In the 1950s and early ’60s, the Morning Tribune ran a man-in-the-street feature called “Just Ask.” A photographer roamed the streets and asked folks the question of the day. A half-dozen or so responses would appear in print, along with a photo of each person interviewed. Not exactly Studs Terkel material, but it probably was popular with readers (and unpopular with Tribune photographers, reporters and editors). It was similar to a 1930s Minneapolis Star feature, “The Inquiring Reporter.”

I caught up with Marvin Koursh, one of the six people interviewed for this February 1951 installment, by phone and e-mail in December 2005. An update follows.

JUST ASK: What is the Best Prank Ever Played on You?

Mrs. Cleo Enroth, 2615 Fourteenth avenue S.: The only one who plays pranks on me is my husband. He calls up pretending he’s a Swedish carpenter. “Yumpin’ yimminy, madam,” he’ll say, “shall I fix your busted door yamb?”

Harry Rapaport, 1527 Oliver avenue N.: Once I got to a party late. My friends handed me a drink of water and when I tried to down it, it was a mess. All over my shirt front. They’d given me a dribble glass.

Marvin Koursh

Marvin Koursh, 2121 Hennepin avenue: I’m not talking. I’m saving a lulu for a girl named Rhoda who’s getting married next week. After the wedding she’s gonna get some surprise!

Wendy Heller, 2709 Humboldt avenue S.: They attached some firecrackers to my car. When I went to start it, gee! What a noise! I just ran and ran. Right into the house. They knew I was scared of cars.

M.J. Finkelstein, 1517 Russell avenue N.: In the service once some buddies of mine filled my bunk full of water. You get a sort of wet feeling in a bed full of water.

Jean O’Shea, 4155 Yosemite avenue, St. Louis Park: I really can’t think of any. Most of my friends aren’t practical jokers. Which is another way of saying that most of my friends are good friends.

December 2005 update: When reached by phone at his winter home in St. Petersburg, Fla., Marvin Koursh couldn’t recall talking to a Tribune photographer or playing a prank on “a girl named Rhoda” more than 50 years ago. Back then, at age 23, he worked in the purchasing department of the Twin Cities Army Ammunition Plant. He went into sales and now owns a business involving “industrial material handling products.” He and his wife, Marlys, have seven children.

I read the Tribune item to him to jog his memory.

He paused a moment and said: “Oh my. [another brief pause] That’s my cousin. She’s still alive, doing fine. I talk to her quite often.” He asked me to call him back after he’d had a chance to talk to her about this whole prank episode.

We talked once more by phone and exchanged a couple of e-mails. His latest note:

“I cannot recall the circumstances of a prank back in January 1951 played on ‘a girl named Rhoda.’ … However, I will relate to you the following conversation with that same ‘girl Rhoda’ a day or two ago.

“First — a fact — Rhoda and Merrill married in February 1951. Today they are great-grandparents with a lovely and devoted family.

“After speaking with you, I called Rhoda in St. Louis Park at her home. I mentioned the circumstances of ‘playing a prank on Rhoda in a few weeks.’ She reiterated to me that she could not recall a prank I had played on her way back in 1951. In the background, her husband, Merrill, who was overhearing the telephone conversation, came up with, ‘He let us get married, didn’t he?’ His idea of the prank.”

Yumpin’ yimminy, what a card, that Merrill!

This entry was posted on Friday, December 16th, 2005 at 12:32 am and is filed under Main, People. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.