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22
June, 194)"
they were getting woolens got fleeced instead."
Ah, that's our boy! And we also liked his account of horse racing in India. ("The horse's sire is listed properly, but the book doesn't give a dam.")
Sgt. Peterson has been in the Air Corps almost four years; has been overseas most of that time. He was bombed at Asaam;
served for a time in "Operations." As a feature writer for the CBI Roundup he's well on his way to becoming one of the brighter journalistic products of the war. His approach is fresh and affirmative. And we're thinking he'll be just as good, back home in the middle-west. Kansas City certainly won't want to be giving Karl Peterson back to the Indians.
Nostalgia — Past, Present, Future
BY ODELL TRENGOVE
GLIMMERS of the postwar world inspire readers with awe. Helicopters, glass houses, robot housemaids — you know the advertising patter! As soon as the war is over and the boys come plowing home to man the converted factory throttles — oh boy!
So say the inventors, the manufacturers. We're going to have a field day, we ladies. For housewives, no little nagging tasks to do. Turn a button, flick a switch. Dinner — raw five minutes earlier — all done, and the gravy made.
Friend husband gets in his little buzzbaby, toots up into the air-lane to play 18 holes of golf 300 miles away. Zips back in time for the evening radio programs at home, television, of course, in his own projection room, channeled from NBC* That will be home life, 1955, say the experts. Fanfare and a few salvos!
Junior will no longer be going to school with books or homework under arm. Visual aids instead of texts for our small fry — moving pitchers from 9 till 2, where they learn little things — like how to plant a cucumber and dissect frogs. They'll simply gaze, then imitate in practice laboratories. Predictions, a bit alarming, indicate
•And MUTUAL, don't forgatl
there'll not even be penmanship lessons, no chalk talks on how to print. The kids will start strictly from the typewriter (touch system) down there in primary grades. And do sums on adding machines, divide with calculators.
Pardon me, madam. Did you say you like the old days, when it took four good hours to roast a turkey, so that the flavor dripped slowly through the dressing until the family swooned at the first taste?
You mean you didn't mind when Dad paddled off in the family Chivvy, two miles to the country club, and sat happily in BVD's at the 19th hole dressing room with the teammates and a bottle of Scotch until long after dark?
You actually liked ambling off with the kids to the neighborhood movie, bearing bags of hot popcorn and molasses kisses to chew?
You rather enjoyed Monday mornings, with Junior doing a last-minute batch of fractions during the oatmeal (15 minute variety) on the "reminder-for-grocerics" slate beside the kitchen refrigerator?
Go ahead, men of vision. Streamline the home. Streamline the school. Streamline the whole countryside. But for the luwa httle apples, leave my family life alone! It's sort of fun, the way we have it now.