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Fantasite, v. 2, issue 4, November-December 1942
31858063099612_020
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after a while the exhilerating aroma of Janie Tucker Coffee began to wend its way up the stairs. We perked up. Then the heavenly scent of fried chicken reached us and we definitely became alive again. Tucker dragged us downstairs and took some photos out in the back yard, after which we partook of a sumptious meal. Bob had to leave for work, so we said goodbye, and prepared to leave ourselves. Janie wanted us to stay and we wanted to say, but it was essential that we be back by Tuesday, so we oozed into the StfNash once more, and backed out, waving goodbye vigorously. Russell waved so vigorously that he disjointed his arm and griped all the way back home. The jaunt to Joliet took a few hours, and we had a good time playing a game suggested by Walt, "Gorey Morey". But soon Joliet was reached and once again we bid farewell. Shedding bucketfuls of tears we drove away, with Walt's promise to get up to Minneapolis sometime ringing happily in our ears. We had a bit of motor trouble later on, about thirty miles out of Joliet, when the fan pulley-shaft froze, but the cost and time expended in repairs was negligible. Light-hearted, we stopped at a roadside tavern for beer. Manse and Ollie finally dragged me out and we got started again and sped away into the night. On and on we drove, till finally Ollie had to let me take over at the wheel. Brackney was dead to the world, despite the fact that I was singing "Giannina Mia" at the top of my voice. I was a bit sleepy myself, and when I saw it would be impossible to continue, I pulled over to the side of the road, and we slept, slept, for the first time in aeons. The next morning Manse was driving. He felt inexpressibly gay and managed to express himself at length by speeding down the most curvesome road I've ever seen. Speeding down a hill at 65 m.p.h., with an embankment on one side, thirty feet of nothing on the other, and a sharp turn at the bottom of the hill, he decided to have some fun by applying the brakes. We skidded, spun around, and went halfway down the hill broadside, then backwards, narrowly missing the edge two or three times. Fortunately, or unfortunately -- as you wish -- we managed to come through without injury. We pulled into Minneapolis Tuesday afternoon, tired, tired, tired... We had a great time. If anybody can tell us where to meet a better bunch of all-around swell people than the Mid-West gang, go right ahead -- we won't believe you anyway. Here's to bigger and better conferences. *********************************** [Image of a man dashing out of a room and running over another man. The clock is set at 12 and the image is signed Phil Bronson '42.]
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after a while the exhilerating aroma of Janie Tucker Coffee began to wend its way up the stairs. We perked up. Then the heavenly scent of fried chicken reached us and we definitely became alive again. Tucker dragged us downstairs and took some photos out in the back yard, after which we partook of a sumptious meal. Bob had to leave for work, so we said goodbye, and prepared to leave ourselves. Janie wanted us to stay and we wanted to say, but it was essential that we be back by Tuesday, so we oozed into the StfNash once more, and backed out, waving goodbye vigorously. Russell waved so vigorously that he disjointed his arm and griped all the way back home. The jaunt to Joliet took a few hours, and we had a good time playing a game suggested by Walt, "Gorey Morey". But soon Joliet was reached and once again we bid farewell. Shedding bucketfuls of tears we drove away, with Walt's promise to get up to Minneapolis sometime ringing happily in our ears. We had a bit of motor trouble later on, about thirty miles out of Joliet, when the fan pulley-shaft froze, but the cost and time expended in repairs was negligible. Light-hearted, we stopped at a roadside tavern for beer. Manse and Ollie finally dragged me out and we got started again and sped away into the night. On and on we drove, till finally Ollie had to let me take over at the wheel. Brackney was dead to the world, despite the fact that I was singing "Giannina Mia" at the top of my voice. I was a bit sleepy myself, and when I saw it would be impossible to continue, I pulled over to the side of the road, and we slept, slept, for the first time in aeons. The next morning Manse was driving. He felt inexpressibly gay and managed to express himself at length by speeding down the most curvesome road I've ever seen. Speeding down a hill at 65 m.p.h., with an embankment on one side, thirty feet of nothing on the other, and a sharp turn at the bottom of the hill, he decided to have some fun by applying the brakes. We skidded, spun around, and went halfway down the hill broadside, then backwards, narrowly missing the edge two or three times. Fortunately, or unfortunately -- as you wish -- we managed to come through without injury. We pulled into Minneapolis Tuesday afternoon, tired, tired, tired... We had a great time. If anybody can tell us where to meet a better bunch of all-around swell people than the Mid-West gang, go right ahead -- we won't believe you anyway. Here's to bigger and better conferences. *********************************** [Image of a man dashing out of a room and running over another man. The clock is set at 12 and the image is signed Phil Bronson '42.]
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