§ 211 The Curfew in Nebraska
Of course, in these days, when no community is so small or so obscure or so old-fashioned that it lacks service stations and jazz orchestras and schemes for a proposed Civic Center, this story no longer could be made to apply in any American town.
As the tale runs, a man who had been born and reared in a remote Nebraska country-seat moved to New York where he succeeded in business. Years later a friend from his former home came to see him. Naturally, talk drifted back to childhood scenes and memories.
“I guess the old town hasn’t changed much, has it, Jim?” asked the New Yorker.
“Not much,” said Jim. “She’s pretty much the same.”
“I presume they still blow the curfew whistle at nine o’clock every night just as they started to do shortly before I moved East?”
“Naw, they had to quit that after a few months. It woke everybody up!”