Buenos Aires had something better to talk about than war or politics—a set of bouncing quintuplets. Most amazing thing about them was that they were already eight months old when they were discovered. Said the man-on-Calle Florida: "We've beaten the Yankees. What magnificent people we are!"*
Until last week Argentina didn't know its good fortune. Then Mrs. Leila Drew, who writes a column "Mainly for Women" in the English language Buenos Aires Herald, picked up a bit of gossip. She was off like a hound for the pleasant suburb of Villa Urquiza. There the trail got hot. Tradesmen had played with the rumored quints, delivered eight bottles of milk a day to their parents' home. A drug-clerk had seen them brought in batches to be weighed on the scales of the Farmacia San Patricio. Neighbors had seen them being aired in sets of two, two and one.
Leila Drew rang the gate bell of the modernistic house at No. 1770 Calle Tronador. Inside, she passed two babies playing at a yard man's knee. She asked to see Señora Diligenti. The Señora was nervous and reluctant, but after a woman-to-woman sales talk Mrs. Drew got a look at the other three babies, in neat yellow cribs in a sunny downstairs nursery. She even had her hands on a picture of all five, when forceful Papa Diligenti (whose name means just what it looks like) came in and took it away.
Leila streaked back to her editor, who was skeptical. The Herald sat on the story four days, trying to check its accuracy. Then it ran the story on the back page, with plenty of hedging. By noon a horde of reporters besieged the once-calm Diligenti house. Cried Papa Diligenti: "I've kissed peace good-by forever."
Delfino v. Dafoe. Last July the prosperous Diligentis were vacationing in a fashionable resort in the Córdoba Hills, 400 miles from Buenos Aires. The Señora, who was expecting, came down to Buenos Aires for a routine check-up by slender, capable Midwife Ana Delfino. Her personal calculations allowed her 20 days, but the midwife knew better, put her to bed at once in her own house. At 9 a.m. on July 15, 1943, little Franco arrived, followed at 20-minute intervals by María Fernanda, Carlos Alberto, and María Ester. María Cristina, the last and smallest, appeared an hour later. Each baby weighed about one kilogram (2.2 lb.).*
Midwife Delfino wrapped the babies in cotton wool, bedded them down with hot-water bottles. There was no miraculous Dr. Dafoe, hardly any trouble. Papa Diligenti hurried back from Córdoba. After five days he took the mother and three of the babies home, the others two days later. Remembering the Dionne circus with horror, he swore the midwife to secrecy. Says Midwife Delfino: "I am a mother myself, and I swore on the lives of my children. . . ."