The lyric beauties 
of 
 Schubert 's Trout Quintet 
-- 
 its elemental rhythms 
and 
 infectious melodies 
-- make 
 it 

 a source 
of 
 pure pleasure 
for almost 
 all music listeners 
. 

But for 
 students 
of 
 musical forms 
and 
 would-be classifiers 
, 
 the work 
presents 
 its problems 
. 

Since 
 it 
requires only 
 five players 
, 
 it 
would seem to fall into 
 the category 
of 
 chamber music 
-- yet 
 it 
calls for 
 a double bass 
, 
 an instrument 
generally regarded as 
 symphonic 
. 

Moreover , 
 the piece 
is written in 
 five movements 
, rather than 
 the conventional four 
of 
 most quintets 
, and 
 this 
gives 
 the opus 

 a serenade 
or 
 divertimento flavor 
. 

 The many 
and 
 frequent performances 
of 
 the Trout 
serve to emphasize 
 the dual nature 
of 
 its writing 
. 


 Some renditions 
are of 
 symphonic dimensions 
, with 
 the contrabass 
given 
 free rein 
. 


 Other interpretations 
present 
 the music 
as 
 an 
essentially 
 intimate creation 
. 

In 
 these readings 
, 
 the double bass 
is either kept discreetly in 
 the background 
, or 
 it 
is dressed in 
 clown 's attire 
-- 
 the musical equivalent 
of 
 a bull 
in 
 a china shop 
. 

Recently 
 I 
was struck anew by 
 the divergent approaches 
, when in 
 the course 
of 
 one afternoon 
and 
 evening 

 I 
listened to no fewer than 
 ten different performances 
. 


 The occasion 
for 
 this marathon 
: 
 Angel 's long-awaited reissue 
in 
 its 
`` 
 Great Recordings 
Of 
 The Century 
'' 
 series 
of 
 the Schnabel-Pro Arte version 
. 

Let 
 me 
say at 
 the outset 
that 
 the music 
sounded as sparkling on 
 the last playing 
as 
 it 
did on 
 the first 
. 
Whether considered alone or in 
 relation 
to 
 other editions 
, 
 COLH 40 
is 
 a document 
of 
 prime importance 
. 


 Artur Schnabel 
was 
 one 
of 
 the greatest Schubert-Beethoven-Mozart players 
of 
 all time 
, and 
 any commentary 
of 
 his 
on 
 this repertory 
is valuable . 

But 
 Schnabel 
was 
 a great teacher 
in 
 addition 
to being 
 a great performer 
, and 
 the fact 
that 
 four 
of 
 the ten versions I 
listened to are by 
 Schnabel pupils 
( 
 Clifford Curzon 
, 
 Frank Glazer 
, 
 Adrian Aeschbacher 
, and 
 Victor Babin 
) also sheds 
 light 
on 
 the master 's pedagogical skills 
. 


 Certain pianistic traits 
are common to 
 all five Schnabelian renditions 
, most notably 
 the 
`` 
 Schnabel trill 
'' ( 
 which 
differs from 
 the conventional trill 
in that 
 the two notes 
are struck simultaneously ) . 

But 
 the most impressive testimony 
to 
 Schnabel 's distinction 
as 
 a teacher 
is reflected by 
 the individuality 

 which 
marks 
 each student 's approach 
as distinctly 
 his own 
. 

 Schnabel 's emphasis 
on 
 structural clarity 
, 
 his innate rhythmic vibrancy 
, and 
 impetuous intensity 

 all 
tend to stamp 
 his reading 
as 
 a symphonic one 
. 

Yet 
 no detail 
was too small to receive 
 attention 
from 
 this master 
, and as 
 a result 

 the playing 
here has 
 humor 
, 
 delicacy 
, and 
 radiant humanity 
. 


 This 
is 
 a serious-minded interpretation 
, but 
 it 
is never strait-laced . 

And although 
 Schnabel 's pianism 
bristles with 
 excitement 
, 
 it 
is meticulously faithful to 
 Schubert 's dynamic markings 
and 
 phrase indications 
. 


 The piano performance 
on 
 this Trout 
is 
 one   

 that 
really demands 
 a search 
for 
 superlatives 
. 
About 
 the Pro Arte 's contribution 

 I 
am less happy . 


 I 
, for 
 one 
, rather regret that 
 Schnabel 
did n't collaborate with 
 the Budapest Quartet 
, 
 whose rugged 
, 
 athletic playing 
was 
 a good deal 
closer to 
 this pianist 's interpretative outlook 
than 
 the style 
of 
 the Belgian group 
. 
From 
 a technical standpoint 
, 
 the string playing 
is good , but 
 the Pro Arte people 
fail to enter into 
 the spirit 
of 
 things 
here . 

 The violinist 
, in 
 particular 
, is very indulgent with swoops and slides , and 
 his tone 
is pinched and 
 edgy 
. 


 The twenty-five-year-old recording 
offers rather faded 
 string tone 
, but 
 the balance 
between 
 the instruments 
is good and 
 the transfer 
is very quiet . 


 There 
is 
 a break 
in 
 continuity 
just before 
 the fourth variation 
in 
 the 
`` 
 Forellen 
'' 
 movement 
, and 
 I 
suspect that 
 this 
is due to 
 imperfect splicing 
between 
 sides 
of 
 the original Afj  
. 
Turning to 
 the more modern versions 
, 
 Curzon 's 
( 
 London 
) offers 
 the most sophisticated keyboard work 
. 


 Every detail 
in 
 his interpretation 
has been beautifully thought out , and of 
 these 

 I 
would especially cite 
 the delicious laendler 
touch 
 the pianist 
brings to 
 the fifth variation 
( 
 an obvious indication 
that 
 he 
is playing with 
 Viennese musicians 
) , and 
 the gossamer 
shading throughout . 


 Some 
of 
 Curzon 's playing 
strikes 
 me 
as finicky , however . 

Why , for 
 example 
, does 
 he 
favor 
 two tempos 
, rather than 
 one 
, for 
 the third movement 
? ? 


 The assisting musicians 
from 
 the Vienna Octet 
are somewhat lacking in 
 expertise 
, but 
 their contribution 
is rustic and 
 appealing 
. 

( 
 Special compliments 
to 
 the double bass 
playing of 
 Johann Krumpp 
: 
 his scrawny 
, 
 tottering sound 
adds 
 a delightful hilarity 
to 
 the performance 
. 

) 
 The Glazer-Fine Arts edition 
( 
 Concert-Disc 
) is 
 a model 
of 
 lucidity 
and 
 organization 
. 


 It 
is , moreover , 
 a 
perfectly integrated 
 ensemble effort 
. 

But having lived with 
 the disc 
for 
 some time 
now , 
 I 
find 
 the performance 
less exciting than 
 either Schnabel 's 
or Fleisher 
 's 
( 
 whose superb performance 
with 
 the Budapest Quartet 
has still to be recorded ) and 
 a good deal 
less filled with 
 humor 
than 
 Curzon 's 
. 


 Aeschbacher 's work 
is very much akin to 
 Schnabel 's 
, but 
 the sound 
on 
 his Decca disc 
is dated , and 
 you 
will have 
 a hard time 
locating 
 a copy 
of 
 it 
. 

 The Hephzibah Menuhin-Amadeus Quartet 
( 
 Angel 
) and 
 Victor Babin-Festival Quartet 
( 
 RCA Victor 
) 
 editions 
give 
 us superlative string 
playing ( 
 both 
in 
 symphonic style 
) crippled by 
 unimaginative piano playing 
. 

( 
 Babin 
has acquired 
 some 
of 
 Schnabel 's keyboard manner 
, but 
 his playing 
is of 
 limited insight 
. 

) 
 Badura-Skoda-Vienna Konzerthaus 
( 
 Westminster 
) and 
 Demus-Schubert Quartet 
( 
 Deutsche Grammophon 
) are 
 both warm-toned 
, pleasantly 
 lyrical 
, but rather slack and 
 tensionless 
. 


 Helmut Roloff 
, playing with 
 a group 
of 
 musicians 
from 
 the Bayreuth Ensemble 
, gives 
 a sturdy reading 
, in much 
 the same vein 
as 
 that 
of 
 the last-mentioned pianists 
. 


 Telefunken 
has accorded 
 him beautiful sound 
, and 
 this bargain-priced disc 
( 
 it 
sells for 
 $ 2.98 
) is worthy of 
 consideration 
. 
Returning once again to 
 the Schnabel reissue 
, 
 I 
am beguiled anew by 
 the magnificence 
of 
 this pianist 's musical penetration 
. 

Here is truly 
 a 
`` 
 Great  Recording 
of 
 the Century 
'' , and 
 its greatness 
is by 
 no means 
diminished by 
 the fact 
that 
 it 
is not quite perfect . 


 This recording 
surely belongs in 
 everyone 

 's collection 
. 

Must 
 records 
always sound like 
 records 
? ? 
From 
 the beginning 
of 
 commercial 
recording , 
 new discs 
purported to be indistinguishable from 
 The Real Thing 
have regularly been put in 
 circulation 
. 
Seen in 
 perspective 
, 
 many 
of 
 these releases 
have 
 a genuine claim 
to be 
 milestones 
. 

Although lacking 
 absolute verisimilitude 
, 
 they 
supply 
 the ear 
and 
 the imagination 
with 
 all necessary materials 
for 
 re-creation 
of 
 the original 
. 

On 
 the basis 
of 
 what 

 they 
give 
 us 

 we 
can know how 
 the young Caruso 
sang , appreciate 
 the distinctive qualities 
of 
 Parsifal 
under 
 Karl Muck 's baton 
, or sense 
 the type 
of 
 ensemble Toscanini 
created in 
 his years 
with 
 the New York Philharmonic 
. 
Since 
 the concept 
of 
 high fidelity 
became 
 important 

 some dozen years 
ago , 
 the claims 
of 
 technical improvements 
have multiplied tenfold . 

In 
 many cases 

 the revolutionary production 
has offered no more than 
 sensational effects 
: 
 the first hearing 
was fascinating and 
 the second 
disillusioning as 
 the gap 
between 
 sound 
and 
 substance 
became 
 clearer 
. 


 Other innovations 
with 
 better claims 
to 
 musical interest 
survived rehearing to acquire in 
 time 

 the status 
of 
 classics 
. 

If 
 we 
return to 
 them 

 today 
, 
 we 
have 
 no difficulty 
spotting 
 their weaknesses 
but 
 we 
find 
 them 
still 
 pleasing 
. 

 Records 
sound like 
 records 
because 
 they 
provide 
 a different sort 
of 
 experience 
than 
 live music 
. 


 This difference 
is made up of 
 many factors 
. 


 Some 
of 
 them 
are obvious , such as 
 the fact 
that 
 we 
associate recorded and 
 live music 
with 
 our responses 
and 
 behavior 
in 
 different types 
of 
 environments 
and 
 social settings 
. 

( 
 Music 
often sounds best to 
 me 
when 
 I 
can dress informally and sit in 
 something 
more comfortable than 
 a theatre seat 
. 

) From 
 the technical standpoint 
, 
 records 
differ from 
 live music 
to 
 the degree 
that 
 they 
fail to convey 
 the true color 
, 
 texture 
, 
 complexity 
, 
 range 
, 
 intensity 
, 
 pulse 
, and 
 pitch 
of 
 the original 
. 


 Any alteration 
of 
 one 
of 
 these factors 
is 
 distortion 
, although 
 we 
generally use 
 that word 
only for 
 effects 
so pronounced that 
 they 
can be stated quantitatively on 
 the basis 
of 
 standard tests 
. 

Yet 
 it 
is 
 the accumulation 
of 
 distortion 
, 
 the fitting 
together of 
 fractional bits 
until 
 the total 
reaches 
 the threshold 
of 
 our awareness 
, 
 that 
makes 
 records 
sound like 
 records 
. 

 The sound 
may be good ; ; but if 
 you 
know 
 The Real Thing 
, 
 you 
know that 
 what 

 you 
are hearing is only 
 a clever imitation 
. 

 Command 's new Brahms Second 
is 
 a major effort 
to make 
 a record 

 that 
sounds like 
 a real orchestra 
rather than 
 a copy 
of 
 one 
. 
Like 
 the recent Scheherazade 
from 
 London 
( 
 High Fidelity 
, 
 Sept. 1961 
) , 
 it 
is successful because 
 emphasis 
has been placed on 
 good musical 
and 
 engineering practices 
rather than on creating 
 sensational effects 
. 
Because of 
 this 
, only 
 those 
with truly 
 fine equipment 
will be able to appreciate 
 the exact degree 
of 
 the engineers ' triumph 
. 

 The easiest way 
to describe 
 this release 
is to say that 
 it 
reproduces 
 an interesting 
and 
 effective Steinberg performance 
with 
 minimal alteration 
of 
 its musical values 
. 


 The engineering 
as 
 such 
never obtrudes upon 
 your consciousness 
. 


 The effect 
of 
 the recording 
is very open and 
 natural 
, with 
 the frequency emphasis 
exactly 
 what 

 you 
would expect from 
 a live performance 
. 


 This absence 
of 
 peaky highs 
and 
 beefed-up bass 
not only produces 
 greater fidelity 
, but 
 it 
eliminates 
 listener fatigue 
. 


 A contributing factor 
is 
 the perspective 
, 
 the uniform aesthetic distance 

 which 
is maintained . 


 The orchestra 
is far enough away from 
 you 
that 
 you 
miss 
 the bow 
scrapes , 
 valve clicks 
, and 
 other noises 
incidental to playing .  

Yet 
 you 
feel 
 the orchestra 
is near at 
 hand 
, and 
 the individual instruments 
have 
 the same firm presence 
associated with listening from 
 a good seat 
in 
 an 
acoustically 
 perfect hall 
. 


 Command 
has achieved 
 the ideal amount 
of 
 reverberation 
. 


 The music 
is always allowed 
 the living space 
needed to attain 
 its full sonority 
; ; yet 
 the hall 
never intrudes as 
 a quasi-performer 
. 


 The timbre 
remains that of 
 the instruments 
unclouded by 
 resonance 
. 

 All 
of 
 this 
would be wasted , of 
 course 
, if 
 the performance 
lacked 
 authority 
and 
 musical distinction 
. 

For 
 me 

 it 
has more of 
 both 

 elements 
than 
 the majority 
of 
 its competitors 
. 


 Steinberg 
seems to have gone directly back to 
 the score 
, discounting 
 tradition 
, and has built 
 his performance 
on 
 the intention 
to reproduce as faithfully as possible exactly 
 what 

 Brahms 
set down on 
 paper 
. 

 Those 
accustomed to 
 broader 
, 
 more romantic statements 
of 
 the symphony 
can be expected to react strongly when 
 they 
hear 
 this one 
. 

Without losing 
 the distinctive undertow 
of 
 Brahmsian rhythm 
, 
 the pacing 
is firm and 
 the over-all performance 
has 
 a 
tightly knit 
 quality 

 that 
makes for 
 maximum cumulative effect 
. 


 The Presto Ma non assai 
of 
 the first trio 
of 
 the scherzo 
is taken literally and may shock 
 you 
, as 
 the real Allegro 
con 
 Spirito 
of 
 the finale 
is likely to bring 
 you 
to 
 your feet 
. 

In 
 the end 
, however , 
 the thing 
about 
 this performance 

 that 
is most striking is 
 the way 

 it 
sings . 


 Steinberg 
obviously has concluded that 
 it 
is 
 the lyric element 

 which 
must dominate in 
 this score 
, and 
 he 
manages at 
 times 
to create 
 the effect 
of 
 the whole orchestra 
bursting into 
 song 
. 

 The engineering 
provides exactly 
 the support 
needed for 
 such a result 
. 


 Too many records 
seem to reduce 
 a work 
of 
 symphonic complexity 
to 
 a melody 
and 
 its accompaniment 
. 


 The Command technique 
invites 
 you 
to listen to 
 the depth 
of 
 the orchestration 
. 


 Your ear 
takes 
 you 
into 
 the ensemble 
, and 
 you 
may well become 
 aware 
of 
 instrumental details 

 which 
previously were apparent only in 
 the score 
. 


 It 
is 
 this sort 
of 
 experience 

 that 
makes 
 the concept 
of 
 high fidelity 
of 
 real musical significance 
for 
 the home music listener 
. 

 The first 
substantially 
 complete stereo Giselle 
( and 
 the only one 
of 
 its scope 
since 
 Feyer 's four-sided LP edition 
of 
 1958 
for 
 Angel 
) , 
 this set 
is , 
 I 
'm afraid , likely to provide 
 more horrid fascination 
than 
 enjoyment 
. 


 The 
already faded 
 pastel charms 
of 
 the naive music 

 itself 
vanish entirely in 
 Fistoulari 's melodramatic contrasts 
between 
 ultravehement brute power 
and 
 chilly 
, if 
 suave 
, 
 sentimentality 
. 

And in 
 its engineers ' frantic attempts 
to achieve 
 maximum dynamic impact 
and 
 earsplitting brilliance 
, 
 the recording 
sounds as though 
 it 
had been `` doctored for 
 super-high fidelity 
'' . 


 The home listener 
is overpowered , all right , but 
 the experience 
is 
 a far 
from 
 pleasant one 
. 

As with 
 the penultimate Giselle release 
( 
 Wolff 's abridgment 
for 
 RCA Victor 
) 
 I 
find 
 the cleaner 
, 
 less razor-edged monophonic version 
, for 
 all its lack 
of 
 big-stage spaciousness 
, 
 the 
more aurally 
 tolerable 
-- but 
 this 
may be 
 the result 
of processing 
 defects 
in 
 my SD copies 
. 



Buffeted by swirling 
 winds 
, 
 the little green biplane 
struggled northward between 
 the mountains 
beyond 
 Northfield Gulf 
. 


 Wires 
whined as 
 a cold November blast 
rocked 
 the silver wings 
, but 
 the engine roar 
was reassuring to 
 the pilot 
bundled in 
 the open cockpit 
. 

 He 
peered ahead and grinned as 
 the railroad tracks 
came into 
 view 
again below . 
`` 
 Good old iron compass 
'' ! ! 


 He 
thought . 

 A plume 
of 
 smoke 
rose from 
 a Central Vermont locomotive 

 which 
idled behind 
 a string 
of 
 gravel cars 
, and 
 little figures 

 that 
were 
 workmen 
labored to set 
 the ruptured roadbed 
to 
 rights 
. 

 The girders 
of 
 a shattered Dog River bridge 
lay strewn for 
 half a mile 
downstream . 


 Vermont 's main railroad line 
was prostrate . 

And in 
 the dark days 
after 
 the Great Flood 
of 
 1927 
-- 
 the worst natural disaster 
in 
 the state 's history 
-- 
 the little plane 
was 
 its sole replacement 
in carrying 
 the United States mails 
. 

 Rain 
of 
 near cloudburst proportions 
had fallen for 
 three full days 
and 
 it 
was still raining on 
 the morning 
of 
 Friday 
, 
 November 4 
, 
 1927 
, when 
 officials 
of 
 the Post Office Department 's Railway Mail Service 
realized 
 that their distribution system 
for 
 Vermont 
had been almost totally destroyed overnight . 


 Clerks 
and 
 postmasters 
shoveled 
 muck 
out of 
 their offices 
-- 
 those 

 who 
still had 
 offices 
-- and wondered how to move 
 the mail 
. 


 The state 's railroad system 
counted 
 miles 
of 
 broken bridges 
and missing 
 rights-of-way 
: 
 it 
would obviously remain out of 
 commission 
for 
 weeks 
. 

And once 
 medicine 
, 
 food 
, 
 clothing 
and 
 shelter 
had been provided for 
 the flood 's victims 
, 
 communications 
and 
 the mail 
were 
 the next top problems 
. 
From 
 Burlington 
, 
 outgoing mail 
could be ferried across 
 Lake Champlain 
to 
 the railroad 
at 
 Port Kent 
, 
 N. Y 
.. But 
 what 
came in was piling up . 


 The nearest undisrupted end 
of 
 track 
from 
 Boston 
was at 
 Concord 
, 
 N. H 
.. When 
 Governor Al Smith 
offered 
 New York National Guard planes 
to fly 
 the mail 
in and out of 
 the state 
, 
 it 
seemed 
 a likely temporary solution 
, easing 
 Burlington 's bottleneck 
and that at 
 Montpelier 
too . 

 The question 
was `` Where to land '' ? ? 


 There 
was 
 no such thing 
as 
 an airport 
in 
 Vermont 
. 


 Burlington aviator John J. Burns 
suggested 
 the parade ground southwest 
of 
 Fort Ethan Allen 
, and soon 
 a dozen hastily-summoned National Guard pilots 
were bringing 
 their wide-winged 
`` 
 Jenny 
'' and 
 DeHaviland 
two-seaters to rest on 
 the frozen sod 
of 
 the military base 
. 

 The only available field 

 that 
could be used near 
 flood-ravaged Montpelier 
was on 
 the Towne farm 
off 
 upper Main Street 
, 
 a narrow hillside 
where 
 takeoffs 
and 
 landings 
could be safely made only under 
 light wind conditions 
. 

Over in 
 Barre 

 the streets 
had been deep in 
 swirling water 
, and 
 bridges 
were crumpled and gone . 

Anticipating 
 delivery 
of 
 medicines 
and 
 yeast 
by 
 plane 
, 
 Granite City citizens 
formed 
 an airfield committee 
and with 
 the aid 
of 
 quarrymen 
and 
 the 172nd Infantry 
, 
 Vermont National Guard 
, laid out 
 runways 
on 
 Wilson flat 
, 
 high 
on 
 Millstone Hill 
. 


 The 
`` 
 Barre Aviation Field 
'' was set to receive 
 its first aircraft 

 the Sunday 
following 
 the flood 
. 
Though 
 the makeshift airports 
were ready , 
 the York State Guard flyers 
proved unable to keep 
 any kind 
of 
 mail schedule 
. 


 They 
had 
 courage 
but 
 their meager training 
consisted of 
 weekend hops 
in 
 good weather 
, in and out of 
 established airports 
, And 
 the 
increasingly 
 cold weather 
soon raised 
 hob 
with 
 the water 
cooled 
 engines 
of 
 their World War 1 
, 
 planes 
. 


 It 
seemed like 
 a good time 
for 
 officials 
to use 
 a recently-passed law 
empowering 
 the post office department 
to contract for 
 the transport 
of 
 first class mail 
by 
 air 
. 


 They 
had to act fast , for 
 letters 
were clogging 
 the terminals 
. 
Down in 
 Concord 
, 
 New Hampshire 
, was 
 a flier 
in 
 the right place 
at 
 the right time 
: 
 Robert S. Fogg 
, 
 a native New Englander 
, had been 
 a World War 1 
, flying 
 instructor 
, 
 barnstormer 
, and 
 one 
of 
 the original planners 
of 
 the Concord Airport 
. 


 Tall 
, 
 wiry 
, 
 dark-haired Bob Fogg 
had already racked up 
 one historical first 
in 
 air mail history 
. 

Piloting 
 a Curtiss Navy MF flying boat 
off 
 Lake Winnipesaukee 
in 
 1925 
, 
 he 
had inaugurated 
 the original Rural Delivery air service 
in 
 America 
. 
During 
 the excitement following Lindbergh 's flight 
to 
 Paris 
earlier in 
 1927 
, dare 
 devil aviators 
overnight became 
 legendary heroes 
. 

In 
 Concord 
, 
 Bob Fogg 
was 
 the most prominent New Hampshire boy 
with 
 wings 
. 


 Public-spirited backers 
staked 
 him 
to 
 a brand-new airplane 
, aimed at putting 
 their city 
and 
 state 
on 
 the flying map 
. 


 The ship 
was 
 a Waco biplane 
, 
 one 
of 
 the first two 
of 
 its type 
to be fitted with 
 the air 
cooled , 
 225 Wright radial engine 
known as 
 the Whirlwind 
. 


 A trim green 
and 
 silver-painted craft 
only 
 22-12 feet 
long , 
 the Waco 
was entered to compete in 
 the 
`` 
 On-to-Spokane 
'' 
 Air Derby 
of 
 1927 
. 

As 
 a matter 
of 
 fact 
, 
 Fogg 
and 
 his plane 
did n't get beyond 
 Pennsylvania 
in 
 the race 
-- 
 an engine oil leak 
forced 
 him 
down -- but 
 the flying service 
and 
 school 

 he 
started subsequently were 
 first steps 
in paying off 
 his wry-faced backers 
. 

So with 
 all this experience 
, 
 Bob Fogg 
was 
 a natural choice 
to receive 
 the first Emergency Air Mail Star Route contract 
. 


 His work 
began just 
 six days 
after 
 the flood 
. 
By 
 airline 
from 
 Concord 
to 
 Burlington 
is 
 a distance 
of about 
 150 miles 
, counting 
 a slight deviation 
for 
 the stop 
at 
 either Barre 
or 
 Montpelier 
. 


 The first few days Bob Fogg 
set 
 his plane 
down on 
 Towne field 
back of 
 the State House 
when 
 the wind 
was right , and used 
 Wilson flat 
above 
 Barre 
when 
 it 

 was n't 
. 

Between 
 the unsafe Towne field 
and 
 the long roundabout back road haul 

 that 
was necessary to gain 
 access 
to 
 Wilson flat 
, 
 arrangements 
at 
 the state capital 
were far from 
 satisfactory 
. 


 Each time 
in , 
 the unhappy pilot 
, pushing 
 his luck 
, begged 
 the postal officials 

 that 
met 
 him 
to find 
 a safer landing place 
, preferably on 
 the flat-topped hills 
across 
 the Winooski River 
. 
`` But 
 Fogg 
'' , 
 they 
countered , `` 
 we 
ca n't get over there . 
And besides 
 you 
seem to make 
 it 

 all 
right here '' . 


 It 
took 
 a tragedy 
to bring 
 things 
to 
 a head 
. 

After 
 a week 
of 
 precarious uphill landings 
and 
 downwind takeoffs 
, 
 Fogg one day 
looked down at 
 the shattered yellow wreckage 
of 
 an Army plane 
strewn across 
 snow-covered Towne field 
. 

Sent to 
 Montpelier 
by 
 Secretary Herbert Hoover 
, 
 Red Cross Aide Reuben Sleight 
had been killed , and 
 his pilot 
, 
 Lt. Franklin Wolfe 
, badly injured . 

With 
 the field 

 a blur 
of 
 white the unfortunate pilot 
had simply flown into 
 the hillside 
. 
Faced with 
 this situation 
, 
 Postmaster Charles F. McKenna 
of 
 Montpelier 
went with 
 Fogg 
on 
 a Burlington trip 
, and together 
 they 
scouted 
 the terrain 
on 
 the heights 
of 
 Berlin 
. 


 A long flat 
known as 
 the St. John field 
seemed to answer 
 their purpose 
, and since 
 the Winooski bridges 
were at 
 last passable 
, 
 they 
decided to use 
 it 
. 
With 
 a wary eye 
on 
 the farmer 's bull 
, 
 Fred Somers 
of 
 Montpelier 
and 
 Mr. St. John 
marked 
 the field 
with 
 a red table cloth 
. 

As 
 a wind direction indicator 
, 
 they 
tied 
 a cotton rag 
to 
 a sapling 
. 

With 
 these aids 
, and 
 a pair 
of 
 skiis 
substituting for 
 wheels 
on 
 the Waco 
, 
 Bob Fogg 
made 
 the first landing 
on 
 what 
is now 
 part 
of 
 the Barre-Montpelier Airport 
on 
 November 21 
, 
 1927 
. 

 Each trip 
saw 
 the front cockpit 
filled higher with 
 mail pouches 
. 

During 
 the second week 
of 
 operations 
, 
 Fogg 
received 
 a telegram 
from 
 the Post Office Department 
, asking 
 him 
to `` put on 
 two airplanes 
and make 
 two flights 
daily , plus 
 one Sunday trip 
'' . 

Since 
 Fogg 's 
was 
 a one-man 
, 
 one-plane flying service 
, 
 this 
meant that 
 he 
would have to do 
 both 

 trips 
, flying alone 
 600 miles 

 a day 
, under 
 sub-freezing temperature conditions 
. 
Over 
 the weeks 
, 
 America 's first Star Route Air Mail 
settled into 
 a routine pattern 
despite 
 the vagaries 
of 
 weather 
and 
 the lack 
of 
 ground facilities 
and 
 aids 
to 
 navigation 
. 


 Each morning 
at 
 five Fogg 
crawled out of 
 bed 
to 
 bundle 
into flying 
 togs 
over 
 the furnace register 
of 
 his home 
. 

Always troubled by 
 poor circulation 
in 
 his feet 
, 
 he 
experimented with 
 various combinations 
of 
 socks 
and 
 shoes 
before finally adopting 
 old-style felt farmer 's boots 
with 
 his sheepskin 
flying 
 boots 
pulled over 
 them 
. 


 A sheep-lined leather flying suit 
, plus 
 helmet 
, 
 goggles 
and 
 mittens 
completed 
 his attire 
for 
 the rigors 
of 
 the open cockpit 
. 


 The airman 's stock answer 
to `` Were n't 
 you cold 
'' ? ? 

Became `` Yes , 
 the first 

 half hour 
is tough , but by then 
 I 
'm so numb 
 I 
do n't notice 
 it 
'' ! ! 
As 
 daylight 
began to show through 
 the frosty windows 
, 
 Fogg 
would place 
 a call 
to 
 William A. Shaw 
at 
 the U.S. Weather Station 
at 
 Northfield 
, 
 Vermont 
, for 
 temperature 
and 
 wind-velocity readings 
. 


 Shaw 
could also give 
 the flyer 

 a pretty good idea 
of 
 area visibility 
by 
 a visual check 
of 
 the mountains 
to be seen from 
 his station 
. 

`` 
 Ceilings 
'' were judged by 
 comparison 
with 
 known mountain heights 
and 
 cloud positions 
. 

Later on in 
 the day Fogg 
could get 
 a better weather picture 
from 
 the Burlington Weather Bureau 
supervised by 
 Frank E. Hartwell 
. 
Out at 
 the airport 

 each morning 
, 
 Fogg 's skilled mechanic Caleb Marston 
would have 
 the Waco 
warmed up and running in 
 the drafty hangar 
. 

( 
 He 
'd get 
 the engine oil 
flowing with 
 an electric heater 
under 
 a big canvas cover 
. 

) Wishing to show 
 that aviation 
was dependable and here to stay , 
 Bob Fogg 
always made 
 a point 
of taking off 
 each morning 
on 
 the dot 
of 
 seven 
, disregarding 
 rain 
, 
 snow 
and 
 sleet 
in 
 true postal tradition 
. 


 Concord 
learned to set 
 its clocks 
by 
 the rackety bark 
of 
 the Whirlwind 's exhaust overhead 
. 

Sometimes 
 the pilot 
had to turn back if fully blocked by 
 fog 
, but 
 85 % 
of 
 his trips 
were completed . 

 Plane radios 
were not yet 
 available 
, and once in 
 the air 
, 
 Fogg 
flew 
 his ship 
by 
 compass 
, 
 a good memory 
for 
 landmarks 
as seen from 
 above 
, and 
 a capacity 
for 
 dead reckoning 
and 
 quick computation 
. 

Often , threading through 
 the overcast 
, 
 he 
was forced to fly close to 
 the ground 
by 
 a low ceiling 
, skimming above 
 the Winooski 
or 
 the White River 
along 
 the line 
of 
 the broken railroad 
. 
When 
 driving rain 
or 
 mist 
socked in 
 one valley 
, 
 Fogg 
would chandelle up and over to reverse 
 course 
and try 
 another one 
, ranging from 
 the Ottauquechee 
up to 
 Danville 
in 
 search 
of 
 safe passage 
through 
 the mountain 
passes . 

 The dependable Wright engine 
was never stopped on 
 these trips 
. 


 It 
ticked over smoothly , idling while 
 Fogg 
exchanged 
 mails 
with 
 the armed messenger 
from 
 Burlington 
at 
 Fort Ethan Allen 
, and 
 one 
from 
 Montpelier 
and 
 Barre 
at 
 the St. John field 
. 
Sometimes , on 
 a return trip 
, 
 the aviator 
would `` go 
 upstairs 
'' high over 
 the clouds 
. 

There 
 he 
'd take 
 a compass reading 
, figure 
 his air speed 
, and deduce that in 
 a certain number 
of 
 minutes 

 he 
'd be over 
 the broad meadows 
of 
 the Merrimack Valley 
where 
 it 
would be safe to let down through 
 the overcast 
and see 
 the ground 
before 
 it 
hit 
 him 
. 


 Bob Fogg 
did n't have 
 today 's advantages 
of 
 Instrument Flight 
and 
 Ground Control Approach systems 
. 

At 
 the end 
of 
 the calculated time 

 he 
'd nose 
 the Waco 
down through 
 the cloud bank 
and 
 hope 
to break through where 
 some feature 
of 
 the winter landscape 
would be recognizable . 
Usually back in 
 Concord 
by 
 noon 
, 
 there 
was just 
 time 
to get partially thawed out , refuel , and grab 
 a bit 
of 
 Mrs. Fogg 's hot broth 
before starting 
 the second trip 
. 


 Day 
after 
 day Fogg 
shuttled back and forth on 
 his one-man air mail route 
, until 
 the farmers 
in 
 their snowy barnyards 
and 
 the road repairmen 
came to recognize 
 the stubby plane 
as 
 their link 
with 
 the rest 
of 
 the country 
. 

 The flyer 
had 
 his share 
of 
 near-misses 
. 

At 
 Fort Ethan Allen 

 the ever-present wind 
off 
 Lake Champlain 
could readily flip 
 a puny man-made thing 
like 
 an airplane 
if 
 the pilot 
miscalculated . 

Once 
 the soldiers 
from 
 the barracks 
had to hold 
 the ship 
from blowing away while 
 Fogg 
revved 
 the engine 
and got 
 the tail 
up . 

At 
 a nod 
of 
 his head 

 they 
let go , turning to cup 
 their ears 
against 
 the icy slipstream 
. 


 Tracks 
in 
 the snow 
showed 
 the plane 
was airborne in 
 less 
than 
 a hundred feet 
. 

 One afternoon 
during 
 a cold 
, 
 powdery snowstorm 
, 
 Fogg 
took off for 
 Concord 
from 
 the St. John field 
. 




 1 
. 


 Introduction 

 It 
has recently become practical to use 
 the radio emission 
of 
 the moon 
and 
 planets 
as 
 a new source 
of 
 information 
about 
 these bodies 
and 
 their atmospheres 
. 


 The results 
of 
 present observations 
of 
 the thermal radio emission 
of 
 the moon 
are consistent with 
 the very low thermal conductivity 
of 
 the surface layer 

 which 
was derived from 
 the variation 
in 
 the infrared emission 
during 
 eclipses 
( 
 e.g. 
, 
 Garstung 
, 
 1958 
) . 

When sufficiently accurate and 
 complete measurements 
are available , 
 it 
will be possible to set 
 limits 
on 
 the thermal 
and 
 electrical characteristics 
of 
 the surface 
and 
 subsurface materials 
of 
 the moon 
. 

 Observations 
of 
 the radio emission 
of 
 a planet 

 which 
has 
 an extensive atmosphere 
will probe 
 the atmosphere 
to 
 a greater extent 
than 
 those 
using 
 shorter wave lengths 
and should in 
 some cases 
give otherwise 
 unobtainable information 
about 
 the characteristics 
of 
 the solid surface 
. 


 Radio observations 
of 
 Venus 
and 
 Jupiter 
have already supplied 
 unexpected experimental data 
on 
 the physical conditions 
of 
 these planets 
. 


 The observed intensity 
of 
 the radio emission 
of 
 Venus 
is much higher than 
 the expected thermal intensity 
, although 
 the spectrum 
indicated by 
 measurements 
at 
 wave lengths 
near 
 3 cm 
and 
 10 cm 
is like that of 
 a black body 
at about 
 600-degrees 
. 


 This result 
suggests 
 a very high temperature 
at 
 the solid surface 
of 
 the planet 
, although 
 there 
is 
 the possibility 
that 
 the observed radiation 
may be 
 a combination 
of 
 both thermal 
and 
 non-thermal components 
and that 
 the observed spectrum 
is 
 that 
of 
 a black body 
merely by 
 coincidence 
. 

For 
 the case 
of 
 Jupiter 
, 
 the radio emission spectrum 
is definitely not like 
 the spectrum 
of 
 a black-body radiator 
, and 
 it 
seems very likely that 
 the radiation 
reaching 
 the earth 
is 
 a combination 
of 
 thermal radiation 
from 
 the atmosphere 
and 
 non-thermal components 
. 
Of 
 the remaining planets 
, only 
 Mars 
and 
 Saturn 
have been observed as 
 radio sources 
, and not 
 very much information 
is available . 


 Mars 
has been observed twice at about 
 3-cm wave length 
, and 
 the intensity 
of 
 the observed radiation 
is in 
 reasonable agreement 
with 
 the thermal radiation 

 which 
might be predicted on 
 the basis 
of 
 the known temperature 
of 
 Mars 
. 


 The low intensity 
of 
 the radiation 
from 
 Saturn 
has limited 
 observations 
, but again 
 the measured radiation 
seems to be consistent with 
 a thermal origin 
. 


 No attempts 
to measure 
 the radio emission 
of 
 the remaining planets 
have been reported , and , because of 
 their distances 
, 
 small diameters 
, or 
 low temperatures 
, 
 the thermal radiation 
at 
 radio wave lengths 
reaching 
 the earth 
from 
 these sources 
is expected to be of 
 very low intensity 
. 

In 
 spite 
of 
 this 
, 
 the very large radio reflectors 
and improved 
 amplifying techniques 

 which 
are now becoming 
 available 
should make 
 it 
possible to observe 
 the radio emission 
of most of 
 the planets 
in 
 a few years 
. 

 The study 
of 
 the radio emission 
of 
 the moon 
and 
 planets 
began with 
 the detection 
of 
 the thermal radiation 
of 
 the moon 
at 
 1.25-cm wave length 
by 
 Dicke 
and 
 Beringer 
( 
 1946 
) . 


 This 
was followed by 
 a comprehensive series 
of 
 observations 
of 
 the 1.25-cm emission 
of 
 the moon 
over 
 three lunar cycles 
by 
 Piddington 
and 
 Minnett 
( 
 1949 
) . 


 They 
deduced from 
 their measurements 
that 
 the radio emission 
from 
 the whole disk 
of 
 the moon 
varied during 
 a lunation 
in 
 a 
roughly 
 sinusoidal fashion 
; ; that 
 the amplitude 
of 
 the variation 
was considerably less than 
 the amplitude 
of 
 the variation 
in 
 the infrared emission 
as measured  by 
 Pettit 
and 
 Nicholson 
( 
 1930 
) and 
 Pettit 
( 
 1935 
) ; ; and that 
 the maximum 
of 
 the radio emission 
came about 
 3-12 days 
after 
 Full Moon 
, 
 which 
is again in 
 contrast 
to 
 the infrared emission 
, 
 which 
reaches 
 its maximum 
at 
 Full Moon 
. 


 Piddington 
and 
 Minnett 
explained 
 their observations 
by pointing out that 
 rocklike materials 

 which 
are likely to make up 
 the surface 
of 
 the moon 
would be partially transparent to 
 radio waves 
, although opaque to 
 infrared radiation 
. 

 The infrared emission 
could then be assumed to originate at 
 the surface 
of 
 the moon 
, while 
 the radio emission 
originates at 
 some depth 
beneath 
 the surface 
, where 
 the temperature variation 
due to 
 solar radiation 
is reduced in 
 amplitude 
and shifted in 
 phase 
. 

Since 
 the absorption 
of 
 radio waves 
in 
 rocklike material 
varies with 
 wave length 
, 
 it 
should be possible to sample 
 the temperature variation 
at 
 different depths 
beneath 
 the surface 
and possibly detect 
 changes 
in 
 the structure 
or 
 composition 
of 
 the lunar surface material 
. 

 The radio emission 
of 
 a planet 
was first detected in 
 1955 
, when 
 Burke 
and 
 Franklin 
( 
 1955 
) identified 
 the origin 
of 
 interference-like radio noise 
on 
 their records 
at about 
 15 meters wave length 
as 
 emission 
from 
 Jupiter 
. 


 This sporadic type 
of 
 planetary radiation 
is discussed by 
 Burke 
( 
 chap. 13 
) and 
 Gallet 
( 
 chap. 14 
) . 


 Steady radiation 

 which 
was presumably of 
 thermal origin 
was observed from 
 Venus 
at 
 3.15 
and 
 9.4 cm 
, and from 
 Mars 
and 
 Jupiter 
at 
 3.15 cm 
in 
 1956 
( 
 Mayer 
, 
 McCullough 
, and 
 Sloanaker 
, 
 1958 
, 
 A  
, 
 B 
, 
 C 
) , and from 
 Saturn 
at 
 3.75 cm 
in 
 1957 
( 
 Drake 
and 
 Ewen 
, 
 1958 
) . 

In 
 the 
relatively 
 short time 
since 
 these early observations 
, 
 Venus 
has been observed at 
 additional wave lengths 
in 
 the range 
from 
 0.8 
to 
 10.2 cm 
, and 
 Jupiter 
has been observed over 
 the wave-length range 
from 
 3.03 
to 
 68 Afj 
. 

 The observable characteristics 
of 
 planetary radio radiation 
are 
 the intensity 
, 
 the polarization 
, and 
 the direction 
of 
 arrival 
of 
 the waves 
. 


 The maximum angular diameter 
of 
 any planetary disk 
as observed from 
 the earth 
is about 
 1 minute 
of 
 arc 
. 


 This 
is much smaller than 
 the highest resolution 
of even 
 the very large reflectors 
now under 
 construction 
, and consequently 
 the radio emission 
of 
 different regions 
of 
 the disk 
can not be resolved . 


 It 
should be possible , however , to put 
 useful limits 
on 
 the diameters 
of 
 the radio sources 
by observing with 
 large reflectors 
or with 
 interferometers 
. 

 Measurements 
of 
 polarization 
are presently limited by 
 apparatus sensitivity 
and will remain 
 difficult 
because of 
 the low intensity 
of 
 the planetary radiation 
at 
 the earth 
. 


 There 
have been 
 few measurements 
specifically for 
 the determination 
of 
 the polarization 
of 
 planetary radiation 
. 


 The measurements 
made with 
 the NRL 50-foot reflector 
, 
 which 
is 
 altitude-azimuth-mounted 
, would have shown 
 a systematic change 
with 
 local hour angle 
in 
 the measured intensities 
of 
 Venus 
and 
 Jupiter 
if 
 a substantial part 
of 
 the radiation 
had been linearly polarized . 


 Recent interferometer measurements 
( 
 Radhakrishnan 
and 
 Roberts 
, 
 1960 
) have shown 
 the 960-mc emission 
of 
 Jupiter 
to be partially polarized and to originate in 
 a region 
of 
 larger diameter 
than 
 the visible disk 
. 


 Other 
than 
 this very significant result 
, most of 
 the information 
now available about 
 the radio emission 
of 
 the planets 
is restricted to 
 the intensity 
of 
 the radiation 
. 

 The concept 
of 
 apparent black-body  temperature 
is used to describe 
 the radiation 
received from 
 the moon 
and 
 the planets 
. 


 The received radiation 
is compared with 
 the radiation 
from 
 a hypothetical black body 

 which 
subtends 
 the same solid angle 
as 
 the visible disk 
of 
 the planet 
. 


 The apparent black-body disk temperature 
is 
 the temperature 

 which 
must be assumed for 
 the black body 
in 
 order 
that 
 the intensity 
of 
 its radiation 
should equal that of 
 the observed  radiation 
. 


 The use 
of 
 this concept 
does not specify 
 the origin 
of 
 the radiation 
, and only if 
 the planet 
really radiates as 
 a black body 
, will 
 the apparent black-body temperature 
correspond to 
 the physical temperature 
of 
 the emitting material 
. 

 The radio radiation 
of 
 the sun 

 which 
is reflected from 
 the moon 
and 
 planets 
should be negligible compared with 
 their thermal emission 
at 
 centimeter wave lengths 
, except possibly at 
 times 
of 
 exceptional outbursts 
of 
 solar radio noise 
. 


 The quiescent level 
of 
 centimeter wave-length solar radiation 
would increase 
 the average disk brightness temperature 
by less than 
 1-degree 
. 

At 
 meter wave lengths 

 an increase 
of 
 the order 
of 
 10-degrees 
in 
 the average disk temperatures 
of 
 the nearer planets 
would be expected . 

Therefore , neglecting 
 the extreme outbursts 
, reflected 
 solar radiation 
is not expected to cause 
 sizable errors 
in 
 the measurements 
of 
 planetary radiation 
in 
 the centimeter 
- and 
 decimeter-wave-length range 
. 

 2 
. 


 The moon 2.1 observations Radio observations 
of 
 the moon 
have been made over 
 the range 
of 
 wave lengths 
from 
 4.3 mm 
to 
 75 cm 
, and 
 the results 
are summarized in 
 Table 1 
. 


 Observations 
have also been made at 
 1.5 mm 
using 
 optical techniques 
( 
 Sinton 
, 
 1955 
, 
 1956 
, ; ; see also 
 chap. 11 
) . 

Not 
 all the observers 
have used 
 the same procedures 
or made 
 the same assumptions 
about 
 the lunar brightness distribution 
when reducing 
 the data 
, and 
 this 
, together with 
 differences 
in 
 the methods 
of calibrating 
 the antennae 
and 
 receivers 
, must account for much of 
 the disagreement 
in 
 the measured radio brightness temperatures 
. 
In 
 the observations 
at 
 4.3 mm 
( 
 Coates 
, 
 1959 
) , 
 the diameter 
of 
 the antenna beam 
, 
 6'.7 
, was small enough to allow 
 resolution 
of 
 some 
of 
 the larger features 
of 
 the lunar surface 
, and 
 contour diagrams 
have been made of 
 the lunar brightness distribution 
at 
 three lunar phases 
. 


 These observations 
indicate that 
 the lunar maria  heat 
up more rapidly and also cool off more rapidly than do 
 the mountainous regions 
. 


 Mare Imbrium 
seems to be 
 an exception 
and remains cooler than 
 the regions 

 which 
surround 
 it 
. 


 These contour diagrams 
also suggest 
 a 
rather 
 rapid falloff 
in 
 the radio brightness 
with 
 latitude 
. 
Very recently , 
 observations 
have been made at 
 8-mm wave length 
with 
 a reflector 22 meters 
in 
 diameter 
with 
 a resultant beam width 
of only about 
 2 
' ( 
 Amenitskii 
, 
 Noskova 
, and 
 Salomonovich 
, 
 1960 
) . 


 The constant-temperature contours 
are much smoother than 
 those 
observed at 
 4.3 mm 
by 
 Coates 
( 
 1959 
) and apparently 
 the emission 
at 
 8 mm 
is not nearly so sensitive to 
 differences 
in 
 surface features 
. 


 Such high-resolution observations 
as 
 these 
are needed at 
 several wave lengths 
in 
 order 
that 
 the radio emission 
of 
 the moon 
can be properly interpreted . 

 The observations 
of 
 Mayer 
, 
 McCullough 
, and 
 Sloanaker 
at 
 3.15 cm 
and of 
 Sloanaker 
at 
 10.3 cm 
have not previously been published and will be 
 briefly 
described . 


 Measurements 
at 
 3.15 cm 
were obtained on 
 11 days 
spread over 
 the interval 
May 
 3 
to 
 June 19 
, 
 1956 
, using 
 the 50-foot reflector 
at 
 the U.S. Naval Research Laboratory 
in 
 Washington 
. 


 The half-intensity diameter 
of 
 the antenna beam 
was about 
 9 
' , and 
 the angle 
subtended by 
 the moon 
included 
 the entire main beam 
and 
 part 
of 
 the first side lobes 
. 


 The antenna patterns 
and 
 the power gain 
at 
 the peak 
of 
 the beam 
were 
 both 
measured ( 
 Mayer 
, 
 McCullough 
, and 
 Sloanaker 
, 
 1958 
) , so that 
 the absolute power sensitivity 
of 
 the antenna beam 
over 
 the solid angle 
of 
 the moon 
was known . 


 The ratio 
of 
 the measured antenna temperature change 
during 
 a drift scan 
across 
 the moon 
to 
 the average brightness temperature 
of 
 the moon 
over 
 the antenna beam 
( assuming that 
 the brightness temperature 
of 
 the sky 
is negligible ) was found , by 
 graphical integration 
of 
 the antenna directivity diagram 
, to be 
 0.85 
. 


 The measured brightness temperature 
is 
 a good approximation 
to 
 the brightness temperature 
at 
 the center 
of 
 the lunar disk 
because of 
 the narrow antenna beam 
and because 
 the temperature distribution 
over 
 the central portion 
of 
 the moon 's disk 
is nearly uniform . 


 The result 
of 
 the observations 
is Afj  where 
 the phase angle 
, 
 Q 
, is measured in 
 degrees 
from 
 new moon 
and 
 the probable errors 
include absolute as well as 
 relative errors 
. 


 This result 
is plotted along with 
 the 8.6-mm observations 
of 
 Gibson 
( 
 1958 
) in 
 figure 1 
, 
 A  
. 


 The variation 
in 
 the 3-cm emission 
of 
 the moon 
during 
 a lunation 
is very much less than 
 the variation 
in 
 the 8.6-mm emission 
, as would be expected from 
 the explanation 
of 
 Piddington 
and 
 Minnett 
( 
 1949 
) . 

In 
 the discussion 

 which 
follows , 
 the time average 
of 
 the radio emission 
will be referred to as 
 the constant component 
, and 
 the superimposed periodic variation 
will be called 
 the variable component 
. 

 The 10.3-cm observation 
of 
 Sloanaker 
was made on 
 May 20 
, 
 1958 
, using 
 the 84-foot reflector 
at 
 the Maryland Point Observatory 
of 
 the U.S. Naval Research Laboratory 
. 


 The age 
of 
 the moon 
was about 
 2 days 
. 


 The half-intensity diameter 
of 
 the main lobe 
of 
 the antenna 
was about 
 18'.5 
, and 
 the brightness temperature 
was reduced by assuming 
 a Gaussian shape 
for 
 the antenna beam 
and 
 a 
uniformly 
 bright disk 
for 
 the moon 
. 




 It 
was 
 the first time 

 any 
of 
 us 
had laughed since 
 the morning 
began . 

 The rider 
from 
 Concord 
was as good as 
 his word 
. 


 He 
came spurring and whooping down 
 the road 
, 
 his horse 
kicking up 
 clouds 
of 
 dust 
, shouting : `` 
 They 
're a-coming ! ! 

By 
 God 
, 
 they 
're a-coming , 
 they 
are '' ! ! 

 We 
heard 
 him 
before 
 he 
ever showed , and 
 we 
heard 
 him 
yelling after 
 he 
was out of 
 sight 
. 


 Solomon Chandler 
had n't misjudged 
 the strength 
of 
 his lungs 
, not at 
 all 
. 


 I 
think 
 you 
could have heard 
 him 

 a mile 
away , and 
 he 
was bursting at 
 every seam 
with 
 importance 
. 

 I 
have observed that being up on 
 a horse 
changes 
 the whole character 
of 
 a man 
, and when 
 a very small man 
is up on 
 a saddle 
, 
 he 
'd like as not prefer to eat 
 his meals 
there . 


 That 
's understandable , and 
 I 
appreciate 
 the sentiment 
. 

As for 
 this rider 
, 
 I 
never saw 
 him 
before or afterwards and never saw 
 him 
dismounted , so whether 
 he 
stood 
 tall 
or 
 short 
in 
 his shoes 
, 
 I 
ca n't say ; ; but 
 I 
do know that 
 he 
gave 
 the day tone 
and 
 distinction 
. 


 The last thing 
in 
 the world 

 that 
resembled 
 a war 
was 
 our line 
of 
 farmers 
and 
 storekeepers 
and 
 mechanics 
perched on 
 top 
of 
 a stone wall 
, and 
 this dashing rider 
made 
 us 
feel 
 a good deal 
sharper and 
 more alert 
to 
 the situation 
. 

 We 
came down off 
 the wall 
as if 
 he 
had toppled 
 all 
of 
 us 
, and 
 we 
crouched behind 
 it 
. 


 I 
have heard 
 people 
talk with 
 contempt 
about 
 the British regulars 
, but 
 that 
only proves that 
 a lot 
of 
 people 
talk about 
 things 
of 
 which 

 they 
are deplorably ignorant . 


 Whatever 

 we 
felt about 
 the redcoats 
, 
 we 
respected 
 them 
in 
 terms 
of 
 their trade 
, 
 which 
was killing ; ; and 
 I 
know that 
 I 
, 
 myself 
, was nauseated with 
 apprehension 
and 
 fear 
and that 
 my hands 
were soaking  wet where 
 they 
held 
 my gun 
. 


 I 
wanted to wipe 
 my flint 
, but 
 I 
did n't dare to , 
 the state my hands 
were in , just as 
 I 
did n't dare to do 
 anything 
about 
 the priming 
. 


 The gun 
would fire or not , just as 
 chance 
willed . 


 I 
put 
 a lot more trust 
in 
 my two legs 
than in 
 the gun 
, because 
 the most important thing 

 I 
had learned about 
 war 
was that 
 you 
could run away and survive to talk about 
 it 
. 

 The gunfire 
, 
 which 
was so near that 
 it 
seemed just 
 a piece 
up 
 the road 
now , stopped for 
 long 
enough to count to 
 twenty 
; ; and in 
 that brief interval 
, 
 a redcoat officer 
came tearing down 
 the road 
, whipping 
 his horse 
fit to kill . 


 I 
do n't know whether 
 he 
was after 
 our rider 
, 
 who 
had gone by 
 a minute 
before , or whether 
 he 
was simply scouting 
 conditions 
; ; but when 
 he 
passed 
 us 
by , 
 a musket 
roared , and 
 he 
reared 
 his horse 
, swung 
 it 
around , and began to whip 
 it 
back in 
 the direction 
from 
 which 

 he 
had come . 


 He 
was 
 a fine 
and 
 showy rider 
, but 
 his skill 
was wasted on 
 us 
. 
From above 
 me 
and somewhere behind 
 me 
, 
 a rifle 
cracked . 

 The redcoat officer 
collapsed like 
 a punctured bolster 
, and 
 the horse 
reared and threw 
 him 
from 
 the saddle 
, except 
 that one booted foot 
caught in 
 the stirrup 
. 


 Half 
crazed by 
 the weight 
dragging , 
 the dust 
, and 
 the heat 
, 
 the horse 
leaped 
 our wall 
, dashing out 
 the rider 's brains 
against 
 it 
, and leaving 
 him 
lying there among 
 us 
-- while 
 the horse 
crashed away through 
 the brush 
. 

 It 
was 
 my initiation 
to 
 war 
and 
 the insane symphony war 
plays ; ; for 
 what 
had happened on 
 the common 
was only 
 terror 
and 
 flight 
; ; but 
 this 
grinning , broken 
 head 
, not 
 ten feet 
away from 
 me 
, was 
 the sharp definition 
of 
 what 

 my reality 
had become . 
And now 
 the redcoats 
were coming , and 
 the gunfire 
was 
 a part 
of 
 the dust cloud 
on 
 the road 
to 
 the west 
of 
 us 
. 


 I 
must state that 
 the faster things 
happened , 
 the 
slower 
 they 
happened ; ; 
 the passage 
and 
 rhythm 
of 
 time 
changed , and when 
 I 
remember back to 
 what 
happened then , 
 each event 
is 
 a separate 
and frozen 
 incident 
. 

In 
 my recollection 
, 
 there 
was 
 a long interval 
between 
 the death 
of 
 the officer 
and 
 the appearance 
of 
 the first 
of 
 the retreating redcoats 
, and in 
 that interval 

 the dust cloud 
over 
 the road 
seems to hover indefinitely . 

Yet 
 it 
could not have been more than 
 a matter 
of 
 seconds 
, and then 
 the front 
of 
 the British army 
came into 
 view 
. 

 It 
was only 
 hours 
since 
 I 
had last seen 
 them 
, but 
 they 
had changed and 
 I 
had changed . 

In 
 the very front rank 
, 
 two men 
were wounded and staggered along , trailing 
 blood 
behind 
 them 
. 


 No drummers 
here , 
 no pipers 
, and 
 the red coats 
were covered with 
 a fine film 
of 
 dust 
. 


 They 
marched with 
 bayonets 
fixed , and as fixed on 
 their faces 
was 
 anger 
, 
 fear 
, and 
 torment 
. 


 Rank 
after 
 rank 
of 
 them 
came down 
 the road 
, and 
 the faces 
were 
 all the same 
, and 
 they 
walked in 
 a sea 
of 
 dust 
. 
`` 
 Committeemen 
, hold 
 your fire 
! ! 

Hold 
 your fire 
'' ! ! 


 A voice 
called , and 
 what 
made 
 it 
even more terrible and 
 unreal 
was that 
 the redcoat ranks 
never paused for 
 an instant 
, only 
 some 
of 
 them 
glancing toward 
 the stone wall 
, from behind 
 which 

 the voice 
came . 

 The front 
of 
 their column 
had already passed 
 us 
, when 
 another officer 
came riding down 
 the side 
of 
 the road 
, not 
 five paces 
from where 
 we 
were . 


 My Cousin Simmons 
carried 
 a musket 
, but 
 he 
had loaded 
 it 
with 
 bird shot 
, and as 
 the officer 
came opposite 
 him 
, 
 he 
rose up behind 
 the wall 
and fired . 


 One moment 

 there 
was 
 a man 
in 
 the saddle 
; ; 
 the next a headless horror 
on 
 a horse 

 that 
bolted through 
 the redcoat 
ranks , and during 
 the next second 
or 
 two 
, 
 we 

 all 
of 
 us 
fired into 
 the 
suddenly disorganized 
 column 
of 
 soldiers 
. 


 One moment 
, 
 the road 
was filled with 
 disciplined troops 
, marching 
 four 
by 
 four 
with 
 a purpose 
as implacable as 
 death 
; ; 
 the next 
, 
 a cloud 
of 
 gun smoke 
covered 
 a screaming fury 
of 
 sound 
, out of 
 which 

 the redcoat soldiers 
emerged with 
 their bayonets 
and 
 their cursing fury 
. 
In 
 the course 
of 
 this 
, 
 they 
had fired on 
 us 
; ; but 
 I 
have 
 no memory 
of 
 that 
. 


 I 
had squeezed 
 the trigger 
of 
 my own gun 
, and to 
 my amazement 
, 
 it 
had fired and kicked back into 
 my shoulder 
with 
 the force 
of 
 an angry mule 
; ; and then 
 I 
was adding 
 my own voice 
to 
 the crescendo 
of 
 sound 
, hurling 
 more vile language 
than 
 I 
ever thought 
 I 
knew , sobbing and shouting , and aware that if 
 I 
had passed 
 water 
before , 
 it 
was not enough , for 
 my pants 
were soaking  wet . 

 I 
would have stood there and died there if left to 
 myself 
, but 
 Cousin Simmons 
grabbed 
 my arm 
in 
 his viselike grip 
and fairly plucked 
 me 
out of 
 there 

 ; 
; and then 
 I 
came to 
 some sanity 
and plunged away with 
 such extraordinary speed 
that 
 I 
outdistanced 
 Cousin Simmons 
by far . 


 Everyone 
else was running . 

Later 
 we 
realized that 
 the redcoats 
had stopped 
 their charge 
at 
 the wall 
. 


 Their only hope 
of 
 survival 
was to hold to 
 the road 
and keep marching . 

 We 
tumbled to 
 a stop 
in 
 Deacon Gordon 's cow hole 
, 
 a low-lying bit 
of 
 pasture 
with 
 a muddy pool 
of 
 water 
in 
 its middle 
. 


 A dozen cows 
mooed sadly and regarded 
 us 
as if 
 we 
were insane , as perhaps 
 we 
were at 
 that moment 
, with 
 the crazy excitement 
of 
 our first encounter 
, 
 the yelling 
and shooting still continuing up at 
 the road 
, and 
 the thirst 
of 
 some 
of 
 the men 
, 
 which 
was so great that 
 they 
waded into 
 the muddy water 
and scooped up 
 handfuls 
of 
 it 
. 


 Isaac Pitt 
, 
 one 
of 
 the men 
from 
 Lincoln 
, had taken 
 a musket ball 
in 
 his belly 
; ; and though 
 he 
had found 
 the strength 
to run with 
 us 
, now 
 he 
collapsed and lay on 
 the ground 
, dying , 
 the Reverend 
holding 
 his head 
and wiping 
 his hot brow 
. 


 It 
may appear that 
 we 
were cruel and 
 callous 
, but 
 no one 
had 
 time 
to spend sympathizing with 
 poor Isaac 
-- except 
 the Reverend 
. 


 I 
know that 
 I 

 myself 
felt that 
 it 
was 
 a mortal shame 
for 
 a man 
to be torn open by 
 a British musket ball 
, as 
 Isaac 
had been , yet 
 I 
also felt 
 relieved 
and lucky that 
 it 
had been 
 him 
and not 
 myself 
. 


 I 
was drunk with 
 excitement 
and 
 the smell 
of 
 gunpowder 

 that 
came floating down from 
 the road 
, and 
 the fact 
that 
 I 
was not afraid now , but only waiting to know 
 what 
to do 
 next 
. 
Meanwhile , 
 I 
reloaded 
 my gun 
, as 
 the other men 
were doing . 

 We 
were less than 
 a quarter 
of 
 a mile 
from 
 the road 
, and 
 we 
could trace 
 its shape 
from 
 the ribbon 
of 
 powder smoke 
and 
 dust 

 that 
hung over 
 it 
. 

Wherever 
 you 
looked , 
 you 
saw 
 Committeemen 
running across 
 the meadows 
, 
 some 
away from 
 the road 
, 
 some 
toward 
 it 
, 
 some 
parallel to 
 it 
; ; and about 
 a mile 
to 
 the west 

 a cluster 
of at 
 least fifty Militia 
were making 
 their way 
in 
 our direction 
. 

 Cousin Joshua 
and 
 some others 
felt that 
 we 
should march toward 
 Lexington 
and take up 
 new positions 
ahead of 
 the slow-moving British column 
, but 
 another group 
maintained that 
 we 
should stick to 
 this spot 
and 
 this section 
of 
 road 
. 


 I 
did n't offer 
 any advice 
, but 
 I 
certainly did not want to go back to where 
 the officer 
lay with 
 his brains 
dashed out . 


 Someone 
said that while 
 we 
were standing here and arguing about 
 it 
, 
 the British 
would be gone ; ; but 
 Cousin Simmons 
said 
 he 
had watched 
 them 
marching west early in 
 the morning 
, and moving at 
 a much brisker pace 

 it 
had still taken 
 half an hour 
for 
 their column 
to pass , 
 what 
with 
 the narrowness 
of 
 the road 
and 
 their baggage 
and 
 ammunition carts 
. 
While 
 this 
was being discussed , 
 we 
saw 
 the militia 
to 
 the west 
of 
 us 
fanning out and breaking into 
 little clusters 
of 
 two 
and 
 three men 
as 
 they 
approached 
 the road 
. 


 It 
was 
 the opinion 
of 
 some 
of 
 us 
that 
 these 
must be 
 part 
of 
 the Committeemen 

 who 
had been in 
 the Battle 
of 
 the North Bridge 
, 
 which 
entitled 
 them 
to 
 a sort 
of 
 veteran status 
, and 
 we 
felt that if 
 they 
employed 
 this tactic 
, 
 it 
was likely enough 
 the best one 
. 


 Mattathias Dover 
said : `` 
 It 
makes 
 sense 
. 

If 
 we 
cluster together , 
 the redcoats 
can make 
 an advantage 
out of 
 it 
, but 
 there 
's not 
 a blessed thing 

 they 
can do with 
 two 
or 
 three 
of 
 us 
except chase 
 us 
, and 
 we 
can outrun 
 them 
'' . 
That settled 
 it 
, and 
 we 
broke into 
 parties 
of 
 two 
and 
 three 
. 

 Cousin Joshua Dover 
decided to remain with 
 the Reverend 
and 
 poor Isaac Pitt 
until 
 life 
passed away -- and 
 he 
was hurt so badly 
 he 
did not seem for long in 
 this world 
. 


 I 
went off with 
 Cousin Simmons 
, 
 who 
maintained that if 
 he 
did n't see to 
 me 
, 
 he 
did n't know 
 who 
would . 
`` 
 Good heavens 
, 
 Adam 
'' , 
 he 
said , `` 
 I 
thought 
 one thing 

 you 
'd have 
 no trouble learning 
is when to get out of 
 a place 
'' . 
`` 
 I 
learned that now '' , 
 I 
said . 

 We 
ran 
 east 
for about 
 half a mile 
before 
 we 
turned back to 
 the road 
, panting from 
 the effort 
and soaked with 
 sweat 
. 


 There 
was 
 a clump 
of 
 trees 

 that 
appeared to provide 
 cover 
right up to 
 the road 
, and 
 the shouting 
and 
 gunfire 
never slackened . 
Under 
 the trees 
, 
 there 
was 
 a dead redcoat 
, 
 a young boy 
with 
 a pasty white skin 
and 
 a face 
full of 
 pimples 
, 
 who 
had taken 
 a rifle ball 
directly between 
 the eyes 
. 


 Three men 
were around 
 him 
. 


 They 
had stripped 
 him 
of 
 his musket 
and 
 equipment 
, and now 
 they 
were pulling 
 his boots 
and 
 jacket 
off . 


 Cousin Simmons 
grabbed 
 one 
of 
 them 
by 
 the shoulder 
and flung 
 him 
away . 
`` 
 God 's name 
, 
 what 
are 
 you 
to rob 
 the dead 
with 
 the fight 
going on '' ! ! 


 Cousin Simmons 
roared . 

 They 
tried to outface 
 him 
, but 
 Joseph Simmons 
was as wide as 
 two average men 
, and 
 it 
would have taken 
 braver men 
than 
 these 
were to outface 
 him 
. 




 His jowls 
were spiked by 
 barbs 
of 
 graying beard 
. 


 His small 
, 
 mean eyes 
regarded 
 Marty 
steadily , unblinkingly . 


 His eyes 
were threaded by 
 little filaments 
of 
 red 
as if 
 tiny veins 
had burst and flooded 
 blood 
into 
 them 
. 

As 
 he 
chewed 
 his gum 
and exuded wheezing 
 breath 
, 
 Marty 
smelt 
 the reek 
of 
 bad whiskey 
. 

 Marty 
recognized 
 the man 
. 


 He 
had driven 
 the car 

 that 
passed 
 them 
on 
 the road 
outside 
 Admassy 's place 
. 


 This 
was 
 Acey Squire 
, 
 proprietor 
of 
 the juke joint 
. 

 Marty 
smiled at 
 Squire 
pleasantly and said , `` 
 There 
was 
 a cab 
waiting for 
 me 
here . 

Do 
 you 
know where 
 it 
might have gone '' ? ? 

 Squire 
chewed 
 his gum 
, 
 his jaw 
moving in 
 a steady rhythm 
. 


 He 
looked straight at 
 Marty 
. 


 He 
did not 
 answer 
. 


 Marty 
scanned 
 the faces 
of 
 the others 
nearest 
 him 
, looked into 
 their staring eyes 
. 
`` Did 
 anyone 
see 
 my cab 
'' ? ? 


 He 
asked , keeping 
 his voice casual  
. 

 He 
avoided showing 
 any surprise 
or 
 annoyance 
when 
 no one 
answered 
 him 
. 
`` 
 I 
have to get back to 
 Jarrodsville 
'' , 
 he 
went on . 

`` 
 I 
see 
 there 
are 
 some cars 
here . 


 I 
wonder if 
 one 
of 
 you gentlemen 
could drive 
 me 
back to 
 town 
? ? 


 I 
'd be happy to pay for 
 the favor 
, of 
 course 
'' . 

 The seventeen men 
stood and stared at 
 him 
for 
 a moment 
longer . 

And then 
 a startling thing 
occurred . 


 It 
was so utterly unexpected that 
 Marty 
stood for 
 several moments 
with 
 his mouth 
hanging 
 open 
foolishly after 
 it 
had happened . 

 There 
was 
 no word 
spoken , 
 no apparent signal 
given . 
Yet 
 the men all 
moved at 
 the same instant 
. 

 They 
piled into 
 the waiting cars 
, 
 motors 
roared , 
 the cars 
sped off . 

 The station wagon 
and 
 the old Plymouth 
headed 
 east 
toward 
 Jarrodsville 
. 


 The Ford 
and 
 the pickup truck 
sped west toward 
 Sanford 's Run 
. 
In 
 seconds all four cars 
were out of 
 sight 
. 

 Marty Land 
stood alone on 
 a red-clay road 
as 
 storm clouds 
gathered ominously in 
 the sky 
again . 
From 
 a great distance thunder 
growled and broke 
 the silence 
. 

 Land 
looked back toward 
 the dilapidated house 
. 


 He 
thought 
 he 
saw 
 a pale face 
at 
 a window 
. 

Perhaps 
 it 
was 
 Dora May 
. 

Perhaps 
 she 
would be glad that 
 they 
had n't hurt 
 him 
. 

 There 
were 
 other farmhouses 
nearby . 

Across 
 the road 

 there 
was 
 one 
no more than 
 a hundred yards 
away . 


 There 
was 
 another 
on 
 this side 
, 
 a 
little further down . 


 There 
were many more between here and 
 Jarrodsville 
. 


 Telephone poles 
lined 
 the road 
. 


 They 
reared 
 tall 
and mocking . 


 Their wires 
stretched out into 
 infinity 
. 

Not 
 a single strand 
of 
 wire 
reached into 
 the silent houses 
beside 
 the red-clay road 
. 

 There 
was 
 nothing 

 he 
could do but walk . 

And 
 Jarrodsville 
was more than 
 three miles 
away , down 
 an old dirt road 
that 
 the rain 
had turned into 
 a quagmire 
. 

 Marty 
faced 
 east 
and started walking down 
 the left side 
of 
 the road 
. 

After 
 he 
had proceeded 
 a few feet 
, 
 he 
paused and turned up 
 the cuffs 
of 
 his trousers 
, 
 which 
were already damp and 
 mud-caked 
. 


 The viscous mud 
was ankle-deep , and in 
 places great puddles 
spread across 
 the road 
and reflected 
 the murky light 
. 
As 
 he 
approached 
 the first farmhouse 
, 
 thunder 
sounded behind 
 him 
again , closer now and louder , like 
 a 
steadily advancing 
 drum corps 
. 


 There 
were 
 several people 
on 
 the porch 
of 
 the farmhouse 
. 


 There 
was 
 a very old man 
and 
 a young woman 
and 
 a brood 
of 
 children 
ranging from 
 toddlers 
to 
 teen-agers 
. 

For just 
 an instant 

 he 
thought of appealing to 
 them 
for 
 help 
. 

Perhaps 
 they 
had 
 a car 
or 
 truck 
and would drive 
 him 
into 
 town 
. 

Then 
 he 
realized 
 the utter futility 
of 
 the idea 
. 


 They 
were staring at 
 him 
in 
 the same blank 
and 
 menacing way 
that 
 the men 
outside 
 the gate 
had stared . 

Even 
 the eyes 
of 
 the smallest children 
seemed 
 malicious 
. 
On 
 his side 
of 
 the road 

 there 
were 
 two farm hands 
, well back in 
 a field 
, leaning against 
 a plow 
. 


 They 
, too , stared at 
 him 
. 

 The drums 
of 
 thunder 
were right behind 
 him 
now . 

 A foolish thought 
came into 
 his head 
. 


 He 
remembered 
 a story 

 he 
had read as 
 a youth 
. 


 It 
was probably 
 one 
of Kipling 
 's tales 
of 
 the British Army 
. 


 It 
concerned 
 an officer 

 who 
had been disgraced and drummed out . 


 The steady roll 
of 
 the drums 
had sounded behind 
 him 
as 
 he 
walked between 
 the endless ranks 
of 
 the men 

 he 
had commanded , and 
 each man 
about-faced and turned 
 his 
back as 
 the officer 
approached . 

 Marty 
wished 
 these poor farm people 
would turn 
 their backs 
. 

 The fencing 
by 
 the roadside 
ended . 

Now 
 the dirt highway 
was bordered on 
 either side 
by 
 a 
fairly 
 deep drainage ditch 
, too broad to leap over unless 
 you 
were 
 an Olympic star 
. 


 The day 's rain 
had been added to 
 the stagnant water 
. 


 He 
was trapped on 
 the road 
when 
 he 
heard 
 the sound 
of 
 an approaching car 
. 


 It 
was coming toward 
 him 
. 


 The car 
was now in 
 sight 
. 


 Marty 's heart 
skipped 
 a beat 
when 
 he 
recognized 
 it 
. 


 It 
was 
 the station wagon 

 that 
had passed 
 his cab 
on 
 the road 
, 
 the station wagon 

 that 
had been parked at 
 the Burch farm 
. 


 Acey Squire 's station wagon 
. 


 It 
had headed back toward 
 Jarrodsville 
. 


 That 
had only been 
 a ruse 
to lure 
 him 
out on 
 the deserted road 
. 

Now 
 Acey 
and 
 his friends 
were returning to seek 
 him 
out . 

 The station wagon 
came to 
 a stop 

 a couple 
of 
 hundred feet 
in 
 front 
of 
 him 
, beside 
 a fenced field 
. 

Then 
 there 
was 
 another sound 
. 


 A second car 
was coming from 
 the west 
, from 
 the direction 
of 
 Sanford 's Run 
. 


 It 
was 
 the Ford 

 that 
had been outside 
 Burch 's farm 
. 

 Marty 
looked helplessly in 
 both 

 directions 
. 


 It 
was 
 a narrow road 
, barely wide enough for 
 two cars 
to pass . 


 He 
could not leave 
 the road 
because of 
 the water-filled drainage ditch 
. 

When 
 the two cars 
were equidistant from 
 him 
, 
 the station wagon 
started up again and 
 the Ford 
gathered 
 speed 
. 


 They 
bore down on 
 him 
. 


 There 
was 
 nothing 

 he 
could do except 
 jump 
into 
 the ditch 
. 

 He 
jumped , and sank to 
 his knees 
in 
 muddy water 
. 
As 
 the two cars 
roared by , 
 there 
was 
 a high-pitched eerie 
, 
 nerve-shattering sound 
. 


 Marty 
knew how 
 the Union soldiers 
must have felt at 
 Chancellorsville 
and 
 Antietam 
and 
 Gettysburg 
when 
 the ragged gray ranks 
charged at 
 them 
, screaming 
 the wild banshee howl 

 they 
called 
 the Rebel yell 
. 
For 
 moments 

 he 
stood in 
 water 
, shivering and gasping for 
 breath 
. 


 He 
had turned 
 his ankle 
slightly , and 
 it 
pained 
 him 
. 


 The cars 
, with 
 their load 
of howling 
 men 
, had disappeared in 
 the distance 
. 


 There 
had been 
 two more cars 
parked at 
 the farm 
, 
 a Plymouth 
and 
 a pickup truck 
. 


 They 
would be coming for 
 him 
next , bearing down on 
 him 
from 
 both 

 directions 
. 

And then 
 the station wagon 
and 
 the Ford 
would seek 
 him 
out again . 


 He 
would be harassed repeatedly and would escape 
 death 
by 
 inches time 
after 
 time 
, 
 all the way 
to 
 Jarrodsville 
. 


 He 
still had 
 three miles 
to go . 

Back 
 East 

 the more affluent juvenile delinquents 
, 
 who 
could afford 
 hyped-up autos 
instead of 
 switch blades 
as 
 lethal weapons 
, played 
 this same game 
and called 
 it 
`` 
 Chicken 
'' . 

 He 
could not go through 
 the fields 
. 


 That way 
was barred on 
 both 

 sides 
of 
 the road 
by 
 a high barbed-wire fence 
. 


 He 
had to make for 
 the section 
of 
 road 
just ahead that was bordered by 
 the rail fence 
, 
 the section 
by 
 the farmhouse 
. 

At 
 least 

 he 
could climb up on 
 the fence 
when 
 his tormenters 
roared by again . 


 The Admassy place 
could not be far now . 


 He 
would go in there , climb through 
 the window 
, and at 
 least 
be safe for 
 a little while 
and able to rest . 


 There 
was even 
 a bare chance 
that 
 the phone 
had not been disconnected . 

 He 
did not dare climb back up to 
 the road 
. 


 He 
was deep in 
 water 
, but at 
 least they 
could not reach 
 him 
there . 


 He 
splashed on , 
 mud 
sucking at 
 his feet 
with 
 each step 
, until 
 he 
reached 
 the end 
of 
 the drainage ditch 
and 
 the beginning 
of 
 the fence 

 that 
enclosed 
 the farm 
. 


 He 
climbed back to 
 the road 
, and 
 he 
felt utterly exhausted . 

 He 
stood , panting , for 
 a moment 
. 

And then 
 he 
saw 
 something 
that 
 he 
had not seen before , and 
 panic 
gripped 
 him 
again . 

 The fence 
, 
 his only refuge 
when 
 the metal death 
came roaring at 
 him 
, was made of 
 rails 
, all right , but 
 the rails 
were protected by 
 a thick screening 
of 
 barbed wire 

 that 
would rip 
 his flesh 
if 
 he 
pressed against 
 it 
. 


 He 
lurched on down 
 the road 
despairingly , because 
 there 
was 
 no place 
else to go . 

 He 
lost 
 all sense 
of 
 dignity 
. 


 You 
could not stand on 
 dignity 
when 
 you 
were soaked and muddied and 
 your life 
was at 
 stake 
. 

Probably 
 people 
were watching 
 him 
from 
 the porch 
or from behind 
 the windows 
of 
 this farmhouse 
, too , but 
 he 
did not bother to look . 


 He 
broke into 
 a dogtrot 
, breathing heavily , streaming with 
 sweat 
. 


 He 
had to reach 
 Admassy 's place 
. 


 It 
was 
 his only sanctuary 
. 


 The fences 
on 
 both 

 sides 
of 
 the road 
bristled with 
 the barbed wire 
. 


 The fences 
stretched on endlessly . 
And then 
 he 
heard 
 them 
. 
And now 
 he 
saw 
 them 
. 

 The Plymouth 
was coming at 
 him 
from 
 the east 
, 
 the pickup truck 
from 
 the west 
. 


 They 
had timed 
 it 
better 
 this time 
. 


 They 
would reach 
 him 
at almost exactly 
 the same instant 
. 


 He 
stopped 
 stone-still 
. 

If 
 he 
backed against 
 the fence 
, 
 one 
of 
 the cars 
would brush 
 him 
as 
 it 
passed , and 
 he 
would be cruelly lacerated by 
 the wire 
. 

 He 
stumbled to 
 the middle 
of 
 the road 
and simply stood there , waiting for 
 them 
, 
 a perfect target 
. 

 The cars 
must have had 
 their gas pedals 
pushed down to 
 the floor boards 
. 


 They 
were coming on at 
 reckless speed 
for 
 such old vehicles 
. 


 They 
thundered at 
 him 
. 


 He 
held 
 his arms 
close to 
 his sides 
and made 
 himself 
as small as 
 possible 
. 

When 
 the Plymouth 
neared , 
 it 
veered toward 
 him 
and seemed about to run 
 him 
down . 


 He 
forced 
 himself 
to stay frozen there . 

If 
 he 
moved , 
 he 
would be in 
 the path 
of 
 the other car 
. 


 He 
thought 
 the fender 
of 
 the Plymouth 
brushed 
 his jacket 
as 
 it 
went by . 

In 
 a fraction 
of 
 a second 

 the pickup truck 
hurtled by on 
 the other side 
. 

 The weird 
, 
 insane sound 
of 
 the Rebel yell 
reverberated again and echoed from 
 the distant hills 
. 

 He 
did not leave 
 the middle 
of 
 the road 
. 


 He 
did not try to run . 


 He 
trudged on , 
 his aching eyes 
focused straight ahead . 


 He 
was nearing 
 the Admassy house 
. 


 He 
was going to make 
 it 
, 
 he 
told 
 himself 
. 

And then 
 he 
heard 
 a car 
coming from 
 the east 
, and 
 he 
felt as if 
 he 
would break down and weep . 
`` Oh , no , not again '' , 
 he 
said aloud . 

`` Not again so soon '' . 

 There 
was 
 a new sound 
, 
 a sound 
as piercing as 
 the Rebel yell 
, yet different . 


 It 
was 
 the sound 
of 
 a siren 
. 

Now 
 he 
saw that 
 the approaching car 
was painted 
 white 
, and 
 he 
began to wave 
 his arms 
frantically . 


 It 
was 
 the prowl car 
from 
 the sheriff 's office 
. 

 The car 
drew up alongside 
 him 
and stopped . 
`` Get in '' , 
 Charley Estes 
said brusquely . 

 He 
staggered into 
 the back seat 
and lay back , fighting for 
 breath 
. 


 There 
was 
 someone 
in 
 front 
with 
 the sheriff 
. 


 It 
was 
 Pete Holmes 
, 
 the cabdriver 
. 

 Pete 
turned around and said to 
 Marty 
, `` 
 I 
guess 
 you 
think 
 I 
'm 
 a yellow-bellied hound 
. 

But there was n't 
 no use 
in 
 me 
staying there . 


 I 
could n't fight 
 a dozen 
or so of 
 'em 
. 

If 
 I 
'd stayed , 
 all 
that 
 I 
'd have got was 
 four punctured tires 
and 
 one busted head 
. 

Why did n't 
 you 
wait at 
 the Burch house 
? ? 


 You 
must 've known 
 I 
'd gone to get 
 the sheriff 
. 


 I 
was lucky 
 they 
let 
 me 
go , 
 I 
guess '' . 

 The sheriff 
was occupied with maneuvering 
 the car 
around in 
 a very narrow space 
. 

When 
 it 
was finally pointed 
 east 
, 
 he 
said , `` 
 You 
should never have come out here alone . 


 This 
is 
 redneck country 
. 


 Every man 
in 
 every one 
of 
 these houses 
is 
 a Night Rider 
. 




 She 
lived and was given 
 a name 
. 


 Helva 
. 

For 
 her first three vegetable months 

 she 
waved 
 her crabbed claws 
, kicked weakly with 
 her clubbed feet 
and enjoyed 
 the usual routine 
of 
 the infant 
. 


 She 
was not alone for 
 there 
were 
 three other such children 
in 
 the big city 's special nursery 
. 

Soon 
 they 

 all 
were removed to 
 Central Laboratory School 
where 
 their delicate transformation 
began . 

 One 
of 
 the babies 
died in 
 the initial transferral 
but of 
 Helva 's 
`` 
 class 
'' , 
 seventeen 
thrived in 
 the metal shells 
. 
Instead of kicking 
 feet 
, 
 Helva 's neural responses 
started 
 her wheels 
; ; instead of grabbing with 
 hands 
, 
 she 
manipulated 
 mechanical extensions 
. 

As 
 she 
matured , more and 
 more neural synapses 
would be adjusted to operate 
 other mechanisms 

 that 
went into 
 the maintenance 
and running of 
 a space ship 
. 

For 
 Helva 
was destined to be 
 the 
`` 
 brain 
'' 
 half 
of 
 a scout ship 
, partnered with 
 a man 
or 
 a woman 
, 
 whichever 

 she 
chose , as 
 the mobile half 
. 


 She 
would be among 
 the elite 
of 
 her kind 
. 


 Her initial intelligence tests 
registered above 
 normal 
and 
 her adaptation index 
was unusually high . 

As long as 
 her development 
within 
 her shell 
lived up to 
 expectations 
, and 
 there 
were 
 no side-effects 
from 
 the pituitary tinkering 
, 
 Helva 
would live 
 a rewarding 
, 
 rich 
and 
 unusual life 
, 
 a far cry 
from 
 what 

 she 
would have faced as 
 an ordinary 
, `` 
 normal 
'' 
 being 
. 
However , 
 no diagram 
of 
 her brain patterns 
, 
 no early I.Q. tests 
recorded 
 certain essential facts 
about 
 Helva 

 that Central 
must eventually learn . 


 They 
would have to bide 
 their official time 
and see , trusting that 
 the massive doses 
of 
 shell-psychology 
would suffice 
 her 
, too , as 
 the necessary bulwark 
against 
 her unusual confinement 
and 
 the pressures 
of 
 her profession 
. 


 A ship 
run by 
 a human brain 
could not run 
 rogue 
or 
 insane 
with 
 the power 
and 
 resources Central 
had to build into 
 their scout ships 
. 


 Brain ships 
were , of 
 course 
, long past 
 the experimental stages 
. 


 Most babes 
survived 
 the techniques 
of 
 pituitary manipulation 

 that 
kept 
 their bodies 
small , eliminating 
 the necessity 
of 
 transfers 
from 
 smaller 
to 
 larger shells 
. 
And very , very few were lost when 
 the final connection 
was made to 
 the control panels 
of 
 ship 
or 
 industrial combine 
. 


 Shell people 
resembled 
 mature dwarfs 
in 
 size 

 whatever 

 their natal deformities 
were , but 
 the well-oriented brain 
would not have changed 
 places 
with 
 the most perfect body 
in 
 the Universe 
. 
So , for 
 happy years 
, 
 Helva 
scooted around in 
 her shell 
with 
 her classmates 
, playing 
 such games 
as 
 Stall 
, 
 Power-Seek 
, studying 
 her lessons 
in 
 trajectory 
, 
 propulsion techniques 
, 
 computation 
, 
 logistics 
, 
 mental hygiene 
, 
 basic alien psychology 
, 
 philology 
, 
 space history 
, 
 law 
, 
 traffic 
, 
 codes 
: 
 all the 
et 
 ceteras 

 that 
eventually became compounded into 
 a reasoning 
, 
 logical 
, informed 
 citizen 
. 

Not so obvious to 
 her 
, but of 
 more importance 
to 
 her teachers 
, 
 Helva 
ingested 
 the precepts 
of 
 her conditioning 
as easily as 
 she 
absorbed 
 her nutrient fluid 
. 


 She 
would 
 one day 
be grateful to 
 the patient drone 
of 
 the sub-conscious-level instruction 
. 

 Helva 's civilization 
was not without 
 busy 
, 
 do-good associations 
, exploring 
 possible inhumanities 
to 
 terrestrial 
as well as 
 extraterrestrial citizens 
. 


 One such group 
got 
 all 
incensed over 
 shelled 
`` 
 children 
'' when 
 Helva 
was just turning 
 fourteen 
. 

When 
 they 
were forced to , 
 Central Worlds 
shrugged 
 its shoulders 
, arranged 
 a tour 
of 
 the Laboratory Schools 
and set 
 the tour 
off to 
 a big start 
by showing 
 the members case histories 
, 
 complete 
with 
 photographs 
. 


 Very few committees 
ever looked past 
 the first few photos 
. 

Most of 
 their original objections 
about `` 
 shells 
'' were overridden by 
 the relief 
that 
 these hideous 
( to 
 them 
) 
 bodies 
were mercifully concealed . 

 Helva 's class 
was doing 
 Fine Arts 
, 
 a selective subject 
in 
 her crowded program 
. 


 She 
had activated 
 one 
of 
 her microscopic tools 

 which 

 she 
would later use for 
 minute repairs 
to 
 various parts 
of 
 her control panel 
. 


 Her subject 
was large -- 
 a copy 
of 
 the Last Supper 
-- and 
 her canvas 
, 
 small 
-- 
 the head 
of 
 a tiny screw 
. 


 She 
had tuned 
 her sight 
to 
 the proper degree 
. 

As 
 she 
worked 
 she 
absentmindedly crooned , producing 
 a curious sound 
. 


 Shell people 
used 
 their own vocal cords 
and 
 diaphragms 
but 
 sound 
issued through 
 microphones 
rather than 
 mouths 
. 


 Helva 's hum 
then had 
 a curious vibrancy 
, 
 a warm 
, 
 dulcet quality 
even in 
 its aimless chromatic wanderings 
. 
`` Why , 
 what 

 a lovely voice 

 you 
have '' , said 
 one 
of 
 the female visitors 
. 

 Helva 
`` looked '' up and caught 
 a fascinating panorama 
of 
 regular 
, 
 dirty craters 
on 
 a flaky pink surface 
. 


 Her hum 
became 
 a gurgle 
of 
 surprise 
. 


 She 
instinctively regulated 
 her 
`` 
 sight 
'' until 
 the skin 
lost 
 its cratered look 
and 
 the pores 
assumed 
 normal proportions 
. 
`` Yes , 
 we 
have quite 
 a few years 
of 
 voice training 
, 
 madam 
'' , remarked 
 Helva 
calmly . 

`` 
 Vocal peculiarities 
often become excessively irritating during 
 prolonged intra-stellar distances 
and must be eliminated . 


 I 
enjoyed 
 my lessons 
'' . 
Although 
 this 
was 
 the first time 
that 
 Helva 
had seen unshelled 
 people 
, 
 she 
took 
 this experience 
calmly . 


 Any other reaction 
would have been reported instantly . 
`` 
 I 
meant that 
 you 
have 
 a nice singing voice dear 
'' , 
 the lady 
amended . 
`` Thank 
 you 
. 

Would 
 you 
like to see 
 my work 
'' ? ? 


 Helva 
asked , politely . 


 She 
instinctively sheered away from 
 personal discussions 
but 
 she 
filed 
 the comment 
away for 
 further meditation 
. 
`` 
 Work 
'' ? ? 

Asked 
 the lady 
. 
`` 
 I 
am currently reproducing 
 the Last Supper 
on 
 the head 
of 
 a screw 
'' . 
`` No , 
 I 
say '' , 
 the lady 
twittered . 

 Helva 
turned 
 her vision 
back to 
 magnification 
and surveyed 
 her 
copy critically . 
`` Of 
 course 
, 
 some 
of 
 my color values 
do not match 
 the old Master 's 
and 
 the perspective 
is faulty but 
 I 
believe 
 it 
to be 
 a fair copy 
'' . 

 The lady 's eyes 
, unmagnified , bugged out . 
`` Oh , 
 I 
forget '' , and 
 Helva 's voice 
was really contrite . 
If 
 she 
could have blushed , 
 she 
would have . 

`` 
 You 

 people 
do n't have 
 adjustable vision 
'' . 

 The monitor 
of 
 this discourse 
grinned with 
 pride 
and 
 amusement 
as 
 Helva 's tone 
indicated 
 pity 
for 
 the unfortunate 
. 
`` Here , 
 this 
will help '' , suggested 
 Helva 
, substituting 
 a magnifying device 
in 
 one extension 
and holding 
 it 
over 
 the picture 
. 
In 
 a kind 
of 
 shock 
, 
 the ladies 
and 
 gentlemen 
of 
 the committee 
bent to observe 
 the 
incredibly copied and brilliantly executed 
 Last Supper 
on 
 the head 
of 
 a screw 
. 
`` Well '' , remarked 
 one gentleman 

 who 
had been forced to accompany 
 his wife 
, `` 
 the good Lord 
can eat where 
 angels 
fear to tread '' . 
`` Are 
 you 
referring , sir '' , asked 
 Helva 
politely , `` to 
 the Dark Age discussions 
of 
 the number 
of 
 angels 

 who 
could stand on 
 the head 
of 
 a pin 
'' ? ? 
`` 
 I 
had that in 
 mind 
'' . 
`` If 
 you 
substitute ' 
 atom 
' for ' 
 angel 
' , 
 the problem 
is not 
 insoluble 
, given 
 the metallic content 
of 
 the pin 
in 
 question 
'' . 
`` 
 Which 

 you 
are programed to compute '' ? ? 
`` Of 
 course 
'' . 
`` Did 
 they 
remember to program 
 a sense 
of 
 humor 
, as well , 
 young lady 
'' ? ? 
`` 
 We 
are directed to develop 
 a sense 
of 
 proportion 
, 
 sir 
, 
 which 
contributes 
 the same effect 
'' . 

 The good man 
chortled appreciatively and decided 
 the trip 
was 
 worth his time 
. 
If 
 the investigation committee 
spent 
 months 
digesting 
 the thoughtful food 
served 
 them 
at 
 the Laboratory School 
, 
 they 
left 
 Helva 
with 
 a morsel 
as well . 
`` Singing '' as applicable to 
 herself 
required 
 research 
. 


 She 
had , of 
 course 
, been exposed to and enjoyed 
 a music appreciation course 

 which 
had included 
 the 
better known 
 classical works 
such as `` 
 Tristan und Isolde 
'' , `` 
 Candide 
'' , `` 
 Oklahoma 
'' , `` 
 Nozze 
de 
 Figaro 
'' , 
 the atomic age singers 
, 
 Eileen Farrell 
, 
 Elvis Presley 
and 
 Geraldine Todd 
, as well as 
 the curious rhythmic progressions 
of 
 the Venusians 
, 
 Capellan visual chromatics 
and 
 the sonic concerti 
of 
 the Altairians 
. 

But `` 
 singing 
'' for 
 any shell person 
posed 
 considerable technical difficulties 
to be overcome . 


 Shell people 
were schooled to examine 
 every aspect 
of 
 a problem 
or 
 situation 
before making 
 a prognosis 
. 

Balanced properly between 
 optimism 
and 
 practicality 
, 
 the nondefeatist attitude 
of 
 the shell people 
led 
 them 
to extricate 
 themselves 
, 
 their ships 
and 
 personnel 
, from 
 bizarre situations 
. 
Therefore to 
 Helva 
, 
 the problem 
that 
 she 
could n't open 
 her mouth 
to sing , among 
 other restrictions 
, did not bother 
 her 
. 


 She 
would work out 
 a method 
, 
 by-passing her limitations 
, whereby 
 she 
could sing . 

 She 
approached 
 the problem 
by investigating 
 the methods 
of 
 sound reproduction 
through 
 the centuries 
, 
 human 
and 
 instrumental 
. 


 Her own sound production equipment 
was essentially more instrumental than 
 vocal 
. 


 Breath control 
and 
 the proper enunciation 
of 
 vowel sounds 
within 
 the oral cavity 
appeared to require 
 the most development 
and 
 practice 
. 


 Shell people 
did not , strictly speaking , breathe . 

For 
 their purposes 
, 
 oxygen 
and 
 other gases 
were not drawn from 
 the surrounding atmosphere 
through 
 the medium 
of 
 lungs 
but sustained artificially by 
 solution 
in 
 their shells 
. 
After 
 experimentation 
, 
 Helva 
discovered that 
 she 
could manipulate 
 her diaphragmic unit 
to sustain 
 tone 
. 

By relaxing 
 the throat muscles 
and expanding 
 the oral cavity 
well into 
 the frontal sinuses 
, 
 she 
could direct 
 the vowel 
sounds into 
 the most felicitous position 
for 
 proper reproduction 
through 
 her throat microphone 
. 


 She 
compared 
 the results 
with 
 tape recordings 
of 
 modern singers 
and was not unpleased although 
 her own tapes 
had 
 a peculiar quality 
about 
 them 
, not at all unharmonious , merely unique . 

Acquiring 
 a repertoire 
from 
 the Laboratory library 
was 
 no problem 
to 
 one 
trained to 
 perfect recall 
. 

 She 
found 
 herself 
able to sing 
 any role 
and 
 any song 

 which 
struck 
 her fancy 
. 


 It 
would not have occurred to 
 her 
that 
 it 
was curious for 
 a female 
to sing 
 bass 
, 
 baritone 
, 
 tenor 
, 
 alto 
, mezzo , 
 soprano 
and 
 coloratura 
as 
 she 
pleased . 


 It 
was , to 
 Helva 
, only 
 a matter 
of 
 the correct reproduction 
and 
 diaphragmic control 
required by 
 the music 
attempted . 
If 
 the authorities 
remarked on 
 her curious avocation 
, 
 they 
did so among 
 themselves 
. 


 Shell people 
were encouraged to develop 
 a hobby 
so long as 
 they 
maintained 
 proficiency 
in 
 their technical work 
. 
On 
 the anniversary 
of 
 her sixteenth year 
in 
 her shell 
, 
 Helva 
was unconditionally graduated and installed in 
 her ship 
, 
 the Afj 
. 


 Her permanent titanium shell 
was recessed behind 
 an even 

 more indestructible barrier 
in 
 the central shaft 
of 
 the scout ship 
. 

 The neural 
, 
 audio 
, 
 visual 
and 
 sensory connections 
were made and sealed . 


 Her extendibles 
were diverted , connected or augmented and 
 the final 
, 
 delicate-beyond-description brain taps 
were completed while 
 Helva 
remained anesthetically unaware of 
 the proceedings 
. 

When 
 she 
awoke , 
 she 
was 
 the ship 
. 


 Her brain 
and 
 intelligence 
controlled 
 every function 
from 
 navigation 
to 
 such loading 
as 
 a scout ship 
of 
 her class 
needed . 


 She 
could take care of 
 herself 
and 
 her ambulatory half 
, in 
 any situation 
already recorded in 
 the annals 
of 
 Central Worlds 
and 
 any situation its 

 most fertile minds 
could imagine . 

 Her first actual flight 
, for 
 she 
and 
 her 

 kind 
had made 
 mock flights 
on 
 dummy panels 
since 
 she 
was 
 eight 
, showed 
 her complete mastery 
of 
 the techniques 
of 
 her profession 
. 


 She 
was ready for 
 her great adventures 
and 
 the arrival 
of 
 her mobile partner 
. 

 There 
were 
 nine qualified scouts 
sitting around 
 collecting base 
pay 
 the day Helva 
was commissioned . 


 There 
were 
 several missions 

 which 
demanded 
 instant attention 
but 
 Helva 
had been of 
 interest 
to 
 several department heads 
in 
 Central 
for 
 some time 
and 
 each man 
was determined to have 
 her 
assigned to 
 his section 
. 

Consequently 
 no one 
had remembered to introduce 
 Helva 
to 
 the prospective partners 
. 

 The ship 
always chose 
 its own partner 
. 

Had there been 
 another 
`` 
 brain 
'' 
 ship 
at 
 the Base 
at 
 the moment 
, 
 Helva 
would have been guided to make 
 the first move 
. 

As 
 it 
was , while 
 Central 
wrangled among 
 itself 
, 
 Robert Tanner 
sneaked out of 
 the pilots ' 
barracks , out to 
 the field 
and over to 
 Helva 's slim metal hull 
. 
`` Hello , 
 anyone 
at 
 home 
'' ? ? 


 Tanner 
wisecracked . 
`` Of 
 course 
'' , replied 
 Helva 
logically , activating 
 her outside scanners 
. 

`` Are 
 you 

 my partner 
'' ? ? 


 She 
asked hopefully , as 
 she 
recognized 
 the Scout Service uniform 
. 
`` 
 All 

 you 
have to do is ask '' , 
 he 
retorted hopefully . 
`` 
 No one 
has come . 


 I 
thought perhaps 
 there 
were 
 no partners 
available and 
 I 
've had 
 no directives 
from 
 Central 
'' . 
Even to 
 herself 

 Helva 
sounded 
 a little self-pitying 
but 
 the truth 
was 
 she 
was lonely , sitting on 
 the darkened field 
. 
Always 
 she 
had had 
 the company 
of 
 other shells 
and more recently , 
 technicians 
by 
 the score 
. 


 The sudden solitude 
had lost 
 its momentary charm 
and become 
 oppressive 
. 
`` 
 No directives 
from 
 Central 
is scarcely 
 a cause 
for 
 regret 
, but there happen to be 
 eight other guys 
biting 
 their fingernails 
to 
 the quick 
just waiting for 
 an invitation 
to board 
 you 
, 
 you beautiful thing 
'' . 




 The sentry 
was not dead . 


 He 
was , in 
 fact 
, showing 
 signs 
of reviving . 


 He 
had been carrying 
 an Enfield rifle 
and 
 a holstered navy cap-and-ball pistol 
. 


 A bayonet 
hung in 
 a belt scabbard 
. 


 He 
was partially uniformed in 
 a cavalry tunic 
and 
 hat 
. 


 Mike 
stripped 
 these 
from 
 him 
and donned 
 them 
. 


 He 
and 
 Dean 
tied and gagged 
 the man 
, using 
 his belt 
and 
 shirt 
for 
 the purpose 
. 


 They 
dragged 
 him 
inside 
 the building 
. 

 Fiske 
joined 
 them 
, unsteady on 
 his feet 
. 


 Julia 
, seeing 
 the bandage 
, rushed to 
 him 
. 

`` 
 You 
are hurt '' ! ! 


 She 
breathed . 
`` 
 I 
never felt better in 
 my life 
'' , 
 Fiske 
blustered . 

 He 
turned to 
 Susan 
and kissed 
 her 
on 
 the cheek 
. 

`` Thank 
 you 
, 
 My dear 
'' , 
 he 
said . 

`` 
 You 
are very brave '' . 

 Mike 
silenced 
 them 
. 

`` 
 We 
'll talk later . 

First , 
 we 
've got to get out of here '' . 
`` 
 We 
'll grab 
 horses 
'' , 
 Dean 
said . 

`` 
 The main bunch 
is outside , but 
 there 
are 
 some 
over there inside 
 the wall 
'' . 

 Mike 
debated 
 it 
, trying to decide whether 
 Fiske 
was strong enough to ride . 

But 
 it 
at 
 least 
offered 
 him 

 a chance 
for living . 


 He 
had 
 none 
here . 

And , for 
 the sake 
of 
 Julia 
and 
 Susan 
, 
 it 
had to be tried . 

 The guerrilla bivouac 
remained 
 silent 
. 


 Light 
showed in 
 the orderly room 
across 
 the parade ground 
. 


 Someone 
evidently was on 
 duty 
there . 


 No doubt 

 there 
would be 
 men 
guarding 
 the horses 
. 
About 
 a dozen animals 
were held inside 
 the stockade 
, as 
 best Mike 
could make out in 
 the moonlight 
. 

Evidently 
 this 
was 
 a precaution 
so that 
 mounts 
would be available in 
 an emergency 
. 

 He 
handed 
 the guard 's rifle 
to 
 Fiske 
. 

`` 
 Dean 
and 
 myself 
will try to cut out 
 horses 
to ride '' , 
 he 
said . 

`` 
 We 
'll stampede 
 the rest 
. 


 You 
stay with 
 the ladies 
. 


 All 
of 
 you 
be ready to ride 
 hell 
for 
 leather 
'' . 

 He 
added , `` If 
 this 
does n't work out , 
 the three 
of 
 you 
barricade 
 yourself 
in 
 the house 
and 
 talk terms 
with 
 them 
'' . 

 He 
handed 
 the bayonet 
to 
 Dean 
and kept 
 the pistol 
. 


 Susan 
halted 
 Dean 
and kissed 
 him 
. 


 She 
clung to 
 him 
, talking to 
 him 
, and dabbing at 
 her eyes 
. 

 Mike 
turned away . 


 He 
was thinking that 
 the way 

 she 
had responded to 
 his own kiss 
had n't meant 
 what 

 he 
had believed 
 it 
had . 

 He 
felt unutterably weary . 

 Dean 
turned from 
 Susan 
and took 
 Julia Fortune 
in 
 his arms 
. 


 He 
kissed 
 her 
also , and with 
 deep tenderness 
. 


 She 
too began to weep . 

 He 
released 
 her 
and joined 
 Mike 
. 

`` All right '' , 
 he 
said . 

 Mike 
only said , `` Later '' . 
`` Be careful , 
 McLish 
'' ! ! 


 Susan 
said fiercely . 
`` 
 The way 

 you 
were 
 careful 
'' ? ? 


 He 
snorted . 

`` Running around in 
 the moonlight 
almost naked and slugging 
 a man 
with 
 a rock 
'' ? ? 

 He 
kept going . 


 He 
wanted 
 no more sentimental scenes 
with 
 her 
. 


 He 
might say or do 
 something 
foolish . 


 Something 

 all 
of 
 them 
would regret . 


 He 
might tell 
 her 
how 
 sorry a spectacle 

 she 
was making of 
 herself 
, pretending to be blind to 
 the way Julia Fortune 
had taken 
 Dean 's affections 
from 
 her 
. 

And using 
 him 
, 
 Mike McLish 
, as 
 a sop 
to 
 her pride 
. 

 He 
handed 
 the bayonet 
to 
 Dean 
and kept 
 the pistol 
. 

`` Stay well back of 
 me 
'' , 
 he 
said . 

`` 
 I 
'm going to walk up to 
 the horses 
, bold as 
 brass 
, pretending 
 I 
'm 
 one 
of 
 the guerrillas 
. 

There 's bound to be 
 someone 
on 
 guard 
, but 
 the hat 
might fool 
 them 
long enough for 
 me 
to get close '' . 
Holding 
 the pistol 
concealed , 
 he 
walked to 
 the rear wall 
of 
 the stockade 
. 


 It 
was pierced by 
 a wagon gate 
built of 
 two wings 
. 


 One wing 
stood 
 open 
. 


 Mike 
passed through 
 it 
and moved toward 
 the dark mass 
of 
 horses 
. 


 They 
were tethered , 
 army style 
, on 
 stable lines 
. 

 A voice 
spoke 
 near-at-hand 
. 

`` 
 Who 
's 
 that 
'' ? ? 
Just 
 me 
'' , 
 Mike 
said . 

`` Is that 
 you 
, 
 Bill 
'' ? ? 

 He 
located 
 his man 
. 


 The guard 
stood in 
 the shadow 
of 
 the stockade wall 
just out of 
 reach 
of 
 the moonlight 
. 


 Mike 
kept walking and got within 
 arm 's reach 
before 
 the man 
became 
 suspicious 
and straightened from 
 his lax slouch 
. 

 Mike 
struck with 
 the muzzle 
of 
 the pistol 
. 

But 
 the luck 

 that 
had been running 
 their way 
left 
 him 
. 


 The guard 
instinctively parried 
 the blow 
with 
 his rifle 
. 


 He 
tried to veer 
 the rifle 
around to 
 fire 
into 
 Mike 's body 
. 

 Mike 
, off  
 balance 
, managed to bat 
 the muzzle 
away 
 a moment 
before 
 it 
exploded . 


 The bullet 
went 
 wide 
. 


 Mike 
swung 
 the pistol 
in 
 a savage backlash 
. 


 This time 

 it 
connected solidly on 
 the man 's temple 
, felling 
 him 
. 

 The explosion 
of 
 the rifle 
had crashed against 
 the walls 
of 
 the stockade 
and 
 the deep echoes 
were still rolling in 
 the hills 
. 

 The startled horses 
began rearing on 
 their tethers 
. 

 Dean 
came rushing up . 

`` Are 
 you 
hit '' ? ? 


 He 
demanded . 
`` No , but 
 the fat 
's in 
 the fire 
'' ! ! 


 Mike 
said . 

`` 
 There 
's 
 no chance 
now of 
 all 
of 
 us 
getting away . 


 You 
'll have to try 
 it 
alone '' . 

 The sentry 's saddled horse 
stood picketed nearby , having been kept 
 handy 
in 
 case 
of 
 need 
. 

 Mike 
took 
 the bayonet 
from 
 Dean 's hand 
and slashed 
 the picket line 
. 

`` Up 
 you 
go '' ! ! 


 He 
said . 

`` 
 Ride 
'' ! ! 

 Dean 
resisted 
 Mike 's attempt 
to push 
 him 
toward 
 the horse 
. 

`` Why not 
 you 
'' ? ? 


 He 
protested . 
`` 
 Dammit 
'' ! ! 


 Mike 
said frantically . 

`` 
 You 
're lighter than 
 me 
. 


 It 

 's our only chance 
now . 

Try to find 
 these Feds 
. 


 The rest 
of 
 us 
can fort up in 
 the house 
and hang on until 
 you 
get back . 

 You 
're 
 the one 

 that 
's taking 
 the big chance 
'' . 

 Dean 
still hesitated , but 
 Mike 
lifted 
 him 
almost bodily into 
 the saddle 
and thrust 
 the reins 
in 
 his hand 
. 
`` 
 No telling 
how 
 good 

 this horse 
is '' , 
 Mike 
panted . 

`` Favor 
 him 
and save 
 something 
in 
 case 

 you 
hit 
 trouble 
. 

Watch out for 
 Apaches 
when 
 it 
comes 
 daylight 
. 

Take 
 the pistol 
. 


 You 
might need 
 it 
. 


 We 
'll still have 
 the rifle 
, and 
 I 
might be able to round up 
 some more 
. 


 I 
'll stampede 
 the rest 
of 
 these horses 
so 
 they 
ca n't chase 
 you 
'' . 

 Dean 
leaned from 
 the saddle 
and gave 
 him 

 a mighty whack 
on 
 the back 
. 

`` 
 McLish 
'' , 
 he 
said as 
 he 
kicked 
 the horse 
into 
 motion 
, `` 
 I 
'd be 
 a mighty sad man 
if 
 we 
never met again '' . 
Then 
 he 
was on 
 his way 
at 
 a gallop 
. 


 Mike 
ran down 
 the line 
, slashing 
 picket ropes 
with 
 the bayonet 
. 


 He 
lifted 
 a screeching war whoop 
. 

That touched off 
 a total stampede 
. 


 He 
darted inside 
 the stockade 
and freed 
 the horses 
there . 


 These 
poured through 
 the gate 
and joined 
 the flight 
. 


 The animals 
thundered away into 
 the moonlight 
, heading for 
 the ridges 
. 

 The guerrillas 
were swarming from 
 their bivouac 
at 
 the west end 
of 
 the enclosure 
. 
`` 
 Apaches 
'' ! ! 


 Mike 
yelled . 

`` 
 They 
're 
 stealin 
' 
 the stock 
'' ! ! 

 He 
scuttled in 
 shadow 
along 
 the east wall 
of 
 the stockade 
and then followed 
 the south wall 
until 
 he 
was at 
 the rear 
of 
 the two frame buildings 
. 


 He 
crouched there . 

 His shout 
had been taken up and repeated . 


 The guerrillas 
were running across 
 the parade ground 
and through 
 the rear gate 
in 
 the wake 
of 
 the departing horses 
. 


 All 
were carrying 
 guns they 
had seized up , but 
 they 
were half-clad or hardly clad at 
 all 
. 

 Durkin 
and 
 Calhoun 
came running from 
 the post 
. 


 They 
had 
 pistols 
in 
 their hands 
. 


 They 
bawled 
 questions 

 that 
were not answered in 
 the uproar 
. 


 They 
followed 
 the others 
toward 
 the east gate 
. 
Beyond 
 the stockade rifles 
began to explode as 
 some 
of 
 the guerrillas 
fired at 
 shadows 
that 
 they 
imagined were 
 Apaches 
. 

 Mike 
made 
 a dash 
to 
 the rear 
of 
 the frame buildings 
. 


 He 
crawled beneath 
 the two supply wagons 

 which 
stood between 
 the buildings 
and peered around 
 a corner 
. 


 The area 
was deserted . 


 A man 
was standing in 
 the open door 
of 
 the lighted orderly room 

 a few yards 
to 
 Mike 's left 
, but 
 he 
, too , suddenly made up 
 his mind 
and went racing to join 
 the confused activity 
at 
 the east end 
of 
 the stockade 
. 

 Mike 
crawled to 
 the door 
and peered in . 


 The orderly room 
seemed to be deserted . 


 A lantern 
hung from 
 a peg 
, giving 
 light 
. 
Ducking inside , 
 he 
found that 
 three rifles 
were stacked in 
 a corner 
. 

 A brace 
of 
 pistols 
, holstered on 
 belts 
, hung from 
 a peg 
, along with 
 ammunition pouches 
. 


 An ammunition case 
stood 
 open 
, containing 
 canisters 

 which 
contained 
 powder cartridges 
. 

 Mike 
seized 
 a blanket 
from 
 a pallet 
in 
 a corner 
, spread 
 it 
on 
 the floor 
and used 
 it 
to form 
 a bag 
in 
 which 

 he 
placed 
 his booty 
. 
Shouldering 
 the load 

 he 
peered from 
 the door 
. 


 His 
looting of 
 the orderly room 
had taken only 
 a minute 
or 
 two 
and 
 the vicinity 
was still clear of 
 guerrillas 
. 

 He 
looked at 
 the looming hoods 
of 
 the supply wagons 
, struck by 
 a new inspiration 
. 


 He 
set 
 his bundle 
down . 

Snatching 
 the lantern 
from 
 its peg 
, 
 he 
shattered 
 its globe 
with 
 a blow 
against 
 a post 
. 


 He 
picked up 
 the powder canister 
and ran out . 

Bursting 
 paper cartridges 
, 
 he 
scattered 
 powder 
beneath 
 the nearest wagon 
and dumped 
 the contents 
of 
 the canister 
upon 
 it 
. 

 He 
shouldered 
 the blanket 
again , backed off , and tossed 
 the lantern 
with 
 its open wick 
beneath 
 the wagon 
. 


 He 
turned and raced across 
 the parade ground 
toward 
 the rock house 
. 

 Powder flame 
gushed beneath 
 the wagon 
. 


 The stockade 
was brilliantly lighted and 
 the guerrillas 
sighted 
 him 
. 


 They 
realized 
 the truth 
. 


 Bullets 
began to snap past 
 him 
. 


 One 
struck 
 the muzzle 
of 
 one 
of 
 the rifles 

 that 
projected from 
 the shoulder pack 
. 


 Its force 
spun 
 him 
around , but 
 he 
recovered and got into 
 stride 
again . 

 A bullet 
tore 
 the earth 
from beneath 
 his foot 
when 
 he 
was 
 a stride 
or 
 two 
from 
 safety 
. 


 Another 
struck 
 him 
heavily in 
 the thigh 
and 
 he 
went down . 

 Guerrillas 
were racing toward 
 him 
. 


 Susan 
and 
 Julia 
came from 
 the door 
and dragged 
 him 
with 
 them 
. 


 The three 
of 
 them 
floundered through 
 the door 
into 
 the interior 
and fell in 
 a heap 
. 

 Susan 
bounced to 
 her feet 
and slammed 
 the door 
. 


 She 
crouched aside as 
 bullets 
beat at 
 the portal 
, chewing into 
 the planks 
. 


 Some 
tore entirely through 
 the whipsawed post oak 
. 


 The iron 
hinges held , but 
 the planks 
were in 
 danger 
of being torn from 
 the crossbars 
. 

 Mike 
rolled to 
 Susan 
, grasped 
 her 
around 
 the knees 
, dragging 
 her 
off 
 her feet 
. 


 He 
hovered over 
 her 
to shield 
 her 
, for 
 spent bullets 
were thudding against 
 the rear walls 
. 

 He 
peered from 
 a loophole 
. 


 Guerrillas 
were only 
 a dozen yards 
away , charging 
 the house 
. 


 Mike 
snatched 
 a pistol 
from 
 the heap 
of 
 scattered booty 
and fired . 


 He 
dropped 
 a man 
with 
 the first bullet 
. 
At 
 the same moment Wheeler Fiske 
fired 
 the rifle Mike 
had given 
 him 
and 
 another guerrilla 
was hit . 


 That 
halted 
 the rush 
. 


 The guerrillas 
scattered for 
 cover 
. 

 The wagons 
were burning fiercely . 


 The mudwagon 
had caught 
 fire 
also . 


 The blaze 
was spreading to 
 the frame buildings 
. 

 The guerrillas 
realized 
 they 
faced 
 a new problem 
. 

`` 
 Gawdamighty 
'' ! ! 


 One 
screeched . 

`` 
 There 
goes 
 our grub 

 an 
' 
 ammunition 
'' ! ! 
`` Get 
 a bucket line 
going '' ! ! 


 Calhoun 
shouted . 

`` 
 Hurry 
! ! 


 Hurry 
'' ! ! 

 The guerrillas 
began 
 a frantic search 
for 
 pails 
in 
 which 
to bring 
 water 
from 
 the spring 
. 

But 
 what 

 few containers they 
found were inadequate . 


 Many 
of 
 them 
, in 
 increasing panic 
, came running with 
 water 
in 
 their hats 
in 
 a ludicrous effort 
. 


 Both 

 buildings 
were in 
 flames 
. 


 The heat 
drove 
 the guerrillas 
back . 


 The roof 
of 
 the command post 
began to buckle . 
`` Drag 
 the wagons 
to 
 the spring 
'' ! ! 


 Lew Durkin 
yelled . 
`` Run 
 'em right 
into 
 the spring 
! ! 

Hustle '' ! ! 

 One 
of 
 the wagons 
erupted 
 a massive pillar 
of 
 flame 
. 


 A sizable supply 
of 
 powder 
had been touched off . 


 The wagons 
and 
 the coach 
were beyond saving and so were 
 the buildings 
. 

 The glow 
of 
 the fire 
reached through 
 the openings 
in 
 the windows 
, giving 
 light 
enough to examine 
 Mike 's wound 
. 


 The bullet 
had torn through 
 the flesh 
just above 
 the knee 
, inflicting 
 an ugly gash 

 that 
was forming 
 a pool 
of 
 blood 
on 
 the floor 
. 

But 
 it 
had missed 
 the bone 
and had passed on through . 


 Susan 
and 
 Julia 
ripped 
 strips 
from 
 their clothing 
and bound 
 the injury 
. 

 Mike 
tested 
 the leg 
and found that 
 he 
was able to hobble around on 
 it 
. 




 They 
neither liked nor disliked 
 the Old Man 
. 

To 
 them 

 he 
could have been 
 the broken bell 
in 
 the church tower 

 which 
rang before and after 
 Mass 
, and at 
 noon 
, and at 
 six each evening 
-- 
 its tone 
, 
 repetitive 
, 
 monotonous 
, never breaking 
 the boredom 
of 
 the streets 
. 

 The Old Man 
was unimportant . 
Yet if 
 he 
were not there , 
 they 
would have missed 
 him 
, as 
 they 
would have missed 
 the sounds 
of 
 bees 
buzzing against 
 the screen door 
in 
 early June 
; ; or 
 the smell 
of 
 thick tomato paste 
-- 
 the ripe smell 

 that 
was 
 both sweet 
and 
 sour 
-- rising up  from 
 aluminum trays 
wrapped in 
 fly-dotted cheesecloth 
. 

Or 
 the surging whirling sounds 
of 
 bats 
at 
 night 
, when 
 their black bodies 
dived into 
 the blackness 
above and below 
 the amber street lights 
. 

Or 
 the bay 
of 
 female dogs 
in 
 heat 
. 

 They 
never called 
 him 
by 
 name 
, although 
 he 
had 
 one 
. 


 Filippo Rossi 
, 
 that 
's 
 what 

 he 
was called in 
 the old country 
; ; but here 
 he 
was just 
 Signore 
or 
 the Old Man 
. 

But 
 this 
was not 
 unusual 
, because 
 youth 
in 
 these quarters 
was always pushed at 
 a distance 
from 
 its elders 
. 


 Youth 
obeyed when commanded . 


 It 
went to 
 church 
on 
 Sunday 
and 
 one Saturday 

 a month 
went to 
 confession 
. 

But 
 youth 
asked 
 nothing 
of 
 its parents 
-- not 
 a touch 
of 
 the hand 
or 
 a kiss 
given in passing . 

 The only thing 
unusual about 
 the Old Man 
had long since happened . 

But 
 the past 
was dead here as 
 the present 
was dead . 

Once 
 the Old Man 
had had 
 a wife 
. 

And once 
 she 
, too , ignored 
 him 
. 

With 
 a tiny fur-piece 
wrapped around 
 her shoulders 
, 
 she 
wiggled 
 her satin-covered buttocks 
down 
 the street 
before 
 him 
and did n't 
 stop 
. 

In 
 one hand 

 she 
clutched 
 a hundred dollar bill 
and in 
 the other a straw suitcase 
. 


 The way 

 she 
strutted down 
 the street 
, 
 the Old Man 
would have been blind not to have noticed 
 both 
. 

Without looking at 
 him 
, without looking at 
 anything 
except 
 Drexel Street 
directly in 
 front 
of 
 her 
, 
 she 
climbed up into 
 one 
of 
 those orange streetcars 
, rode away in 
 it 
, and never came back . 
`` But 
 she 
should n't have come here in 
 the first place 
'' , 
 the women 
had said . 
`` No , no . 

Not that 
 one  
. 


 She 
thought 
 she 
was bigger than 
 we 
are because 
 she 
came from 
 Torino 
'' . 
`` 
 Eh 
, 
 Torino 
! ! 


 She 
gave 
 herself 

 fancy airs 
! ! 

Just because 
 she 
had 
 a part 
on 
 the stage 
in 
 the old country 
, 
 she 
thought 
 she 
could carry 
 her head 
higher than 
 ours 
'' . 


 They 
had slapped 
 their thighs 
. 
`` 
 It 
's not for making 
 pretty speeches 
about 
 Dante those actresses 
get paid so good '' . 
`` 
 Henh 
'' ! ! 

Calloused 
 fingers 
, caressed only by 
 the smoothness 
of 
 polished rosaries 
, had swayed excitedly beneath 
 puckered chins 
where 
 tiny black hairs 
sprouted , never to be tweezed away . 

 Mauve-colored mouths 

 that 
had never known 
 anything 
sweeter than 
 the taste 
of 
 new wine 
and 
 the passion 
of 
 man 's tongue 
had not smiled , but had condemned again and again . 

`` 
 Puttana  
'' ! ! 
But if 
 the Old Man 
even thought about 
 his wife 
now , 
 nobody 
cared 
 a fig 
. 


 It 
was enough for 
 people 
to know that at 
 one time 

 he 
had looked down 
 the street 
at 
 the fleshy suppleness 
of 
 a woman 

 he 
had consumed -- watching 
 her 
become 
 thinner 
and 
 thinner 
in 
 the distance 
, as thin as 
 the seams 
on 
 her stockings 
, and still thinner . 

 His voice 
had not commanded 
 her 
to stop . 


 It 
had not questioned why . 

 The women 
said 
 they 
had seen 
 him 
wave 
 an exhausted farewell 
; ; but 
 he 
might have been shooing away 
 the fleas 

 that 
hopped from 
 his yellow dog 
onto 
 him 
. 

( 
 He 
was never without 
 that dog 
. 

) And 
 his eyes 
-- 
 those miniature sundials 
of 
 variegated yellow 
-- had not altered 
 their expression 
or 
 direction 
. 


 The Old Man 's very soul 
could have left 
 him 
and flown down 
 that street 
, but 
 he 
would n't have had 
 anyone 
know 
 it 
. 
Perhaps 
 he 
had known then where that 
 hundred dollar bill 
had come from and where 
 it 
was taking 
 his wife 
. 

But when 
 he 
called for 
 his withered 
, 
 wrinkled sister 
Rose to care for 
 him 
and 
 the children 
, had 
 he 
guessed that 
 all he 
would remember of 
 his woman 
was 
 the memory 
of 
 her 
climbing into 
 that streetcar 
? ? 

 There 
seemed to be 
 a contemptuous purpose 
in 
 the way 

 he 
sat there with 
 his eyes 
glued to 
 Drexel Street 
and 
 his back 
in 
 opposition 
to 
 the church 
behind 
 him 
. 

For 
 all he 
saw or cared to see , 
 this 
could have been 
 a town 
in 
 Italy 
, not 
 the outskirts 
of 
 Philadelphia 
. 


 It 
could have been 
 Bari 
or 
 Chieti 
for 
 the way 

 it 
smelled . 


 What 
did 
 it 
matter to 
 him 
that 
 the park 
at 
 the foot 
of 
 Ash Road 
stretched beneath 
 elevated trains 

 that 
roared from 
 the stucco station 
into 
 the city 's center 
at 
 half-hour  intervals 
? ? 

Or that 
 the tiny creek 
spun 
 its silent course 
toward 
 the Schuylkill 
? ? 


 This place 
was 
 hatred 
to 
 him 
, just as 
 hatred 
was 
 his only companion 
in 
 his aloneness 
. 

To 
 him 

 they 
were 
 one 
and 
 the same 
. 

 Sameness 
for 
 the Old Man 
was framed in by 
 a wall 
of 
 ginkgo trees 

 which 
divided 
 these quarters 
from 
 the city 
. 


 Sameness 
lined 
 the streets 
with 
 two-story houses 

 the color 
of 
 ash 
. 


 It 
slashed 
 the sloping manure-scented lawns 
with 
 concrete steps 

 which 
climbed upward to 
 white wooden porches 
. 


 It 
swayed with 
 the wicker swings 
and screeched with 
 the rusted hinges 
of 
 screen doors 
. 
Even 
 the stable-garage 
, 
 which 
housed 
 nothing 
now but 
 the scent 
of 
 rot 
, had 
 a lawn 
before 
 it 
. 

And
 the coffee shop 
on 
 Drexel Street 
, where 
 the men 
spent 
 their evenings 
and 
 Sundays 
playing 
 cards 
, had 
 a rose hedge 
beneath 
 its window 
. 


 The hedge 
reeked of 
 coffee dregs 
thrown against 
 it 
. 
Only 
 one house 
on 
 the street 
had 
 no lawn 
before 
 it 
. 


 It 
squatted 
 low 
and 
 square 
upon 
 the sidewalk 
with 
 a heavy iron grating 
supporting 
 a glass facade 
. 


 That 
was 
 Bartoli 's shop 
. 

Above 
 it 
, from 
 a second-story showroom 
, 
 wooden angels 
surveyed 
 the neighborhood 
. 
Did 
 the Old Man 
remember 
 them 
there ? ? 
Yet everywhere else
 sameness 
was 
 stucco 
and 
 wood 
in 
 square blocks 
-- like 
 fortresses 
perched against 
 the slant 
of 
 the hill 
, rising with 
 the hill 
to 
 the top 
where 
 the church 
was and beyond 
 that 
to 
 the cemetery 
. 

Only paved 
 alleyways 
tunneled through 
 the walls 
of 
 those fortresses 
into 
 the mysterious core 
of 
 intimacy 
behind 
 the houses 
where 
 backyards 
owned 
 no fences 
, where 
 one man 's property 
blended with 
 the next 
to form 
 courtyards 
in 
 which 

 no one 
knew 
 privacy 
. 


 Love 
and 
 hatred 
and 
 fear 
were 
 one 
here , shaded only by 
 fig trees 
and 
 grape vines 
. 

And 
 the forked tongue 
of 
 gossip 
licked 
 its sinister way 
from 
 back  porch 
to 
 back porch 
. 

 The Old Man 
silently fed upon 
 these streets 
. 


 They 
kept 
 him 
alive , waiting . 

Waiting for 
 what 
and for 
 whom 
, only 
 he 
could tell and would not . 


 It 
was as though 
 he 
had made 
 a pact 
with 
 the devil 

 himself 
, but 
 it 
was not yet 
 time 
to pay 
 the price 
. 


 He 
was holding out for 
 something 
. 


 He 
was determined to hold out . 

 The Old Man 's son 
threw 
 himself 
down , 
 belly first 
, upon 
 a concrete step 
, taking in 
 the coolness 
of 
 it 
, and dreaming of 
 the day 

 he 
would be rich . 

At 
 fifteen he 
did n't 
 care 
that 
 he 
had 
 no mother 
, that 
 he 
could n't remember 
 her face 
or 
 her touch 
; ; neither did 
 he 
care that 
 Aunt Rose 
provided for 
 him 
. 

 He 
was named 
 Pompeii 
as 
 a tribute 
to 
 his heritage 
, and 
 he 
could n't have cared 
 less 
about 
 that 
either .  

To 
 him 

 life 
was 
 a restless boredom 

 that 
began with 
 the rising sun 
and ended only with 
 sleep 
. 
When 
 he 
would be 
 a man 
, 
 he 
would be 
 a rich man 
. 


 He 
would not be like 
 the 
`` 
 rich Americans 
'' 
 who 
lived in 
 white-columned houses 
on 
 the other side 
of 
 the park 
. 


 He 
would not ride 
 the eight-thirty local 
to 
 the city 

 each morning 
. 


 He 
would not carry 
 a brief case 
. 

Nor would 
 he 
work at 
 all 
. 


 He 
would square 
 his shoulders 
and carry 
 a cane 
before 
 each step 
. 


 He 
would sit inside 
 the coffee 
shop and pound 
 a gloved fist 
upon 
 the table 
and 
 a girl 
would hear 
 him 
and come running , bowing with 
 her 
running , calling out in 
 her 
bowing , `` At 
 your service 
'' . 


 He 
would order 
 her 
to bring 
 coffee 
, and would take from 
 his vest pocket 

 a thin black pipe 

 which 

 he 
would stuff -- 
 he 
would not remove 
 his gloves 
-- and 
 light  
and 
 smoke  
. 


 He 
could do that when 
 he 
would be 
 a man 
. 
`` 
 Hey 
, 
 Laura 
'' ! ! 


 He 
called to 
 his sister 
on 
 the porch 
above 
 the steps 
. 


 She 
was only 
 ten months 
older than 
 he 
. 

`` 
 Laura 
, 
 what 
would 
 you 
say if 
 I 
smoked 
 a pipe 
'' ? ? 

 Laura 
did not answer 
 him 
. 


 She 
leaned 
 unconcerned 
against 
 the broken porch fence 
, brushing and drying 
 her 
wet , 
 gilded hair 
in 
 the sun 
. 


 One lithe leg 
straddled 
 the railing 
and swung loosely before 
 the creaking 
, torn 
 pales 
. 


 Her tanned foot 
, 
 whose arch 
swept 
 high 
and 
 white 
, pointed artfully toward tapering 
 toes 
-- 
 toes 
like 
 fingers 
, 
 whose tips 
glowed 
 white 
. 


 All the while 

 she 
sat 
 there 
, 
 her sinewy arms 
swirled before 
 her chest 
. 

 Her face 
showed 
 no sign 
of having heard 
 Pompeii 
. 


 It 
was 
 a face 

 that 
had lost 
 its childlike softness 
and was beginning to fold within 
 its fragile features 

 a harshness 

 that 
belied 
 the lyric lines 
of 
 its contours 
. 


 The eyes 
, 
 blue 
and always somewhat downcast , possessed 
 a sullen quality 
. 

Even though 
 the boy 
could not see 
 them 
, 
 he 
knew 
 they 
were clouded by 
 distance 
. 


 He 
was never sure 
 they 
fully took 
 him 
in . 

 Pompeii 
called again , `` 
 Laura 
'' ! ! 

But 
 the only answer 

 that 
reached 
 him 
was 
 the 
screeching of 
 the porch rail 
from 
 her leg 
moving against 
 it 
. 
`` 
 She 
's in 
 a mood 
'' , 
 he 
thought `` 
 There 
's not 
 a month 

 she 
does n't get 
 herself 
in 
 a mood 
'' . 
Well , 
 what 
did 
 that matter 
when 
 the sun 
was shining and 
 there 
were 
 dreams 
to dream about ? ? 

And as for 
 his pipe 
, if 
 he 
wanted to smoke 
 one 
, 
 nobody 
would stop 
 him 
. 

Not even 
 Laura 
. 
Suddenly 
 he 
was interrupted in 
 his daydreaming 
by 
 a warm wetness 
lapping against 
 his chin 
, and 
 his eyes 
opened 
 wide 
and 
 long 
at 
 the sight 
of 
 a goat 's claret  tongue 
, feasting against 
 the salt taste 
of 
 him 
. 

Above 
 the tongue 
, 
 an aged yellow eye 
, 
 sallow 
and 
 time-cast 
, encrusted within 
 a sphere 
of 
 marbleized pink skin 
, stared unfalteringly at 
 him 
. 
`` 
 Christ sake 
, 
 goat 
, 
 git 
'' ! ! 

But 
 the goat 
would not . 
`` 
 You 
're boiling 
 milk 
, ai n't 
 you 
'' ? ? 

Soothing 
 it 
with 
 his hand 
, knowing 
 the whiskered jowls 
and 
 the swollen smoothness 
of 
 teats 

 that 
wrinkled expectantly to 
 his touch 
. 


 Pompeii 
rolled over . 


 His head 
undulated gradually , covering 
 space 
, to come straining beneath 
 the taut belly 
within 
 the warmth 
of 
 those teats 
. 

With 
 his mouth 
opened 
 wide 
, 
 he 
squirted 
 the warm white milk 
against 
 the roof 
of 
 his mouth 
and 
 his tongue 
savored 
 the light 
, 
 earthy taste 
of 
 it 
. 


 The boy 's fingers 
and 
 mouth 
operated with 
 the skilled  unity 
of 
 a bagpipe player 
, pressing and pulling , delighting in 
 what 

 he 
did . 
Above 
 him 
slid 
 the evasive shadow 
of 
 a storm cloud 
. 


 Its form 
was 
 a heavy figure 
in 
 a fluttering soutane 
. 

But 
 the boy 
could see only 
 the goat 's belly 
. 

 The Old Man 
near 
 the corner 
let 
 the shadow 
pass over 
 him 
, sensing 
 something 
portentous in 
 it 
. 


 He 
knew 
 it 
was there , knew also 
 what 

 it 
was about , but 
 he 
would n't raise 
 a finger 
except to smooth 
 his yellow dog 's back 
. 


 There 
would be 
 time 
enough , perhaps 
 the Old Man 
reassured 
 himself 
, to pay 
 the devil his due 
. 


 Time 
enough to give up 
 his soul 
. 
In 
 the meantime 
, 
 six sandals 
, stained 
 an ocher 
, 
 the same color 
as 
 Pompeii 's shaved hair  
, edged up close to 
 him 
. 


 The clapping 

 they 
made on 
 the concrete 
interrupted 
 him 
in 
 the ecstatic pleasure 

 he 
knew , so that 
 he 
quickly released 
 his hold 
on 
 the goat 
and pretended to be examining 
 its haunches 
for 
 ticks 
. 

 He 
knew at 
 a glance 
that 
 the biggest sandals 
belonged to Niobe , 
 the neatest ones 
to 
 Concetta 
, and 
 the laced ones 
to 
 Romeo 
, 
 Concetta 's idiot brother 
. 


 Pompeii 
expected 
 Romeo 's small body 
to sink closer and closer to 
 the ground 
. 


 He 
expected 
 Concetta 's thin hand 
to reach down to grasp 
 the boy 
, and 
 her shrill 
, 
 impetuous voice 
to sound against 
 the rotundity 
of 
 his disfigured flesh 

 that 
was never sure of hearing 
 anything 
. 




 Needless 
to say , 
 I 
was furious at 
 this unparalleled intrusion 
upon 
 free enterprise 
. 

How dared 
 they 
demand to `` snoop '' in 
 private financial records 
, 
 disbursements 
, 
 confidential contracts 
and 
 agreements 
? ? 

`` 
 It 
is as though '' , 
 I 
said on 
 the historic three-hour 
, 
 coast-to-coast radio broadcast 

 which 

 I 
bought ( following 
 Father Coughlin 
and 
 pre-empting the Eddie Cantor 
, 
 Manhattan Merry-go-round 
and 
 Major Bowes 
shows ) `` 
 That Man 
in 
 the White House 
, like 
 some despot 
of 
 yore 
, insisted on reading 
 my diary 
, raiding 
 my larder 
and ransacking 
 my lingerie 
! ! 

'' 
 My impassioned plea 
for 
 civil rights 
created 
 a landslide 
of 
 correspondence 
and 
 one sponsor 
even asked 
 me 
to consider replacing 
 the Eddie Cantor comedy hour 
on 
 a permanent basis 
. 

But 
 what quarter 
could 
 a poor defenseless woman 
expect from 
 a dictator 

 who 
would even make so bold as to close 
 all 
of 
 the banks 
in 
 our great nation 
? ? 


 The savage barbarian hordes 
of 
 red Russian Communism 
descended on 
 the Athens 

 that 
was 
 mighty Metronome 
, sacking and despoiling with 
 their Bolshevistic battle cry 
of `` Soak 
 the rich ' 
! ! 

After 
 an unspeakable siege 
, lasting 
 the better part 
of 
 two months 
, 
 it 
was announced that 
 the studio 
`` owed '' 
 the government 

 a tax debt 
in 
 excess 
of 
 eight million dollars 
while 
 I 
, 
 who 
had always remained aloof from 
 such iniquitous practices 
as paying 
 taxes 
on 
 the salary 

 I 
had earned and 
 the little 

 I 
legally inherited as 
 Morris ' helpless relict 
, was `` stung '' with 
 a personal bill 
of 
 such astronomical proportions 
as to `` wipe out '' 
 all 
but 
 a fraction 
of 
 my poor 
, 
 hard-come-by savings 
. 


 I 
was also publicly reprimanded , dragged through 
 the mud 
by 
 the radical press 
and made 
 a figure 
of 
 fun 
by 
 such leftist publications 
as 
 The New Republic 
, 
 The New Yorker 
, 
 Time 
and 
 The Christian Science Monitor 
. 

 It 
was then that 
 I 
availed 
 myself 
of 
 the rights 
of 
 a citizen 
and declared 
 the income tax 
unconstitutional . 


 The litigation 
was costly and seemingly endless . 


 I 
fought like 
 a tigress 
but by 
 the time 

 I 
appealed 
 my case 
to 
 the Supreme Court 
( 
 1937 
) , 
 Mr. Roosevelt 
and 
 his 
`` 
 henchmen 
'' had done 
 their 
`` 
 dirty work 
'' all too well , even going so far as to attempt to `` pack '' 
 the highest tribunal 
in 
 the land 
in 
 order 
to defeat 
 little 

 me 
. 


 Presidential coercion 
had succeeded not only in poisoning 
 the courtiers 
, `` 
 toadies 
'' and 
 sycophants 
of 
 the 
`` 
 bench 
'' against 
 me 
, but 
 it 
had been so far-reaching as to discourage 
 any lawyer 
in 
 the nation 
from representing 
 me 
! ! 


 I 
was ready , like 
 Portia 
, to present 
 my own brief 
. 

But 
 the Supreme Court 
would n't even hear 
 my case 
! ! 


 My plea 
was unanimously voted down and `` thrown out '' . 

Again , 
 my name 
was on 
 all the front pages 
. 


 I 
was , 
 it 
seemed , 
 persona 
non grata in 
 every quarter 
, but not entirely without 
 a staunch following 
of 
 noted political thinkers 
and 
 students 
of 
 jurisprudence 
. 

As 
 Charles Evans Hughes 
said , `` 
 Miss Poitrine 's limitations 
as 
 an actress 
are exceeded only by 
 her logic 
as 
 a litigant 
'' . 


 Albert Einstein 
was quoted as saying : `` 
 The workings 
of 
 the woman 's mind 
amaze 
 me 
'' . 


 Henry Ford 
spoke of 
 me 
as `` utterly 
 astounding 
'' . 


 Heywood Broun 
wrote : `` 
 Belle Poitrine 
is 
 the most original thinker 
since 
 Caligula 
'' , and even 
 F.D.R. 
had to concede that `` if 
 the rest 
of 
 this nation 
showed 
 the foresight 
and 
 patriotism 
of 
 Miss Poitrine 
, 
 America 
would rapidly resemble 
 ancient Babylon 
and 
 Nineveh 
'' . 
Not only were 
 the court costs 
prohibitive , but 
 I 
was subjected to 
 crippling fines 
, in 
 addition 
to 
 usurious interest 
on 
 the unpaid 
`` 
 debts 
'' 
 which 

 the government 
claimed that 
 Metronome 
and 
 I 
owed -- 
 a severe financial blow 
. 

Nor , as 
 Manny 
said , had 
 the notoriety 
done 
 my career 
`` any good '' . 


 My enemies 
were only too anxious to level against 
 me such charges 
as `` 
 reactionary 
'' , `` 
 robber baroness 
'' , and even `` 
 traitor 
'' ! ! 


 Traitor 
indeed ! ! 


 I 
point now with 
 pride 
to 
 the fact 
that , long ere 
 the Committee 
on 
 Un-American Activities 
, 
 the Minute Women 
, 
 the Economic Council 
and 
 other such notable 
`` 
 watchdog 
'' 
 organizations 
were so much as heard of , 
 I 
was 
 Hollywood 's leading bulwark 
against 
 communism 
, fighting 
 single-handedly 
`` 
 creeping socialism 
'' against 
 such insuperable odds 
as 
 the Fascio-Communist troops 
of 
 the NRA 
, 
 PWA 
, 
 WPA 
, 
 CCC 
and 
 an army 
of more than 
 twenty-two million mercenaries 

 whom F.D.R. 
employed secretly , through 
 the transparent ruse 
of 
 regular 
`` 
 relief 
'' 
 checks 
. 

 Needless 
to say , 
 my art 
suffered drastically during 
 this turbulent period 
. 

Could 
 it 
do otherwise ? ? 

Even though 
 I 
have always had 
 a genius 
for `` throwing 
 myself 
'' into 
 every role 
and `` playing 
 it 
for 
 all it 
's worth '' , 
 no actress 
can be expected to do 
 her 
best work when 
 her fortune 
, 
 her reputation 
, 
 her livelihood 
, 
 her home 
and 
 her nation 

 itself 
are 
 all 
imperilled . 


 Such sweeping distractions 
are hardly conducive to `` 
 Oscar 
'' winning 
 performances 
. 


 I 
tried 
 my hardest 
, with 
 little 
help , may 
 I 
say , from 
 my husband 
and 
 leading man 
, but somehow 
 the outside pressures 
were too severe . 

 Having 
( through 
 my unflagging effort 
and 
 devotion 
) achieved 
 stardom 
, 
 a fortune 
and 
 a world-renowned wife 
at 
 an age 
when 
 most young men 
are casting 
 their first vote 
, 
 Letch 
proceeded to neglect 
 them 

 all 
. 

Never 
 a 
`` 
 quick study 
'' , 
 he 
now made 
 no attempt 
to learn 
 his 
`` 
 lines 
'' and 
 many a mile 
of 
 film 
was wasted , 
 many a scene 
-- sometimes involving as many as 
 a thousand fellow thespians 
-- was taken 
 thirty 
, 
 forty 
, 
 fifty times 
because 
 Miss Poitrine 's co-star 
and `` 
 helpmate 
'' had never learned 
 his part 
. 

 Each time Letch 
`` went up '' in 
 his 
`` 
 lines 
'' , 
 I 
was 
 the one 
to be patient , 
 helpful 
and apologetic while 
 he 
indulged in 
 outbursts 
of 
 temperament 
, 
 profanity 
and 
 abuse 
, blaming 
 others 
, going into `` 
 sulks 
'' and , on 
 more occasions 
than 
 I 
care to count , storming off 
 the 
`` 
 set 
'' for 
 the rest 
of 
 the day 
. 

As for 
 his finances 
, 
 I 
was never privileged to know exactly how 
 much money Letch 
had `` salted away '' . 


 It 
was 
 I 

 who 
paid for 
 our little home 
, 
 the food 
, 
 the liquor 
, 
 the servants 
-- even 
 Letch 's bills 
at 
 his tailor 
and 
 the Los Angeles Athletic Club 
. 

Never once did 
 he 
buy 
 me 

 a single gift 
and for 
 our third anniversary 

 he 
gave 
 me 

 a dislocated jaw 
. 

( But 
 that 
is 
 another story 
. 

) As for 
 his private monies 
, 
 they 
were rapidly dissipated in drinking , gaming and carousing . 

More than once 
 I 
was confronted by 
 professional gamblers 
, `` 
 bookies 
'' , 
 loan 
`` sharks '' , 
 gangsters 
, `` 
 thugs 
'' and `` 
 finger men 
'' -- 
 people 
of 
 a class 

 I 
did not even know existed -- to repay 
 my husband 's staggering losses 
, `` or else '' 
 I 
shuddered to think that 
 someone 
so dear to 
 me 
could even associate with 
 such a sinister milieu 
. 

And at 
 three different times 
during 
 our turbulent marriage strange girls 
, with 
 the commonest 
of 
 accents 
, telephoned to announce to 
 me 
that 
 Letch 
had sired 
 their unborn children 
! ! 


 Having 

 the deepest 
of 
 maternal instincts 
, 
 my heart 
fairly bled when 
 I 
thought of 
 the darling pink 
and 
 white 
`` 
 bundles 
from 
 heaven 
'' 
 I 
would have proudly given 
 my husband 
. 

`` Ah , 
 you 
're too old '' , was invariably 
 his ungallant 
and 
 untrue retort 
whenever 
 I 
suggested `` starting 
 a family 
'' . 


 Letch 
had made 
 it 
abundantly clear that 
 he 
did not 
 care 
for 
 the company 
of 
 my own precious daughter 
. 


 I 
now felt 
 it 
wiser to keep 
 Baby-dear 
in 
 school 
and -- during 
 the summers 
-- at 
 a camp 
run by 
 the Society 
of 
 Friends all year 
around . 


 Her presence 
only made 
 Letch 
more distant and 
 irritable 
and , in 
 the hurry 
of buying 
 Chateau Belletch 
, 
 I 
had neglected to consider 
 a room 
for 
 Baby-dear 
, so 
 there 
was 
 no place 
to put 
 her 
, anyhow . 

( 
 I 
sometimes feel that 
 God 
, in 
 His infinite wisdom 
, wants 
 us 
to have 
 these inexplicable little lapses 
of 
 memory 
. 

 It 
almost always works out for 
 the best 
. 

) Yet 
 I 
adored 
 this man 
, 
 Letch Feeley 
, why , 
 I 
can not say . 
With 
 faint heart 
and 
 a brave smile 
, 
 I 
endured 
 his long absences 
from 
 Chateau Belletch 
, 
 his coldness 
, 
 his indifference 
, 
 his slights 
and 
 his abuse 
. 


 The times I 
can recall when 
 I 
was publicly humiliated by 
 him 
-- 
 lovely dinner parties 
in 
 our Trianon Suite 
where 
 the collation 
was postponed and postponed and postponed , only to be served 
 dry 
and overcooked at 
 a table 
where 
 the host 's chair 
was vacant ; ; 
 a 
`` 
 splash party 
'' at 
 the new pool 
, 
 which 

 I 
had built in 
 the hope 
of keeping 
 Letch 
away from 
 public beaches 
, when 
 Letch 
and 
 a certain Aquacutie 
stayed underwater together for 
 the better part 
of 
 an hour 
; ; 
 a lovely Epiphany party 
at 
 Errol Flynn 's 
, on 
 which 

 sacred occasion Letch 
stole away with 
 an unknown 
`` 
 starlet 
'' , leaving 
 me 
`` 
 high 
and 
 dry 
'' to get 
 home 
as best 
 I 
could . 


 These 
are but 
 a sampling 
of 
 the insults I 
endured . 

As 
 Mrs. Letch Feeley 
, was 
 it 

 any wonder 
that 
 I 
, once 
 the social arbiter 
of 
 Filmdom 
, was excluded from 
 the smart entertainments 
given by 
 the Astaires 
, 
 the Coopers 
, 
 the Gables 
, 
 the Colmans 
, 
 the Rathbones 
, 
 the Taylors 
, 
 the Thalbergs 
and 
 such devout 
, closely knit 
 families 
as 
 the Barrymores 
and 
 the Crosbys 
? ? 

As 
 Letch 's antisocial conduct 
increased , 
 our invitations 
decreased and 
 my heart 
was in 
 my mouth 
whenever 
 I 
played 
 hostess 
at 
 a fashionable 
`` 
 screenland 
'' 
 gathering 
. 
Between 
 1935 
and 
 1939 Letch 
and 
 I 
made 
 ten films 
together , 
 each less successful 
, 
 both 
artistically and commercially , than 
 the one 
before 
 it 
. 


 Our last joint venture 
, 
 Sainted Lady 
, 
 a 
deeply 
 religious film 
based on 
 the life 
of 
 Mother Cabrini 
, and timed so that 
 its release date 
would coincide with 
 the beatification 
of 
 America 's first saint 
in 
 November 
, 
 1938 
, was 
 a fiasco 
from 
 start 
to finish . 

As 
 I 
was playing 
 Mother Cabrini 
, 
 the picture 
was actually `` all mine '' , with nearly 
 every scene 
built around 
 me 
. 

But in 
 order 
to keep 
 Letch 
in 
 the public eye 
and out of 
 trouble 
, 
 I 
wrote in 
 a part 
especially for 
 him 
-- that of 
 a dashing ruffian 

 who 
`` sees 
 the light 
'' and is saved by 
 the inspiring example 
of 
 Mother Cabrini 
. 

And did 
 he 
appreciate 
 my efforts 
on 
 his behalf 
? ? 

Did 
 he 
trouble to memorize 
 the very small part 

 which 

 I 
had `` 
 tailor-made 
'' to 
 his specifications 
, 
 a role 
eventually cut down to 
 three short speeches 
? ? 

Did 
 he 
show 
 the rest 
of 
 the cast 
-- numbering 
 four thousand 
-- 
 the consideration 
of arriving at 
 the studio 
punctually -- or even at 
 all 
? ? 


 He 
did not ! ! 


 The 
`` 
 shooting 
'' went on for 
 eight months 
! ! 

Most of 
 our working days 
were spent on 
 the telephone 
calling `` 
 bookies 
'' , 
 illegal gambling dens 
, 
 a certain 
`` 
 residential club 
for 
 young actresses 
'' , more than 
 a hundred different bars 
or 
 the steam room 
of 
 the athletic club 
. 

Whenever 
 he 
deigned to appear at 
 the studio 

 he 
was `` hung over '' , 
 uncooperative 
, 
 rude 
and 
 insulting 
. 


 He 
made 
 many tasteless 
, 
 irreverent 
and 
 unfunny remarks 
, not only about 
 me 
in 
 the title role 
, but about 
 religion 
in 
 general 
. 

By 
 the time 

 the film 
was released 
 we 
were 
 three million dollars 
over-spent , 
 war 
was imminent and 
 the public 
apparently had forgotten 
 all 
about 
 Mother Cabrini 
. 


 Thanks 
to 
 Letch Feeley 
and 
 the terrible strain 

 he 
imposed on 
 me 
, 
 the notices 
were few and 
 unfavorable 
. 

Only 
 George Santayana 
seemed to understand and appreciate 
 the film 
when 
 he 
wrote : `` 
 Miss Poitrine 
has perpetrated 
 the most eloquent argument 
for 
 the Protestant faith 
yet unleashed by 
 Hollywood 
'' . 

But 
 it 
was 
 small consolation 
. 
In 
 a rare fit 
of 
 anger 
and 
 spite 
, 
 I 
`` farmed out '' 
 my own husband 
to 
 a small and most undistinguished studio 
to make 
 one picture 
as 
 a form 
of 
 punishment 
. 

( 
 An actor 
must have 
 discipline 
. 

) 
 The film 
was called 
 The Diet 
of 
 Worms 
, 
 which 

 I 
felt was just 
 what 

 Letch 
deserved . 


 It 
turned out to be 
 a life 
of 
 Martin Luther 
, of 
 all things 
! ! 


 It 
was 
 a disaster 
! ! 

In 
 clothes 
, 
 Letch 
simply did not 
 project 
. 


 He 
was laughed off 
 the screen 
. 

At 
 the same time 
, however , 
 I 
availed 
 myself 
of 
 the services 
of 
 that great English actor 
and 
 master 
of 
 make-up 
, 
 Sir Gauntley Pratt 
, to do 
 a 
`` 
 quickie 
'' called 
 The Mystery 
of 
 the Mad Marquess 
, in 
 which 

 I 
played 
 a young American girl 

 who 
inherits 
 a haunted castle 
on 
 the English 
moors 
 which 
is filled with 
 secret passages 
and 
 sliding panels 
and , unbeknownst to 
 anyone 
, is still occupied by 
 an eccentric maniac 
. 


 It 
was 
 a 
`` 
 potboiler 
'' made on 
 a 
`` 
 shoestring 
'' and not 
 the sort 
of 
 film 

 I 
like , as 
 all 

 I 
had to do was look blank and scream 
 a great deal 
. 


 My heart 
was not in 
 it 
, but , oddly enough , 
 it 
remains 
 the 
most financially 
 successful picture 
of 
 my career 
. 

( 
 I 
watched 
 it 
on 
 television late one night last week 
and 
 it 
`` stands up '' remarkably well , even 
 twenty years 
later . 

) 
 Letch 
had returned from 
 his debacle 
unrepentant and more badly behaved than before . 


 I 
really loved 
 that boy 
, and , in 
 a feverish attempt 
to preserve 
 our marriage 
and to try to revive 
 the wonderful 
, 
 wonderful person Letch 
had once been , 
 I 
took 
 my troubles 
to 
 Momma 
, hoping that 
 her earthy advice 
would help 
 me 
. 
`` If 
 I 
could only think of 
 something 
at 
 the studio 
, near 
 me 
, to absorb 
 his boundless energy 
'' , 
 I 
said . 

`` 
 What 
is 
 Letch 
interested in '' ? ? 
`` 
 Bookies 
, 
 booze 
and 
 babes 
'' , 
 Momma 
said bluntly . 

 Her reply 
stung 
 me 
, but 
 this 
was too important to let 
 my hurt 
make 
 any difference 
. 

`` 
 I 
ca n't turn 
 the studio 
into 
 a gambling hell 
or 
 a saloon 
'' , 
 I 
said . 



SpeakerA1 .
Uh , do you have a pet Randy
?

SpeakerB2 .
Uh , yeah , currently we have
a poodle .

SpeakerA3 .
A poodle , miniature or , uh ,
full size ?

SpeakerB4 .
Yeah , uh , it 's , uh
miniature .

SpeakerA5 .
Uh-huh .

SpeakerB6 .
Yeah .

SpeakerA7 .
I read somewhere that , the
poodles is one of the , the
most intelligent dogs , uh ,
around .

SpeakerB8 .
Well , um , I would n't , uh
, I definitely would n't dispute
that , it , it 's actually
my wife 's dog , uh , I ,
I became part owner six months
ago when we got married , but
, uh , it , uh , definitely
responds to , uh , to authority
and , I 've had dogs in the
past and , uh , it seems ,
it seems to , uh , respond
real well , it , it she 's
, she 's picked up a lot of
things , uh , just , just by ,
uh , teaching by force , I
guess is what I 'd like to
say .

SpeakerA9 .
Oh , uh-huh .
So , you , you 've only
known the dog , wh- , how long
did you say .

SpeakerB10 .
Well , about a year I guess .

SpeakerA11 .
Oh , well , uh , is it ,
uh , uh , how old is the
dog ?

SpeakerB12 .
It just turned two , I believe
.

SpeakerA13 .
Oh , it 's still just a pup
.

SpeakerB14 .
Pretty much , yeah , yeah .

SpeakerA15 .
Yeah , I have a , uh , well
a mutt , myself .
I call it a , uh , uh ,
Chowperd .

SpeakerB16 .
Okay .

SpeakerA17 .
It 's , uh , part Chow and
part Shepherd and it , as I
understand it , uh , both sides
of the , were thoroughbreds .
So , she 's a genuine Chowperd
.

SpeakerB18 .
Oh , that sounds interesting .

SpeakerA19 .
She has the , the color and
the black to- , tongue of a
Chow , but , uh , she has
the shap- , the shape of the ,
uh , uh , Shepherd .

SpeakerB20 .
Oh , that 's , that 's neat
.
How , about how big then ?

SpeakerA21 .
Oh , she weighs in at about
fifty pounds , so she 's a
medium size .

SpeakerB22 .
Yeah , yeah .

SpeakerA23 .
But she 's big enough to be
intimidating ,

SpeakerB24 .
Most definitely .

SpeakerA25 .
it is a fi , fixed female ,
by the way ,

SpeakerB26 .
Yeah .

SpeakerA27 .
and right from day one , she
was teaching me .

SpeakerB28 .
Oh , I would n't doubt it ,
yeah .

SpeakerA29 .
She 's the most intelligent dog
I 've ever seen .
Course , I 'm a little
prejudiced , of course .

SpeakerB30 .
Well that 's understandable , yeah
, it 's , uh ,

SpeakerA31 .
You know , the first time I
brought her home , she was
only , uh , was it six weeks
old .
And I spread the newspapers out
in the kitchen area .

SpeakerB32 .
Uh-huh .

SpeakerA33 .
But , uh , next morning , she
let me know in no uncertain
terms that she wanted to use
the bathroom .

SpeakerB34 .
Okay .

SpeakerA35 .
So , on next night , I spread
the newspaper in the bathroom and
she used them there .

SpeakerB36 .
Oh .

SpeakerA37 .
But it was n't too long until
she , uh , found out she
could wait until I let her out
in the morning .

SpeakerB38 .
Yeah .

SpeakerA39 .
And since then , I , I live
alone ,

SpeakerB40 .
Okay .

SpeakerA41 .
and , uh , I live in motor
home , by the way , I 'm ,
uh , an R V , full time R
V -er , and it 's , it
's such a pleasure to come home
at night and you can see her
smiling from ear to ear , she
's so happy to see me .

SpeakerB42 .
Yeah , definitely .

SpeakerA43 .
And , uh , I do n't know if
you get that kind of greeting
or not .

SpeakerB44 .
Yeah , I can honestly say we
do , uh , we , uh , just
recently put a security system in
our house and so now , uh ,
in order to , uh , to
accommodate the motion detectors we
have to keep her , uh , uh
, locked up in the , the master
bedroom during the day and then
she 's got the , the bedroom
and the bathroom to , for free
run during the day but ,

SpeakerA45 .
Uh-huh .

SpeakerB46 .
we 've always got , uh , got
a nose and tongue pressed up
against the window when we come
walking up to the front door .

SpeakerA47 .
.

SpeakerB48 .
She 's definitely ready to get
out and run around .

SpeakerA49 .
Well my dog 's an outdoor type
, she does not like to be
indoors .

SpeakerB50 .
Really .

SpeakerA51 .
Uh , she 'd rather sle , sleep
outside on the , the cold ground
at night .

SpeakerB52 .
Oh wow .

SpeakerA53 .
But , uh , I do make her
come in .

SpeakerB54 .
Yeah .

SpeakerA55 .
And I feed her indoors , that
's to lure her in , but
during the day I have her on
a , uh , on a leash ,

SpeakerB56 .
Okay .

SpeakerA57 .
which is , uh , on sort of
a run .
I have a , a thirty foot
cable ,

SpeakerB58 .
Okay .

SpeakerA59 .
running from one stake to another
, and then attached to that is
a , uh , twelve foot leash ,

SpeakerB60 .
Okay .

SpeakerA61 .
so she can cover quite an area
.

SpeakerB62 .
Most definitely .

SpeakerA63 .
And , uh , she 's the best
, uh , burglar alarm going .

SpeakerB64 .
Yeah , yeah , yeah that 's ,
uh , definite security involved in
, uh , in a dog like that .

SpeakerA65 .
Oh , yeah , she , uh , it
's the strangest thing , though ,
uh , children , no matter how
strange they are , or how new
they might be can walk , uh ,
right up to her ,

SpeakerB66 .
Uh-huh .

SpeakerA67 .
but adults , if they 're
strange to her , or , or they
look suspicious or something , boy
she acts like she wants to
chew their leg off .

SpeakerB68 .
Wow .

SpeakerA69 .
And I have not discovered yet
where the , the line is between
children and adults .

SpeakerB70 .
Yeah , that 's interesting .

SpeakerA71 .
But , uh , she is a great
comfort to me .

SpeakerB72 .
Yeah , I know our dog has
had , uh , some different
reactions , she 's never really
been around children and , uh ,
if , if the child is , is
pretty straight forward , um , she
's fine .
If , if a child is a little
intimidated , she 'll jump around
and , and yip and bark quite a
bit , and if the child gets
scared , uh , she 's still
trying to play , but she does
n't completely understand what 's
going on and we 've had a
little confusion with , with , uh
, with younger kids .

SpeakerA73 .
Uh-huh .

SpeakerB74 .
But , uh , you know , that
's , it 's a matter of
exposure really .
Um , we , uh , took her
home to , uh , my family 's
place in South Dakota , and she
was the one that was intimidated
then .
There was about seven kids
ranging from about , uh , three
years to ten years running around
the house all at one time ,

SpeakerA75 .
Oh , uh-huh .

SpeakerB76 .
you know come to visit Grandpa
and Grandma and , the dog kind
of , kind of felt out of place
then because she was , she was
being fed , and everything else
from all directions .
She really did n't know how to
handle herself .

SpeakerA77 .
You mean she did n't appreciate
all that attention .

SpeakerB78 .
She really did , she just ,
uh , she , she was alm- ,
she was just inundated with ,
with all the attention .
Uh , she , she kind of ,
she kind of sat and MUMBLEx
it all in for a little while
and then she 'd go get back
in and try to play and , and
what not , but , uh , it was
, it was just such a , such
a new experience for her .
She 's only been around one
and , and sometimes two people at
the most so , uh .

SpeakerA79 .
Uh-huh .
What 's her name by the way
?

SpeakerB80 .
Uh , pardon ?

SpeakerA81 .
What , what do you call the
dog ?

SpeakerB82 .
Oh , it 's , uh , Mitzi .

SpeakerA83 .
Mitzi .

SpeakerB84 .
Yeah .

SpeakerA85 .
Mine is Gin .

SpeakerB86 .
Oh , okay .

SpeakerA87 .
As in , uh , martini .

SpeakerB88 .
Yeah .

SpeakerA89 .
Actually , it 's Gin two .

SpeakerB90 .
I , I see .

SpeakerA91 .
Because , uh , when I was a
teenager , in high school , I
had Gin one , but then when
I went out in the world , I
could n't take her with me .

SpeakerB92 .
Yeah , yeah , yeah , I had ,
uh , a similar , uh , experience
.
I , I grew up on a farm
so I always had , uh , outdoor
pets and ,

SpeakerA93 .
Uh-huh .

SpeakerB94 .
uh , the dog I had when I
moved to Dallas about five years
ago was a , uh , Springer
Spaniel , black Lab cross .
And he was a real , a real
lovable type ,

SpeakerA95 .
Oh yeah .

SpeakerB96 .
but , uh , definitely not an
apartment type animal so he , uh
, he had to stay home .

SpeakerA97 .
Oh , what a shame .

SpeakerB98 .
Yeah , yeah , it really was .
He , uh , apparently had a
tough time with it for a little
while and then he , he got ,
he came to accept the fact that
Mom and Dad were his company
from then on , but , uh .

SpeakerA99 .
Uh-huh , oh well .

SpeakerB100 .
Yeah .

SpeakerA101 .
Well Randy , we 've just about
used up our time here ,

SpeakerB102 .
Okay .

SpeakerA103 .
and I must say it was
interesting .

SpeakerB104 .
Most definitely .

SpeakerA105 .
I enjoyed talking about pets
with you .

SpeakerB106 .
Well that 's great .

SpeakerA107 .
Maybe we 'll get together again
in the future .

SpeakerB108 .
That sounds real good .

SpeakerA109 .
Take care now .

SpeakerB110 .
You too .

SpeakerA111 .
Bye .




 E.W. Scripps Co. 
said 
 it 
has acquired 
 a Georgia cable television company 
and 
 a Massachusetts publishing firm 
. 

 Terms 
on 
 both 

 deals 
were n't disclosed . 


 The media company 
said 
 it 
purchased 
 Cable USA Inc. 
, 
 a 
privately held 
 cable television system 
in 
 Carroll County 
, 
 Ga. 
, 
 a suburb 
of 
 Atlanta 
. 

 The system 
is still under 
 construction 
and will serve 
 a market 
of 
 7,600 homes 
. 


 The company 
also has acquired 
 Sundance Publishers 
and 
 Distributors Inc. 
, 
 a family 
owned 
 producer 
and 
 distributor 
of 
 educational materials 
in 
 Littleton 
, 
 Mass 
. 




 Lloyd 
's of 
 London 
said 
 it 
plans to clamp down on 
 the ability 
of underwriting 
 syndicates 
to leave 
 their annual accounts 
open beyond 
 the customary three years 
. 


Underwriting 
 syndicates 
at 
 Lloyd 's 
, 
 the world 's largest insurance market 
, generally do n't close 
 their accounts 
for 
 three years 
, to allow for 
 the filing 
of 
 claims 
and 
 litigation 
. 

When 
 such claims 
and 
 litigation 
extend beyond 
 the period 
, 
 the syndicates 
can extend 
 their accounting deadlines 
. 

 Lloyd 's 
said 
 there 
are currently 
 115 open account years 
involving 
 68 
of 
 the market 
's roughly 
 360 syndicates 
. 


 The open-year accounting practice 
`` is widely recognized within 
 Lloyd 's 
as of 
 serious concern 
'' to 
 the 31,329 member investors 
, 
 who 
underwrite 
 insurance 
at 
 Lloyd 
's in 
 return 
for 
 premium 
and 
 investment income 
, 
 Lloyd 's 
said . 

 The procedure 
causes `` 
 great uncertainty 
'' because 
 an investor 
ca n't be sure of 
 his 
or 
 her individual liability 
, 
 Lloyd 's 
said . 


As 
 a result 
, 
 the insurance market 
plans 
 new measures 
to restrict 
 the ability 
of 
 syndicate officials 
to leave 
 years 
open . 

 Lloyd 
's said 
 it 
expects to enact 
 new rules 
mandating 
 the changes 
by 
 year end 
. 


Under 
 the new rules 
, 
 the officials 
will have to secure 
 additional information 
and 
 reports 
from 
 actuaries 
, including 
 an assessment 
of whether 
 officials 
have acted reasonably . 

In 
 addition 
, 
 officials 
will have to get 
 quotes 
for 
 certain reinsurance contracts 
and obtain 
 approvals 
from 
 other syndicate directors 
. 




 Ethyl Corp. 
reported that 
 third-quarter net income 
fell 
 12 % 
from 
 a year-earlier quarter 
helped by 
 a gain 
from 
 discontinued operations 
. 

 Profit 
from continuing 
 operations 
rose 
 19 % 
. 


 The chemicals 
and 
 insurance company 
said 
 net 
in 
 the latest quarter 
was 
 $ 54.8 million 
, or 
 45 cents 

 a share 
. 

In 
 the year-earlier quarter 
, 
 net 
was 
 $ 62.2 million 
, or 
 51 cents 

 a share 
. 

 The previous-year quarter 
included 
 $ 16.1 million 
from 
 businesses 
spun off as 
 Tredegar Industries Inc 
. 


 Revenue 
was 
 $ 613.7 million 
, up 
 18 % 
from 
 $ 521.2 million 

 a year 
ago . 


 Ethyl 
said 
 pretax profit 
from 
 its insurance segment 
, excluding 
 investment gains 
, rose 
 28 % 
in 
 the latest quarter 
to 
 $ 28.6 million 
from 
 $ 22.4 million 
. 

In 
 the chemicals segment 
, 
 pretax profit 
rose 
 7 % 
to 
 $ 69.2 million 
from 
 $ 64.9 million 
. 

 The company 's chemicals interests 
include , among 
 other things 
, 
 petroleum additives 
, 
 pharmaceuticals ingredients 
and 
 polysilicon 
used by 
 the semiconductor industry 
. 


For 
 the nine months 
, 
 Ethyl 
said 
 net 
fell 
 2 % 
to 
 $ 168.7 million 
, or 
 $ 1.40 

 a share 
, from 
 $ 172.2 million 
, 
 $ 1.42 

 a share 
, 
 a year 
ago . 


 Net 
in 
 the latest period 
included 
 $ 11.9 million 
from 
 discontinued operations 
and 
 a charge 
of 
 $ 6.2 million 
from 
 a plant closing 
. 

In 
 the year-ago period 
, 
 net 
included 
 $ 32.7 million 
from 
 discontinued operations 
. 


 Revenue 
was 
 $ 1.79 billion 
, up 
 18 % 
from 
 $ 1.52 billion 

 a year 
earlier . 


In 
 New York Stock Exchange composite 
trading , 
 Ethyl 
closed at 
 $ 25.875 

 a share 
, up 
 12.5 cents 
.