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CHICAGO J!eHer
by NORT JONATHAN
PITY the poor commuter! No matter how many streamlined trains the railroads proudly put on the rails to snare the buck of the cross-country traveler, the guy who commutes between Chicago and South Burlap every morning and night has to put up with the same old antiquated equipment and haphazard service. Some of the cars used in commuter service look as though they had originally been a part of Lincoln's funeral train.
Your Windy City commuter must put up with this sort of thing unless he is fortunate enough to live near the Illinois Central railroad, which is the only road operating new cars on fast, frequent, and clean trains. The IC is electrified, too, and seems to feel that even commuters have some rights and are entitled to a seat at least a couple of times a week.
However, the Burlington, Northwestern, and Rock Island all proceed on the theory that the commuter should be discouraged from traveling at all. During the summer months their tired cars, with all windows tightly closed, fry in the switch yards until the temperature inside gets up to around 120 degrees. Then their battered engines push them into the station, where the commuters are jammed aboard to stew until departure time — which may be anywhere from ten minutes to half an hour after the time advertised on what is laughingly known as the suburban timetable. When air finally does reach the groggy passengers black coal smoke and cinders come right along with it.
The winter story is the reverse, of course, but just as uncomfortable. After November first the cars become rolling refrigerators. There are long, freezing waits on unprotected suburban platforms for trains that show up long after the scheduled hour. In really bad weather some trains don't bother to show up at all.
The Chicago commuter pays well to endure this torture. His ticket continues to advance in price, with the railroad?
seeming to feel that he has no rights at all. It is highly likely that even Robert Young himself couldn't get the North' western railroad's brass hats to install electric lights in some of their more archaic cars. Those gas lamps will be with us until the cars, like the wonderful one boss shay, finally fall apart. The trouble is, the com' muters are likely to fall apart first, o • •
Sheila John Daly, who is the Chicago Tribune's teen-age columnist, has written a book which will solve many an entertain' ment problem. It's her second book in about two years, and has the appropriate title Party Fun. If you're at a loss to know what to do when the teen-age crowd descends on your mansion. Party Fun has plenty of clever answers to help you en' tertain your teen-age son or daughter's high school friends.
Sheila Daly is the youngest of Chicago's four fabulous Daly sisters. Maureen, who wrote the best-selling novel Seventeenth Summer when she wasn't much older than that herself, is an associate editor on the staff of the Ladies Home Journal. Kay, who is in her twenties, is a highly paid expert on what milady will want to wear next season if her husband is still solvent. Marguerite is one of Chicago's best fashion models, and is the mother of young Brigid — who threatens to surpass her talented aunts. In fact there is a current rumor on Chicago's Literary Lane that even now Brigid is at work on the Great American Novel.