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			 Back 
			before the earth cooled completely, I was a reporter for the 
			newspaper in Victorville, California. Victorville is a high desert 
			town between L.A. and Las Vegas and is celebrated in folklore as 
			“where the car broke down as I was trying to get to Barstow.”  
			 
			And every spring about this time, that ol’ desert country tries to 
			outdo itself in setting new records in how hard the wind blows. It’s 
			not always the same, of course. Sometimes there’s a bunch of sand 
			and dust in the wind and sometimes it’s clear skies and there’s just 
			a mountain or two in the wind. But it blows. 
			
			  
			If there was anything or anyone out in that desert 
			that was unusual or off the beaten path, I covered it. You know, 
			Iron Water Alice who soaked in iron water (of course) to increase 
			her psychic potency, “Guv” Reeve who lived with a harem of 
			well-wishing church ladies and ran for governor every four years, 
			the beat goes on. Polite people who answered the phone at the paper 
			referred unusual phone calls to “the color story reporter named 
			Slim.” Sounded better than weirdo writer, didn’t it? [to top of second 
            column]  | 
            
             
            
			
			  
			And one March, two young boys 
			called in from Apple Valley, about five miles to the east, and 
			reported that someone had stolen their tent. They had set the tent 
			up in the back yard because they wanted to be tough outdoorsmen, of 
			course, and this was a good way to start. The tent had a floor and 
			walls and a roof, of course, was pegged solidly to the desert, but 
			when they went out the next morning, someone had stolen it! 
			 
			The sheriff’s office wouldn’t even take a report on it, but the 
			Victor Valley Daily Press would, by golly. So the word went out to 
			every windblown acre of the high desert, and the crime was solved. 
			Yes, it seemed an 80-year-old man who had a little cement-block 
			shack in Lucerne Valley, about 20 miles east of the launch pad back 
			yard, found a full-grown tent in one of his elm trees about 10 feet 
			off the ground. 
			 
			One little rip, but some tape took care of that. Thank the Lord for 
			freedom of the press. And spring zephyrs that make a reporter’s job 
			fun. 
			[Text from file received from 
			Slim Randles]   |