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officers and men aboard. Among them was Rear Admiral William A. Moffett, chief of the Bureau of
Aeronautics.
Only four of the 77 were known to have been saved at 5 o'clock this morning. At that time the
wreckage of the stricken airship was out of sight in the storm and darkness from the German oil tanker
Phoebus, which first reported the catastrophe. A northwest wind blowing about 45 miles an hour was
blowing the wreckage off shore and made rescue operations doubly difficult.
No hint of the cause of the disaster was contained in the fragmentary and frequently confusing reports
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received from the Phoebus, but it was considered highly likely that the great airship was struck by
lightning.
THE NEW YORK TIMES, April 4, 1933.
- You were bound to get depressed after all that excitement, says Karl's friend. - What about some
coffee? Or would you rather I sent down for some more champagne?
He grins, making an expansive gesture.
- Name your poison!
Karl sighs and chews at his thumbnail. His eyes are hooded. He won't look at the black man.
-All right, then how can I cheer you up?
- You could fuck off, says Karl.
- Take it easy, Karl.
- You could fuck off.
- What good would that do?
- I didn't know you were interested in doing good.
- Where did you get that idea? Don't you feel more a person now than you felt before you came with me
through the door? More real?
- Maybe that's the trouble.
- You don't like reality?
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- Yes, maybe that's it.
-Well, that isn't my problem.
-No.
- It's your problem.
-Yes.
- Oh, come on now! You're starting a new life and you can't manage even a tiny smile!
- I'm not your slave, says Karl. I don't have to do everything you say.
- Who said you had to? Me? The black man laughs deridingly. - Did I say that?
-I thought that was the deal.
- Deal? Now you're being obscure. I thought you wanted some fun.
Karl is fifteen. Quite a little man now.
- Fuck off, he says. - Leave me alone.
- In my experience, the black man sits down beside him, that's what people always say when they think
they're not getting enough attention. It's a challenge, in a way. 'Leave me alone.'
- Maybe you're right.
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- Darling, I'm not often wrong. The black man once again puts his arm around Karl's shoulders. Karl is
fifteen and in his own way pretty good looking. He's dating the sweetest little tomato in the school.
- Oh, Jesus!
Karl begins to weep.
- Now that's enough of that, says his friend.
Karl was fifteen. His Mom was forty. His Dad was forty-two. His Dad had done all right for himself in
his business and just recently had become President of one of the biggest investment trusts in the nation.
He had, to celebrate, increased Karl's allowance at his fifteenth birthday and turned a blind eye when
Karl borrowed his mother's car when he went out on a date. Karl was a big boy for his age and looked
older than fifteen.
In his new tuxedo and with his hair gleaming with oil, Karl could have passed for twenty easily. That was
probably why Nancy Goldmann was so willing to let him take her out.
As they left the movie theatre (Gold Diggers of Broadway), he whistled one of the tunes from the film
while he gathered his courage together to suggest to Nancy what he had been meaning to suggest all
evening.
Nancy put her arm through his and saved him the worst part: "Where to now?" she asked.
"There's a speakeasy I know on West Fifty Six." He guided her across the street while the cars honked
on all sides. It was getting dark and the lights were coming on all down Forty Second Street. "What do
you say, Nancy?" They reached his car. It was a new Ford Coupe. His Dad had a Cadillac limousine
which he hoped to borrow by the time he was sixteen. He opened the door for Nancy.
"A speakeasy, Karl? I don't know ..." She hesitated before getting into the car. He glanced away from
her calves. His eyes would keep going to them. It was the short, fluffy skirt. You could almost see
through it.
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"Aw, come on, Nancy. Are you bored with speakeasies? Is that it?"
She laughed. "No! Will it be dangerous? Gangsters and bootleggers and shooting and stuff?"
"It'll be the dullest place in the world. But we can get a drink there." He hoped she would have a drink,
then she might do more than hold his hand and kiss him on the way home. He had only a vague idea of
what "more" meant. "If you want one, of course."
"Well, maybe just one."
He could see that Nancy was excited.
All the way up to W.56th Street she chattered beside him, talking about the movie mostly. He could tell
that she was unconsciously seeing herself as Ann Pennington. Well, he didn't mind that. He grinned to
himself as he parked the car. Taking his hat and his evening coat from the back, he walked round and
opened the door for Nancy. She really was beautiful. And she was warm.
They crossed Seventh Avenue and were nearly bowled over by a man in a straw hat who mumbled an
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