Paul Sann Journalism, Letters, Writings

August 21, 1960

SEMI-PRIVATE--Rolling back from New Hampshire with us on one of those beautiful summer drives, top down, Pat Sann seemed unusually quiet and even more unfriendly than is her wont.
birdye

"You know, lover," we said, "you probably have got to the point where you can't stand old Paul on these long trips, but you're too sweet to say so."
"Not at all, Bones," the babe replied. "I am willing to say so, since you brought it up."

* * *

October 23, 1960

WHERE IS PEACE--We were lounging around the flat listening to our favorite record birdye

("Please, Mr. Custer, Don't Make Me Go") and hammering out this brilliant junk when the babe floated by--
"I wish I could have done a lot more for you, down through the long years," we said, expecting her to say: Lawd, no, Daddy-O, you don't have to brood. You've always knocked yourself out for us.
But she didn't. "I wish so, too," she said.

* * *

SEMI-PRIVATE--We fell over this here headline in another blat. togetherness

Know what happens when we make the very same point around our house? Sure. The Viscountess du Glenbriar goes into a five-foot-one-and-a-half-inch rage and says, "Never mind, Bones, you get the hell home where you belong."
She doesn't read the other papers the way we do, of course.

* * *

Feb 12, 1961

FOOTNOTE--On Tuesday, Feb. 6, Dr. Geoffrey Martin, State Health Officer of Topeka, Kansas, said men over 40 should let their wives shovel the snow.
birdye

"Men are not as tough as women because they spend a lot of time in sedentary occupations," the good doctor said. "Housewives are more limber and it does them good to get out in the fresh air."
Doctor, meet Mrs. Sann. Mrs. Sann, meet Dr. Martin.

* * *

June 18, 1961

SEMI-PRIVATE--We were on the jet (fly now, pay later) coming back from Puerto Rico when the skipper made an announcement of some kind and an elderly passenger turned to our doll in some agitation.
birdye

"What did he say?" the woman asked. "I couldn't make it out. I only heard every other word."
"This is tourist class," Mrs. Sann replied, brightly. "We're only supposed to hear every other word. Up front they hear everything the Captain says."

* * *

July 23, 1961

SEMI-PRIVATE--The New Yorker came up with an ad showing a sleek low-slung foreign car and a just plain herself

ballpoint pen.
"Give him a Ferrari and a Papermate pen," the ad said.
Our bride spotted the thing, of course.
"You got a birthday or something coming up, Bones?" she asked. "I have a wonderful gift idea."
We said yes, something or other and she said:
"Good, you're getting a Papermate pen."

* * *

May 1, 1960

SEMI-PRIVATE--We have been brooding for, oh, 18 days, over this item of wisdom from the lips of Dr. Robert H. Thurmond, Atlanta eye specialist:
birdye

"When a woman looks intently at a man and her eyes are limpid and the pupils are large, it doesn't necessarily mean she's yearning for him. She is probably nearsighted or myopic."
Doctor, where were you in 1932 when we were up there in Crotona Park, under that brilliant Bronx moon, looking into Birdye Pullman's limpid eyes?

* * *

NO PARKING, U.S.A.

THE TIME: Monday, June 10, 1957.
THE PLACE: Bronx Traffic Court.
THE PEOPLE: The Hon. Neal P. Bottiglieri, a Magistrate; the Hon. Edmund A. Kohl Jr., a roundsman; the Hon. Birdye Sann, a defendant, and P. Sann, owner of the defendant.
The "CRIME OF OFFENSE": Leaving vehicle in BUS STOP at Teller Av. and 168th Street on April 6, 1957.
Opening with our trump card, we submitted that the state could not penalize the lady for parking in a bus stop because no buses ran on that part of Teller Av. The judge, not only Hon., but soft-spoken and pleasant, had a counter stroke all set. He submitted that the summons was just that—a call before the bench—and what really mattered was the patrolman's affidavit.
birdye And that document, by God, alleged that doll baby had left the car in a crosswalk, not a bus stop. We happened to be prepared for that, so we subjected the complainant to a withering cross-examination. Was the car in a crosswalk? Mr. Kohl, a gentle and kindly sort, said it was. How much of it was in the crosswalk? Maybe a third of if, Mr. Kohl said.
So we put the sexy defendant—good wife, good citizen, poor parker—in the chair. Was the car in a crosswalk? Oh, she said, maybe a couple of inches, and her words rang with sincerity.
We turned to the bench. Leaving aside the small, conflict between the Hon. Cop and the Hon. Wife, we asked was there any sense in this kind of ticket anyway? The crosswalk was so marked to protect school children and the "crime or offense" occurred at 9:45 p.m. (Don't ask us what a wife is doing out at THAT hour.)
The Hon. Judge said the question was irrelevant. He said it tenderly. Then he spoke the fateful words: : "Guilty. The fine is two dollars."
So we paid the $2.

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