The Pittsburgh Press (February 25, 1942)
Rambling Reporter
By Ernie Pyle
MENLO PARK, California – Frank Terramorse is a foresighted man. He is ready for the World War to descend in person on his doorstep at any moment. Let it come, he is ready.
I told you in the preceding column how he had his roof fixed up with catwalks and tanks of water and sand and axes and everything. Well, today we’ll finish it.
In the Terramorse living room the piano has been moved from its usual place to the opposite wall, to bulwark that wall against concussion. And where the piano used to stand now reposes in weighty grandeur a mighty table, wide and high, with legs made of six-by-sixes.
This is for Mrs. Terramorse and their son Drew to sleep under when the raiding starts. They’ve had their instructions from Mr. Terramorse, and no violation will be tolerated. Furthermore, they must take to bed with them every night the pick and ax which stand by the fireplace, and the new 30-30 rifle. (Drew proudly brought the rifle out for me, and Mrs. Terramorse shuddered and said, “I sure hope I never have to shoot it.”)
In the Terramorse dining room stands a weird-looking vehicle on rubber wheels. Mr. Terramorse made it himself. It is really a low, movable platform. On it are the following things:
All the blackout plyboards for the whole house; a complete first-aid kit, big as a suitcase; two large fire extinguishers; two hard hats, the kind soldiers wear; two gas masks; two kerosene lanterns; a coil of rope, a bucket of sand, and various other tools of defense too numerous to mention, as the cliche goes. The only thing I missed was a machine gun.
He can laugh at shortages
All that is for defense against bombing, and has been done since the war started.
But as I said, Mr. Terramorse is a foresighted man, so listen to what he did before the war. Most of what follows was done nearly a year ago.
He traded in both cars on new ones last spring. He has extra sets of radiator and heater tubing, and extra fan belts. He has figured the entire Terramorse motoring situation down to the last kilometer. He intends to be still a traveling salesman, and by auto, when the war ends.
“Of course,” he says, “if they decide I’d be more good putting rivets into an airplane, well that’s all right, too.”
Unless the science of mathematics is a fake, Mr. Terramorse can’t lose on transportation. He’s got it all figured out by miles, gallons, thickness of tread and ratio of octane, for years ahead. The war can’t possibly last as long as Mr. Terramorse is prepared for.
He figures that by using his wife’s ration of gasoline, recapping his tires three times and turning corners more slowly, their present cars will last until he is 72 years old and will give 180,000 miles, or until he’s 92 and is getting 30,000 miles to the gallon – oh forget it, I’m all mixed up. But anyhow, Frank Terramorse isn’t going to be caught.
Stocks away food, clothing
Furthermore, three new bicycles stand in the garage, and the whole family cycles now Instead of driving around town on errands. Mrs. Terramorse’s car is seldom out of the garage. And his car does not move an inch from Friday evening until he hits the road again on Monday.
Also last spring Mr. Terramorse got everything new for the house – new refrigerator, new stove, new washer, extra parts for everything, even some new furniture. He saw all this coming.
They are beautifully stocked up on food. too. Mr. Terramorse says he is not a hoarder, for he is not hiding anything. If the Government should want it, it’s theirs. And further, he bought it all long before there was a scare about any shortages at all.
Mr. Terramorse’s hobby is cooking. He likes to make exotic Latin dishes, which require lots of pure olive oil. He has gallons of that stacked away. They have canned goods, too, and more soap than you ever saw outside a grocery.
Every clothes closet in the house is stacked full of stuff. On shelves and behind curtains you will find it – in the kitchen, the bedroom, the pantry, the shed, the garage.
Preparation has become a hobby with Mr. Terramorse. He even does it for other people. For example, he has a friend who rolls his own cigarettes, with a certain kind of brown straw paper. This paper is getting scarce. So Mr. Terramorse said he’d keep his eye open.
Mr. Terramorse did. He covered half his territory, and came home with 90,000 cigarette papers.
Mr. Terramorse is not apologetic about his preparedness idiosyncrasy. He is proud of it, and wishes other people would copy him. Nobody in his own neighborhood has.
“All they do is laugh at us,” he says. “But I don’t care. I’ve always been different anyhow. It doesn’t worry me any.”
As I drove away, the Terramorses stood and shouted for me to drop in and see them again the next time I passed. I said all right, I would, in case they hadn’t been bombed out, burned or starved to death.