The Waterbury Democrat., 1933-10-10
-In- .Nez0 York
BY PAUL HARRISON

nL GAOA 1kfAktkthSON
 New York.-There's a hint of autumn in the air, evinced mostly In the ebullient football spirit, which even strikes Broadway and the ticket scalpers' offices, and in window displays of furs and heavy underwear and woolly baby-cloth- es and such.
 Having no wood to chop for the winter, nor corn to husk, orchards to worry about on frosty nights, or flocks to shelter from tho blast. New Workers scarcely try to keep up with the season. When nights get chill, they take in the geran- ium, put a blanket on the Scottio, and that's that.
 Anyone with a nostalgia
 feeling for red and golden .'' leaves gay overhead and
 crunchy underfoot can jour
 ney into Jersey or lope out to
 Long Island. He won't find
 gay leaves in Manhattan,
 though - even in the parks.
 Dusty and dispirited, they
 merely droop and die. Don't
 even smell right when they're
 finally gathered up and
 burned.
 Here and there about the city, though, October does leave its sign. Flower peddlers arc offer ing punches of bittersweet, and sprigs of bayberry <. Hokey- pokey men are remodeling their Ice cream and lemonade wagons to accommodate hot dogs and steam ing sauerkraut instead, and some. times roasted chestnuts Fur niture vans clutter the curbs in front of every apartment building, for this is the moving month for thousands of Nomadic New York; CTS.
 New fall books are being
 launched at gabbling literary
 teas The theatrical sea-
 son has ripened to the degree
 where critics feel competent
 to estimate the harvest
 And In the side streets small
 boys with skinned elbows and
 bleeding shins are playing
 football on the asphalt.
 Cathedral chimes arc clearer on the crisp evening air, and the whistles of departing liners, seem to be the only sonorously lazy sounds in the city's quickening tempo They're also barometers to the trained urban ear, for a blurred and throaty timbre borne on the cast wind means an autumn rain Certain odors are fraught with warning too. Workers m Wall street can foretell a storm q day in advance when the aroma of coffee rom the warehouses along tho East river is stronger than usual and when the resi- dents of upper Fifth avenue around Carnegie Hall. wrinkle | their patrlclan noses at the odor of new beer. 1t means that an eas; wind with rain in its wake Is sweeping over the venerable brew. cries of Yorkvillc. Those Modest Playwrights Moandernigs: While the first of his two new plays was being launched by the Thcater Guild. Flu gene O'Neii stayed at home an9 read book. He has never watched ono of his plays first nights. anu seldom even n second.
 Many another author Is similar ly rcticent, or superstitious, or whatever 1t is. Robert Sherwood never goes, but sends his wife in- stead Jed Harris stays away. plays solitaire and gets reports by telephone Ben Hccht and owen Davis dodge their openings too Davis usually goes to some other play instead ..
 Something in a Name
 On the window of Il store, GOT some sort of establishments. oi the lower cast side Is the word "NOOLAS". People who read it backward are at liberty to draw their own conclusions Green wich Village poets and artists scarcely can afford to lounge In the candle. lighted basement tea rooms and atmospheric little cafct of the district. So now they go to a big cafeteria in Sheridan Squar, and sit all afternoon over q cup oi co; fec, Tho management doesn't mind, for other customers like to listen to the wild -haircd. scraggly- bearded geniuscs
 one of tho oldest jobs Is that of lone o'clock man. for movlt theatcrs. One o'clock in the after noon Is the tlme when admission prices go up. and patrons oftci complain bitterly that they wer' in line early but reached the box office after tho headline. So each | theater fOrestalls tho chiselors by sending out man to hop into lint at exactly one o'clock. Those if front of him, no matter how Ions the line, are admitted at morning prices. But when he reaches tn.