May 5, 1927
Around the Globe
Los Angeles, world renowned for its disproportionate share of eccentrics, was reminded in the press to-day that she is not alone when it comes to the care and feeding of such.
House of Brunswick-era London was of course known for feverish devotees of Joanna Southcott, domestic servant turned prophetess, who claimed supernatural powers and dictated prophecy in rhyme. (Southcottians numbered over 100,000 at one time but practically disappeared overnight in 1890.) On Southcott’s death in 1814 she left a mysterious box to Rebecca Pengarth, sole companion, who promised it would never be opened except in a national crisis and in the presence of twenty-four bishops. (The episcopate were pressed to open the thing during the Crimean War, and again during the Great War, but they demurred.) Southcott claimed to be “the mother of the new Messiah,” and you wouldn’t want to screw that up, so don’t worry, the National Laboratory of Psychical Research didn’t open it; they had it X-rayed. Noted psychic investigator Sir Arthur Conan Doyle declined an invitation. The box, after an application of the ol’ Röntgen, showed it to contain a skull, scissors, a horse pistol, a beaded bag, rings, coins, pins, some other whatnot, and what appears to be a roll of manuscript. Could that hold the secret of messianic return?
Well, no. When finally opened, the parchment turned out to be a lottery ticket. (And there was in fact no skull—everybody knows that when you cobble together a Mystery Box, you include a skull.) Southcott descended into House of Windsor-era obscurity, save for the attentions poured upon her by the Panacea Society.
Speaking of the Great War, it was announced today in Washington by by Dr. F. Homer Curtis, founder of the Order of Christian Mystics, that blame for the World War was to be placed solely on gaseous trails left in the earth’s atmosphere by Halley’s comet in 1910. It seems the gas made humanity nervous and suspicious; and, he noted, if there’s a World War in 1929, you can blame the Pons-Winnecke comet.
Of course, PW passed by again in ’33 and ’39, and no one suffered from that, did they?
Officers responded to her call about a prowler, and when they arrived, acclaimed hijacker Thomas went for his piece. The cops opened up with a machine gun, a sawed-off shotgun and two large-caliber revolvers, and yet the twice-arrested-for-murder, “King of the Hi-Jackers” Mile-Away Thomas, filled with pounds of buckshot and slugs, ran from the garage straight at the cops. 
that the center of population is moving horribly, inexorably westward. Alfred T. Pelton, president of Interstate Mortgage and Investment Company, feels that Los Angeles’ extremely low density is sadly due to there being too many single family homes. As people bleed west into the Wilshire, Westlake and Hollywood districts, Pelton and his ilk are stirring up builders and investors to erect multifamily structures. While there is talk of Hollywood and Highland becoming a corner of note, we here at the Project know it will never displace Los Angeles’ top thriving business center–Brooklyn and Soto. 
April 29, 1927
And why is this sundry so all-fire interested in Priscilla? Because the eight year-old lass is a juvenile star, and the small waif with large paycheck has been actively engaged in film work for some time, her last picture selling for 100k (1,180,180 USD2005).
Rentz “fired to protect the sanctity of his home” and exonerated the murderer. The Rentz’ put the past aside and settled back into domestic bliss.
Central, fractured skull, concussion of the brain; J. L. Perrine, who admitted his brakes were “not so good,” drove into and off of a 400-foot embankment on Effie in the Moreno Highlands, multiple abrasions; four motorists walked away when the front half of their auto was flattened by the Los Angeles Railway car at First and Hill; and one Miss Mollie Reesor miraculously suffered only black eyes and a nasal fracture after being hurled twenty-five feet by a hit-and-run at the corner of Washington Street and Harvard Boulevard.
that the woman stepped from behind a parked car near Wilshire and Tremaine. After he struck Bishop, he drove her to the office of Dr. James Johnston at Sixth and Western, where she nonetheless expired. Assuming Harlan still had time to make the benefit, his day looked like 
