But I remember even then thinking and fearing that we’d come to a day when we too, we rich rich rich Americans, would pay for this mortal sin of waste. We’ve always thought that there was no end to our plenty, that the horn would never dry up. Already I seem to hear the menacing rumblings, like a long-starved stomach. But in Naples in August, 1944, we were on the crest of the wave. We? We were Americans, from the best little old country on God’s green earth. And if you don’t believe me, mister, I’ll knock your teeth in. . . .
