One dawning last week a tired, chubby suburbanite was driving home through the outskirts of Detroit. In front of the Methodist Church at Farmington his eyelids dropped, the front wheels fluttered, the car curved, careened, crashed into the back of a parked truck. So died a rootin', tootin', shootin', hell-for-leather buckaroo radio's Lone Ranger. As founder of the five-year-old Lone Ranger Safety Club, he had broadcast many a strong appeal for careful driving.
All over the U.S. that night hundreds of thousands of children to whom the Ranger had sent toy lariats, six-shooters, ten-gallon hats and bristling wild west mustaches, whom he...
To continue reading:
or
Log-In
