| OCR Text |
Show 180 "It sounds German. Once I knew--" "Maybe it was a long time ago. Before Holland. And my ancestors {to** ikr<L to immigratedJiere over a century ago." "I immigrated two years ago." His voice was iron. "My mother's family is Irish." "Irish Catholic?" "Sort of protestant. She only goes to church on . . . very seldom. I don't go at all." "Athiest, huh?" "I was in the war, I fought the Germans! I hated the Nazis!" "It says here the Navy." He was very calm. "The Navy fought the Japs." "I was on a carrier in the Mediterranean, we had to clear the beaches to land our troops. I shot down seven Nazi planes. Bob Berger-" "Nu? What does it matter? We don't discriminate here. It's just we don't get many goys." No one seemed to want to hire a nebbish ace though, so I took a job at the Silvercup Bakery and worked there until the monotony of the job and the worse monotony of the taste of the bread got to me. Two weeks. With both Algernon and Jack from Oscar Wilde's play walking home with Amelia in the evenings, going up to her place and drinking beer, neither one letting the other go up there with her alone, and with my social life a nothing otherwise, I decided that despite my distrust of Henry Wallace I would go to parties which were raising funds for the Progressive Party, most of them in the South Side black ghetto. Ezra Posner and I went and I had a great time, especially at the dancing which with its sweaty exuberance and gaiety reminded me of the dances down at The Swamp. Often we were the only two white skins there and people even seemed to forget it. I danced with a |
