The Studs Lonigan Trilogy - James T. Farrell [275]
MUSSOLINI REVIEWS BOY SCOUTS AT WAR GAMES
“And now, travelling to sunny Italy, the land of the olive and Il Duce, we see Italian Boy Scouts in war maneuvers.”
A band of black-shirted boys of twelve and thirteen, wearing shorts and carrying wooden rifles like soldiers, marched along a road singing the Fascist anthem, Giovinezza. The scene quickly changed, and the boys were shown charging through a weedy field toward enemy trenches.
“And now for the reward, parading before Il Duce himself.”
Mussolini, in military uniform, stood stern-faced on a reviewing stand, returning a stiff Fascist salute to the boys marching in ranks below him.
“Bravo, says II Duce, because he knows that they will some day grow up disciplined to fight and die for him and for Italy.”
A hiss sounded from the rear of the main floor, and Studs wondered what the damn fool was hissing for. Mussolini couldn’t hear it.
...BEAUTY CONTEST
“Girls and more girls and more girls from all over America and from six foreign countries entered this Beauty Contest in New York to determine the most perfect girl in the Universe. And Oh! Oh! is there pulchritude here!”
“Oh, mama!” Ike muttered at the view of girls in bathing suits marching slowly around an arc-lighted platform, with strips of lettered ribbon slanting across their chests.
“Control yourself, simp,” Pat said.
“And here’s Miss Estelle Cavendish, the winner.”
A close shot revealed Miss Estelle Cavendish, dark-haired, seductive, her grayish bathing suit bringing out her brassiered breasts and her figure.
“She’d pass in a crowd,” Studs whispered, he and Pat smiling.
“I consider it a great honor to be the winner of this contest to determine the most perfect girl in the universe, and I am very proud... and I’m glad,” Miss Estelle Cavendish said from the screen in a cooing voice, a coy smile revealing her even white teeth.
“Thank you, Estelle, and so are we,” said the announcer.
ANNUAL FETE IN SPANISH VILLAGE
“There may be wars or rumors of wars, depressions and troubles and heartaches in other parts of the world, but sunny peaceful old Spain is still the same. For centuries, these Spanish peasants have celebrated their annual winter fete.”
Spanish peasants, in local costumes, danced folk dances on a narrow, cobble-stoned street, accompanied by the sound recordings of their songs and music.
“And look at this gay caballero twanging his guitar to his fair Juliet. H’m, wouldn’t plenty of our American sheiks be jealous,” the announcer said while a mustached young Spanish peasant played his guitar in the shadow of the balcony.
“Romance lives in old Spain.”
“I’d like to be there,” Studs said.
“Me, too. Spanish broads are hot,” Pat added.
WINNER IN NOVELTY ENDURANCE CONTEST
“And a new world’s champion is crowned. Oscar Albert McGonigle wins peanut race for a five-hundred-dollar prize.”
Six men, on their hands and knees, rolled peanuts along a cement road with their noses, followed by an amused crowd of spectators.
“The world’s sure full of clowns,” Studs said, as laughter broke over the theater.
“Hell, he got five hundred dollars for it. That’s not so dumb,” Pat muttered.
“And now, let us listen to Oscar Albert McGonigle tell how he won!”
The audience roared at the close-up of an adenoidal blond young man in his middle twenties with a raw scraped nose.
“I’m certainly glad to be the winner in this race,” he said, nasal-voiced, “and it was sure a hard one. When I entered it, I said to myself Oscar you got to win, you got to win. My mother, she said to me, `Oscar you haven’t a long enough nose to win,’ and I said, `Maw, you wait and see.’ Well, I won, and it was a hard race, and I’m sure the happiest man in the world today.”
BUSINESS LEADER PREDICTS BETTER TIMES AFTER VISIT
TO WHITE HOUSE. OSCAR VAN GILBERT, BANKER, IN INTERVIEW
A stout, puffy, bald-headed man sat at a desk and mechanically read from a paper.
“A business depression is a reaction. For every action,