Draftgoer

To frustrated American males last night came relief in the form of a Newark draft board, which dourly foureffed America's big noise of the year, a loved-up character known as Frank Sinatra to most and Oooooofrankie to a select few who poured over $6,000 in the till of the R.K.O. Boston last week when crooner Sinatra came to sample of the bean and the cod.

The radiocrooner, said to be a libelous few to consist entirely of 98 pounds of tubercular lung, was rejected for a complaint many of his listeners spotted back in the summer: a punctured ear drum. Thus, as it must come to all men, lost hope came to Frank, who had fondly confided in a draft board teacher that he wanted to be a marine.

Most disappointed man of the week, however, is not Croonersinatra but rather the marine sergeant who was letting the dishes rot, the barracks fester, and the girls alone in anticipation of the arrival of the romantic singer. Happiest were the microphones in the R.K.O. theatres which will now be clung to and loved for as long as the chain pays possibly into the five figures for the vaunted services of the caveman.

Effect on girls all over the nation has not been calculated, but most sociologists, who feel that the Sinatra complex is a phase of a mass-loneliness cycle caused by the war, would say that this will strengthen the whole thing: if the U. S. Army won't mother him, the girls will probably want to comfort him about the whole thing: he feels terrible about it. It appears that he had been boasting to his friends about how he was going to make the grade and become a private.

They also serve who also stand and . . .