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Show when Tony next door was paying only $18 a month. The two buildings were side by side, the same size, identical telling me could get a cold drink at Bills Diner next door. The diner had tables, and felt like getting off my feet for a while, so went next door, ordered a large root beer and settled into a booth near the counter. salesman was sitting The at the counter, nibbling on potato chips and drinking beer. Bill, the owner, was behind the counter drying glasses. "What does it cost to heat this joint in the winter?, asked the salesman, as if he were more interested in making conversation than selling insulation. I listened with interest to see if he would have better luck this time. Bill asked the salesman why he was interested in heating bills. If youll tell me what you are spending, I might be able to show you how to save some money," responded the salesman. "About $80 a month, but cant afford any insulation," answered Bill, guessing he was getting set up for a sales pitch. The salesman reached into his briefcase for sales material, and turned my attention back to my haogie and root beer. I didnt feel right about going back to Utah without the journals, but had already followed all my clues to dead ends, and I couldnt think of anything else to do. Out of frustration, I let my mind be drawn back to the insulation conversation between Bill and the salesman. I began to wonder why Bill was paying $80 a month to heat his building, I I construction, probably built at the I same time. Tony hadn't said anything to the salesman about having already purchased insulation. That would have been an easy way to get rid of the salesman. Perhaps Sears & Chadwick had insulated the building before Tonys father bought it. But certainly there was little need for commercial insulation at the turn of the century when coal was practically as cheap as dirt. Suddenly had an idea, too fantastic to be true, but ... gulped down the last of the root beer, wrapped the remainder of the sandwich in the waxed paper, shoved it in my pocket, and headed back over to Tonys. Another hoagie? asked Tony, as I closed the door. red-haire- LEE NELSON As the prologue continues, Dan Storm's attempts to find the old family journals. His persistence leads him to the former Sears and Chadwick building in Philadelphia: He is then great-great-grandso- n I I directed to Barbara Wharton. I felt a tinge of excitement as I . . r walked up the brick walkway, realizing it was perfectly possible for someone in this house to give me a clue to where my great grandfathers secret journals had been hidden for the last 74 years. Before I could ring the bell, the door was opened by a tall, stately, good-lookin- g woman, probaby in her middle sixties. She had a vibrant, healthy look, normally uncommon in women her age. I guessed she exercised regularly, probably tennis or jogging, and was very careful about her diet. After introducing myself, got directly to the point and told her I was looking for a manuscript that had been sent to the Sears and Chadwick Publishing Company around 1904, the year before my great grandmothers death. wasnt surprised when she gave me a blank, questioning look, like she hadnt understood what I had said. I repeated my question. "Oh, I dont think I can help you, she responded in a tone of voice that indicated a genuine concern. "So many years have come and gone. But please come in. Ill tell you everything know. She led me to an informal dining area on a partially enclosed patio. There were lots of potted plants. She asked me to be seated at an oak table with iron legs. There was a bowl of assorted nuts on the table, and she poured each of us a glass of cold apple juice before sitting down across the table from me. She explained that the old publishing house on Warsaw Street had been sold before she was born, and that the family hadn't engaged in publishing since that time. She couldn't recall having ever seen any manuscripts among family belongings. My heart sank. Her explanation seemed so final. She gave me a little background about the company, that it was partnership founded by her grandfather Henry Sears and John Chadwick in the 1830s. It had thrived until the partners became old. The sons were not able to keep the business profitable, and there was a gradual decline until 1910, when the decision was made to sell out. At first the family tried to sell the company with its equipment, copyrights, and inventories, but there were no takes. Eventually they sold the machinery to a printer across town, and the building to Tony Bentino, who opened the delicatessen and sandwich shop. I asked her about Mr. Stein, the fellow who had written to my great grandmother in 1904. She vaguely remembered him as an eccentric editor who was fired after driving one of the most successful writers to another publisher. She guessed that. Stein was probably the one responsible for losing my great grandfathers journals. Eventually there was nothing more to be said about the journals, or Sears and Chadwick. thanked Mrs. Wharton for her time and the apple juice, and left. As I walked down the path to the street, thought how foolish I had been to come all the way to Pennsylvania on such a thin bit of evidence. It occurred to me that I might try calling all the Steins in the telephone book, asking if they had any manuscripts lying around that had been removed from a floundering publishing house by an irresponsible grandfather. It was a dumb idea. I spent the night at the Y.M.C.A. It as a restless night, with visions of hoagie I I sandwiches, apple juice, brownstone apartments, and red brick mansions. Behind the Philadelphia scenes, I could see the pleading face of my grandmother, begging me not to let the family down, telling me not to come home without the journals of Dan Storm. Gripped tightly in her fist was the Stein letter, our family's first piece of real hope in 75 years that the journals had not been destroyed or lost forever. But I just couldnt think of what ought to do next. I kept thinking that I had tried, and failed. There was nothing else to do. The next day, for the lack of something better to do, I decided to see some of Philadelphias historical attractions. There was no sense in just I turning around and heading back home after I had come so far. I visited Ben Franklins house, saw the Liberty Bell and the statue of William Penn. Grandma's pleading face kept flashing before my eyes. I was miserable. About noon headed back over to Warsaw Street to Tonys Delicatessen, with nothing more in mind than to buy another hoagie sandwich. As I entered the store, Tony was busy salestrying to get rid of a man wearing bright green trousers, a blue and orange sport coat, and glasses. The man was trying to sell Tony insulation for his building, but Tony didnt want any. The salesman claimed that his insulation would save Tony at least $40 a month on his winter heating bill. Tony bent over and retrieved a tattered shoe box from under the counter. Without a word, he opened the box and handed a small piece of paper to the salesman. "Thats my January heat bill. "But its only $18. responded the surprised salesman. "And it's about half that much in the summer, said Tony with finality. "I dont need insulation! The salesman departed without another word. felt sorry for him as ordered my sandwich. Tony gave me a nod of recognition, but didn't offer any conversation as he prepared my sandI I I (Continues Next Week) I I datz.iincj v donavin Weddings Are Our Specialty! v. 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