyes lost focus before she turned back around. I’ve seen that look before from young, pretty women. She saw I was old, uninteresting, and therefore invisible. She then tossed a package of Magnum condoms onto the counter. The young man clerking at that register scanned them and scooped them quickly into a sack, which is something clerks sometimes do, knowing that a girl getting a product that tells everyone she is going to have sex might be embarrassed.  I noticed the condoms were for a larger-than-average size penis. I wanted to break out of my invisibility shell and say, "Looks like you’ve got a big night planned!” When I said “big night” I would hold my hands about 12” apart. Ho-ho. But I didn’t because unlike when I was younger, I now have better impulse control. That’s at least one advantage to attaining senior status.

Teacher heroes

Like everyone else Friday, December 14, 2012, I watched the events unfolding at Sandy Hook Elementary School, in Newton, Connecticut. I felt the same horror as everyone else at the carnage and loss of life. For me it was more personal, though, even though the shootings were a couple of thousand miles from me; my feelings are due to my longtime association with schools.

For over 30 years it was my job to visit schools, to deliver and pick up mail, a necessity even in a technological age. Daily I went to 30 schools. At no time in all those years, in all of those thousands of visits to schools did I ever encounter any danger or feel threatened. There’s a complacency that comes about in a well-ordered society, and that means the school system in general and school buildings in particular. So it’s always a shock to me when a school is violated by violent crime.

When I began hearing the tales of heroism from within Sandy Hook Elementary, teachers protecting their students, the principal “lunging” at the assailant and getting shot for her bravery, I thought of the chaos and panic that was going on, and yet, within that chaos there was order, and priorities carried out by teachers and staff. Teachers went into lockdown, which is what they have been taught to do in the aftermath of other school shootings. Herd the kids into an area, then lock doors, close window shades, hopefully discourage a killer stalking through the building from coming into the room. Don’t be an easy target.

I thought about the many principals and teachers with whom I associated all those years. Teachers are sadly taken for granted by the public — they’re even take for granted by their own bosses at the top of the school district  — but teachers are a special breed of people. In circumstances like the Sandy Hook killings we find out how really special they are.

I’m sure that this weekend school administrators have been busy with public safety officials in meetings in every school district in the country to discuss what happened, and how to prevent it from happening in their schools. On Monday morning teachers will be showing up for work like they always do, but heavy on their minds the grim thought that somewhere there are copycat killers who envy killer Adam Lanza. The wannabe killers aren’t thinking of kids as victims, but targets, and through those targets a way to make a name for themselves, to live in notoriety. Formerly anonymous young men who feel insignificant, now with the possibility of having their name and murderous deeds all over the news. It will be those as yet unknown killers that teachers or school administrators will be fearing: What if one of them comes through the door, armed with an assault rifle?

As time goes on, and if there are no more incidents around the country, there will be some relaxing. Christmas break is just around the corner. The kids in the schools will be more excited about what Santa Claus will bring them than worried about a killer assaulting them. And they should be.

We expect a lot from teachers, but we don’t often think of them as heroes in the traditional sense. I’m sure it isn’t anything any of them would want to be called because of what it would mean to be put into that position. Because of my longtime association with educators, when I heard about how kids in Newtown, Connecticut were saved because of the quick actions of their teachers I wasn’t one bit surprised.

Hitchcock was his own greatest creation

The movie, Hitchcock, with Anthony Hopkins, is arriving amidst some grousing from critics. The complaints I’ve read about the biography are that it plays a bit with the facts. But would Hitchcock care that a movie was made about him and wasn't 100% factual? Probably not. He was known to be a bit slippery himself when it came to the truth. To put it another way, he didn’t let facts get in the way of a good story.

Hitchcock was also an inveterate publicity hound. Considering his portly features in this 1939 article from Life, you wouldn’t think he’d want a camera lens turned on him. But he did. And as often as possible.

Hitchcock sold his movies with his image and his name. This recent movie is about the making of Psycho in 1959. Historically Psycho has taken on great significance as a cinematic work of art because it was made by Hitchcock. For its time it was shocking, even morbid, and despite its story being well-known by now and its plot surprises long exposed, it still has that ability to create unease.

Copyright © 1939, 2012 Time-Life

Sky does not fall in Skyfall

Sally and I saw Skyfall yesterday at our local megaplex. We sat rapt for two hours and twenty minutes, and any time a movie can get both of us to sit still that long you know it has to be interesting.

A couple of people we talked to after the film had opinions on their favorite Bond actor. Having a succession of James Bonds, of whom Daniel Craig is the latest, leads Bond-fans to have to pick a favorite. I believe all the actors playing Bond had their individual eras, and each actor was the right one for the part at the time. The fact the franchise has been profitable and relevant for 50 years shows the producers' choices for Bond have been mostly correct (I still don’t like George Lazenby’s Bond, but it’s not poor George’s fault. He was chosen to fill the role after Sean Connery. That’s a tough act to follow, and George just wasn't the right bloke to do it.)

I like Craig, who brings a deadpan expression, muscular frame, and a no-nonsense haircut to the character. Craig also ushered in a reboot of the Bond saga, beginning his tenure with Bond’s beginnings in Casino Royale. Skyfall goes back to the Bond family home, when Bond is in hiding, holing up with M. and a caretaker (Kincaid, played by an unrecognizable — to Sally and me — Albert Finney), in a crumbling mansion in Scotland, called appropriately, Skyfall. Although we don't get any flashbacks to Bond's childhood, the movie gives us something of Bond’s backstory. That story, what forces created the man James Bond became, hasn’t been a big deal in other films. In the past it was as if Bond had just risen from the sea, fully formed with a suave demeanor, great clothes, and a license to kill.

As superhuman and robotic as Craig can be in his Bond films, he also has a human side. The love and revenge plot of his first two films, Casino Royale and Quantum of Solace showed that. It shows in Skyfall in his devotion to M, whom I realize is a mother figure to Bond.

Skyfall is full of the visual pyrotechnics we’re used to seeing. It has exotic locales, including incredible scenes of Shanghai. The modern urban landscape of that city is a complete contrast to the desolation of the Scottish moors of Bond’s childhood home.

And it’s during the siege of Bond’s old home by the vengeance-seeking former agent, Silva, played by Javier Bardem, that for me the film really came alive.

By then we’d seen the film’s opening, a totally unreal and fantastic action scene in Turkey of squealing tires, motorcycles climbing stairs, cars knocking over fruit and vegetable stands in the marketplace, with Bond in pursuit of a killer. (I think I saw the scene before in one of the Jason Bourne films.) Then we had a fight on top of a fast-moving train (at least Connery's Bond had the sense to have a fight inside a train in From Russia With Love). The later siege at the old house seemed almost realistic by comparison, and it was a good way to bring the more fantastic elements of Bond’s indestructibility back to earth in a hail of bullets and explosions.

But we needn’t worry about Bond surviving anything, no matter how deadly. James Bond is a superhero, like Batman. He just doesn’t wear a mask and cowl. Because he works for MI6 and is a secret agent I suppose in that sense he has a secret identity. Bond is not invulnerable like Superman, but invincible like Batman, virtually impossible to kill. Also like Batman the Bond character has been recast as a darker hero. I couldn’t see Daniel Craig bursting into the song, “Underneath the Mango Tree” as Sean Connery did when he introduced himself to Ursula Andress on the beach in Dr. No, any more than I could see Christian Bale as Batman dancing the Batusi, as did Adam West in the 1960s Batman television show.

Javier Bardem plays the villain as gay. His fingers begin caressing the bound Bond. He makes a remark to Bond that he has plans for him, which we interpret as sexual, and says most are nervous “the first time.” Bond responds with, “How do you know it’s my first time?” That opens up a whole other interpretation of James Bond’s sexuality.

**********

I bought my theater tickets online and learned a lesson in the process. For some reason Cinemark Theaters figures when you order, pay for and print your own tickets on your home printer, that they should add a charge. So my $5.75 early bird tickets became $7.00 each. When I got to the theater all they had to do was take my printed copy and redeem it. It doesn’t seem like a $1.25 x two tickets transaction to me, but apparently the $4.50 “medium” Coke Zero doesn’t give them enough profit, so they squeezed a little extra out of our tickets.

And speaking of the Coke, I guess I haven’t been to the movies lately. They have a self-serve snack bar, with a touchscreen Coke machine. After fumbling about with it for a few minutes a teenage employee took pity on us seniors and helped us. My discomfort at being faced with self-service is having to figure out every machine, every contraption, on an as-you-go basis. Luckily there were no other customers waiting for overpriced Cokes, so we weren’t inconveniencing anyone, but I’ll bet the girl had a good laugh with the other tech-savvy teens after I paid and left.

Selling anxiety and bad self-image

Advertising over the years, especially successful advertising, shows how our society has been shaped by Madison Avenue. These ads from Life, 1930s, ’40s and '50s, are of a type that increase sales by increasing anxiety about our bodies.

Even today ads that point out our inadequacies do well. How about ads that tell us our teeth aren’t white enough? For many years advertisers did well enough just pointing out that our breath could offend, or that our teeth would fall out without proper care. But now they have to be dazzling white. Thanks to a million cups of coffee over the past 45 years my teeth fail that brightness-whiteness test. I try not to show my teeth. It shows me once again that advertising has made me self-conscious about some part of my body.

In this ad from 1943 a kid tells her Aunt Jane she’s an old maid because her breath is bad! Aunt Jane checks with her dentist who recommends Colgate toothpaste and sure enough, Jane gets a husband.

“Nervous B.O.” isn’t the catchiest phrase I’ve ever seen, but it was successful for sales of Lifebuoy, which created anxiety about anxiety. Use Lifebuoy, no one will smell your nervous sweat, claims this 1940 ad.

I think this 1953 ad for Chlorodent is especially bad; it feeds the fears of housewives that their husbands are meeting other women at work, finding their wives lacking by comparison. When this ad ran many women stayed home with the kids, and this was a real fear. The image of the husband-stealing seductress behind a spiderweb must’ve sent chills through housewives all over the country. Whether it did a lot for Chlorodent I don’t know...is that product still on the market?

 Of all the things to make one feel bad about oneself, “smelly hands” isn’t high on the list. It just doesn’t meet the anxiety level needed to make a product a success. (It sounds more like something from Seinfeld.) That Frostilla is no longer in business, and that no one ever mentions smelly hands is probably an indicator that this campaign from 1937 didn't pass the smell test.

Except for an occasional misfire, making us feel bad about ourselves is something advertisers do very well.

Bad hair day

I’ve mentioned before that any day one gets arrested is probably a very bad day. Getting hauled to jail in handcuffs, plopped in front of a camera is not like having one’s picture taken for a driver’s license photo. In culling through the local mugshots (looking for people I know) I came across some guys who, at the very least need a comb, and for sure need new hairstyles.

I’m showing what the charge is against them.

Criminal trespass.

Assault, domestic violence.

Controlled substance.

Stalking.

 The next two guys, “retail theft” and “failure to appear” respectively, show up more than once in the gallery for the past few months. It probably doesn’t help either of them that they’re so easy to identify, just from hairstyles.

 The bottom two I like for their individual styles. Top, “aggravated kidnap,” this smooth Beatles/mullet combo is at least 20 years out of date, but shows a level of care. The owner is proud of his style. The next, “protective order violation,” fascinates; it’s a Viking hairstyle with the addition of bushy blond eyebrows.

 **********

“Blowmeno”

Nobody has asked, but I’m going to explain why this blog is called Insomnia Notebook.

Sometimes I wake up very early, and can’t go back to sleep. Rather than give in to racing thoughts, “ruminations” which can drive me crazy, I use those hours of wakefulness, One of the things I do if I have an idea is jot it down, so that's where the “notebook” part of my title comes from.

Recently, for instance, I woke up thinking about a story from 45 years ago, when my brother and his friends had a local rock band. I jotted a few words in my notebook so I'd remember: ERNIE, BLOWMENO, INGRID A.

 It wasn’t just the groups like the Rolling Stones and Led Zeppelin that attracted girls and young women; even local guys had their own female fans. Ernie, bass player in my brother’s band, had pretty good luck with girls. He was tall, blond, good-looking. As guys are wont to do, he told a few stories. One was what came to be known as “blowmeno.” Ernie explained he was in his car with a girl, making out. The going got heavy. The girl was willing. Ernie unzipped his pants and in one of those moments of ecstasy said to the girl, “Blow me.” As Ernie explained it to the guys, “The word ‘me’ was still coming out of my mouth when she said, ‘no’! It’s the fastest ‘no’ I’ve ever gotten...it was like ‘blowmeno’, one word.” It got to be a game with the guys. One of the bandmembers would call out in a passionate voice, “Blowwww meeee...” and someone would rush in with “no!” before the sound of “me” had faded.

Well, I didn’t say all the ideas I jot down in my notebook are good. It just demonstrates to me that we are memory repositories of all sorts of things, good and bad.

To follow up on Ernie, we talked a few times during band rehearsals. He mentioned a girl he’d gone to high school with. Once again, as guys sometimes do, he wasn’t kind to her reputation: “Man, Ingrid A. was a slut! I mean, a guy’d just look at her and she was on her back.”

Ingrid A! I told Ernie I’d known Ingrid when we were little kids. She was the same age as Ernie, who was a year younger than me. In the late fifties Ingrid’s family moved a few miles west, to the part of town Ernie lived in, which is why they were in high school together. I had my own story about Ingrid. When I was about 6 or 7 a group of boys and I were out playing in my yard one summer day when Ingrid and her little sister walked up to us. Ingrid gave us an offer: she’d take us into a neighbor’s back yard, one at a time, and pull down her pants for us! Hey, I was a kid and didn’t realize what I’d see, but since I’m writing about it nearly 60 years after the fact, what I saw impressed me.

I told Ernie the story. “She’s still doing that,” he laughed.

On that note, I'm going back to bed.

Bring back the draft?

There was a letter in the local newspaper on November 25, titled “Bring back the draft.” According to online comments, some people agreed with the sentiments expressed, but many did not.

Bring back the draft
First Published Nov 25 2012 05:41 pm • Last Updated Nov 30 2012 08:48 pm

I would like to see our country reactivate the military draft. I know we have been able to staff our forces with all the great volunteers but we cannot continue to take advantage of them in this way.

Too many military members have been required to serve multiple duty tours in dangerous operations for too many years. If we had a requirement that some percentage of our military, say a third, had to come from the draft, regardless of the number of willing volunteers, we could create a military with more citizen involvement.

In this draft, there wouldn’t be the deferments we have had in the past: If your number is picked, you serve.

A draft would keep all citizens interested in our military and how it is used because all parts of society would be involved in it.

Stewart Owen

The next note is from a writer who believes a draft would have kept us out of “our two most recent, useless wars.” That’s always possible, but since both of the wars were started during the Bush administration I would not have counted on it.

Draft for peace
First Published Nov 29 2012 01:01 am • Last Updated Nov 29 2012 12:07 pm

I could not agree more with "Bring back the draft" (Forum, Nov. 26). Having lived through the Vietnam era, I am certain a draft would have kept us out of our two most recent, useless wars.

With all the protests and moving to Canada that would occur with a draft, there would be a deleterious effect on the United States starting wars.

Robert Mindell

Heber City

I am always bothered when women are so adamantly for the draft, as we see in this note from Geraldine Livingston. Unless they want women to be part of universal conscription they’re just handing over their sons and other young men.

Draft or volunteers?
First Published Nov 30 2012 05:43 pm • Last Updated Nov 30 2012 05:43 pm

I absolutely and wholeheartedly agree with Stewart Owen that we should "Bring back the draft" (Forum, Nov. 25).

It is shameful that the volunteer military has to endure five and six tours of duty.

If the draft had not been dissolved after the Vietnam War, we might not have the proliferation of gangs and school dropouts.

The "now generation" has little respect for this country and our flag; it all has to do with self-gratification.

It’s a scary thought what this nation will become with these soon-to-be adults.

Geraldine Livingston

Bountiful

I believe if the draft were reinstated we would have exactly what we had during the Vietnam era, which is poor men going into the Army, the sons of the rich staying out. I don’t care what the letter said about “there wouldn’t be the deferments we have had in the past.” It would not work like that. There would be deferments, and for all kinds of reasons. The draft is unpopular, so any talk about bringing it back is moot. No lawmaker would want to touch it and commit political suicide.

In a different time of national crisis, World War II, there was a stigma attached to not going and doing one’s patriotic duty. That stigma disappeared, and during the Vietnam era it became cool to avoid being drafted.

This crudely drawn, amateurish comic book story, from Sparkling Stars #8 in 1945, shows how the FBI went after those draft dodgers in that earlier, World War II era.

More sex from the mox nix box

I’m still digging around in my metaphorical mox nix box (see the posting that precedes this one). I spent some time this past week going through the ads in a 1950 detective magazine, Best True Detective. Ads in the backs of sleazy mags are often more entertaining than the editorial contents.

Irving Klaw — and with a name like Irving Klaw you know it’s got to be good — ran a shop in Times Square, New York, where he sold pictures of movie stars, but also pin-ups. Klaw and his sister, Paula, marketed them to a specialty audience of men interested in things like seeing girls tied up, with whips, fighting, wearing nylons and garters, high heels and high heel lace-up boots.

I don't have to tell you to click on the pictures to make them full-size, do I?

He was also responsible for distributing John Willie’s infamous comic strip serials of “Sweet Gwendoline,” whose adventures were clearly indicated in the ad. She spent a lot of time tied up whilst wearing the aforementioned nylons and garters, high heels and lace-up boots. I haven't mentioned yet that Klaw was targeted by the Senate committee on pornography. It probably didn’t help Klaw that his header says “Mel-O-Drama with a capital O.” Even in the long-ago dark age of 1950 people knew what “O” means.

If Klaw’s ads weren't enough to pique a guy’s interest, there were also paperback books with titles like Shamelss Virgin, Confessions of a Party-Wife, Confessions of a Good-Time Girl, or Shakedown Dame. Peggy Gaddis (real name, Erolie Pearl Gaddis Dern b. 1895 d. 1966) who wrote Shameless Virgin, is a name I recognize; the others are probably pseudonyms of fat, sweaty guys who sat in a dingy room, smoking cigarettes, tossing back cheap whiskey, banging out these novels on their ancient 1920s typewriters.

If fiction wasn’t to a man’s liking, there were “true” sex manuals like Sexual Conduct of Men & Women, which promised to be “THE SEXUAL HOLY-OF-HOLIES so completely explored that even the doctors are impressed.” Then three doctors are quoted. I’d be interested in chapters like “IN THE BOY’S LIFE” with subjects like “Neighbors' little girls. Attractive school-teachers. Instructive housemaids.” Sounds kinky to me. How about “ADOLESCENCE”: “Girl next-door. Married women. Co-eds. Attractive Aunts. Street-walkers.” All of those sound reasonably normal interests for an adolescent with the exception of “Attractive Aunts,” which might have more to do with the writer than the reader.

Finally, do you get those pop-up ads on the Internet promising “FUCK BUDDIES” or “MEET WOMEN IN YOUR AREA YOU CAN FUCK TONIGHT”? Well, the lonely hearts clubs weren't  so overt, but the idea might have been the same, at least in the mind of the schnook who answered one of these ads. After reading these other hot ads he was probably primed and ready for some action.

Notice down in the lower right, “Colored Club.” It means the other clubs were whites-only, or even if they weren’t, the Alma Club let everyone know who their ad was aimed at.

The mox nix box

When I was in the U.S. Army in Germany we were allowed what was called a “mox nix box.” It was about the size of a shoebox and sat on the top shelf of our locker. It held things that would otherwise be disallowed. Mine had paperback books, some comics, and maybe a Playboy magazine. Occasionally it would get too full and I’d reluctantly dump it out so I could put new stuff in. I’m reminded of the mox nix box when I look at pictures and things I’ve collected over the past month to use in my blog, but just aren't enough to inspire a post. So I’ve just decided every once in a while to have a mox nix blog, with things that fit into the space, no matter the context.

First up in our online mox nix box, sex! That’s always a good way to start out.

Whips! Heels! Big hair! A mask! Kinky!

Speaking of kinky, I found this photo from an off-Broadway play in 1968, in an issue of Time magazine. That's Charlotte Rae in the chair, for those of you who remember that wonderful comic actress. (Rae, born in 1926, is now 86, and has survived some health scares. From Wikipedia: “In 1982, Rae had a pacemaker implanted in her heart. In 2009, due to the frequency of pancreatic cancer in her own family, Rae was screened and diagnosed early. Her mother, an uncle, and her elder sister Beverly all reportedly died of the disease. Rae is cancer-free and in remission as of 2012.”)

I also found a photo of Bettie Page I had not seen. There is something phallic about that hose nozzle in her hands, sitting on that ball. Or is it just me?

My question about this picture, is there a school that teaches body painting? I’d like to sign up for a course.

Sexy pix from Vanity Fair magazine, which ran a story on model Kate Moss. Kate has never been worried about over exposure.

From Life magazine, 1954, this Hanes ad is softcore porn. A woman on her back, legs in the air...you can't see anything, but boy howdy, you can imagine!

There were always girls willing to show off to land in show biz. Carol Ohmart had this semi-racy picture in Life in 1955.

Carol is a homey. She was born in Salt Lake City, and was Miss Utah in 1946. She was on very early television doing commercials in 1949-52, then went to Hollywood, where she was touted as a “new Marilyn Monroe” (and how many actresses have had that claim attached to them?) She was in House On Haunted Hill with Vincent Price, playing his murderous wife.

And finally, some pin-ups that great-great-great grandad used to hide in his own mox nix box.

Mamacidal maniac

Matricide is a heinous crime. It’s uncommon, but it happens. A man killing his mother by violence is bad enough, but when he kills 43 other people with her that's about as bad as it can be.

In 1955 John Gilbert “Jack” Graham slipped a couple of dozen wrapped sticks of dynamite, a clock and a battery into his mother's luggage. She took a flight out of Denver, and sometime later the DC-6B in which she and 43 others were traveling exploded in mid-air, spreading debris over farms and fields. It took weeks for inspectors to reconstruct the incident, and when they did someone noticed the smell of dynamite. Jack Graham fell under suspicion when it was discovered he had taken out a large amount of flight insurance on his mom. Graham was questioned, confessed to the crime, went to trial where he recanted his confession, but was ultimately found guilty. He died in the gas chamber in 1957, unrepentant to the end. He felt no remorse for his victims; a true sociopath.

This article, from the November 28, 1955 issue of Life explains the story to the point of Graham's arrest, and includes pictures of the victims. A few years later the crime was dramatized in The FBI Story, starring Jimmy Stewart, with Nick Adams as Graham.

Copyright 1955, 2012 Time-Life

A longer and more detailed article on the explosion of United Airlines Flight 629, the subsequent investigation and mass murderer Jack Graham can be found here.