stadium.”
“Get a cup of coffee and relax,” Shaw said, pointing his pipe to the coffee urns. “The train tunnels out to New Jersey are flooded. I’ll be spending the night here.”
“Dr. Shaw!” boomed from one of the miscreants at the pool table. “Want to play a rack?”
“Maybe later,” Shaw answered with a wave of his pipe. He was one of the few faculty members who ventured into the student union. His ability to handle a cue stick against the ivory balls as well as to the side of a human skull was honed in the hardscrabble section of Manhattan known as Hell’s Kitchen, “when I get the urge to whip your ass.”
Paul and Sarah helped themselves to coffee and settled down on the unoccupied sofa to Shaw’s left. Sarah, shivering in her wet clothes, sipped the hot coffee. She removed her only pair of dress pumps. “Dr. Shaw, are you finished reading the paper?” she asked. A disheveled edition of
The Daily News
lay on the couch next to the professor.
“Not mine,” Shaw said, wrinkling his nose at the notion that he’d read the tabloid. He handed her the paper.
Sarah stuffed two sheets of newspaper into each shoe in an attempt to dry them out.
It was 2:15, and it was obvious that the storm had developed into a hurricane of a magnitude not seen in the history of the United States Weather Bureau. Shaw flinched and turned ghostly pale as a metal trashcan slammed into the brick façade above the lounge windows overlooking a small courtyard. The few trees growing in the courtyard were pruned of their branches by the howling winds.
The storm played havoc with reception as static drowned out the NBC announcer. After a few minutes, NBC went off the air. Shaw tuned the radio to CBS. “CBS put up an experimental antenna on top of the Empire State Building,” he explained. The announcer came in loud and clear. “The other stations coming out of the Jersey meadowlands must be swamped.”
A couple of the snoozers and readers ventured over to listen to the storm updates. The hurricane moving northward had killed 250 in Connecticut. The death toll from the killer storm was expected to rise to 700. Thousands were injured, more than 63,000 left homeless with property damage estimated at $382 million.
“And that’s the good news,” Shaw said as he limped to the kiosk to pour another cup of coffee. “Ed Murrow and Bill Shirer will be on the air from Europe. I hope we’ll be able to hear them.”
All eyes followed Shaw as he walked back to the couch. “There’s a storm blowingthrough our neck of the woods now,” he said in a controlled bellow, “but a storm is ready to move through Europe, a storm that will affect the continent and work its way to the United States.”
Shirer reported from Prague that a deal had been brokered by the British Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain: The Germans would occupy the Sudeten part of the country the next day. The mood in the city was one of utter disbelief. The man on the street couldn’t fathom how the British had capitulated on the issue, and the French followed suit. It came as no surprise. Three days prior, Chamberlain said, “If we have to fight, it must be on larger issues than this.”
From London, Murrow reported that Chamberlain proclaimed the pact with Hitler was “a peace with honor, I believe it is peace for our time.”
The room fell into silence as Shaw limped to the kiosk with his coffee cup and shut off the radio. He rested an elbow on the counter. “Mr. Cohen. What do you think about the British and French giving Germany a free hand?”
Staring at the floor, Dave looked up. “Hitler judged the French and the British correctly. They didn’t act two years ago when he occupied the Ruhr.”
“You Americans don’t appreciate the European experience,” a voice from behind them said in a British accent.
Shaw took a sip from his cup as he looked at the tall and lanky Britt with fire engine red hair. “Don’t be a stranger.” He pointed to
“Get a cup of coffee and relax,” Shaw said, pointing his pipe to the coffee urns. “The train tunnels out to New Jersey are flooded. I’ll be spending the night here.”
“Dr. Shaw!” boomed from one of the miscreants at the pool table. “Want to play a rack?”
“Maybe later,” Shaw answered with a wave of his pipe. He was one of the few faculty members who ventured into the student union. His ability to handle a cue stick against the ivory balls as well as to the side of a human skull was honed in the hardscrabble section of Manhattan known as Hell’s Kitchen, “when I get the urge to whip your ass.”
Paul and Sarah helped themselves to coffee and settled down on the unoccupied sofa to Shaw’s left. Sarah, shivering in her wet clothes, sipped the hot coffee. She removed her only pair of dress pumps. “Dr. Shaw, are you finished reading the paper?” she asked. A disheveled edition of
The Daily News
lay on the couch next to the professor.
“Not mine,” Shaw said, wrinkling his nose at the notion that he’d read the tabloid. He handed her the paper.
Sarah stuffed two sheets of newspaper into each shoe in an attempt to dry them out.
It was 2:15, and it was obvious that the storm had developed into a hurricane of a magnitude not seen in the history of the United States Weather Bureau. Shaw flinched and turned ghostly pale as a metal trashcan slammed into the brick façade above the lounge windows overlooking a small courtyard. The few trees growing in the courtyard were pruned of their branches by the howling winds.
The storm played havoc with reception as static drowned out the NBC announcer. After a few minutes, NBC went off the air. Shaw tuned the radio to CBS. “CBS put up an experimental antenna on top of the Empire State Building,” he explained. The announcer came in loud and clear. “The other stations coming out of the Jersey meadowlands must be swamped.”
A couple of the snoozers and readers ventured over to listen to the storm updates. The hurricane moving northward had killed 250 in Connecticut. The death toll from the killer storm was expected to rise to 700. Thousands were injured, more than 63,000 left homeless with property damage estimated at $382 million.
“And that’s the good news,” Shaw said as he limped to the kiosk to pour another cup of coffee. “Ed Murrow and Bill Shirer will be on the air from Europe. I hope we’ll be able to hear them.”
All eyes followed Shaw as he walked back to the couch. “There’s a storm blowingthrough our neck of the woods now,” he said in a controlled bellow, “but a storm is ready to move through Europe, a storm that will affect the continent and work its way to the United States.”
Shirer reported from Prague that a deal had been brokered by the British Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain: The Germans would occupy the Sudeten part of the country the next day. The mood in the city was one of utter disbelief. The man on the street couldn’t fathom how the British had capitulated on the issue, and the French followed suit. It came as no surprise. Three days prior, Chamberlain said, “If we have to fight, it must be on larger issues than this.”
From London, Murrow reported that Chamberlain proclaimed the pact with Hitler was “a peace with honor, I believe it is peace for our time.”
The room fell into silence as Shaw limped to the kiosk with his coffee cup and shut off the radio. He rested an elbow on the counter. “Mr. Cohen. What do you think about the British and French giving Germany a free hand?”
Staring at the floor, Dave looked up. “Hitler judged the French and the British correctly. They didn’t act two years ago when he occupied the Ruhr.”
“You Americans don’t appreciate the European experience,” a voice from behind them said in a British accent.
Shaw took a sip from his cup as he looked at the tall and lanky Britt with fire engine red hair. “Don’t be a stranger.” He pointed to
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