WE'RE-HUSBANDING OUR I STRENGTH
Sometimes
you have to
hold on
Linda can't stand alone be
cause she was born with a mal
formed spine and her legs don't
work very well. The March of
Dimes will help children like
Linda, crippled by such birth
defects and by polio and arthri
tis. They all need your help.
'fir "" " rfTTn
BRAND NAMES FOUNDATION
437 Fifth Avenue. New Yurh 16. N. V
VImMo Plodltai
Cover: Photo by Peter latch.
Pages 4, S I 4: Pit, Zinn Arthur.
Page 10: Chicago Historical Society.
Page 14: Wid. World.
Page IS: U. P. I., Wld. World.
by Dick Emmons
IF I can believe the calendar on my kitchen wall (and
these days you have to believe in something), it won't
be long until the horns come out and 1959 comes in.
That means you fellows haven't much time left in
which to draw up your list oE resolutions. Tough!
Now if you belonged to the Ardmoor Avenue Hus
bands Self-Preservation Society, as I do, you'd have
your work all finished.
I called an emergency secret meeting of the group in
my garage the other night, and it was an inspiring
experience. The fellows gathered tensely, the candle-,
light reflecting eerily off my collection of old license
plates, to take concerted action for the year ahead.
"Gentlemen," I said hoarsely (after the last husband
had given the countersign Economy Forever and been
admitted), "a frightening New Year is almost upon us.
Nineteen fifty-nine will be either a year of united de
fense against drains on our income or "
"Financial ruin," Fred Phelps glumly finished for me.
My voice dropped. "As we all know, 1958 will go
down in the annals of Ardmoor Avenue as the year of
the automatic dishwasher debacle."
"Charley started it!" an accusing voice snapped.
"Now there isn't a house on the street without one,"
another added grimly.
Charley sprang to his feet, flushed and excited. "I
bought Gladys a dishwasher in self-defense!" he shouted.
"She saw Sally Phelps' wall-to-wall carpeting, and it
was either the $300 dishwasher or a $1,000 rug Job!"
There were audible groans when the Phelps" carpet
ing was mentioned.
"Gentlemen," I pleaded. "I know it's been difficult for
all of us. But recrimination won't help. My point is that
with the Christmas bills dead ahead of us, we must
open an effective holding action."
"Hear, hear!" someone cried.
I smiled. "I suggest you repeat this pledge after me:
'I, (then insert your name), being a grown man of free
will and head of my household, do hereby promise that
I will not knowingly or willingly approve the expendi
ture of funds for furniture or other home appurtenances
in the year 1959 without first obtaining the unanimous
consent of this association.'"
I saw Fred Phelps' lower lip tremble. "Does that
include electric frying pans?" he gulped. "I already told
Sally she could have one if she lets me get my tennis
racket restrung." He looked around worriedly.
Hostile eyes met his. Then Jim Bradbury leaped to his
feet. "I can get Fred an electric frying pan. at cost
through a guy I know!" he' announced. "It won't go more
than 10 bucks!"
A cheer rang through the garage and suddenly every
one was pumping Jim's hand and patting Fred's back.
There was wetness in Fred's eyes when he finally
gained the floor. "Thanks, fellows," he choked.
We spent the rest of the meeting drawing up our
1959 resolutions. They go like this:
1. No man shall spend more than $10 on a household
item without the group's prior consent.
2. However, if such an expenditure becomes necessary,
he will arrange to have the item delivered after dark.
3. Any man who willfully breaks the rules shall auto
matically be dropped from club membership, become
ineligible for participation in car pools, and be refused
loans (monetary or garden implement).
4. No wife shall ever learn of this solemn pact.
5. If it works, we'll do it again for 1960.
. . . helix), new yeah. Are you wait
ing for me?
There is crimson at your throat and
a cloud around your head. Are these
an omen for me? And is it good or bad?
This is the time to put away re
membrance and wear expectation like
a new coat. This is the time to begin
and the time to forget.
What have you begun for me, New
Year? What is hidden in your morning
and concealed behind your eyes? Am I
on the threshold of ecstasy or tragedy?
Don't tell me. Let me live you out.
Let me laugh, New Year. Let me
love. Let me cry if I must and comfort
me then with the pendulum of time.
Give me no more heartache than I
can bear and, if it must be more, give
me the hours and days and weeks to
learn endurance.
Give me more happiness than I
anticipate, for I am hungry for it. And,
if I find it now in your first morning,
let me find it also in your last night.
You may be a year with fire in you.
Or ashes. You may be a year of light.
Or darkness.
But give me the peace of you, New
Year, and the relativity of your calen
dar. Let the moments I cherish linger
with me like a sigh and let the hours
I suffer of you pass as swift as passion
passes when love is done.
I am a little afraid of you, New Year,
a little enamored of you. You are a
promise and a threat. And, if you
destroy the past, give me the future.
For I must cling to something, even
if it should be only what lies beyond.
Hello, New Year. Are you waiting?
Take me.
WeeJtty
December IS. 195$
LEONARD S. DAVIDOW Pretidetit and PsiblUher
WAITER C. OREYFUS VIce-fYeaident
PATRICK O'ROURKE Adoerttling Director
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