Shuh-CA-go, Shuh-CA-go, That toddling town, toddling town, Shuh-CA-go, Shuh-CA-go, I'll show you around . . .
Rare is the man who has gone home from a Chicago convention without some choice memento locked in his suitcase of memories. For one middle-aged Texas oilman recently, it was the long, goose-pimpled wait for a rendezvous with a $50 floozy in a plum-colored parlor; for a life-insurance salesman from New Jersey, it was a harmless evening in an elegant and naughty North-Side Key Club; for a mackinawed Dakota farmer back in 1906, it was...
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