The ODD ANGLE

Auckland Star, Volume LXXIV, Issue 75, 30 March 1943, Page 2

The ODD ANGLE

By MacCLURE • HUI—XOT "HOOEY" They do say every man has his double in this world. It's quite possible. I know that when last I was in Rotorua there was a butcher there the dead ring of Spencer Tracy. "Go on, say it," he urged, as I gazed thunderstruck at the resemblance, and adding, in a mimicking tone, "My word, you'd pass for Spencer Tracy any day." Some time ago I bumped into—of all men—Boris Karloff (his double, of course) in High Street, and one day this week I gave my seat in the tram to "Mrs. Hedley" of the film of that name. Which is all by way of apology for my mistaking a much lesser soul for our very own Peter the Great. He was sitting humbly in the seat of a commercial van on which, in foot-high letters, I read, "We Collect and Deliver." I was wise to the collecting part. "Did you see this, Mac?" he remarked familiarly, handing me that Star paragraph headed, "£I2OO for Bull." Yes, I had seen it, I told him. "That's a lot of money to pay out for 'bull,' eh?" I imagined 1 detected an envious note. "That ought to make an item for your column; and, oh, by the way, you ought to get a chance to do something about that other prize tit-bit, 'Maori Hooey at Rotorua.'" " 'Hui,' " I corrected him. ® TRUTH WILL OUT Every little while some friendly (as well as some not so friendly) soul pours out his soul to me, writes in to borrow some money, forwards me the latest rumour for an opinion thereon, challenges me to a duel, returns an Odd Angle column he approves or disapproves of (mostly the latter) with his opinion written all over it in red ink, abuses, threatens or compliments me. To-day, just to give you a peep into the souls of my correspondents, here are three of the four in to-day's 3 bag. The fourth—which is the best of all, by the way—is far too libellous for publication—or rather, I should say that certain big politicians would very probably consider it in that light, so—. Need I say the opinions expressed herein are the writers'? As their names matter nothing to you folks, I have omitted them—and always will, if published. As for the rumours and foolish questions raised sn some of these letters, my own idea is that, as these views are held by some people, and as such questions are being asked by all manner of people, it may do good rather than evil in allowing them to be well ventilated. "Truth will out," says the old adage. That means "some time." With a war on you'd hardly expect to get all the truth the time. © QUESTIONS THEY ASK Over the week-end I found time to dip into "The Questions They Ask me," written by Eleanor Roosevelt. There were some rummy questions among the lot, I can assure you. Here's a sample: "Do you use perfume, if so what kind?" "Have you a pet superstition?" "What do you think is American women's commonest fault?" "And American men's?" "Is Mr. Roosevelt of Jewish descent?" "Do . you . approve: of divorce?" "Do you approve of a fourth Presidential term?" "Do you use your column as a trial balloon to get public reaction to some of your husband's pet projects?" But I have no space for further questions. And now, after reading all that, you can answer them yourself.