This likely apocryphal slice of life about a slice of pie deserves a better headline than the one served up by the Minneapolis Daily Star. Can you top it?

One Indian Word
Enough; Waiter
Learns Language

A new waiter came to the White Bus restaurant in Onamia, Minn., today. He was unacquainted with the Chippewa Indian language and was at a loss to understand the strange noises Indians made when they ordered dinner.

John Mah-gua, from the Mille Lacs lake reservation, came into the restaurant with a hunger for pie. When the new waiter heard the order he felt that it was too big for his restaurant to fill.

	A woman with a prize-winning pie — and a prize-worthy frock — in 1926. (Photo courtesy mnhs.org)

John asked for Mus-ke-Me-man-Bash-ski-me-ne-se-gan-be-tow-see-chi-gan-Bah-gway-zhe-gan. The new waiter caught his head in his hands and ran out to the kitchen to recuperate.

Then he called up H.D. Ayer at the Mille Lacs Trading Post and tried to repeat what the Indian had said.

“Send the Indian to the telephone, then I’ll tell you what it is he wants,” said Mr. Ayer.

“John Mah-gua want Musk-ke-ge-Me-man-Bash-ski-me-ne-se-gan-BeTow-see-chi-gan-Bah-gway-zhe-gan,” said the Indian. “

“Give him a slice of cranberry pie,” Mr. Ayer told the waiter, who was on the point of hysterics.

After his experience the new waiter declared that he would learn the pronunciation of that word if it killed him.

Here is the explanation: Mus-ke-ge-Me-Man means berry or bog berry; Bash-ski-me-ne-se-gan means jam; Be-tow-see-chi-gan means between two layers, and Bah-gway-zhe-gan means flour, or bog berry jam between two layers of flour.

The headline caught my eye. How did a story about a parakeet’s death land in the Minneapolis Tribune? The story addresses that question quickly and unapologetically: Little Timmie was owned by Patricia Luxton, who was married to the newspaper’s gardening editor, longtime Tribune photographer George Luxton.

His career longevity nearly matches that of Sid Hartman: Luxton started shooting photos professionally in the late 1890s and wrote a gardening column from the late 1930s until his death in 1962. Luxton Park, near the couple’s home at 138 Arthur St. SE., is named after him.

Missing Parakeet Dies
After 5-Mile Flight

Timmie Luxton, the missing sky-blue parakeet who sometimes squawked “And don’t say paper, say Star and Tribune,” is dead.

	George Luxton, Tribune gardening editor, posed for this promo shot in about 1950. At least, I hope it was a promo shot — though it’s charming to think he might have worn this get-up to work.

It may have been lonesomeness for his cage in the home of Mr. and Mrs. George Luxton, 138 Arthur avenue SE.

Or fear of the night, for he left the Luxton home Friday night.

But Patricia Luxton, his owner, thinks Timmie died of exhaustion, just plain tuckered out after a five-mile flight.

The gray-winged parakeet with the four black polka dots on his breast and a vocabulary of more than 40 words was found in the Calhoun school yard, W. Lake street and Girard avenue S.

AN UNIDENTIFIED man picked him up and gave him to N. P. Thompson, 5254 Emerson avenue S. Thompson fed Timmie a few cracker crumbs and tried to make him comfortable.

Sometime during the night Timmie passed on. Thompson read a story about the lost bird in yesterday’s Tribune and called the Luxtons.

The Luxtons received two other calls.

The first came from a woman on Park avenue who lost her parakeet in July. She extended her sympathy.

The second came from a woman on E. Thirty-eighth street. She found a parakeet a month ago and offered it to the Luxtons. They accepted.

The new parakeet, now called Timmie, 3rd, is a dead ringer for the talkative ex-Timmie.

The Luxtons do not know if the new bird, a little bit smaller than an English sparrow, can talk or not. The original Timmie could say, “What’s cookin’?” and “My name is Timmie Luxton” and “My name is Butchie” and “Timmie is a grandma’s boy.”

WHEN PUSHED too far by someone trying to force conversation from him, he muttered, “Nuts to you, big boy.”

Since Luxton is garden editor of the Minneapolis Tribune, the former Timmie learned to say, “and don’t say paper, say Star and Tribune.”

Late last night, a caller phoned the Tribune city desk to inquire if a reward was offered for the lost parakeet.

Informed Timmie was found and demised, he objected strenuously.

“I’ve got him spotted down here at Sixth street and Tenth avenue S. and he answers the description perfect,” he insisted.

“In fact, he’s pecking away a pink elephant.”

No bird cage in sight: The interior of George Luxton’s home at 138 Arthur Av. SE., Minneapolis, in about 1915. (Photo courtesy mnhs.org)

An angler’s dream unfolded one hot weekend in July 1955. Huge muskies began hitting “anything and everything” in the northeast corner of Leech Lake, a 175-square-mile reservoir in north-central Minnesota. Before a storm blew in a few days later and ended the run, anglers swarmed the headwaters of the Leech Lake River and landed more than 100 trophy muskies. The Minneapolis Star described the scene:

It was like shooting fish in a barrel. (Grand Rapids Herald-Review photo)

NOBODY KNOWS WHAT CAUSED IT BUT IT’S A DREAM

Fantastic Musky Mob Scene Panics Leech

By JACK CONNOR
Minneapolis Star Outdoor Writer

This is a fantastic story about that fantastic fish – the muskellunge.

Only those who have seen or caught the evidence can believe it.

The little town of Federal Dam, Minn., where Leech Lake river empties into Leech lake, is wild with excitement.

Since Saturday, huge muskies from 15 to 43 pounds have been on a rampage. No one can explain why – not even state fisheries bureau biologists.

The action started, quite by accident, Friday afternoon. From then until noon Tuesday a total of 83 big muskies have been landed.

They were hitting anything and everything.

And they were in an area of the lake where no one thought there were muskies before. At least none had been caught there in years.

The area is five miles south and west of the five boat landings at Federal Dam among a field of bulrushes in 15 feet of water.

Today proprietors of the five boat landings were booked solid for the rest of the week and into next week. Launches were converging on the area from all parts of expansive Leech Lake.

The fantastic story goes back to last Friday afternoon when Mr. and Mrs. Al Storer went out fishing walleyes on nearby Boy river. Mrs. Storer had a minnow and spinner walleye hookup. But a muskie estimated at 25 pounds took it. She lost the fish when it got near the boat.

That evening they drove over to Merle Wescott’s landing below Federal Dam on Leech Lake. They were fishing for walleyes again. But they got two muskies instead.

Next day, Saturday, there were back on Leech with Morris Cohen and Art Green, both of Chicago. The four of them got nine more muskies. Westcott, his son, father and a cousin also were out. They got five.

That started the muskie rush. The word passed like a prairie fire out of control.

“It was like a dream,” Mrs. Storer said today. “You could see those big muskies lying right on top of the water.

“There were boats everywhere and in every one somebody was landing a big muskie or playing one at the end of his line. They were leaping all over the place.”

From Saturday until yesterday 20 big muskies were brought into Neurer’s landing. The largest weighed 42 pounds, 6 ounces, and was caught by Walter Kreutner of Shellsbury, Iowa.

That one set a new season record for this or any other state.

Twenty-four more big ones were brought into Stillman’s landing, 20 into Wescott’s landing, seven into Warren’s landing and 11 into Bader’s landing.

The best at Wescott’s weighed 39 pounds and was caught by Walter Foster, Harvey, Ill. George Durkee, a Federal Dam guide, brought a 38½ -pounder into Bader’s. Rusty Lego, another guide, came into Stillman’s with a 37-pounder.

Warren Bridge of Warren’s landing brought a small one in, only 24½ pounds.

Dick Spadafore, Deer River editor, checked all landings today. “You couldn’t get a boat. But there’s a public landing at Sunset bay on Leech lake.

“I don’t know how long this will last, but it’s been a merry-go-round since it started. No one knows what caused it. Even the guides have no idea.”

Postcard image: Doc’s Lodge, Leech Lake, in about 1953. (Photo courtesy mnhs.org)