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Richard Bostwick Reminiscences Welfare Office Stories Cab Driving Stories Prohibition Stories |
One Born Every Minute Sunday morning on the tail end of my night shift I quite often picked up some sorry looking loser whom had had his Saturday night fling. The time was 6:40 a.m. on this hot and humid Sunday morning. I was hoping no calls would come in for I was first out and due to be off in 20 minutes. I was tired and anxiously looking forward to a much needed shower and shave when a cal did come in. The dispatcher sent me to The Mandarin Café, a Chinese restaurant on the corner of N.P. Avenue and 5th street. As I pulled up in front of the café my fare came out and as he climbed into my cab I noticed that he had a black eye. Somebody really worked him over, for his nose was swollen and he had several lumps and bruises on his face. After asking him, “Where to?” he said he wanted me to drive him around so he could locate his car. It seemed he had picked up a gal at a dance hall the night before. After the dance was over, she suggested they get a bottle and drive out to a place that she described as being ‘a good spot for a party and have a few drinks', to which he readily agreed. They arrived at the spot, parked, and had a few drinks. The party was going along fine when all of a sudden a stranger emerged from out of the under growth. He dragged this fellow out of the car and proceeded to give him a beating. He did a thorough job on him, leaving him unconscious. The stranger took his watch, ring, and $40.00 from his wallet, as well as his car. The girl evidently was a partner of the stranger as she stood silently by and watched the stranger perform his strong-arm act. When he regained consciousness, he was alone. After a lengthy walk back to town, he got to a telephone and called a cab. I drove him out the river drive to the party spot where he found his empty wallet. I then drove him to all of the likely spots I thought his car might have been left, but with no luck. He finally gave up the hunt and had me drive him to a friend's house where he borrowed enough money to pay me my fare and then had me drop him off at the police station. Poor sucker.
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Institute for Regional Studies Home Page 701-231-8914 Published by the Institute for Regional Studies, NDSU Updated: 7/30/2007 |