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Show wnicn tney rattiea oeiore stopping anyone . . . They were known as "rathlewatchers" . . . New York's worst years of crime were between 1800 and 1810 ... It seems a demoralized de-moralized police force induced out-of-town criminals to make visits . . . Police stopped early-day rioters by knocking oil' their stovepipe hats . . . The rioters would instinctively bend to recover their headgear and forget for-get the riot. Omission: Have just finished reading read-ing Norman Alley's "I Witness" (published by Wilfred Funk) in which he sketches his career from the days he was a copy boy on the Chicago Tribune up until the time he photographed the fall of Holland. Alley, as you perhaps remember, was aboard the Panay when that gunboat was bombed by Japanese fliers and made a motion picture record rec-ord of the incident. It's a book packed full of interest. But there is one strange thing about it. Though Alley has been a news photographer pho-tographer practically all his life, there isn't one picture in the 370 pages. End Piece: When Qucntin Rey- nolds left England for his recent visit to his homeland, members of 1 the Eagle squadron of the R.A.F. asked him to bring back some Ray Noble records. Just before Reynolds flew back to England on the Clipper, Noble presented him with 25 albums of his Columbia music mu-sic platters to take with him. Asked if he could get them across safely, Reynolds replied: "Certainly. When I get off at Lisbon I'll wire the Eagles I have their records and then I'm sure of an escort straight to London." Lights ol NewYork By L. L. STEVENSON IMnchlne Snob: New York's night club zone is di ided into two parts, the Broadway spots and the East Side, with smart Fifth avenue as the dividing line. In recent years, the East Side has been getting the top-hat, white-tie play with Broadway Broad-way acting as host to the telephone book rather than the Social Register. Regis-ter. The other evening. Virginia Peine, who vouches for the authenticity authen-ticity of the incident, broke her no-night-club rule to attend a charity affair at swank El Morocco. In about an hour she excused herself saying she had a date at a Broadway Broad-way bowling alley. The taxicab driver, who looked doubtful when she gave the address, said it was the first time in four years he'd had a West Side call. He started along Fifty-third street merrily enough but when Fifth avenue was crossed, the motor coughed and died. And the driver, having sadly informed Miss Peine she'd have to take another cab, remarked, "I guess my old bus is getting class conscious." Street Scene: Pedestrians, with various kinds of motor vehicles waiting impatiently, hurrying to cross Broadway on Forty-second street ... A frail-looking woman stopping as she is about to step off the curb . . . and holding her place despite crowding and confusion . . . A bearded man darting into the street as if pursued, then slowing down as if he had all the time in the world ... A lad pushing one of those rolling wardrobes in which women's clothes are transported about the city, brushing the shiny fender of a big car and getting a dirty look from the chauffeur . . . A drunk shaking his head and muttering mut-tering as he reels along . . . The light changes and the procession stops . . . The frail-looking woman bends over, picks up the dime on which she has been standing and goes on her way. . Dictation: Phil Spitalny recently recent-ly spent several weeks trying out singers to replace Maxine who retired. re-tired. Near the end of a long day of auditions he beckoned to a pretty girl sitting on the sidelines. She was hesitant and he ordered her to step up to the mike and sing. That bringing no response, he just about dragged her forward. But he stopped her when she was only about half through the song. "My dear girl," he remarked. "I'm surprised that you came up here for an audition. You have no real voice and I don't believe you've ever sung before." "I haven't," returned the young woman. "I'm a stenographer in this building and just slipped in here to hear your tryouts. You were the one who had an idea I could sing." The red-faced Spitalny apologized and the girl sat undisturbed until the auditions were over. Past Tense: Ben Grauer, who likes to collect early Manhattan trivia, sends along the following: The first policemen in the city were called "leather heads" . . . They got their name from their leather helmets hel-mets . . . The early Dutch police in Manhattan, carried noisemakerfi |