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About George Garrigues
Garrigues wrote a book about his father, "He Usually Lived With a Female," which tells the story of C.H. (Brick) Garrigues's life as a 1920s reporter and opera critic, 1930s gumshoe, 1940s would-be novelist, and 1950s music reviewer.
As an undergraduate at UCLA, George Garrigues was one of the many victims of McCarthyism, when somebody discovered his old man had been investigated as a member of the Communist Party in the 1930s and the son was apparently tainted as a bomb-throwing, wild-haired traitor. He was blackballed by student politicians and has had an unhealthy disrespect for Greek-letter cabals ever since. But he DOES comb his hair more often now.
Undaunted, the young man became a reporter on the Inglewood (California) Daily News, Ontario (California) Daily Report, and Los Angeles Times. He worked in public relations for the State of California (San Francisco and Sacramento) and the International Labor Office (Geneva, Switzerland). With a master's degree in journalism, he later was head of communications or journalism programs at University of the Pacific, Wayne State University, University of Bridgeport and Lincoln University of Missouri.
Garrigues is the principal of City Desk Publishing, which includes the Read All About It! Series of books telling the stories of criminals, victims, lookers-on and journalists of the late 19th and early 20th centuries, based on the fascinating newspaper articles from that era. All the books are heavily illustrated.
He also is active in the "Welcoming All Levels of French Speakers" meetup group in San Luis Obispo, California.
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It was pitch dark outside a stately New Jersey mansion in 1916. Inside, a man’s body lay on the floor. Margaret Clair Beutinger gripped a smoking gun. Two little girls crept from their bed and clung to her. She arose with the revolver carefully pointed away from them, and then, in fright, threw it down. She sank back and wept. The six-year-old ran to soak a towel in water from the sink and returned to bathe her mother’s face. The servants came.
Was it murder or self-defense? It was up to two dozen men to decide.
And that drunken politician brought up on a charge of touching her when she lay abed in jail. Would he beat the rap?
You follow this story as almost everybody did it at that time — through printed newspaper reports, day after day as the tale unfolded. It is a unique way to look at this gripping narrative of a century ago.
This new edition brings her story up to date. The time she was named correspondent in a divorce suit. Whom she finally married. The astonishing claim that she had been a British agent. Her long (and eventually quiet) life.
And what became of her five little kids all dressed in white.
It wasn't the first time that George Hayford would find himself in trouble. Nor the last time he’d be jumping on or off trains.
Hayford was a lawyer, or at least he said he was. He once claimed to be a judge; he once claimed to be the attorney-general of Oregon. He often claimed to have money in banks which he did not really have. He sometimes turned his collar around and called himself a preacher. He was indeed a crook, and a crooked lawyer is known as a shyster, a word that stems from the German “Scheisse,” which means, uh, a piece of excrement.
He started out well enough: In 1889 he volunteered to defend a poor Latina woman who had laid a wooden tie across a track to showcase her claim that the railroad had not paid anything for the right to cross her land. But there was that teenager who clung to him during a goodly part of 1893, much to the distress of her mom and various unrelated busybodies throughout California. And by 1901, he was jumping off an Arizona train in handcuffs, a sleepy detective blinking in confusion behind him.
I present George Hayford’s story to you — curated and edited, but just the way it unfolded — bit by bit, headline by headline, year by year. This is the way it was all reported when the American West was on the edge of maturity, when the omnipresent telegraph lines were able to carry the news everywhere, and when reporters had fun with their stories.
What made George Hayford end up on the wrong side of the law?
I leave that to you, the reader, to decide.
Early 20th century journalist Marguerite Martyn not only interviewed but sketched the people and events of her time: women marching for the vote, child workers dreaming of a better life, teenagers dancing the Bunny Hug in dimly lit clubs, long skirts and big hats. Criminals and politicians, artists and archbishops, corsets and conventions, romance and rebellion—Martyn covered it all, with sensitivity, wit and whimsy.
This selection of Martyn's work illuminates the changing role of women at the turn of the last century: their struggle for voting rights and the heated debate over “a woman's place” in society. Sketchbook in hand, Martyn pursued and asked questions of suffragists and their critics, of social reformers and society women. She interviewed or sketched activists Alice Paul, Sylvia Pankhurst, Jane Adams, and Margaret Sanger, as well as Helen Taft and Alice Roosevelt Longworth. She drew and was drawn by Charles Gibson, creator of the “Gibson Girl”, made fun of the dictates of fashion, solicited advice from 'experts' about marriage and romance, and was informed by one of the current political bosses there was 'absolutely no hope' for women's suffrage.
See the Progressive Era through the eyes of this pioneering reporter and illustrator, and how she was changed by what she saw.
They were husband and wife; World War I forced them apart. Clair Kenamore was a reporter with a camera on the Western Front; Marguerite Martyn covered the home front with an interviewer's pen and artist's sketchbook.
He reported what he saw: Doughboy Sammy Goldberg coming back from the trenches with seventeen German prisoners. Blond French girls throwing flowers and flirting in German with boisterous American troops. Men dying.
She asked questions, and in her drawings, her imagination soared. Fashionable women wearing fanciful war-themed hats. Befuddled diners wondering how to get around wartime food regulations. Fearful women asking: Marry before he goes overseas, or wait 'til he's home? Strong women taking on men's jobs: running a lathe, operating an elevator, building airplanes, driving trucks. Young boys knitting sweaters.
You learn what historians can't tell you. How did civilians become soldiers? Who took their places on the job and in the fields? What did mustard gas smell like?
You smile, too: Santa Claus checks a shopping list. A uniformed cupid challenges a draft-dodger. A busybody woman peers through a periscope. Camp followers get booted. And a "peach" eats a peach.
* * *
"A feeling of 'you are there" . . . "escape briefly from our current perilous time to another very troubled one a century ago." -- John Rengstorff
She was born Dora Elizabeth Fuller on March 17, 1880, in Mercer County, Illinois, took on several names and husbands, and was suspected of killing one of them.
You will watch this story unfold in much the same way as did newspaper readers in the early years of the last century, when telegraphs were common but telephones were rare, and motorcars were just making their way onto the nation’s dusty roads and rutted highways.
As this story grew, other papers throughout the country happily amplified the Dora Doxey tale, which ranged from sordid to titillating to sad to romantic — and was always mysterious.
In the Read All About It! series of fully illustrated true-crime books, you get the actual text — edited for the sake of brevity and for your understanding of these convoluted weeks and months when Dora Doxey was the talk of the nation.
The newspapers which covered this story built the ongoing saga as a confrontation between two women, Dora Doxey, the suspected murderer, and Kate Erder, whose struggle for justice for her dead brother would change her life.
In the background was always the doctor, with his hypodermic needle.
The story is told the way the people of that time devoured it—through the day-by-day newspaper accounts of the murder investigation and trial. It brings you back in time to ask, as people asked then: What happened to the house painter in the home of Mrs. Dodge on that fateful September day in 1911?
It is the story of Alice Maud Hartley, English born with accent to match, good-looking, artistic, a mother, married three times (though later she said it was only two), an adventurous soul who nevertheless was more at home among the salons of the Palace Hotel in San Francisco than she was amid the tree sap and rough frontier of Meadow Lake. Religious, mystical, determined. Quiet.
She killed a man and was sent to prison, where she had his baby.
The other woman was Carrie Brady Glasscock. She said:
"He seated me on the sofa and inquired about my health. As I was still afflicted with malaria, he said he had a sure remedy which he took himself. He made up a dose in a glass and gave it to me to drink. It put me to sleep."
You learn all this through a unique medium — just the way the public learned the details in the 1890s — through newspaper headlines and newspaper stories. It is a truly fascinating and captivating way to "Read All About It!"