The Whole Damned Town written by Irene Bushell illustrated by Dave Meyer & Mel Owen It worried Mary the way Fred had acted lately. Yet Karl took his son's actions with the greatest complacency. "It's just his age," Karl said. "But, it's his attitude," Mary said. "He's indifferent." "Mary, the boy's nineteen." "But he's just out of high school." "That was twenty years ago. Anyway the boy needs his education. He's so irresponsible." "He'll learn." Karl ducked behind the paper and Mary played with her hands in her lap. She heard the back door bang and Fred come into the kitchen. She glanced up at him as he came into the living room. He hadn't taken off his rubbers and the new blue carpet claimed the wetness from them. "Hello," he said indifferently. Karl grunted at him, noisily turned the page while Mary asked, "Going somewhere tonight?" "Nope." Then without waiting for her further comments, he sat on the arm of the blue mohair chair and slowly eased himself into the seat. He idly kicked off his rubbers and left the chair streaked where the wet heels bumped against it. Picking up a magazine from the table, he started reading the first page -he opened. Mary didn't mean to nag at him. She didn't want to tell him to take his rubbers into the closet and to sit straight in the chair. But she said, "You left your rubbers on the new rug." The boy went on reading. "Why don't you put them in the closet," his father growled. "Why don't you remember that this is a new rug that we paid good money for?" Page Two Fred sat up straight. "Maybe it's because I have to remember too much other stuff to get home on time, to be sure to eat my lunch, to act grown up, even when you don't believe I am." He hadn't meant to say quite that many things but he wasn't going to stop now. It was time they figured this thing out. Something was always wrong with the way he acted when he was in his home. "Pick up the rubbers," Karl said. There was something about the way his father's voice sounded that made him feel cold inside, but he wasn't going to let him win this time. He was a man now. He stood up and let the magazine slide to the floor and walked out of the room. "Where are you going?" he heard his father demand. What difference did it make. He wasn't a baby any more. He picked his coat off the table and slipped his arms into it as he walked to the door. The sidewalks were still wet from the rain. Fred stepped into a puddle and the water oozed through the soles of his shoes. The trouble with his father and mother was that they always worried about little things. His mother frowned at everything lately, but his father shrugged his shoulders and said, "It's just his age." What was the matter with them? Every year since he could remember there had been something wrong with his age. "Come out of the reverie," a figure beside him said. "Hello, Phil," he said sullenly. "Where are you going?" Fred shrugged his shoulders. "Good, I'll come with you. Do you mind?" "No." They walked in silence and then Phil tried again. "Family troubles, I suppose." "And so what?" "Forget it," Phil said. "That's just the trouble," Fred said grimly. "People like you can go around and forget anything, just as long as you get your share a lion's share at that." "Now just a minute here. Explain yourself." (Continued on page 16) Page Three