From the September 1959 magazine.

You Never Know

JUST about eight years ago, my dinner was interrupted by a phone call from the local Justice of the Peace. The conversation went something like this:

"Hello. Pete! I have an awful nice young Irishman in jail here, and I thought you might help him out. He has two faults--he drinks too much, and he gets into fights with policemen. Do you think you can do something for him?"

I replied that either problem was a serious one, and perhaps if we could help him with his drinking problem, the other one would take care of itself.

I finished my dinner and headed for the local...

-- Pete W.

Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania