The following are from the same issue:

Christmas is observed in many countries in various ways. Although it may be called Yuletide in England, Noel in France or Weilnachten in Germany, it is no less beautiful or universal in its prevailing spirit. The Christmas spirit is eternal.

It is our cumulative heritage from the past. But it is only eternal as it lives on through that one day in December and colors our lives and actions through dreary March or sultry August.

Henry Van Dyke has given us the living and enduring qualities of the real Christmas in this beautiful message.

"I am thinking of you today because it is Christmas, and I wish you happiness. And tomorrow because it is the day after Christmas, I shall still wish you happiness; and so on clear through the year. I may not be able to tell you about it every day, because I may be far away; or because I cannot even afford to pay the postage to go on so many letters or find the time to write them. But that makes no difference. The thought and wish will be there just the same. In my work and in the business of life, I mean to try not to be unfair to you or injury you in any way. In my pleasure, if we cannot be together, I would like to share the fun with you. Whatever joy or success comes to you will make me glad. Without pretense, and in plain words, good-will to you is what I mean, in the Spirit of Christmas."

To all, best wishes for a very real and joyous Christmas. - Sincerely Paul Laxalt, Governor of Nevada

Tolerance, brotherly love, freedom from fear and want, liberty, the rights of free speech and thought, the heritage and the cherished traditions which we as Americans enjoy have made this the greatest nation on Earth. By these our lives are enriched daily but perhaps they become even more meaningful and purposeful during the Christmas season when men of faith everywhere pause to re-examine their individual goals and ideals and most important of all, to pay homage to Him who gave His life that all these things are possible.

In our world of business, in our world of politics, in our world of religious beliefs and concepts, in our world of races and minority groups and the societies of the free and the societies of the oppressed, perhaps the greatest single challenge to man today can be summed up in one word: Tolerance. Tolerance we as individuals have for those whose thoughts, whose beliefs, whose ideals and whose race, creed and color may differ from our own. Tolerance might be said to be the foundation of everything we are and everything that has purposeful meaning in our lives. Strength and inspiration go hand in hand with tolerance.

To paraphrase an old but common expression to all, tolerance, like charity, must begin at home. As the members of a family unit are tolerant of each other, so they become tolerant of their circle of friends and tolerant of other members of their community and of their state and their nation. Who among us is to say that most or all of the tragic problems confronting mankind today could not be resolved were there a genuine and honest rededication among all men to tolerance in all matters.

We who are fortunate enough and proud enough to claim citizenship in this, the greatest nation on Earth, must never forget that we are Americans first and that we are members of a particular race, a religious creed or a political belief, second. Historian and the most learned scholars agree that the very cornerstone upon which this country was founded and has grown and prospered is the solidarity of its citizens through tolerance and the respect for the rights and beliefs of others.

Each of us must take stock of our own attitudes; we must make an honest and sincere effort to erase for all time those prejudices which, frankly, each of us have. Though some of these we are able to suppress, others, particularly in recent years, have flared into tragedy and open violence across the land.

Would it require a miracle to bring this about. To me, we still are living and always shall be living in the age of miracles. It is beyond my belief, beyond my comprehension, that man through scientific achievements and through the vast, extremely complex formulae of our developing space age can literally reach for the moon and the stars and the planets beyond, and in this vast search for knowledge may one day literally control the universe. And yet, despite these astounding achievements undreamed of so short a time ago, man has yet failed to every attempt, in every effort, to achieve the highest and greatest goal of all - that miracle, if you will, to live in peace and harmony with his fellow man. - Oran K. Gragson, Mayor

MERRY CHRISTMAS, said Mr. Forbes as he handed Bill his bonus envelope," and I hope the new season bring you improved health. I'm sorry it couldn't be more but, after all, we did pay you for the days you you were out." Bill accepted the envelope with a gratitude and humility displayed only by butlers in the movies - formal - sincere - yet slight whimsical.

"Thank you," Bill said. "Thank you very much, and very Happy Christmas to you, Sir, and a Prosperous New Year." How silly, to wish The Mr. Forbes a Prosperous New Year. Now Bill's thoughts reverted to the envelope he held in his hand. He squeezed it in an effort to mentally calculate exactly how much the envelope held. It didn't feel too bulky. Yet, Bill mused, there might be bills of larger denomination. If only his fingers were pressing $500, he could leave at once for that life-saving operation. Yes, it was liberal of Mr. Forbes to pay him for the days he was unable to report for work because of illness, but medicine is so expensive, as well as food, clothing, surgery - and the doctor. Oh yes, the doctor. He, too, must be paid.

His thoughts were interrupted by a raucous, "How about a drink?" Bill was so engrossed, he didn't answer the question. He was wondering if he should tear the envelope open - look at the bonus - see if it was enough to meet the present crisis. He wondered if he should now explain to Mr. Forbes that he needed money to regain his health, to return to the office and work more diligently, more usefully, more productively. Old "J.F." would like that. He'd like to squeeze water from a rock. Perhaps at this time of the year he might be moved by this "Good Will Toward Men" stuff. Bill was still trying to evaluate the amount of the bonus in the envelope.

"How about a drink, Bill. You know, Christmas cheers and all that!"

"Excuse me Mr. Forbes. What did you say? Oh, a drink - I'd love to, but you know - doctor's orders. I'll take a raincheck if you don't mind. Maybe next Christmas. AFter all, you did wish me better health."

"Yes, Bill, and I meant it. Men of your talent and calibre are hard to find. If you're in better health, it means more and better work for Forbes & Co."

How commercial can you get, even on Christmas? Bill know Mr. Forbes wasn't the type to give anything away, much less good wishes, without an ulterior motive. He felt now was the time to tear the envelope open and flash its paltry contents in front of Forbes' face and scream his indignation, for intuition told him the bonus was as lacking in substance as Forbes was in spirit.

If it wasn't that Mr. Forbes' secretary entered the room, the worm would have turned, the lamb would have become the lion; the servant, the master; timidity would have become strength; self-consciousness, confidence. But, as was his way, Bill merely said, "Perhaps next year, Mr. Forbes. Perhaps next year." Bill exchanged holiday greetings with the secretary as he left.

With envelope in hand, he raced to the employees' lounge, his curiosity rising within him. The ubiquitous question - would there be enough money for the surgery and hospital? the short walk, which usually took seconds, seemed endless. Bill found himself making mental bets and the stakes were high - a winning hand. A trivial amount - a courteous token from the esteemed vault of "J.F." - meant death.

Bill pushed the door open to be met by convivial celebrants milling around in groups, sending flashes of brown and red liquids bobbing around in cocktail glasses like buoys on a rough sea. They were all exchanging sincere holiday greetings. The drone of human voices buzzing like bees around nectar pod became very irritating. HOw could a Christmas be merry to a man whose life hung in the balance - entirely dependent upon his holiday bonus. The lounge began to spin. Familiar faces blurred. The room was turning in myriad directions. Saturns travelling through space - people - things - things - people - round and round. How ironical if I were to die now, Bill thought, before I know what is in the envelope. He stumbled to the locker, as a drunken bargain hunter to a counter. Automatically he turned the key, removed his belongings, found his way to the elevator.

It was a relief to be outside. The sun, shining through the glistening street decorations and stealing between the man-made architecture, formed prisms of iridescent hues. The effect resembled spotlight focused on a stage - a stage of life and death - and Bill played the leading role. The cool air cleared his senses and sent chills spiraling up and down his spine. The transition was pleasantly shocking.

Momentarily, Bill had forgotten it was early - the party had started at noon. He had expected to find darkness.

Hundreds of people, laden with gaily-wrapped bundles, formed a kaleidoscopic pattern as they hurried along with an alacrity that only the Yuletide brings. Bill neither saw nor heard them. In robot fashion, he trudged toward the park. It all became a game now. How many men knew hoe much longer they had to live? The envelope was the umpire, the decision-maker, the final word. He could open it - know his fate, or leave it alone, unmolested, taunting himself for another week. That's what the doctor said, "Bill, unless you undergo immediate surgery, I can't accept the consequences beyond seven days."

It was getting colder now and the savage slashes of the wind pierced his shabby coat. It's always more noticeable, he thought, when it blows across the open area of the park. He pressed his hat more firmly upon his head and wondered why he should worry about a hat at a time like this.

Passing the first two empty benches, Bill selected the third. The park was engulfed in sepulchral silence, except for the occasional appearance of a few stragglers - drunk - mumbling "Merry Christmas" to every tree stump, branch, lamp post, and bench. Stupid fools, he thought, what do they know about life. You only appreciate what you don't have.

It was now a game of cat and mouse - "Tiger Or The Lady?" Funny it should bring that story back to his mind. Behind one door was the beautiful lady and freedom; behind the other, the ferocious tiger and destruction. The lady or the tiger?

Bill now held the envelope in front of him. It was his judge and jury - no appeal to a higher court. He fingered it, toyed with it, embraced it, and prayed - the cleansing, confessing confidential prayer of a man about to meet his Maker - but of one who was reluctant. He felt the emotions of a man in the death chamber - a prisoner strapped in an electric chair - a soldier facing the enemy's muzzle.

Bill was so absorbed in his plight, he failed to notice a poorly-dressed man on an opposite bench. The stranger was oblivious to him, also, concentrating on two or three newspapers in his hands - which he studied with the infinite care of a woman plucking her eyebrows.

Bill turned his attention back to the envelope. Would knowing be worse than not knowing? Now the "Tiger or the Lady" had become - the tiger or the tiger. Either door meant the same result - the same ending - the same final curtain. Until now, he had never known the meaning of "the strength of a coward."

He opened the envelope with the indifference of a man pulling a Band-Aid from someone else's finger. He removed the contents. His heart was pounding the staccato beat of a thousand typewriters - his hands were trembling - his body shook - his breath was as irregular as a suburban railroad on a stormy night. It took but a moment and Bill knew the answer.

Just knowing was consolatory and he signed resignedly. Bill felt no fear. There was $62 in the envelope and a note that read "When you regain your health, come back and see us. Your job will be waiting for you. We are sorry we are unable to maintain you on our staff in your present condition."

Now, everything seemed absurd - Forbes - the Company - working - money - What did it really mean? During a lifetime, men fall into different straits and elevations of success. But the true meaning of "all men are created equal" is not that they live in equality but rather that they die in equality. While I will never become the president of a large corporation, sharing equality with Mr. Forbes, destiny dictates that some day Forbes will share the equality of my death.

The distant voices of merriment, a symphony of sound piercing the crispness of the day, the pealing of church bells, the organ music heralding "Joy To The World," the sun looming high overhead like a flaming maple in an evergreen forest. How little of this beauty could permeate Bill's consciousness. How incongruous it seemed. Merry Christmas? Nuts!

The forlorn figure on the adjacent bench, the one with the newspapers, came into Bill's view. Poor chap, doubtless no family, no loved ones, no goal, no dreams. If he had any of these he wouldn't be sitting alone. Poor chap, he's the same as I, except less fortunate, he has longer to live amid the doldrums and the echoes of his own weary loneliness.

Bill threw away the dismissal slip, put the bonus money back into the envelope. He stood, ethereally suspended by a spirit known to few men, and walked proudly to the man seat on the other bench. He placed the envelope containing the $62 into the stranger's hand and whispered, "Charity is first!"

The next morning, Bill was awakened by the persistent ringing of his door bell. Who but a bill collector would be his first visitor in over two years on Christmas morning? What harm could a bill collector do now? Bill rolled out of bed, slipped his feet into warm slippers and opened the door. There was a stranger outside.

The caller spoke in guttural tones, in the manner of a Damon Runyon character. he said "Bud, youse is pretty hard to find. If it wuzn't that your name and address wuz on the envelope you slipped me in the park, I would have been mighty hoit having not had the chance to pay off the bet youse placed wid me."

"Bet," Bill questioned. "What bet?" Are you joiky or sumptin? CHARITY in the foist. A long shot comes home. It won, comes in foist, paying a hundred clams for every back you had rising. Here! And a Merry Christmas, pal."

MERRY CHRISTMAS," cried Bill. A VERY MERRY CHRISTMAS. - Stan Irwin

. . . I do a radio show six days a week over KRAM, of which four are devoted to talking to people about the entertainment field. I mean all facets of show business . . . from old movies, new movies, radio (old and new), music (old and new), night clubs, vaudeville, burlesque (old and new) and TV (old - at least it always seems to be). These phone tete-a-tetes usually wind up in a "what ever happened to -" or "what are they doing now" or simply, "Remember?" So, with that in mind, I thought you might be semi-interested in some rare information and seldom heard facts. Hang on tight . . . here we go.

Remember these names? Thurston Hall, Pierre Watkin, Wade Boitler, Johnathan Hale, Allison Skipworth, May Robson, Jesse Ralph, May Boland, C. Henry Gordon, Sid Saylor? These are but a few of the thousand names that graced the silver screen during the 30's and 40's. They're all members of the greatest and most talented acting club in the world - the character actor actress. You may not remember their names but if I showed you pictures of their faces, you would in all probability say, "Oh yeah . . . I remember." For example Thurston Hall played the banker, lawyer, rich father, always with cigar in mouth. Or take Johnathan Hale - he was "Mr. Dithers" in the "Blondie" movies of the 30's. May Robson is best remembered as "Aunt Polly" in the 1937 movie, "Tom Sawyer". The only reason I mention these people is - they all have relatives living in our town of Las Vegas. I talk to them every day and ask the inevitable questions, "Where are they?" Said to say, most of them are no longer with us. I've found that Vegas has been fortunate in having the "Who's Who of Movies" either working, living, or visiting here. I remember Preston Foster as your host at the Old Frontier Hotel Hotel - talking to the late Hoot Gibson about his money worries, caused by bad investments - I remember spending two memorable hours with a gracious gentleman who used to live with me 15 weeks a year when I was a child. The 15 weeks were 15 chapters of the movie serial. His name - Wild Bill Elliot. He got the "Wild Bill" from his first major western, the movie serial of "Wild Bill Hickok." No one, other than his immediate family, took his passing with greater sorry than I. I remember one night my wife and I were watching one of the last of the great minstrel men named Dave Burton entertain at the Cabaret Room at the Frontier. Who did he have singing and dancing with straw hat and came to "Lullaby of Broadway?" Rory Calhoun, whose first movie role was in a movie called "The Red House." That picture starred Edward G. Robinson and little Lon McAllister. but we came away raving about Rory Calhoun and a sleepy eyed, sultry hunk of femininity, name of Julie London. Her first movie, too. Now Julie is one of the pretties reasons to visit Vegas, as she works here at least twice a year. I remember back in 1960, while strolling through one of the lounges, I saw a familiar face siting by himself, sipping a tall cool one. No one was paying much attention to him. Having had a wee bit of courage poured into me, I steeled myself and walked over and said, "I thoroughly enjoyed your TV show back in 1955 over CBS." He looked at me and said, "Thank you. I didn't think anyone remembered that show." His was and IS Johnny Carson. My personal favorite of all the quick minds in the business.

The wonderful world of burlesque is starting to rise from the ashes like a Phoenix in some areas in this land. Las Vegas is home to that rare breed of man - the burlesque comic. We have Hank Henry, Sparky Kaye, Eddy Ennis and Eddie Fox, plying their trade at the Hacienda, Irv Benson, Jack Mann and Marty May with the legendary Harold Minsky at the Silver Slipper. This world of burlesque is my personal favorite world. The quick blackouts, the double entendre jokes, the outlandish ill-fitting costumes, the double take, the slow burns and the GIRLS. In fact, the biggest cliche in the world is a guy saying, "Oh, I go to a burlesque show just to see the comics." Don't kid yourself! All of us red-blooded-type American boys dig the girls. But in my case, it is true - I admire and respect these wonderful men whose style of comedy is timeless. A tradition that started in ancient Greece - really flourished in the 20's and 30's, then suffered humiliation and almost complete annihilation. One by one, the burlesque houses of the US started to go dark. What happened to the comics? Some you may remember - Bert Lahr, Phil Silvers, Red Buttons, the late great Rags Ragland, Joey Faye, Red Skelton, the late Bobby Clark with Danny Thomas being a candy hawker.

Robert Alda, famous for his portrayal of George Gershwin, was a juvenile singer. Some of the comics got out of the business entirely. Some temporarily - only to come back. Theirs is an art you can't learn at acting school or college. You learned by doing. If I had my way, there would be a burlesque theater in every major American city. I spend a lot of time backstage at the Slipper, talking to the whole clan.

To me, it's like taking a class in the theater. Possibly the most successful burlesque team in show business is Irv Benson and Jack Mann. Irv and Jack have been together about 25 years. They were teamed by a manager of a club in which both were working. Before that, Irv was a singer and hoofer - Jack, an actor in repertoire theater. Both have wonderful stories of the people with whom they worked in years gone by. Rather than spook them with the re-telling, get Irv to tell you about his working with the late "Fats" Waller, or have Jack tell you about a cane that he owns, which once belonged to the immortal George M. Cohen. You'll find that, like most successful comedy teams, they work well together on stage, are good friends, but are rarely seen together in private life. Then there's Marty May. Marty and his lovely wife, June, have ben on my Saturday talk show more than anyone else. June May is June Johnson professionally. Her father was one of the real greats of vaudeville, Broadway, movies and TV - the late Chic Johnson of Olson and Johnson fame. In fact it was when Marty was subbing for Ole Olson in "Sons of Fun" that he met June, a petite, pretty blonde with tons of talent and personality - also appearing in the same show. Then came June, spoon, moon and I DO. After a while, along came young Bobby May to carry on the family name and tradition. He is now a big TV star. You watch him but never see him every week as the robot in the TV series "Lost In Space." Jack Benny has figured into both Marty's life and June's life. It was Jack Benny who carried young baby June onstage to see her father. Chic was working a date and couldn't be at his wife's bedside for the stork's arrival, so when mother and baby were strong enough to join father, Jack met the train - went right to the theater - entered from the wings carrying June, much to the delight and surprise of Chic and the audience. Jack Benny has remained a close friend to both Marty and June to this day - even though Jack "borrowed" some of Marty's old vaudeville acts many years ago. Marty didn't tell me this - Woody Herman did! Then there's Herbie Barris, with over 40 years in the business. Herbie has the "enviable" reputation of doing the best male strip tease in burlesque - plus being blessed with a good, comic face. Years ago, Herbie was playing at a club in New Jersey, when the owner came to him and said, "Herbie - I gotta new guy coming in tonight. Will you teach him a few of your bits of business?" Herbie agreed. The new guy was a success then and is still a success today. His name is Jackie Gleason.

These people are "pros" - in everyday living, as well as on stage. If I dwelled too long on burlesque, remember, I said this is my favorite world of Make-Believe. These random thoughts that I have been sharing with you are but a few of the thousands that have been told to me. Next holiday season, we'll continue and explore the other avenues of performing. So, dear reader, and I hope, listener, remember - the next time you enjoy a record, a concert, a dance band, club act, TV show, movies and burlesque, you are watching people who have dedicated their lives to achieving one goal. To entertain and amuse you. And, believe me, no price is too high to pay for a pleasant memory. Happy holidays - and have a good '68, southern Nevada. - Bob Joyce