Evening star., 1942-02-18


better knowledge
Henry MeLemore. Of husbands, q
more accurate gauge on their feel
ings, than Husband McLemore.
When I get to a new town I sta
ton myself on a prominent corner
and talk to husbands as they pass
by. 1t isn't hard to detect hus-
band. They are as different from
bachelors as wine is from water,
hens are from eagles, Gen. johnson
from Pollyanna. They walk differ
emily. they talk differently and they
have a serious cast of mien that
Immediately sets them apart from
the men who have never tripped
down the narrow aisle with a gal
who promised to love, honor and
run the house.
The first San Francisco husband
I met had a bandaged hand.
Whats the matter, old fellow"
asked.
Burned myself" he answered.
Then he unburdened himself.
The war had hit his home and when
something hits the home 1t hits
the husband. His wife, looking
toward a uniform that would make
her look better than any dress she
had ever owned, had turned super
patriotic. All of sudden she had
become combination Betsy Ross,
Molly Pitcher and the Star Spangled
Banner. Nothing must be bought
that the Government needed. With
the burning Of a piece of toast she
had decided that from now on all
the aluminium, tin, copper, rubber,
steel, silk, wool and cotton in the
place must last until the last Jap
had been subdued and Hitler was
chopping wood $50 help me, that's
what the nice nations will do with
the fiend when victory comes).
"She told me to repair the ironing
board cord" the San Francisco hus-
band told me. Rubber and copper
were precious, she said, and I must
do my Bit"
With his bandaged hand he went
through the gruesome gestures Of
showing how an ironing board cord
is repaired. No heroics, mind you.
With all the quiet understatement
Of the English (even those who let
the German battleships escape under
their noses he told Of the agoniz-
ing experience He fastened a bit
here, bit there. and there was a
flash. Sparks had at him like
sharks. Fuses blew out all over the
house. There was darkness, save
for the glare from his own burning.
The ironing board went up in smoke.
The iron itself capsized and turned
its ruined keel toward the ceiling.
His wife sprained her ankle escap-
ing from this domestic Scapa Flow.
The children made out of the back
door just in time and are now
refugees in a neighborhood home.
"By strict economy, by super
thrift" the husband told me, I'll
be able to get back on my feet and
buy new iron and ironing board
within six months"
Another husband passed. He
limped. He had been told to fix a
garden hose. The nozzle had
attacked him as If it had been a
lawn cobra. Another bandaged hus-
band came by. He had been driven
to repairing girdle. His hand was
full of zippers. He sighed and
passed on.
There was the husband who had
hurt himself trying to get into his
own home. 1t seems that without
warning his wife had converted
the nursery into a storeroom for all
the articles affected by priorities.
He entered the nursery with full
confidence. Using the steps and
routes which had carried him safely
through the place for years, despite
no lights, he found himself in a
maze of aluminium pots, copper
kettles, wool and silk dresses, slips
and petticoats. Everything, in fact,
that his wife figured would be useful
in case of a siege by the enemy.
The pulmotor squad saved him by
valorous work. What is happening
to husbands in San Francisco un-
doubtedly is happening to husbands
ali over the country. Eventually a
solution must be found to save the
one who thinks he is the head of the
house from the one who really is.
Distributed BY McNaught Syndicate. Inc.)