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My Platform
by Willard F. Smith

I am seeking the office of director in the American Amateur Press Association. I have decided to take this step after much deliberation. My record, although not one of outstanding activity has shown constant publications for 2½ years and I have always given my all to the American.

Furthermore I have some knowledge of the way things are handled by the board, what its specific duties are and how I can best fit into my chosen position. For these reasons I am asking for your support in the coming election.

VOTE FOR WILLARD F. SMITH AS A DIRECTOR. Your vote will be appreciated.

Introducing Me
by Elizabeth Ann Nelson

A girl of thirteen, beginning amateur journalism. I have blonde hair, blue eyes and a fair complexion. I hope to remain active in the association and am looking forward to hearing from you all.

My friend, Willard Smith, has told me all about you, my dear readers, and I know you will live up to his descriptions. I enjoy writing and I hope you will like my “whirligigs.” We’ll try to keep our Sparkplug interesting.

Comment
by Willard F. Smith

This being our first issue and also the first paper of the mimeo type ever tackled by either editor, we don’t expect much and ask your tolerance. My co-editor was quite brief in her introduction and forgot to mention her love of sports and the fact that she is very easy on the eyes. Bigger and better things next time.

Shanghied
by Elizabeth Ann Nelson

Outside the New York Apartment of John Crane, wealthy young business man, nature was in an uproar. The gloomy night was pierced by lightning and thunder. The rain, whipped into a frenzy by the wind, pounded against the deserted streets.

Inside his study, John Crane was aware of a persistent ringing of the doorbell. He laid the book he had been reading on the table and switched off the light. A flash of lightning illuminated the title momentarily, “The Phantom Murderer.” As John laid his hand on the door latch, a sudden premonition of evil overcame him. Shrugging it off he opened the door. Dimly he saw shadowy figures – then a flash of pain and inky darkness overcame him.

When he awoke, John was aware that he was seated at a table about which were grouped three figures. As his vision cleared the awful realization of his fate aroused him. He uttered a wild shriek and resigned himself to his fate.

What made this powerful man tremble and cringe?

Ah, you’ve guessed it – HE WAS SHANGHIED for a fourth hand at bridge.

The Sparkplug is edited and published jointly by: Willard F. Smith & Elizabeth Ann Nelson, W. Hempstead, N. Y.
All correspondence and comment will be appreciated.

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