Page Three
FROM THE ARCHIVES.......1986
mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm
 
down the grassy aisles.  In the midst of the ner-
vous throng was the flag-draped knotty pine
casket pulled by two brown mules, and behind the
casket an open flower-festooned truck carrying Dr.
Measely's spotlight, which occasionally came to
life without warning, swinging this way and that,
sending hot 1250° beams willy nilly among the
mourners, and causing them to scatter frantically.
A large model of a black hole was pulled by a
U.S.P.S. delivery jeep to symbolize Sir Horton's
greatest discovery of all, the black hole in the
Newark Bulk Mail Center.  His son and heir, Bill
Measely, walked quietly along, accompanied by a
small group of pig-nosed macaques, and some-
times stopped to wipe his face with a red check
handkerchief.
        A gravelly voice boomed suddenly over the
hills and headstones.  “Horton Measely was a man
whom we knew, and who knew us, and who knew
that we knew him.  Horton Measely was a man,
and he knew it.”  The ceremony went on that way,
brief but poignant, filled with glowing accolades
from colleagues and detractors alike.
        Eventually people grew bored and began to
drift off.  The sun broke through the clouds as the
final vigilant slipped silently away.  Light breezes
ruffled the petals of the flowers on the great man's
grave.  A dog picked up a wreath in its mouth and
carried it off.  It began to rain.
Measely Buried at Arlington

by Nooz staffer
Aimsley Brockgarden
      Rain squalls darkened the far horizon and rapidly
moving clouds periodically obscured the scene yester-
day as the Sir Horton Measely cortege moved solemnly
through the streets of Washington on its way to the
Arlington National Cemetary.  Though the scene was
sometimes hidden, nothing could conceal the greatness
of the man, gone now because his hydrogen laser
spotlight swung around without warning and burned
him severely.
        People stopped and looked up from their shopping
as the growing crowd went by, past the Washington
Monument, past the Lincoln Memorial, past the Tomb
of the Unknown Primate, across the Arlington Memorial
Bridge, and into the cool, clean air of Arlington Cemet-
ary.  A 707 flying high up seemed to dip its wings in
salute, but that was probably only one person's heated
imagination.
        Millions of closed eyes looked on as the great
horde of dozens of simple people inched hesitantly
 
..........dateline : HELLMOUTH..........
  Hellmouth, Arizona.  12 May 1957.  It was a day like other days.  It had hours and minutes.  It had dull time and exciting time.  It had events.  It had people. It had heat.  It had a flow. The sun was partly out that fateful day, and it was partly cloudy.  At one point it began to sprinkle, then thought better of it. It was a Wednesday, that dead mid-time of the week that everyone hates.  But just as the Runnamuck Rabbits and the Cheesequake Chinquapins had wobbled to a dull 2-2 tie in the Horntoad County 2nd Annual Baseball Tournament, something happened that put the date of 5-12-1957 into the Horntoad River Valley history books, that made almost everyone sit up from whatever they were doing for at least a few moments and take notice, something that changed forever the lives of those few people who were fortunate to have been there to witness it, or at least thought they were.
     That something was the visit to Hellmouth of the burly and dark-haired Secretary-General of the U.N. Primate Inspection Team, Mr. Trimmis Weithorn,
 
  and the tour he took that day of the Primate Nooz facilities with publisher Mr. Randall Smeese and Executive Editor John Harvey Winterhouse.  The unexpected visit sealed the Nooz's reputation in Southwest Arizona.  Never again would it be sneered at quite as much as it had been before. Never again would it lack that basic level of respect that it had only been able to dream of in previous times.  Never again would it be forced to dither and dudder when a hostile voice from the back of the room would call out for information about the byzantine corporate structure of the Ralph A. Bennett Teasdale Corporation.  That was certainly the day when everything changed!  Not quite as much fruit was thrown at the Nooz's office door.  Not quite so many times did the editors have to sneak out for lunch wearing disguises.  Not to quite the same extent did they have to listen to those irate criticisms of the Nooz over KNUZ-FM's "Talk of the County."  That was a watershed day, and make no mistake about it!
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