Beds Are Burning

“How do we sleep

While our beds are burning

The time has come

To say fair's fair”

    Midnight Oil

Every time I hear Australian band Midnight Oil’s anthem on behalf of aborigine peoples I think back 25 years ago to an oral history conference in Brisbane where I learned that in my lifetime Native Australians were forcibly taken from their parents be the Aussie equivalent of Americanized by families free to treat them like servants. Just a generation or two before that native American children were shipped off to “Indian schools” like one in Carlisle, Pennsylvania, where many died of tuberculosis and other contagious diseases while others were stripped of their long hair and native dress.

Bubba Wallace

The recent actions of Trump seem politically suicidal – what pundits said about many things he did four years ago.  Then he branded Mexican immigrants as rapists and murderers, now he’s defending Confederate statues, calling the noose found in Black NASCAR racer Bubba Watson’s garage a hoax, and ridiculing as “political correctness” the efforts to change the nicknames and logos of the Washington Redskins and the Cleveland Indians.  As a Washington football fan, I agree with the fan who thought the new logo could be the skin of a red potato.  Ray Smock worries that Trump’s strategy of holding onto his base could work if he can convince another 20 percent to stay home through smear tactics against his opponent or otherwise deny them the vote through various nefarious means. Trump has gotten away with so many lies, and like totalitarian rulers everywhere tries to brainwash followers into believing that any critical story in the mainstream press is suspect a HOAX.




Post-Trib contributor Jerry Davich wrote a column headlined: “Trump versus Biden, a disappointing decision for voters.”  I replied: “Wrong! It’s an obvious choice at a time when we need steady at the helm.  Trump will use any smear tactic to make people believe the candidates are equally “disappointing.”  It worked in 2016.

 

In the “Forum” section of the Sunday, July 5, Northwest Indiana Times appeared a column by Inez Feltscher Stepman (above) titled “Revisionist history tries to discredit rich legacy.” As a historian who holds the U.S. Constitution in high esteem, has no quarrel with July Fourth patriotic celebrations, and bemoans the excesses of those defacing monuments honoring George Washington, Thomas Jefferson, and Abraham Lincoln, I must take exception to her mischaracterization of revisionist historians who have attempted to redress gaps in the story of the American experience.  Stepman admits that the Founding Fathers, like men in all eras, were flawed and at times made terrible mistakes. Yet to claim, as she does, that the American Revolution was fought simply for liberty and independence is to ignore the complexities of history.  Foremost among the colonists’ grievances against Great Britain prior to 1776, along with taxation without representation and the quartering of foreign (Hessian) troops on American soil, was the Royal Proclamation of 1763, which prevented colonization beyond the Appalachians and reserved that territory for Native American tribes. So far as whether or not the Constitution was a slave document, one need look no further than the three-fifths compromise than gave slave states representation in the House of Representatives by counting their human property as that percentage of a human being.

 

In the 1960s I visited Monticello and Mount Vernon, as did thousands of tourists, and saw no evidence that Thomas Jefferson or George Washington were slaveholders.  School textbooks made no mention of Christopher Columbus having enslaved indigenous people and tended to emphasize States Rights rather than slavery as the underlying cause of the Civil War. Rather than disparaging educators and CEOs of Fortune 500 companies responsible for pressuring states to remove Confederate Battle flags and statues of rebel leaders from government property, including military installations, we should be celebrating this belated recognition that justice too long delayed is justice denied.  We can still celebrate the Fourth of July while finally acknowledging that Juneteenth is a more appropriate “Independence Day” for African Americans.  And, parenthetically, for the President to go the sacred (for Lakota people) Black Hills and label protestors looters and fascists while not even consulting with tribal leaders whose land, according to a 1980 Supreme Court decision, they are rightful guardians, and uttering nary a word about a pandemic that especially threatens poor people living in nearby areas is beyond obscene. Little wonder his pledge, if re-elected, to create a monument park honoring 25 American heroes contained not a single Hispanic or Native American.

 
I concede that the USA may have been a land of opportunity for Inez Feltscher Stepman, a self-described first-generation American; but I wish she showed a measure of compassion for the ancestors of people brought to our country in chains who still endure police harassment or understanding of acts by which our Founding Fathers, and Trump’s favorite President, Andrew Jackson, stole our land from the original inhabitants.

18th birthday

With the coronavirus spreading due to Trump’s incompetence, educators are grappling with how to deal with fall classes.  Unlike many private universities, IUN is in relatively good shape, having launched quality online “distance education” courses almost a decade ago. Granddaughter Becca missed the final month of her senior year and wonders whether she’ll be able to go off for college. Her friends at Chesterton H.S. have made due with, for example, a mini-prom outside with about 2 dozen classmates. She’s done other group activities and even held an outdoor party at home when unable to have her open house at the American Legion Hall.

At Last

“At last the skies above are blue

My heart was wrapped in clover the night I looked at you.”

    “At Last,” Etta James

At La Porte Civic Auditorium granddaughter Becca won the prestigious Hoosier Star competition in the youth division after nailing her interpretation of the Etta James standard “At Last” with a maturity beyond her years.  You rarely hear love songs anymore as beautiful as “At Last.” Literally hundreds of contestants tried out for Hoosier Star, and the five finalists included entrants from La Porte and nearby New Prairie who had large numbers of fans in the audience, so I had not expected Becca to emerge victorious despite her awesome performance.  Runner-up was Ella Moon, who sang “Girl on Fire” by Alicia Keys. Favorite Jamileh Cornejo sang “Nessum Dorma” from the Puccini opera “Turandot.”  In the adult division winner Joe Stewart got a standing ovation after belting out Sam Smith’s “I’m Not the Only One” and showing off a mean falsetto.  Crowd-pleaser Billy Cox, whose large contingent of raucous fans, some holding signs with blinking lights, were near us, came on stage in jeans and cowboy hat holding a drink and performed Eric Church’s “Drink in My Hand.”  La Porte Symphony Orchestra provided the instrumentation.  I recognized emcee Jeremiah Mellon from his starring as Quasimodo in the Memorial Opera House production of “Hunchback of Notre Dame.” 

above, Becca's reaction to winning; below, James, Dave, Becca, Angie

Driving to La Porte, once home to Mayo Clinic founder William Mayo, eccentric baseball owner Charlie Finley, and Supreme Court Chief Justice John Roberts, we passed Pine Lake on the way to La Porte Civic Auditorium, a structure that reminded me of Hammond Civic Center, where Phil and Dave played indoor soccer and Fats Domino once performed.  Built in 1930 as the result of a half-million-dollar gift from Fox Woolen Mills CEO Maurice Fox in honor of parents Samuel and Fannie, the venue has hosted countless athletic contests, receptions, and concerts, the latter often featuring country singers such as Randy Travis.  Daughter-in-law Beth’s parents live in La Porte, and Beth and Alissa arrived to root on Becca after visiting them. Our contingent included Becca’s friends from Chesterton H.S.’s Sandpipers choral group, brother James, first time off campus since enrolling at Valparaiso University, and great-grandmother Vera Teague, a trooper in her mid-nineties.

Etta James (1938-2012) was born in the Watts neighborhood of Los Angeles and became one of the greatest blues singers of all time.  In addition to “At Last” her hits included “Something’s Got a Hold on Me,” “Tell Mama,” and “I’d Rather Go Blind,” co-written by Ellington Jordan and Gary native Billy Foster, her partner at the time.  Etta sang backup vocals on the Chuck Berry hit “Back in the U.S.A,” and other Chess Records Rock ‘n’ Roll hits.  Beyoncé portrayed her in “Cadillac Records” (2008) based on the Chicago independent label that released most of her albums, and sang “At Last” at Barack Obama’s 2009 inauguration, a fitting tribute to America’s first black president. At last, indeed!  Though suffering from early dementia, Etta believed she could have sung it better. Perhaps they should have done it together.

 Nina Simone

Sometimes I confuse Etta James, whose given name was Jamesetta Hawkins, with Nina Simone (1933-2003), whose bluesy style was more heavily influenced by jazz and whose image was more militant.  In 1965 Simone recorded her most popular hit, “I Put a Spell on You,” first released as a rhythm and blues tune by “Screamin’ Jay” Hawkins.  Simone participated in civil rights marches and added protest songs to her repertoire during the tumultuous 1960s.  She recorded “Mississippi Goddam” after civil rights leader  Medgar Evers was murdered”; it includes such lyrics as “This whole country is full of lies/ you’re all gonna die and die like flies” and “You don’t have to live next to me/ just give me liberty.” A line in “Baltimore,” written by Randy Newman, goes, “Ain’t it hard to live? Just to live?”  Cultural critic Hanif Abdurraqib called Nina Simone proud and fearless, writing:

  I came of age during a time when I was constantly reminded of the darkness of my skin, the width of my nose, the size of my lips.  I am similar to Nina Simone in this way.

It would be ironic if Simone will be remembered mainly for her rendition of “I Loves You, Porgy.” Abdurraqib, who will be speaking at IUN next month, concluded:

  I have been thinking about how I learned to write, to tell the stories I have, largely at the feet of black women who then became ghosts – ghosts by death, or ghosts by erasure of their living contributions, and sometimes both.  I think of Nina Simone’s legacy, and I see the legacy of so many black women I know, who have had their work reduced by all of the hands that are not their own.  Today, movements are stolen and repackaged with faces America finds more palatable.

Jesse Harper at Popcorn Festival 5k run; South Shore Roller Girls looking for "fresh meat"

I missed this year’s Valpo Popcorn Fest parade and concert, but the main stage headliner, Max Weinberg, former E Street Band drummer and “Tonight Show” band leader, wasn’t as enticing as usual.  I was delighted to find Facebook parade photos of Democrats, including city council candidate Liz Wuerffel, behind a Bill For Mayor banner touting candidate Bill Durnell.  Liz’s partner Allison Schuette took a great shot of the South Shore Roller girls, on the prowl for “fresh meat” (as the expression in their sport goes) and looking hot! hot! hot!

Toni and I attended a memorial celebration to honor the memory of Shirley Dick, who passed away recently on her sixty-ninth birthday after a brave battle with cancer.  It was held at the Hobart VFW post, where Shirley had tended bar.  I talked at length with her just last month at James’s graduation party. Sons Kevin and Tom and daughter Michele shared fond memories, as did grandkids Kylie and Nick.  Michele had written this message during Shirley’s final hours:

  Well you made it to your birthday mom. I know we only have some hours left with you. I wish for your birthday this year no more pain. Thank you for giving us one more birthday with you. I hate this so much. I want to wake up from a bad dream. It’s not real. But as I stay awake watching you it is so real. You are an amazing mom and grandma and sister and an aunt and a friend. You have been there for me through so much. We were partners. I love you so much.

Kevin and Dave’s high school friend Tony Spencer came in from Lubbock, Texas, for the occasion, and we recalled LINT concerts and parties at our Maple Place abode, as well as Bob Knight’s seven-year coaching career at Texas Tech after IU fired “The General” for laying hands on players and critics.  I spoke to the daughter of Chris Lugo, whom I used to bowl with, and her daughter Angel, a PhD candidate in psychology at Adler University in Chicago.  I first met Angel at Cressmoor Lanes when she was about 2 and mistook her for a boy.  She gave me a dirty look, so I made certain never to repeat the mistake and to learn her name. I saw her a few times at Inman’s where James and her brother, now a varsity baseball player at Andrean, bowled. Angel has blossomed into a lovely, self-assured young adult, studying to become a substance abuse counselor (she used the euphemism substance use disorder).

I was delighted to find a 1953 photo from IUN’s Calumet Regional Archives collection of band leader Ken Resur at a Buffington Park event in John and Diane Trafny’s “Downtown Gary, Millrats, Politics, and US Steel,” as well as one of a “Bug Abatement Parade” sponsored by the City of Gary to promote an insect and mosquito eradication program.  Known as Gary’s original “Music Man,” Resur began a 35-year teaching career at Froebel in 1928 and within a year expanded the orchestra from 37 to 108 members.   Under his direction the Froebel band won many competitions, including the Chicago World’s Fair Century of Progress parade in 1933.  For 27 years Resur also directed U.S. Steel’s Carillco Band. Resur’s final 15 years were at Horace Mann, where in 1963 his crowning achievement was the Mann marching band winning the World Band Contest in Milwaukee against 107 other entrees.

Trump has been taking heat for lying about Hurricane Dorian hitting Alabama, but the greater obscenity is his total lack of compassion regarding victims in the Bahamas.  Ray Smock wrote:

  Trump just trashed the people of the Bahamas by saying there are bad people there that should not be allowed in without documentation. Only people with documentation will be let into this country. What if their documentation blew away in the storm or is under ten feet of water? What if their house and all their papers are gone? What if they have only the clothes they are wearing?  Trump has no human compassion whatsoever and he likes to take it out on dark skinned people. This cannot stand.

Jimbo Jammers garnered a record (for me) 156 points during the first week of fantasy football and only came out with a tie.  In fact, it took a last-second 58-yard field by Saints kicker Wil Lutz to avoid losing to Pittsburgh Dave Lane. The closest any other team to us was Phil with 133 points. Going into Monday night just 8 points ahead and facing no. 3 draft pick Alvin Kamara, I was pessimistic.  Lutz’s final field goal had to be more than 50 yards or else I’d have lost, and it took a desperation pass by Drew Brees to put him in position for his unlikely boot.

 Wayne Wylie

I shed tears when I got the news from his son that old buddy Wayne Wylie passed away.  Growing up, he was one of my closest friends.  I’d stay at his farmhouse overnight; we’d go out into the field on a plow, pick corn, and his mom would serve the ears for dinner, with me eating at least three or four.  In sixth grade Wayne was probably a foot taller than I, but the disparity in size never mattered.  At our reunion 24 years ago, I got him to dance with me to the Ramones’ “I Wanna be Sedated.”  Wife Fran told me afterwards that Wayne never danced and that she couldn’t believe I got him to agree to it.  Up until recently we’d talk on the phone, reliving memories of the characters we knew at Fort Washington School. Classmate Connie Heard Damon wrote:

Wayne was one of my earliest friends since we started in First Grade at Jarrettown Elementary School and went through 12 years of school together. I remember Wayne coming to my house for my 8th birthday party. I have a photo of all of us in the backyard. Wayne was the tallest and came dressed in a suit! I still have the little stuffed elephant he gave me for a gift.  I also remember going to a Halloween party held in his barn in Jarrettown. It was the first time I ever heard of (and played) "Spin the Bottle."

Connie’s comment was one of 15 Facebook replies to my post, as well as 12 Love, 11 sad, and 10 Like emojis. 

Let's Be Still

“The world's just spinning

A little too fast

If things don't slow down soon we might not last.

So just for the moment, let's be still.”

         The Head and the Hand, "Let's Be Still"

 The Head and the Heart

I have been playing the CD “Signs of Light” by The Head and the Hand, a Seattle indie rock group formed in 2009, on heavy rotation along with albums by Weezer, Blink-182, The War of Drugs, and Phoenix.  The Head and the Hand’s “All We Ever Knew” reminds me of my favorite Roy Orbison song, “In Dreams” and contains these lyrics:

When I wake up in the morning

I see nothing

For miles and miles and miles

When I sleep in the evening, oh lord

There she goes, only in dreams

She's only in dreams

At Chesterton library I checked out “The Hawaiian Quilt,” a novel about an Amish young woman (Mandy Frey) on a cruise who gets stranded on the island of Kauai and is taken in by a Hawaiian couple who run a bed and breakfast.  Having lived in Honolulu in 1965-66 and spent a memorable week in Kauai, I am finding the book interesting.  My friend Suzanna Murphy has been living an Amish lifestyle for more than a decade and is a fan of authors Wanda and Jean Brunstetter.  I even watched a few episodes of the reality TV series “Breaking Amish.”  Like Mandy, I’m descended from Pennsylvania Dutch settlers on my mother’s side.

Post-Trib correspondent Nancy Webster interviewed me about remembering Pearl Harbor at a time when the last few survivors of the December 7, 1941, attack are dying off.  I talked to her about writing my University of Hawaii M.A. thesis on territorial governor Joseph B. Poindexter, unfairly blamed by islanders for allowing military rule under martial law for the duration of World War II.  Historians regard the Japanese attack on our fleet at Pearl Harbor as one of the pivotal events of the twentieth century because it was dramatic proof that America could not isolate itself from what was occurring in the rest of the world. Bullet holes on buildings at Hickam Air Force Base are still visible as a reminder to be ever vigilant. Over two million people visit the USS Arizona Memorial annually, including Japanese tourists.  In three weeks Prime Minister Shinzo Abe and President Obama will visit the site together. There was a time when Japanese-Americans were not allowed to work there due to a misguided fear that some veterans might object.

 Hickam Air Force base building

Jermaine Couisnard game winner, Post-Trib photo by Jim Karczewski

With son Dave announcing from behind the scorer’s table East Chicago Central defeated top-ranked Merrillville 69-67, as Jermaine Couisnard drove the length of the court and scored with four seconds left.  Jonah Jackson, who had drained two threes to tie the game with 10 seconds left, got off a final desperation shot that bounced off the front of the rim.

After taking grandson James to Inman’s for bowling, I told Kevin Horn that my knuckle sometimes rubs against the side of my new ball’s thumb hole.  He told me that one can buy special strips of tape to remedy that problem and introduced me to friendly teenager McKayla Smith, who uses them on her thumb. Inman’s pro shop didn’t have the brand she recommended, Genesis, so McKayla opened a container that resembled a fishing tackle box, containing all sorts of accoutrements, and gave me two of hers.  She refused to take any money for them.

Sunday at Temple Israel Ron Cohen spoke about folk music during the 1930s.  Introducing him, I plugged the Archives (which we founded) and Steel Shavings magazine (ditto).  Thirty years ago, Ron and I talked about another joint venture, our book “Gary: A Pictorial History,” a similar Temple Israel brunch.  On hand were old friends Bobbi and Larry Galler.  He and I were discussing music and I told him about the CDs that Robert Blaszkiewicz made at Christmas of his favorite song of the year.   “He was my editor at the Times,” Larry exclaimed, referring to his Marketing column in the paper’s Sunday Business section.  Union stalwart Robin Rich introduced me to a lesbian couple, Sandra and Nancy Hagen Goldstucker, who moved from Chicago to Miller because of Anne Balay and have known her since her daughters Emma and Leah were babies. 

Ron played a half-dozen folk songs, including selections by Lead Belly, the Almanac Singers, Earl Robinson, and Woody Guthrie and mentioned the odd fact that in 1931 Gene Autry, the singing cowboy, recorded “The Death of Mother Jones,” whose lyrics included these lines:      

The world today's in mourning

O'er the death of Mother Jones;

Gloom and sorrow hover

Around the miners' homes.

This grand old champion of labor

Was known in every land;

She fought for right and justice,

She took a noble stand.

Ron speculated that Autry had never previously heard of labor champion Mother Jones; I countered that the Great Depression temporarily radicalized many people.   I asked Ron if Pete Seeger, when performing in union halls during the 1940s, got workers to sing along, something that became his trademark later in his career.  Pete started the practice when he was blacklisted and appearing mainly on college campuses and for kids at school, at progressive summer camps, and eventually on Sesame Street..

above, Gene Autry; below winter scene with deer by Marianne Brush

below, Becca second from right

As several inches of snow covered trees and slickened streets, we drove to see granddaughter Becca perform in Chesterton High School’s forty-fourth annual Madrigal Feast fundraiser.  Dressed as a maid, she was a bell player, server and singer in the chorus.  CHS cafeteria resembled a medieval baronial hall, and a herald (Wyatt Lee) introduced guests with fanfare after banging his staff to attract attention.  Becca escorted us to the Prince James of Wessex table.  Before dinner the herald read off 11 rules of etiquette, including not to pick your teeth with a knife, wipe your greasy fingers on your beard, rest your legs on the table or dip your thumbs in your mead. The program featured music, dancing, and jesters performing for the guests of honor, many whom I recognized from the musical “Godspell.” Although too religious for my taste, the production was impressive.  At any rate seeing Becca in action was worth the price of admission.

Son Phil knocked me out of the Fantasy Football playoffs by a mere four points.  My receivers, the strength of my team all year, let me down.  Mike Evans, Emmanuel Sanders, and Jason Witten combined for just 7 points compared to 25 for Phil’s trio of Jordy Nelson, Brandin Cooks, and Eric Ebron.  Top draft pick Rob Gronkowski was on injured reserve, and T.Y. Hilton was questionable, so I didn’t play him and he racked up 29 points.  Go figure. In the CBS Office Pool I picked Atlanta over Kansas City and got done in on a freak play.  Atlanta went ahead 28-27 late in the fourth quarter and elected to go for a two-point conversion. The pass got intercepted and run back 100 yards, giving K.C. 2 points and the victory.

At the IUN History Club program on Weird History I talked about flour sacks once becoming fashionable dresses and Abraham Lincoln’s wrestling prowess. In fact, Chris Young had linked me to the National Wrestling Hall of Fame website where I learned that George Washington had been a county-wide champ and at age 47 defeated seven challengers from the Massachusetts Volunteers.  David Parnell cited weird facts about Roman emperors, and Diana Chen-Lin talked about Chinese women who gather in parks, sidewalks, and other public places and dance in groups – perhaps harking back to when they were in the Red Guard during the Cultural Revolution and participated in parades and other syncopated activities. Jonathan Briggs compared the marketing of the Ku Klan Klan in the 1920s as a money-making enterprise to Amway’s pyramid scheme of enlisting followers to find others to sell memberships and other paraphernalia.  Coming up with additional weird facts were History Club officers Sylvia, Scott, Tyler, and a handsome ROTC officer I recalled from Nicole Anslover’s class on World War II.  The group was still going strong after two hours when after a gross story about a New Orleans spinster I exclaimed, “On that note I’m out of here.”

 Ralph utters the "f" word in "A Christmas Story"

An Vanity Fair article entitled “How A Christmas Story Went from Low Budget Fluke to an American Tradition” contains some great anecdotes about by the late Hoosier humorist and screenwriter Jean Shepherd, including this retort to critics who labeled his work nostalgic: “[It is] anti-sentimental, as a matter of fact. If you really read it, you realize it’s a put-down of what most people think it stands for—it’s anti-nostalgic writing.” Of Ralphie’s mother, played by Melinda Dillon, Shepherd said she “is the kind of woman I figure grew up in a family of four or five sisters and married young. She digs the Old Man, but also knows he’s as dangerous as a snake.” During the filming of “A Christmas Story” Shepherd became so disruptive that he was barred from the set. 

My favorite “In God We Trust” Jean Shepherd tale (incidentally, not part of “A Christmas Story”) is “Leopold Doppler and the Great Orpheum Gravy Boat Riot.”  During the Depression theater owners employed all sorts of gimmicks and giveaways to lure customers during week days, including Dish Night.  Each week at the Orpheum in Hohman, Indiana, women customers received one item from a 112-piece dinnerware set, starting with a bun warmer, a cup and saucer combination, and an egg cup.  “The town was hooked,” Shepherd wrote:

  Ladies in the last stages of childbirth were wheeled into the Orpheum, gasping in pain, to keep the skein going.  Creaking grandmothers, halt and blind, were led to the Box Office by grandchildren.  Ladies who had not seen the light of day since the Crimean War were pressed into service.  They sat numbly, deafly in the Orpheum seats, their watery eyes barely able to perceive the shifting, incomprehensibly images on the screen, their gnarled talons clasping a sugar bowl for dear life.

  There was only one Big Platter in every complete set of dinnerware, the crowning jewel in Doppler’s diadem.  For weeks we had filed past the magnificent display in the lobby and there in the exact center, catching the amber spots, glowing like the sun, was the Big Platter.  And tonight it was ours.

  One of the saddest sounds I have ever heard was the crash in the darkness by some numb-fingered housewife, carried away by a brilliantly executed scene by Joe E. Brown loosened her grip in laughter.  A sudden panic and her platter was no more, scattered in a million Pearlescent slivers among the peanut shells and Tootsie Roll butt ends that formed a thick compost heap underfoot.  Recriminations, suppressed sobs, and the entire family rose and filed out, their only reason for being there gone in a single split second.  My mother held ours with both hands clamped over her chest in a death grip.

All went well until gravy boats kept arriving over and over again each week.  Finally, when Doppler took the stage to assure the crowd that they could be exchanged later, a “blizzard” of gravy boats filled the air.  Shepherd wrote:

  A great crash of Gravy Boats like the crashing of surf on an alien shore drowned out Doppler’s words.  And then, spreading to all corners of the house, shopping bags were emptied as the arms rose and fell in the darkness, maniacal female cackles and obscenities driving Doppler from the stage.

  High overhead someone switched off the spotlights and Frankenstein flickers across the screen.  But it was too late.  More Gravy Boats, and even more.  It seemed to be an almost Inexhaustible supply, as though some Mother Lode of Gravy Boats had been struck. The eerie sound track of The Bride of Frankenstein mingled with the rising and falling cadence of wave upon wave of hurled Gravy Boats.  Outside the distant sound of approaching Riot Cars.  The house lights went on. The Orpheum was suddenly filled with blue-jowled policemen.

  The audience sat among the ruin, taciturn, satisfied.  Under the guidance of pointed nightsticks they filed into the grim darkness of the outside world.  The Dish Night Fever was over, once and for all.  The great days of the Orpheum and Leopold Doppler had passed forever.