The Waterbury Democrat., 1939-10-30

an's pageant
 under wraps a
 while.
 There was a
 hot time in the
 old town while 1t
 lasted, including the summer temperature. By now, most of the visitors have returned home and the souvenir shops that mushroomed all over the city also are putting up their shutters.
 The rubberneck wagon guides are hibernating, too, thank heav- en, for 1t means that the corners will be safe for pedestrians during the winter. They used to be clut- tered up by gents who talk glibly out of the sides of their mouths and would show you Grants Tomb and Chinatown for half of your weeks salary.
 In short, the carnival excitement is over. Father Knickerbocker car loosen notch in his knee-britches now and put the toothpick back in his mouth.
 WAR, CLOUDS
 TOO OMINOUS
 My own excursions to the Fair were few-but comprehensive. The last time some of us stormed Grover Whalen's citadel, we had dinner at the Polish Restaurant just before the holocaust in Europe.
 It was not an altogether gay place that evening. The personnel most of which was imported = had 8 premonition that it all would be over soon. And it was, even before any of them could re- turn to the colorS.
 Many are stranded here, men without country
 In similarly poignant spot is the little Czechoslovakian Pavilion that carried on bravely, under 8 modest subsidy, all through the Fair. It boasted delightful res- taurant also. but after while the native cuisine ran short and so did the stock of precious, pre- Hitler Prisoner Beer.
 In the light of European events, maybe it is well that the Fair is recessing. Huge buildings can't shift with the ease of foreign poli- cies and the international sights of the Fair are in curious juxta- position. The Soviet, now lined up with Hitler, has its pavilion a pebbles throw away from Britain's imposing exhibits-and not many yards away from the Poles who have been swallowed up too by the Staliners.
 Belgium's balconied building is across the road from the terraced French Pavilion which rather symbolizes their European affinity. Italy surges loftily upward with naughty indifference to whatever is happening around her, as if she were standing pat in the Fair grounds on her neutrality. Yes, foreign exhibitors make strange Fair-fellows.
 WRONG-WAY
 PERISCOPE
 The edifice of the USSR is a costly and elaborate pile of marble, glass, granite and-even rubies. It cries out on every wall that the Russian peasant has risen from serfdom to self-estate. It seems to have been put together with meti- culouS care.
 But anyone of a cynical mind would take delight in the sight a friend of mine pointed to in a propaganda mural: a moujik peers through telescope, all wrapped up in astronomical science.
 It would have been fine picture if the telescope were not turned the wrong way! As it was, the moujik was merely getting mi- croscopic view of his profuse beard. Maybe the Soviet muralists take the same upside down view as the chief Bolshevik.
 ROxY'S RUG HAS
 CLASSY COMPANY
 The Roxy's mammoth rug in the lobby won't pass as an art treas ure. but rugs have been classed in the same category with masters paintings. A couple of decades ago, a handwoven wool rug, no larger than the size of your bath mat. went in the famous Yerkes auction, for $10,200. And levia- than silk rug passed hands for $35,000. Some rug connoisseurs pursue the trail of rare ones with the passion of art hunters and the Rockefellers. Morgans and Melons have considerable wealth tied up in rare tllin0S.