Corn cribs, set up on street corners in small Kansas towns, bulged with old phonograph records. Men in overalls, streaming through factory gates in Indianapolis, dropped records into barrels. Open-mouthed caricatures of Hitler, Mussolini and Hirohito on Manhattan's Times Square made inviting receptacles to throw discs into. From Maine to California 1,500,000 members of the American Legion and the women's American Legion Auxiliary rang doorbells, telephoned, dashed about in cars and trucks. Out from attics, cellars, closets came dusty black records, bearing such nostalgic labels as Dardanella, Barney Google, Cohen on...
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