Show Summer Stories some are not By DES BARKER Nostalgia struck me the other day while I was waiting for a bus on As I sat on a bench in the 1 recalled the days when 1 stood on the same corner waiting for a yes though dilapidated conveyance some called a street The last street car line in Salt LaKe City made the from Third South up Main to First east to East and south to Ninth Regardless of which end of the line you caught the old it was always good for more than just a Students pulled the took extra transfers and occasionally threw light bulbs out rear windows to hear the They pulled the trolley off the changed the sign to read destination or and they released the Surprisingly enough most of the conductors were friendly men who wouldn't trade number five line for any other in the They didn't mind the squeaky straw the flickering lights or the drafty They liked the people and one conductor I'm remembers a girl who used to climb aboard at a. hair no with books and purse her arms and would ask him to take the ticket out of her left-hand coat The same girl would get back on at p. m. a smooth carrying a glove gingerly in one while some pack-horse disguised as an absolute tagged along loaded down with books and the Among the riders were dreamy-eyed boys and star eyed girls hunt ing for a double seat on a crowded trolley where they could be Their was loud to overcome the noise of the would burst forth when the car suddenly The girl would blush and the boy was embarrassed no There was the stampede at Second the front door as a shooting in passengers according to the pressure behind Also the leak at the back where many a helping hand went out to a poverty stricken There was that last who gabbed to some captivating creature until the doors were closing and then made a mad dash for There were sweaters on some gals and the slinky jive ones on others dirty saddle shoes on Guys and gals would get on talking about everything from what shade of lipstick goes with a lavender dress to the speculated ball scores for the follow ing weekend there'd be a blast of air the grind of the the squeak of the timbers and old number five would shuffle on down the Ah those were the |