The story of Old Ephraim

              The Story of Old Ephraim told by Orson Ryan
	The story of Old Ephraim, the last great grizzly of the Wasatch, has an interest and fascination all its own.  For more than 30 years Old Ephraim, as he was called during the latter part of his life, roamed the northern tip of the Wasatch Mountains for Sheridan Mountain which is up near Idaho Springs, south to the Right Hand Fork of Logan Canyon, just east of us.  Though, during all that time, he was never seen by any human beings so far as we know.  He had the ability to keep himself hid, and yet he knew always what was going on.  His cunning, and craftiness, his great courage and his fierceness and his tremendous size and his ability to do things because, since no one saw him, they knew of him only by what he did.  Old Ephraim was pretty cunning and crafty.  He evaded all their traps and guns, hunters, poison or anything else that they tried to destroy him with.  It went along for all those years without being seen yet Old Ephraim could see without being seen.  He could hear, without being heard.  He could kill, without being killed.  He was known not only to the hunters and the cattlemen and sheep men pretty well throughout because he had a peculiar habit of going not only to one sheep camp and then going there again or one sheep herd or one cattle range and getting a calf, but long intervals in between and they knew him only by the way he did the thing. He’d come into a herd and take very carefully one and disappear.  They were unable to follow him.  So he was known to all the herdsmen and all the hunters, forest rangers and even to the government experts and I had heard of Old Ephraim before I came to Logan to live in 1921.  And I am reliably told that Theodore Roosevelt, whom we called Teddy Roosevelt, who did a great deal of hunting, one time when he was up on the headwaters of the Salmon and the Snake River in Idaho hunting, he heard the story of Old Ephraim and he was invited to come down here and hunt for him.  Teddy inquired a little more and when he heard some of the tall tales about Old Ephraim and some of the things that they said he did, he made up his mind that there was no such animal.  That he existed only in the wild imagination of someone that told him, so Teddy never came here to hunt Old Ephraim. For about one of the first men that I really got acquainted with and was associated with after I came to Logan to live, was Dr. George R. Hill, who was at the time the scout master of Troop #5 for the Logan district the Boy Scouts.  Dr. Hill was interested in bears, so was I, and he had heard of Old Ephraim.  We tried to find out something more about him and decided that sometime we would find out more.  We inquired, but people seemed to know little about him.  Then in the summer, late summer, of 1923, we heard that Old Ephraim had been captured and killed by Frank Clark, a sheep man who ran his sheep up in the Right Hand Fork of Logan Canyon.  This increased the interest in relation to Old Ephraim so that that same fall, late in September I think it was, it might have been early October, Dr. Hill and his boy scouts of Troop #5 decided to hike up to Old Ephraim’s grave and see it.  They went of course by automobiles to the old Boy Scout camp, then hiked up to the grave, some 3 or 4 miles.  They found the grave there, talked it over and they dug down and exhumed the head.  Got the head, it was a huge thing, would just about fit into a bushel basket, brought it down to Logan, to the Agricultural College, Dr. Hill had the flesh and hair and skin all cleaned off from it and meantime he wrote to Washington, D.C. to the Smithsonian Institute.  He told them that his boy scouts had the skull of a grizzly bear that they’d found in Logan Canyon.  The Smithsonian Institute wrote back and said they doubted that it was a skull of a grizzly because they had no record of grizzlies being here in the past half century, but since the boys had the skull, the letter went on, if you will send it to us, if it proves to be the skull of a grizzly we’ll send your boy scouts a check for $25.00.  In due time, not only a letter, but a check came with a letter, a check for $25.00 to the boy scouts with a letter telling them it was not only the skull of a grizzly, but the skull of one of the largest and most powerful grizzlies of which they had any authentic record at Smithsonian Institute.  The skull you can find today in the Smithsonian Institute in the Department of Biological Surveys, if you go in there, oh, it’s on a huskier table than that, on it is the stump of a tree, and on top of that stump of a tree is a skull of an animal and a bronze plaque which reads “the skull of Old Ephraim, the last great grizzly of the Wasatch.”  Hundreds of people read that every day and never know what it’s about, but we know here because we knew Old Ephraim. The next summer, there was much more interest in Old Ephraim and his story and so we let the boys on up at the boy scout camp and their leaders up there, invited Frank Clark to come down to the boy scout camp and tell the story of Old Ephraim.  Which he did and it was quite a discussion. During that fall just after the boy scouts had quit camping there, late in August, getting ready for school, Mr. Young, a friend of mine, Francis N. Young and I, went up to the boy scout camp to spend a weekend.  We stayed there and on Friday morning we decided we’d like to have a talk with Frank Clark and to go to his camp.  So that morning early we got up and started out. Went up the Right Hand Fork of Logan Canyon to Steel Hollow and then turning right up Steel Hollow we followed up to Cub Ridge coming back across the head of Steel Hollow, and the other hollows there past the head of Long Hollow and Trail Hollow and finally made our way back down over a bench to where Trail Hollow and Long Hollow come together.  There we saw as we looked down over the bluff, a camp, a sheep camp, we made our way down to it.  We were disappointed.  There was no one there.  There was not a dog about, nor a horse.  On the distant hills we could hear the bleating of sheep very faintly.  We were a little discouraged, thinking we’d like to have seen Mr. Clark.  We looked about and there on an aspen tree, hung a huge trap, the largest one I had ever seen only it was much larger around than my hat is and it had a chain on it, a trap chain and a log chain.  Together we lifted it down from the tree.  I learned afterwards that it weighed about 80 lbs., the trap and chain.   Well, I wondered how difficult it was, I’d never see as huge a one and on the clamps on it had claws or teeth that fit together so that when any animal got in there it held it perfectly firm.  I stood on it, on the springs of it but my weight wouldn’t touch them a’tall, wouldn’t make them smooth.  I learned afterwards that it had to be set with clamps.  We put it back up on the tree, the two of us together, sat around a minute.  Mr. Young fumbled into his vest pocket and pulled out a piece of paper.  He said, “I have a map here, which Dr. Hill and his boy scouts prepared for me.  That’s how I knew just where to come and here we are,” and he pointed to this spot, Frank Clark’s camp.  Just above it, up the hollow a ways, it led us towards Old Ephraim’s grave.  We walked up there to Old Ephraim’s grave and when we came upon the huge mound just at the foot of the hill there, we paused and I think we took off our hats for a while, because, by that time, we learned a sort of reverence for that king of the forest.  Pausing a few minutes and then following the directions on the paper, we went past the willows there, and those willows were higher than my head as we passed them.  We passed the willows and followed the markings, there was no trail, but it was not difficult to follow.  A little ways up past the willows, turned a dog’s leg up there and crossed a creek or a little stream, where there had been one.  Just as we got out of that we came upon a bluff, a large place, several times as large as this room, perhaps as large as the floor space of this entire building and the brush, the sage, and the small aspens and the shrubbery there had just been devastated as if there had been a bulldozer or steel in there swiping it down.  We wondered what that was, it was quite round.  Just at the edge of it, there was quite a log, some 12 or 14 maybe 16 inches in diameter and 10 or 12 feet long.  We wondered too, at that.  Then as we passed it we came upon a bear’s wallow.  Now they’re difficult to find.  By chance we’d hit upon this, because the directions that we’d followed led us toward it, but it was a different wallow than I had ever seen.  I’d seen some bear’s wallows.  It was larger than any one I’d ever seen and it was more oval in shape, not so round.  It was dry, there was no water in it then, but the strange thing about it was, around the edge of it there was a path, where something had just walked a beaten path, excepting in one place where the earth came up in a bulge.  We wondered about that.  Wished we had Mr. Clark along to talk to us about it, but finally, not being able to decipher just what it was and why, we made it a few steps on and there we found another wallow, a small one.  This still had water in it.  It was not so large as the other one and had not been as much used and there was no path around it.  We were discouraged thinking the day was getting about over and the sun was beginning to get down toward the horizon, we made our way back from that point down to Frank Clark’s camp and as we came near the camp, there we saw a man riding on a bald-faced horse coming towards us.  Having met him before, we recognized him as Frank Clark.  We introduced ourselves and, in his quiet way, he made us welcome.  Then he invited us to stay for supper and that’s a treat in a sheep camp.  He’s an excellent cook and cooked us an excellent supper in the camp dutch-ovens there on the camp fire and we sat around and ate it.  The horses were given their nose sacks and they finally ate their oats were taken off, the sheep quieted down, the dogs were fed and quieted down and the stillness settled down upon the mountains there.  That adds a peaceful, quietness which we seldom, if ever, experience in the world of today where there’s so much turmoil and strife and noise.  As we sat there in quiet by the fire, Mr. Young said to Mr. Clark, “Mr. Clark, you know why we came here.  We’ve told you about what we did today; something about this trap and asked you some questions about it.  Now we’d like to have you tell us the story of Old Ephraim.  Do tell it.” I turned to Mr. Clark and urged that he tell the story, and quietly and in his modest way, he stroked his chin as if it had whiskers, though his face was smooth shaven and he said, “Well, gentlemen, you see it’s about like this.  I’m ain’t no story teller.  Fact is I’ve spent all my life upon the range.  I don’t know anything else.  From my earliest remembrances, all I remember is the fire and the herd and father.  Huh, some folks do say I was born on the range.  That’s not quite true, though it might as well have been, for as I say, I don’t remember anything before it.  Excepting to be at the camp with a fire and hear the sheep and the horses and in the morning the sun rise and the dew upon the grass and the sweet-smelling pines and the trees, and the birds and the great outdoors.  That’s all I know.  Yes, I do know the story of Old Ephraim.  See I’ve spent, as I’ve said, all my life on the range, come by it naturally.  My father spent all of his life on the range and my brothers have spent all theirs and I understand that Grandpa Clark spent his life on the range.  Most of us have been sheep men and we’ve followed the herd, and in following the sheep and spending all your life on the range you come to know the animals, too and hunting and stalking animals goes along with life on the range.  So, we, -we hunted bear, trapped bear, stalked bear, fact the Clark’s family and the bear family got along pretty well together, cause we didn’t bother one another nor interfere with each other very much.  However, we did kill some bear.  Back when I was a boy I heard them talk about having that grizzly bear up that way, that was up near Sheridan Mountain, which is up Soda Springs way.  There was some grizzly bears in there, and the grizzly bears got to be killers.  That is, they’d come into a herd and kill, just for the lust of killing.  Then of course they’d have to be done away with.  So, the ranchers and the sheep men and the hunters and the foresters and some government experts went together and they tried to exterminate that group of grizzlies that were in there.  Evidently they did, or thought they did. 	Along when I was old enough to be out again, I think in the early 90’s, there was still a pair of grizzlies there and one of the strange things about the pair of grizzlies was that they had a cub.  Just one cub.  That’s unusual, because bears generally have two or more, sometimes four cubs.  Rarely one, but the strange thing about this cub was that although he was not much more than a year old when they first found out about him, he had a track almost as large as that of a grown bear, and so we called him ‘Big Foot.’  About the time he got the name of Big Foot, his parents became killers and they had to be done away with.  So, the hunters and trappers and the government men went out and disposed of them.  We thought Big Foot had been killed too, or had been frightened off and gone over to live with the grizzlies in Yellowstone and it wasn’t but a season or two ‘till someone up in those parts would miss a lamb.  Something would come into the herd as quiet, making no noise hisself, come in there and without disturbing the sheep or the dogs or the horses or the herder.  He’d make way with one of the finest lambs we had and disappear.  Had a way of following him off a ways and then losing his tracks, we couldn’t follow him.  Never would he come back to the same herd again, always going to a different place, so that he wasn’t much of a menace, and he took only just what he wanted, not anymore and we noticed by the tracks that it was Big Foot, grown up to be a bear.  Then he disappeared for a number of years and when he came back, he had a strange habit.  He’d grown much larger and he’d stand up and walk around on his hind legs and he walked around from one tree to another, back up against it and reach up and score it with his teeth.  He could make a mark with his teeth almost 9 feet above the ground.  That’s higher that I can reach.  Then he’d walk on his hind feet over to the next tree, and score it and when he’d walk that way, those huge feet of his looked like some misshapen giant, walking in moccasins, the track of it.  And so as he scored that place to make a wallow or look-out or anything or a place that he wanted to be, it was a signal for the animals and everything else to stay out, and he kept pretty much to himself.  He never mingled with any other bear, but for years, he’d come to one herd, then another, then he’d disappear for a while.  And after a while we learned that they heard about him as far down as Logan Canyon, so that he must have roamed the range from Sheridan Mountain, near Soda Springs, clear to here in Logan Canyon, and that’s why he’d be gone sometimes for a year or two or three. Then he didn’t menace very much.  Long about 1911 I believe it was, we secured permits here to range our sheep in this area, Huh, and uh came down here.  I recall I’d just been here a day or two, when we came and a forest ranger rode up.  Uh, --Jack Mortimer I think it was, rode up and made himself acquainted and I told him who I was.  He said, ‘Well, Mr. Clark, you know you’re in bear country here, there’s lots of bear here.’  And I said, ‘Yes, but we’re used to bear; the Clark family and the bear family get along pretty well.’  ‘Yes,’ said Mr. Mortimer, ‘but there’s one bear here, a huge fellow.  We know him only by what he does and by his tracks, and by the height at which he can score a tree, and by the stealthy way in which he can come into a herd and take a lamb and disappear.  You’ll want to be on the lookout for him.  Old Ephraim we call him.’ So it was, but there was no bear like that around there for several years.  I suppose he’d gone north towards Sheridan Mountain again, and then, along about 3 years ago, the boys in the different herds around began to tell about this bear, Old Ephraim or Moccasin Joe, as we used to call it, and he’d come into their herd and killed just as he always had.  And a couple of years ago when he came, he’d become angered and sour or was getting old, and he became a killer and he used to come into the herds and kill 6 – 8 – 10 or a dozen lambs, and then disappear.  Kill just for the lust of killing.  So we decided that he had to be made away with, and everybody made preparations for it.  That’s when I got that trap there yonder.  The best bear trap I ever had.  I got me a .25-35 army rifle and some shells and kept the six-shooter loaded and my knife always handy to do my part.  And the boys sent word to me about a year ago that Old Ephraim was somewhere about here.  He’d been in Bud Shield’s camp.  He’d been in my brother Herb’s camp; killed 10 or 12 lambs in one night, and always he came back towards my camp, but I never saw him.  He never molested me or bothered me.  Come to think of it, Old Ephraim never did visit my herds in all his life.  Yet, one day, I noticed that that little dog yonder, and an old black horse that I’d brought in would prick his hears up and snort, and I’d realized, from my experience on the range, that up there,  there must be a bear and I just suspected it was Old Ephraim.  And I began to think, you’ve always outwitted me, Old Ephraim.  You been pretty careful this time.  Here you have been making your raids on the other herds and coming right close to my camp to stay in your wallow and your lookout, and so you never came into mine, that you wouldn’t arouse my suspicion.  Now weren’t that clever and crafty of him gentlemen, and so I began to get all my cunning together.  I got the trap ready.  I looked over my rifle.  I had 5 shells in the clip and 3 extra ones.  That’s all I had and they were steel pointed bullets.  I wished there were lead ones.  While I watched and the old horse snorted, and Jennie pointed the way just up on the bluff yonder and I decided finally that whatever had been there had gone. Cause the old horse was quiet, Jennie behaved as usual, and so making all the preparations I knew how, I wore rubber gloves, and rubber boots smeared with tallow and blood.  I looked over my rifle to see that it was in shape.  I took the trap, got on old Baldy and went around windward there and I was lucky.  I went up and when I got near to where I thought the wallow ought to be though it was difficult to find, I dismounted from old “…” Baldy, and taking the trap-chain I went quietly over and I came upon his wallow – a huge one.  One of the largest I had ever seen, with fresh water in it, a very cool and delightful place.  I looked, stood there on the bank, used the clamps, I set the trap here.  Then with a forked stick, I pushed it down into the center of the wallow; it settled beneath the mud and ooze there and covered itself.  I brought the chain back over the bank and covered it in the leaves and brush there and reached just over to that huge log which you saw up there where the brush had been broken off.  I fastened it to that and backed off, thinking that was the best bit of trapping I had ever done, and I thought to myself, ‘Old Ephraim, you’ve outwitted me all these years and the rest of us, but this time, we might outwit you.’  And so I backed off and got on old Baldy, rode down to camp, took care of things as usual.  Nothing unusual went along.  That night, everything was quiet.  Jennie was silent and not nervous; the old horse ate grass in quietness and peace.  The sheep quieted down, and all was still, and I slept as usual.  Not a sound or anything, that was true the next night, but the third night, Jennie was nervous, the old horse, it snorted just before dawn and I watched up on the mountainside there and watched and wondered.  Then when I went to bed I looked over the rifle, having the 5 shells in the clip and 3 loose ones, my six shooter, and my knife, and I went to bed.  Sleeping, as we herders say, lightly, but nothing happened.  Yet I know there was something up there.  The old horse knew it and Jennie, the little dog with the glass eye, knew it and the next day it evidently was there, and part of the next night and then everything went quiet again.  And when I was sure there was nothing up there, I made my way again up to that wallow and just on the bluff here, I came in contact with a place where you saw it, beyond that to the wallow and gentlemen, when I got that that wallow it fairly froze the marrow in my bones.  For there the wallow was dry.  The water had been drained out of it and there was a path around that wallow where Old Ephraim, or whatever it was, had walked back and forth probably a hundred times coming to the place where the chain came over the bank.  And never once stepping over it but always turning round and going back and then he’d come to where the chain was and as careful as a human being, or a genie or a great giant could do it, he had pulled that trap up out of the wallow where I had set it and placed it right where I had stepped with my forward foot when I set the trap without even touching it off.  Then I imagine he smiled to himself and walked off round and went over just to the left where you people saw that small wallow and made it, and drained the water out of the big one.  Then I could see him laugh as he looked up and thought, yes, you’ll be coming back to see if I’m in the trap and you’ll step in your own trap. Nothing happened that night, but the next night, long about daylight, that’s just what must have happened.  Old Ephraim evidently had come back, come to the small wallow, and looked there and then not finding me had looked up and as he looked up towards me, where he thought I’d be caught in my own trap, unwittingly, he’d stepped into the trap and it sprung. Just as daylight broke, I heard a tremendous noise.  The horses began to snort and tear up their hobbles, and the chains a’ rattlin’, and the dogs came pell-mell and howling into the camp, getting under the tent, all excepting one.  The sheep that had been started out, the bellwethers turned and came back and herded the herd together; every lamb and ewe in the herd began to bleat and bellow; that was such a noise as I have never heard.  Yet, above that noise from up on the bluff yonder, there came above it all a cry of wild as such as I had never heard.  It began low down like a wild mad bull and rose higher and higher until it reverberated across the hollows and hills here and would just chill the marrow in your bone. I looked out after I had slipped on my clothes and picked up rifle, and the clip, put the clip in it, shells into my pocket and there was Jennie, the glass-eyed dog at the door waiting and urging me to come.  I stepped out into the night in the commotion with all the noise of the horses and the dogs and the sheep and that tremendous howling upon the hill and then as the horses got away over the ridge a ways out of hearing, then I heard a tremendous noise up there; the crashing of brush and the tearing of things up there and the chain rattling.  That was when Old Ephraim was fighting the log and the chain, that’s when he tore all those trees off.  Some of those aspens, larger than my arm were shredded just like you might turn a rope the long way and have it shredded with his power.  Yet, he fought until he broke the chain loose from the clot evidently.  Then as Jennie and I made our way along following up the willows, we stopped and listened.  I sat down on the hillside there and I could hear the sounds that had quieted down some, but I could hear the clink of a chain, it grew fainter and fainter and yet came nearer and nearer.  As the daylight came, there was quiet everywhere.  The sheep had settled down, the dogs were in the camp, the horses were out of range, but Jennie was pointing and coaxing me on up and so I went farther up the draw along the side hill, past the willows.  Then, I realized that something had happened.  Whatever it was, Old Ephraim, or some huge genie giant, was between me and my camp.  I turned and looked towards it and then with confidence and courage I’ve acquired these long years on the range, I stepped a little farther, and sat down there.  Then I urged Jennie on, up farther.  She went round the willows and as she did, instinctively I turned because I heard something, or thought I did, but maybe I didn’t because Old Ephraim could hear without being heard.  He could see without being seen.  He could kill without being killed, but there just at the point of the willows; there arose a huge form, the most ferocious and tremendously large beast I had ever seen.  Old Ephraim standing on his hind paws at full length with his paws up like this in front and the strange thing about it was that the trap was on the left forepaw and that chain was wrapped round and round and round there and that’s what I’d heard as it got fainter and (clear).  And then as I looked at him I was startled from the fact that crimson cords were dropping from the froth in his mouth, though his mouth was tight shut.  His eyes looked at me.  I learned afterwards that was where he’d fought the trap and the chain had broken out a tooth, causing it to bleed.  I stood there as if one petrified.  Old Ephraim instead of going on or flying or trying to get away, just came steadily on towards me.  He took a step towards me and then another and, as he came, I gained my equilibrium and decided that there was a chance to fire point blank at his heart and so I did fire.  It must have gone through ya.  At that moment I didn’t know whether I’d hit him or not.  He neither winced nor whined, but just came steadily on, one step nearer to me and then another.  Again I fired point-blank at his heart, hoping to hit it or break a backbone; again he neither winced nor whined.  A third shot I fired quickly and a fourth and he still came steadily on towards me.  As I remember it now, I looked into his eyes (mirroring) against that huge head silhouetted against the sky, and yet they didn’t have the look of fierceness or revenge, but as if someone coming for something he wanted.  I had only one shell left in the gun.  Should I fire it?  I’d never run from one before.  I was about to do so when something happened.  Jennie must have nipped at his hells, for Old Ephraim turned keeping the left paw high, raised the right one as if to strike, exposing his right ear.  Instantly I fired point-blank and struck him in the very butt of the ear.  This time he did turn and shook the froth from his mouth, his lips rolled back and his teeth shown and he started as if to come towards me and he let out a vicious growl.  Then he began to settle down, down, down, and I thought he was getting ready to spring upon me and he was a little more than a bear’s length away.  I’d never run from a bear; didn’t mean to now.  Don’t believe I could’ve done.  Doubt that my knees would of held me.  Then as he went down, down, he settled down and did lurch towards me, but he fell forward with his jaws across the forepaw which had the trap and the chain on it.  His eyes were still open now, the fierceness and anger gone out of them.  He was not looking at me, but he was looking out beyond past me over the hills where he had been monarch of all he surveyed for more than a quarter of a century.  Then his eyes closed and a shudder of death came over him which I knew so well.  I stood there as if one petrified, letting my rifle and hand drop to my side and Jennie had come round, her cold, wet nose touched the back of my hand.  As I looked at her I realized that she too knew Old Ephraim was dead.  I didn’t go near him.  Neither did Jennie.  I didn’t want no bear.  I backed off carefully, went down over the ridge where I caught up with ole Baldy who was still hobbled.  Getting on him barebacked, I started out towards Dick Turpin’s camp.  I hadn’t ridden very far when here came Dick Turpin on his horse.  He’d heard the 5 shots in quick succession; thought there was trouble and was riding over.  When he met me he just looked at me and said, ‘Why, Frank, Frank, what’s the matter?’ ‘Nothin’,’ I said.  ‘Oh yes there is, well, uh, uh, you don’t look natural.  What have you done?’ ‘I guess, I guess I’ve killed Old Ephraim.’ ‘No!,’ he said and in vast silence we rode back and there was Old Ephraim lying just where he had folded up.  As we looked up, my brother Herb was coming on a horse.  He’d heard the shots and rode over.  There we three, almost in silence skinned that huge beast, dug a shallow grave for him there at the foot of the hill almost beneath the willows where he had hid when he came down and with the aid of our ponies after taking off the hide, we rolled the huge carcass into the grave and buried it.  Yes, Old Ephraim’s gone.  I miss him.  He belonged to these mountains and besides, I never was much afraid of him when he was alive.  Fact is, I’m more afraid of him now he’s dead, than I was when he was alive.  You know sometime, sometime, I think he’ll come back and I’ll know whether he was coming to me for assistance to take the trap off or for revenge.  Yes, Old Ephraim’s gone.  I think I’ll erect a monument there by his grave and say ‘Here lies Old Ephraim, a gentleman of the forest, who respected the rights of others.  He had a right to live here; Old Ephraim, the last great grizzly of the Wasatch.’ Yes, I miss him.” As Mr. Clark paused, Mr. Young said “Mr. Clark, have you hunted or trapped bear any more since you captured Old Ephraim?” And Mr. Clark said, (humming of Home, home on the range begins in background) “No, no gentlemen, since Old Ephraim went home, I ain’t had no hankerin’ for trappin’ or huntin’ bear and it’s more lonesome upon the range than it’s ever been.  I wish Old Ephraim was still here.” (Humming of Home, home on the range continues in the background).
(Transcript of cassette of interview recorded on phonograph record by Reed Bullen at KVNU Radio, ca. 1950.  Transcript initially created by Beverly Murri in 1996; retyped and corrected in November 2008 by Becky Skeen)