Lark

One of the strangest experiences that the crew of the Los Angeles ever had was when, last September, as the ship sailed low over Layton, N. J., a man ran out with a shotgun and fired a charge up into the big silvery bag. He accompanied his shot with dancing, gesticulations and lilliputian shouts. The lead pellets, though buckshot, tore only small holes in the ship's fabric. But they might have struck machinery, caused disaster. Had the Los Angeles been inflated with inflammable hydrogen instead of inert helium, she might have blown up. And anyway, it is not proper to shoot at the U. S. Navy's one and only big dirigible. Carpenter Merton Hankins, the lilliputian gunner, was arrested. Last week he was tried for assault with attempt to kill.

A jury of his New Jersey peers heard him make his admission. It was just a "lark" for him, he said. He and four other New Jerseyites had been shooting at a target in one of their back yards. They drank some New Jersey stuff and decided to go hunting deer. They sighted the Los Angeles. Merton Hankins wanted a ride. He waved his hands. He shouted. He jumped up and down. He turned capers. Lieutenant Commander Herbert V. Wiley of the Los Angeles paid no heed, so Merton Hankins fired his shotgun at the ship, he said, "just to attract attention."

The jury found Merton Hankins not guilty of assault, evidently because his reputation as a larkster was well established. Two years ago, when the Flatbrook Valley Club refused to let him fish in its privately stocked trout pools, near Newton, N. J., Jokester Hankins opened the dam, let out the water, killed most of the fish. For that he was fined $200.