Advice for Mrs. H.

At the information desk of Oklahoma City's Daily Oklahoman, a well-dressed, fidgety woman asked to see "the woman who gives people advice." A receptionist turned the visitor over to blonde Reporter Imogene Patrick, who soon realized that she had a Page One story.

Last week the unsensational Oklahoman (circ. 125,950) ran it under an eight-column streamer: IF YOU HAD A YEAR TO

LIVE AND $1O,OOO HOW WOULD YOU

SPEND IT? The story: "Mrs. H." (for Heart), 51, a wealthy widow who lived alone except for her Pekingese dog, had been told by specialists in St. Louis that she would probably die of a heart ailment within twelve months. She had sold out her personal-loans business, allotted part of her money to charity and part to her married daughter--and still had a substantial stake left over. Said Mrs. H., who insisted that her identity be kept secret: "I want to know how to spend it to get the most pleasure out of it."

The Oklahoman didn't quite realize what it was letting itself in for. The wire services picked up the story, landed it in newspapers across the U.S. In New York, Hearst's tabloid Daily Mirror offered $200 in prizes for the best letters of advice to Mrs. H. In three days, 3,000 letters from every state and Canada flooded into the Oklahoman's city rooms; the telephones rang constantly with long-distance callers. Four out of ten letter-writers advised Mrs. H. to seek comfort in God; one letter suggested consolation in whisky. Hundreds urged Mrs. H. to invest her money in ventures ranging from a dog-mange remedy to a sure-fire system for playing the horses.

The A.P.'s Columnist Hal Boyle urged Mrs. H. to take a year-long trip around the world and see everything. The New York Daily News thought there was a better way: "Come to New York . . . and just stay here till the sands run out . . . There is next to nothing [that] you can't find . . . even dude ranches."

At first Mrs. H. read every message. But after three days, she changed her mind; some letters were spiteful and upsetting. By week's end, Mrs. H. had taken refuge in a hideaway--and Reporter Patrick had moved into a friend's apartment, to get some peace from the telephone.

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