My father is sitting at the breakfast
table, his left hand raises by degrees a cup
of coffee to his lips, his right hand firmly
grips the most important part of his morning
meal-the newspaper. Suddenly, the
left hand goes sharply down, making the
china cup click as it hits the saucer, the
sports' page is enlightening this morning.
"By God, Galento's going to try it
again! Tonight at 8: 30!" My father issues
this announcement as fervently as a revival
preacher heralds the end of the World.
"Who is Galento?" says my mother
very innocently from her side of the table.
The sports' page is now dropped! My father's
eyebrows make question marks, and
he sits up, pompous and worldly-wise,
saying in a deep voice,
"Now Beth, you know who Galento is!"
"No, I do not!" My naive mama insists.
"Well, how can you live and breathe
without hearing about Galento? He's the
guy Joe beat before! Now he's got the
nerve to challenge the Brown Bomber
Thome, Betty F.
Manuscripts: Vol. 9
, Article 21.
Available at: http://digitalcommons.butler.edu/manuscripts/vol9/iss4/21