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I tramped down Superior Street in a light snowfall in December 1945, listening to snow crunch under my galoshes, the faint, tinkly sound of silver bells in the distance. I passed Salvation Army volunteers on street corners soliciting contributions from shoppers. Moving along, I noticed the people. They acted differently. I could sense it. On the street, in the market, in the stores, throughout the neighborhood and the city smiles were wider, handshakes firmer, pats on the back heartfelt, greetings spirited and friendly. It was sudden and dramatic like the first snowflakes of winter. School was out for two weeks even brothers and sisters were tolerant of one another.
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