"LIKE TO MAKE SOME MONEY?" corner and saw him just greeting an older

You will be shocked to read the testimony below. The facts, which are being notarized as this issue goes to press, were submitted to ONE with permission to use the name of the writer. The Editors, however, are withholding his identity until the time comes when it can be revealed with definite purpose. ONE invites such documentation providing such contributors are willing to back up their

statements.

At twelve-thirty, midnight, of Monday evening last week, I was standing near the corner of Melrose and Western looking northward in impatient expectation of the Western Avenue bus. I was dressed in a pair of dark blue denim pants and a navy blue leisure jacket. I became aware of footfalls behind me and a voice asked, "How would you like to help me roll a queer?" Before I could quite assimilate the remark, the person was standing next to me and asking, "How would you like to make some money?" When he asked the question a second time, I was able to say, "Sure, I'd like to earn some money-honestly." The man grunted and turned on his heel.

Immediately reflecting on this approach, I thought of the possibility of the fellow being a psychopathic deviate from his breezy mannerisms and the nature of his proposal. I also considered the possibility of him being a member of the vice squad, who wanted me to act as "shill" or somehow entrap me. Acting on the latter suspicion I proceeded to the

one

man (my accoster appearing to be about twenty-eight years of age) who was getting out of a tan-coloured late model sedan (Ford, I believe) about two-thirds of a block west on Melrose. I recognized the older man as a plain clothes member of the Los Angeles Police Department. What were these probable vice squad officers doing around this neighborhood? The question was soon answered after a third person came up to them from the west (the direction of a "gay" bar). The two younger fellows walked up to the corner where I was standing, crossed the street and suddenly hesitated when they saw me. They were then on the southeast corner of the intersection. I deliberately missed my bus (1:10 A.M.), remaining across the street and glancing over at the vice squadders from time to time. They were pacing about aimlessly on the corner, star-gazing, lighting cigarettes, scratching and itching. What could they be waiting for? Merely my disappearance. When I eventually left to make a phone call, they walked over to the gay bar and went in. I later found out that these two vice officers had been in this bar previously this evening.

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