Julio Bonetti: Four balls and you’re out!

D.E. HALL slid his Oldsmobile into a spot across the street from the Coliseum Hotel on Figueroa. It was 10 am in Los Angeles, and the heat was already drawing a ring of sweat around his shirt collar. Hall loosened his tie and watched as the guy he was trailing entered the Coliseum and made for the lobby restaurant. He knew for a fact the Coliseum made a very credible Spanish omelet, and the thought of one with a side of the restaurant’s signature home fries had him instinctively running his tongue around his mouth. Hall caught himself and quickly snapped back to the job he’d been hired to do: surveil the guy inside the Coliseum.

In his many years as a private investigator in LA, D.E. Hall handled some pretty high profile cases. As a partner in the Edwin N. Atherton Detective Agency, he had worked undercover to expose a payola-for-jobs scandal in the movie actors union, busted up a Red Commie terror cell with their hooks deep in a New Deal relief agency, investigated some nasty police corruption in the Frisco PD, and helped shut down nefarious high school student football recruitment deals by colleges in the Pacific Coast Conference. That last piece of work won his boss Ed Atherton the plum job of High Commissioner of the Pacific Coast Conference and was likely the reason Hall had been handed this fresh new client.

D.E. Hall had lurked outside his target’s apartment before the sun rose this morning and had tailed him as he walked through the Exposition Park neighborhood. His instructions were to observe any suspicious contact between the target and any gamblers, bookies, or other unsavory characters detrimental to the integrity of the Pacific Coast League.

CALIFORNIA BASEBALL seemed to breed gambling scandals as often as they produced sluggers who couldn’t field. In 1883, the California League expelled several popular players after they were accused of throwing games. Just after World War I, the Pacific Coast League was rocked by two separate scandals involving the bribing of players. Again, several star players were banished from the game. And in the stands, bookies and gamblers were a common fixture, openly plying their trade in many PCL ballparks, especially in San Francisco and LA.

In the early 1920s, many of the notorious gamblers were unilaterally banned from all Pacific Coast League ballparks. The rest of the 1920s passed by without major incident, but by the end of the 1930s, a new crop of gamblers brought the whiff of fresh scandal on the horizon. As memories of the post WWI scandals faded, some ballplayers felt comfortable enough to socialize in public with known gamblers and bookies. This mingling became so prevalent that in 1939, William G. Bramham, president of the National Association of Professional Baseball Leagues, the organization that governed the minor leagues, mandated that every PCL clubhouse post a notice in a location that could not be overlooked by the players that mingling with gamblers, accidentally or otherwise, would draw suspensions. The league made its intentions clear, and the players all knew the score. Yet, here it was 1941, and the Pacific Coast League was still playing whack-a-mole with the gamblers and bookies. This new infestation centered around the Los Angeles Angels, in particular their home park, Wrigley Field.

Recently, the gamblers and bookies who held court in the bleacher section had again become outrageously brazen with their operations. League officials partnered with the LA District Attorney’s Office to investigate, and what they uncovered was alarming. Long-range cameras trained on the stands captured large bills being openly exchanged between gamblers. Undercover operatives circulating in the bleachers were able to hear the odds being given on various prop betting options and watched as $800 bucks was routinely wagered on things as miniscule as whether or not a particular batter will swing on a single pitched ball. But what was even more shocking than the en plein air betting in the stands were the allegations that some of the Angels players were meeting with known bookies.

It was at this point that league officials called in D.E. Hall, private eye, to tail some of the suspected players and see what shook down. Hall’s target on the morning of Wednesday May 7, 1941, was the guy he just watched waltz into the Coliseum Hotel: ace pitcher of the LA Angels, Julio Bonetti.

D.E. HALL scratched a few surveillance notes in his pocket notebook and then slid down the front seat of his Olds to wait for Bonetti to emerge. A half dozen Chesterfields later, Hall observed as a slick new Packard ragtop eased itself to the curb in front of the Coliseum. When he got a good look at the driver, Hall flicked his Chesterfield out the window and sat upright. The guy behind the wheel was Albert J. Reshaw, better known as “Frenchy,” a well-known racehorse owner, bookie, and one of the gamblers who held court in the bleachers of Wrigley Field. And, as every mother tells her kid, guys named Frenchy often meant trouble.

Hall instinctively reached into his pocket for the obligatory roll of dimes every P.I. carried in case he needed to make a phone call, all the while keeping his eyes on the Packard. As the minutes ticked by, Frenchy sat pat in the front seat, his head following the endless parade of USC coeds as they walked back and forth on the sun-drenched sidewalk. Then, just as things were getting boring, D.E. Hall clocked Julio Bonetti exiting the Coliseum. The pitcher paused, looked the block up and down and, upon seeing Frenchy, made a beeline for the Packard.

Things were getting very interesting now. Hall watched as the pitcher and the bookie had a short conversation followed by Frenchy handing over a wad of cash. Bonetti slipped it into the pocket of his sportscoat and headed off down the street.

For a moment, Hall thought of dipping into his cache of dimes and calling the office to dispatch an extra shamus to follow Frenchy, but that ran the risk of losing both targets if he paused to find a telephone booth. So, D.E. Hall took his eyes off the Packard and decided to stick with Bonetti.

The rest of the surveillance was routine. Bonetti walked directly back to his apartment, staying put until he left for the ballpark late in the afternoon. When Bonetti entered the players’ entrance at Wrigley Field, D.E. Hall scribbled a note, ceased his surveillance, and headed back to the office. The operatives already in place inside Wrigley Field would take it from here.

Back at the office, Hall listened to the KFAC Angels pregame show on the radio as he typed his surveillance report on Bonetti. The Angels were hosting their hometown rivals, the Hollywood Stars. Anytime those two teams played each other it was a good game for the fans – and the bookies. The high population of nuevo-rich celebs and cash-flush hustlers looking for excitement in 1941 LA meant a high volume of betting action during a Stars-Angels matchup. But the P.I.’s ears really pricked up when the announcer revealed the starting pitcher for that night against Hollywood: righthanded ace Julio Bonetti.

JULIO GIACOMO BONETTI was the second Italian-born player to reach the major leagues. Born in Vado Ligure, Genoa, Italy in 1911, he was the second son of Paolo and Rosa Bonetti. His father was a shoemaker and his mother was born in the Italian colony of Montevideo, Uruguay before resettling in Genoa. About a year after Julio was born, Paolo immigrated to the United States where he found work in the San Francisco suburb of San Mateo. By 1914, Paolo had saved up enough to finally bring over his wife and two sons. The family was reunited in San Mateo and soon a daughter, Linda, was added to the Bonetti brood.

The Bonetti’s eventually moved to San Francisco, where Paolo worked as a carpenter. Julio attended public schools and learned baseball on the streets of San Francisco. Bonetti worked his way up from neighborhood pickup games to entry-level semipro ball. As a kid, he had naturally developed what would become his signature pitch, and though he did not know the name, what he was throwing was a sinker ball. In 1937, the St. Louis Post-Dispatch wrote, “He grips it with a regulation hold, but gets it off his fingers in such a way that it drops instead of sailing.” If a batter could manage to get his bat on one of Bonetti’s sinkers, it would more often than not end up as a grounder where a competent infield could take care of it.

The first notable team he pitched for was sponsored by the Sunset Produce Company. Also on this team was a young Italian American named Joe DiMaggio. Later, Bonetti would recall that the young DiMaggio was a shortstop “and a bum one, too, but he sure could rap that ball.” No doubt his snarky comment on DiMaggio’s poor skills at short came from his mishandling of the proliferation of grounders Bonetti’s sinker ball caused. While Joe DiMaggio was snatched up by the San Francisco Seals, Bonetti was signed by the city’s other Pacific Coast League team, the Mission Reds. The Coast League was the highest classification below the major leagues, and while DiMaggio would adjust from the sandlots to this faster level fairly quickly, Bonetti had a tougher time at it.

The 21 year-old got into two games for the Reds in 1933, giving up five hits and two runs in three innings of work. Clearly, he was not ready for the PCL, so the Reds decided to farm him out to Joplin in the Western League, a rung and a half lower than the PCL. Bonetti, who had a good job working as a map maker and draftsman, refused the demotion and was given his unconditional release by the Reds.

At this point, Joe Devine, a longtime west coast scout who signed more than thirty big league players, including Hall of Famers Joe Cronin, Paul Waner, Lloyd Waner, and Joe DiMaggio, stepped in. Devine convinced Bonetti to give pro ball another go and secured him a spot with Rock Island of the Western League. Bonetti went 4-7 his first year, then was 13-11 the next year split between Rock Island and Des Moines. He won 14 games for Des Moines in ’36 and won himself a contract with the St. Louis Browns.

THE BROWNS intended to send Bonetti to their farm team in San Antonio but brought him to spring training as a batting practice pitcher. He immediately impressed the Browns management with his work ethic, with the St. Lous Post-Dispatch writing, “He’s a disciple of that tough guy, Hard Work.” And instead of serving up meatballs in batting practice, Bonetti’s sinker had the Browns regulars breaking their backs trying to connect. Browns manager Rogers Hornsby pitched him in a couple exhibition games to see what he could do. When he pitched eight scoreless innings against the Minneapolis Millers and Toledo Mud Hens, Hornsby took him to St. Louis when the season opened.

Hornsby put Bonetti in to finish the last inning of the second game of the season, a 6-1 loss to the White Sox. His single inning of hitless ball must have impressed, because three days later, to Bonetti’s surprise and elation, Hornsby, “came over to me in the clubhouse and flipped me a new baseball. “You’re it,” he said. “I couldn’t believe he meant for me, a punk kid up from Des Moines, to start a big league game the first week, so I asked if he meant for me to pitch batting practice. He told me I was to pitch the game–and boy, was I thrilled.” Bonetti went 9 innings before he was lifted for a pinch hitter with the game ted 4-4. Unfortunately, Browns reliever Jack Knott gave up the losing run in the 11th.

Bonetti went 4-11 for St. Louis before control problems necessitated his demotion to San Antonio in August. He was called back to St. Louis at the end of the season and was with the Browns for the start of the 1938 season. However, his control problems remained, and he was sent down to the Toledo Mud Hens. In January of 1939, the Browns sold Bonetti to the Los Angeles Angels of the Pacific Coast League.

THE ANGELS were owned by Philip Wrigley, heir to the chewing gum empire and owner of the Chicago Cubs. The Angels were the Cubs top farm team and many of the players who won pennants for Chicago in 1929, 1932, 1935, and 1938 were former Angels. A good showing in LA could punch Bonetti’s ticket back to The Show.

And indeed, 1939 would be the year everything turned around for Julio Bonetti, but it sure didn’t begin that way. He had to sit out much of spring training because of a bone bruise on his heel. Then, once the season started, he was sidelined again after having his pitching hand drilled twice by line drives in the same game. He bookended the season with a spiked foot that required seven stitches and three weeks on the bench. But in between, Bonetti was nothing short of phenomenal.

Somehow, he found the cure for his wildness and established himself as the Pacific Coast League’s finest control specialist, averaging less than one walk per nine innings. At one point he went 64 consecutive innings without issuing a free pass, a new Coast League record and just shy of the MLB record of 68. On August 10, he notched a 2-hitter against Oakland, throwing just 66 pitches to do so, another new Coast League record. He also won his own game by knocking in the only run. And he was finally blessed with a tight infield of former-major leaguers that were able to handle all the grounders Bonetti’s sinker elicited. He’d finish the season with just 24 walks in 238 innings and a sparkling 20-5 record for the Angels.

HE MADE THE CUBS opening day roster in 1940 and was given the ball in the sixth inning of the April 22 game against the Pirates at Forbes Field. Despite giving up a single, double and a walk, Bonetti exited the inning without giving up a run. But he began the next inning with two walks before getting an out on an attempted sacrifice. Then future Hall of Famer Paul Waner doubled in a run. An intentional walk loaded the bases, and Bonetti was sent to the showers. He was released back to LA within the week.

Bonetti reemerged in the City of Angels in a very dejected state of mind; one sportswriter described the pitcher as “gloomy” and he told another scribe, “that Cubs manager Gabby Hartnett didn’t give him a fair trial with the Cubs. ‘I wouldn’t have minded at all if I had my ears pinned back,’ remarked Bonetti, ‘but I didn’t even have that chance.’” Though clearly disappointed at his return, Bonetti was able to put a positive spin on his assignment, “But I’ll work my head off for the Angels. I would rather play for Los Angeles than any other club in the minors.”

He won 14 games for the second place Angels and was off to a 3-0 record in 1941 when D.E. Hall saw him pocket that wad of Frenchy Reshaw’s greenbacks.

IT TOOK A FEW WEEKS for the league officials and the LA DA to decide what to do about Hall’s surveillance report on Bonetti. It wasn’t until Hall’s report was put together with the events that happened in Wrigley Field later in the evening of May 7 that the circumstantial evidence suggested a serious wrongdoing.

Bonetti started the 8:15 game against the Hollywood Stars as expected. Out in the bleachers, the DA’s undercover operatives reported heavy gambling odds favoring a Hollywood win that night. The most damning observance by the DA’s men was that they heard Frenchy Reshaw himself offering 10 to 8 odds on an Angels loss.

Meanwhile, out on the field, Bonetti was battling the Stars, trailing 4-3 through eight innings. He gave up eight hits, walked one, whiffed two and was responsible for two earned runs before being lifted for a pinch hitter. The Angels tied it up in the 9th inning, but the Stars clobbered relievers Jittery Joe Barry and Slick Coffman for six runs in the 10th to win, 10-4.

Hall’s surveillance of Bonetti pocketing the cash, Reshaw’s odds making in the stands, and the Angels loss to the Stars the night of May 7 all added up to a serious problem. President William G. Bramham of the National Association was informed as was Major League Baseball Commissioner Kenesaw Mountain Landis.

FINALLY, on June 15, Bonetti was summoned to Angels President David Fleming’s office between games of a Sunday doubleheader at Wrigley Field. There the pitcher was confronted by Fleming, chief investigator for the LA DA Joe Dunn, and P.I. D.E. Hall. They kept their cards close, not letting Bonetti know how much they already knew, giving him just enough rope to hang himself.

The pitcher was asked if he had ever thrown a ballgame or had ever been approached to throw a ballgame. Bonetti denied both. He was then asked if he had ever bet on horse racing. Bonetti denied playing the ponies. This answer elicited some heavier questioning by the group, resulting in Bonetti finally conceding that he “made an occasional two-dollar wager, explaining that he was afraid his admission at first would hurt Fleming’s feelings.”

He was then asked if he had ever met with any known bookies or gamblers who took bets on baseball. Again, Bonetti said he did not. To this, Bonetti was presented with Hall’s surveillance report detailing his being seen with known bookie and gambler Albert “Frenchy” Reshaw outside the Coliseum Hotel on May 7, 1941. The pitcher now came up with the first of several explanations.

Bonetti wound up and lobbed BALL 1, stating that after having breakfast at the Coliseum Hotel, he exited the building when he ran into Frenchy Reshaw by chance. While acknowledging he was acquainted with Reshaw, he denied knowing him as a bookie who took bets on baseball.

To the part of the report about pocketing a wad of cash given to him by Reshaw, Bonetti claimed that he had innocently taken some bills to be changed at a nearby bank for him. The questioning was ended, and Bonetti was permitted to join his team as they left for a road series in Seattle that night.

AS BONETTI was steaming north through the early evening, Albert “Frenchy” Reshaw took a seat in Angels President David Fleming’s office and faced Hall’s and Dunn’s evidence. Reshaw developed amnesia, claiming to not recall ever having handed the pitcher any cash, denied being at the Coliseum Hotel on May 7, and claimed he had never been a gambler or bookie. Realizing that Reshaw would next probably deny even being present in that very room with them, the men cut Frenchy loose and conferred on what to do next.

To the two experienced investigators, it was obvious that Reshaw was your standard-issue hood who would be tough to crack. Bonetti, it was decided, would be the easier one to break. Fleming had Bonetti flown back to LA on June 25 for further questioning.

BALL 2 had Bonetti again claiming he just happened to run into Reshaw by chance outside the Coliseum but added further details. He said the two talked about Reshaw’s new car, and Bonetti told him that he planned to go to the bank to cash his Angels paycheck. That is when Reshaw handed him between $200 and $300 in fifty-dollar bills and asked him to change it to smaller bills and bring it back to him.

Bonetti told the men that he went to the Citizen’s National Trust and Savings Bank on Figueroa Street, cashed his check and changed Reshaw’s wad of fifties to smaller bills. He then returned to the hotel and gave Reshaw his money. The investigators countered with evidence that showed Bonetti had cashed his last paycheck four days before meeting Reshaw outside the Coliseum on May 7. Bonetti then rallied and said that he went to the bank to make a deposit, or maybe a withdraw, from this savings account. The investigators parried with a copy of Bonetti’s own savings account book that showed no deposits or withdraws made by him during the whole of 1941 until June 2, almost a month after his meeting with Reshaw outside the Coliseum.

Trying to keep his head above the flood waters, Bonetti tossed BALL 3, changing his story again, claiming Reshaw must have just asked him to go to the bank and change some bills for him, which would account for why there is no paper trail from his bank. That’s when D.E. Hall’s surveillance report was produced stating he made no such trip to the bank nor a return visit to Frenchy’s Packard outside the Coliseum.

A HEARING was set for June 30. This time Fleming, Hall, and Dunn would be joined by National Association President William G. Bramham and Pacific Coast League President W.C. Tuttle. Bonetti stuck to his BALL 3 version of events. While the group deliberated on next steps, Bonetti was allowed to rejoin his team in Portland. This must have been a nerve-racking time for the pitcher, for as National Association President William G. Bramham wrote in his formal report, “Each time Bonetti was interrogated he was obviously under a great strain.”

President Bramham lowered the boom on July 3, putting Bonetti’s name on the ineligible list banning him from playing for any professional team.

After the ruling, D.E. Hall met with Bonetti, who again regurgitated BALL 3 version of the bill changing story. Hall tried to ram home the seriousness of the charges and the tidal wave of evidence against his story being complete bullshit. He suggested the pitcher go home and think long and hard about that day to remember what actually took place.

Bonetti then reach back and threw his payoff pitch. Everything was confused, he told Hall, the bill exchanging story did take place, but it was some time back in 1939, not on May 7, 1941. What really happened on May 7 was that Reshaw wanted to place a bet on a horse race that afternoon with a fellow bookie named Bob Ridgeway, who ran his illegal sportsbook out of the Coliseum Hotel. Reshaw explained that Ridgeway had once worked for him, but that the two were not on good terms – hence the need for an intermediary to place the bet. Bonetti said the total amount handed over by Reshaw was between $10 and $20 dollars. He told Hall that he did not receive any compensation or profit from the bet. The pitch missed the outside corner – BALL 4.

HALL REPORTED this new version to President Bramham who, unsurprisingly, refused to change his ruling. Bramham stated that he believed Bonetti when he denied he ever threw a ballgame or was ever asked by anyone to do so, and emphatically stated he would not, under any circumstances, be guilty of such conduct. However, the ballplayers’ repeated false statements, refusal to tell the truth when requested, and allowing himself to be used as a medium to place bets between professional gamblers was more than enough to require his expulsion from the ranks of professional baseball.

Bonetti petitioned to have his case reopened but Bramham refused. “I have always given my best efforts in baseball,” Bonetti told reporters, “and never realized that placing some horse race bets for Frenchy Reshaw would have any bearing on my career. My record proves I was always bearing down out there on the mound.”

The powers that be made no more mention of the May 7 game at which Reshaw was seen offering 10 to 8 odds on an Angels loss nor Bonetti leaving the game down 4-3. Organized Baseball seemed content to steer all the blame to horse racing, and any mention of Bonetti or any other players throwing games evaporated. Angels President David Fleming said, “I am very sorry for Julio but very happy that all the evidence shows baseball’s house is clean.”

BONETTI RETURNED to San Francisco a disgraced neighborhood hero. The Long Beach Independent reported that the ban had “made him a ‘social leper.’ Even the kids on his home block used to point him out furtively as if he were a criminal of the worst kind.” The disgraced pitcher told the reporter, “I hurried up the steps of my father’s house many a night, my coat collar hiding my ears.”

Bonetti hired a lawyer and gave reinstatement another shot in September of 1941, but the National Association turned him down flat. When World War II broke out, Bonetti served in the Army Medical Corps and married Chicago native Betty Delarue before shipping out to England in 1944. To keep the troops entertained and out of trouble, the army put together baseball teams of former professional ballplayers. When it was learned Julio Bonetti was stationed in England, he was invited to pitch in an exhibition game in London. Though honored by the request, Bonetti faked an arm injury because he did not want to jeopardize any of the pro ballplayers if it was discovered they played against a banned player.

After the war, Bonetti and his wife Betty settled in California and started a family. Paul was born in 1947 followed by Mary Ann two years later. He took up the carpentry trade like his father, but never stopped proclaiming his innocence and hoping for reinstatement to baseball.

Then in 1949, George M. Trautman, who had replaced William Bramham as president of the National Association, released the names of 26 minor leaguers who were reinstated off the ineligible list. Most had been placed on the list for minor contract disputes or had retired without giving proper notification to their club – certainly nothing as serious as what the player at the top of the list had been accused of: Julio Bonetti. No explanation was given for the reinstatement nor was his infraction listed. His unconditional release from the Los Angeles Angels soon followed, making him a free agent. However, at 38-years-old, Bonetti knew he had no chance of making a roster, but he was able to show his family that his name had at last been cleared.

Less than three years after his reinstatement, Julio Bonetti died at his home in Belmont, California from a massive heart attack. He was just 40 years old.

TODAY JULIO BONETTI is just a footnote on the seedy side street of baseball history. In a seemingly cruel epitaph, almost all modern articles and mentions of his story in baseball history books overlook that Julio Bonetti was reinstated in 1949. For the casual reader, Julio Bonetti is forever a banished ballplayer.

Was he guilty of something? And if so, what the heck was it? Did he try to throw the game against Hollywood? Or, if he didn’t try to throw the whole game, did he maybe give up a harmless single or base-on-balls here or there to give a gambler pal an edge on prop bets? His accepting cash from the guy who was clocked offering 10 to 8 odds against Bonetti’s team looks shady, but that’s not definitive proof. Did he act as an intermediary for Frenchy Reshaw and place a bet with a rival bookie for him? Bob Ridgeway did indeed run his illegal sportsbook out of the Coliseum Hotel. Both Reshaw and Ridgeway were known gamblers and bookies, and as the sign in every Coast league clubhouse stated at the time, mingling with gamblers, accidentally or otherwise, would draw suspensions.

* * *

IN THE END, Bonetti’s own clumsy elusiveness and continuous revisions on what happened on May 7, 1941, made it so we will never know. And it seems that most baseball scandals follow that same ambiguous outcome. What actually transpired in the 1919 Black Sox Scandal is still being revised today; Pete Rose’s story about who and what he bet on has more twists and MacGuffins than a Hitchcock plot; and the Shohei Ohtani “translator” story gets more bizarre and rotten smelling the more one pokes at it.

The one thing these and most other baseball scandals have in common is gambling. And still, the game that has been victimized by this vice more than any other in history has recently welcomed it into their home with open arms. Today, the gamblers and bookies making prop bets aren’t holding court in the bleacher section of a long gone ballpark – they are an app on our cellphones, a kiosk in our sports bars, and the official sponsors of the games we watch on TV. I don’t know what Julio Bonetti did back in 1941, but whatever it was, I can see the threat of something worse being enabled today – and whatever it will be, the powers that run the game we all love will not be able to blame it on horse racing this time.

* * *

Right now in June of 2024, I can’t think of a timelier story than this one. And like the Shohei Ohtani mess and the suspension/banishment of five no-name big leaguers for gambling-related violations, the real story will never come to light.

Constructing this story from the original 1941 newspaper transcripts was a challenge, to say the least. At one point, I employed a mass of note cards spread out on a large surface, much like a half-baked TV murder detective would do, to try to make some sense of Bonetti’s changing story.

I think that I did as best a job as could be done, albeit with a little fictional embellishment on my part to make the sidewalk surveillance and interrogations interesting. D.E. Hall was indeed a high-profile detective in 1940s LA, much along the lines of Jack Nicholson’s character J.J. “Jake” Gittes in the neo-noir film Chinatown.

After completing several drafts of this story while watching the Ohtani and five scrubs stories unfold concurrently, I figured it was time to call it a story – especially after I began to hear D.E. Hall’s voice in the back of my mind telling me:

“Forget it, Gary. It’s Baseball.

* * *

This story is Number 70 in a series of collectible booklets

Each of the hand-numbered and signed 4 ¼” x 5 1/2″ booklets feature an 8 to 24 page story along with a colored art card attached to the inside back cover. These mini-books can be bought individually, thematically or collected as a never-ending set. In addition to the individual booklets, I envision there being themed sets, such as the series I did on Minor League Home Run Champions. You can order a Subscription to Season 6 as well. A year subscription includes a guaranteed regular 12 issues at a discounted price, plus at least one extra Subscriber Special Issue. Each subscription will begin with Booklet Number 066 and will be active through December of 2024. Booklets 1-65 can be purchased as a group, too.



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