I asked the waitress: "Where is that terrible noise coming from?"
With a puzzled expression, she answered: "Why that's the radio."
Then something dawned, her face lighted and she asked: "Haven't
you ever heard a radio before?"
"Is it a bird or an animal," I asked.
"Neither one," said she. "It's a little box you turn on and the
music comes out. Ain't you ever seen one? We turn it on of a
mornin' and it plays all day."
"No. But if we came this way again and brought company, would you
turn it off while we're eating?"
"I shore will," she said--and she meant it.
The foregoing was among the lesser highlights of our trip
straight home. . .
Was in Detroit last week. Saw Joannie, husband and apartment. The
husband is as big as the apartment is small. It's an up and
downstairs affair. Little stairway from living room upstairs. The
whole thing is about the size of a smallish hen-house, the upper
floor representing the roosts.
As ever,
CHAPTER IV: THE WAR YEARS--1942-1945
Pap was way too old for active involvement in World War Two. He
had to be content watching his children play their parts (Frank
and Margaret both joined the Armed Service, although the latter
had to be consoled after being initially turned down for a
commission).
Pages:
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160