The Future of Housing:
The new Lustron House, made of enameled steel, will be changed each year to provide a new model -- just like automobiles.
Scene -- the steel breakfast booth of an enameled steel house of the future. Harry, a rather haggard-looking businessman, is attempting to read the morning news as it emerges from the radiopress on the table. His wife, Beth, has an alert, intent look.
BETH: And it has an eight inch band of chrome under the picture window.
HARRY: Huh? What?
BETH: The Robinson's new house. It was delivered yesterday afternoon. It's beautiful. Three extra built-in bookshelves in the living room, a more efficient photo-electric eye on the garage doors. This house is definitely shabby, dear.
HARRY: Shabby? We've had it just two years now!
BETH: But it looks so outmoded. The chrome trim is so narrow, and people sneer when they see that we have to open the front door by hand. It's the oldest house on this street.
HARRY: I like it. I'm use to it. Besides, you know the Robinsons. Every time they have a party, they trade their house in the next day.
BETH: I've got the catalogs of the new ones, dear.
HARRY: This house runs all right and the paint job isn't too bad yet.
BETH: But the lines, darling! The lines!
HARRY: Hah! We should have kept the one we had before this one. I passed it on the street full of used houses the other day. It still looks fine.
BETH: (with a mind sneer) Now you're joking, Harry. My goodness, we couldn't be seen in an old model like that!
HARRY: (with a shrug) Some people still live in handmade houses built of wood.
BETH: And some people still drive around with horses.
HARRY: (sighing as he gets to his feet) Okay. Long as you have your heart set on it. Call up the Grinning Armenian and trade it in, but I don't want to come home tonight and have to wait around for all the bolts to be tightened on the foundation. And don't leave any of my pipes or anything in this one.
BETH: (throwing her arms around him) My generous darling!
The Unarmed Forces:
The latest act in the perpetual Gilbert and Sullivan operetta playing to SRO houses in our nation's capital is a bit more ludicrous than usual.
After much flexing of biceps regarding the unification of the armed forces and the need for preparedness, we find that the Congress, despairing of getting a firm and resolute answer on the needs of the armed forces from the armed forces themselves, is going ahead and deciding how many air groups are necessary.
That is much like the Board of Directors of the Twentieth Century Boxing Association telling Joe Lewis exactly how many left hooks he will require in this year's title bout -- Joe being unable to make up his mind.
One would suspect that with all the high priced talent in the War Department, all the planners and all the fillers-out of myriad forms, they would be able to make some firm statement of needs, rather than delegate the determination of requirements to a group who can never be on more than an amateur status.
At any rate, certain spice is being added to the Washington drama by the new head of the Marshall Plan. That gentleman, in an unprecedented moment of sanity, has raised a question about the merits of sending one billion dollars worth of cigarettes to Europe during the next four years. He seems dubious also about the merits of sending mechanized farm equipment into places were there is no distribution of gasoline.
It is fervently hoped that this gentleman has such a high resistance factor that he will not become infected by the type of Alice in Wonderland thinking which was originally responsible for the inclusion of mechanized equipment for the European peasants which would be as readily understood and operated as would be an equivalent number of cyclotrons.
As long as we are trying to buy international peace, it is well to have a sane and steady hand on the purse strings.
The Marshall Plan as yet includes no coal for Newcastle. Probably an oversight.
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