MANHATTAN BEACH’S PIER, PAVILION FLAUNT BOREAS, NEPTUNE’S MIGHTEST ASSULTS
Couple Slumber Through Angry Storm That Dashes Against Shore Structure; Read About It in Express
I’m writing this letter from Manhattan Beach. With any Adonis-like frame. Distributed comfortably and pro rata. On a beach and a table. In the municipal pavilion. And I wanta call your attention to the fact. That when the bosom of the Pacific. Swelled all up some moons ago. And Dad Neptune got on a toot. And started running amuck. Among the beach resorts. His wildest efforts failed utterly. To budge, move, distort or rattle.
The afore mentioned pavilion. The billows dragged at the foundations. And the spume and the spray fumed against it. And Old Boreas rallied his forces. And the double-banked that place of architecture. And they shrieked and howled. And cut loose everything they had. And slammed in a number of hay-makers. And short-arm jolts. And cross-counters. And round-arm swings. And the tried strange holts. And double Nelsons. And put the sizzors on it. And they rushed that place. And they rough-housed it. And there was nothing stirring, folks. Why, lemme tell you something. A man and his wife slept in a room in that pavilion. And honest to goodness, they didn’t know about the storm. Until they read it in the Express.
That’s the way they build things Down at Manhattan Beach. And did you hear about their pier? Cost £100,000. Rests on hollow concrete piling. And you couldn’t pile enough coal on it. To make it settle a fraction of an inch. The citizens have settled for the pier. And that settles it. For all time.
I can imagine the talk. Those two old distributers – Neptune and Boreas indulged in affair they tracked the municipal pavilion.
“Gee whizz, Nep,” says Boreas, when he got his breath. “That’s sure a tough joint. What do you suppose is holding it down?”
“Search me, Bore,” says Nep, shaking water out of his ears. “I gave it everything I had. And I’m all in. Whew!”
“It seems to be highly resistant,” said Boreas.
“I’ll say it is,” replied Nep.
Balk at Pier
“Let’s tackle their pier,” says Boreas.
“Not me cried Neptune, “you can if you want to. I know when I’m licked. And besides, I didn’t bring any dynamite with me.”
“I guess mebby you’re right,” replies Boreas: “let’s go where it’s easier pickings.”
And they limped away.
Which goes to show, folks. That when you erect anything along the shoreline. It is best to do it right. There’s nothing like permanent work. When you’ve got wind and water to contend with.
They have a dance in that pavilion every Saturday night. And they claim the best orchestra in these parts. And the city furnishes free gas and water. For outing parties there’s a bathhouse. And a peach of a beach. And it’s a sort of family resort. And pa and ma and the kids. Trip down to the water. And you can see ‘em taking their dips. In family groups. Any old time. If you want calling at Manhattan Beach. And the folks wasn’t home. Ten chances to one you’ll find them. Mingling with the Pacific ocean.
Real Estate Active
And we met one of the Daugherty brothers. There’s three of ‘em. And he said more property had changed hands this year. Than for six years before. And there wasn’t a room for rent. And only two houses to be had. In the whole of the town. And he was as optimistic as could be. And Charley Daugherty wrote some poetry about Catalina. And it’s all framed and hanging in the window. And the artist read it. And tears came up to his eyes. And I knew I couldn’t stand it. For poetry always makes me weep. If it’s at all soul searching. And that’s the kind this was.
I thought at first this place was named. After a justly celebrated and somewhat erstwhile cocktail. But a man I enquired of. Says I’ve been misinformed. Though the ocean breezes of Manhattan Beach. Have very much the same tonic effect.