To make a long story short, I went before the people on TV and told the whole story. Charlie had the TV Techs mock up a scene of what it would look like and we had models posed in family scenes and the like. Should have gone over like a shot--and it would have, except for this screwball Hatty Dakkon. It wasn't an hour after I had made my broadcast that my secretary announced this Mrs. Hatty Dakkon. She proved to be a young matron type with pretty good legs and a chip on her shoulder. She was against roofing Central Park. Well, you boys know how it goes. Always some crank who doesn't like things changed, and after they have blown off steam, they quiet down and you can go ahead and do the work. So I let this Hatty Dakkon talk on and on until my ears were limp from listening. She said she was against roofing Central Park because it would be just like every other place in the City--weatherproof, air-conditioned and humidity controlled. She figured that children should have some place where they could feel the wind on their faces and the falling of rain and snow and the smell of air as it was in nature. She said that was the only way most of our children could ever, ever find the ties with the past that were sacred. She quoted poetry about the wind and the rain in your hair, and on and on and on. Finally I let her talk off her head of steam and she got calmed down so I could tell her: "Thank you, madam, for this expression of your opinion. You can rest assured that I will do everything within my power and the power of the Civic Machine to see to it that anything possible is done." Her head came up like a rocket at blastoff. "Hold it!" she said. "You can't put me off with that old one--that's Standard Answer No. 1 in the City Manager's guidebook and I ain't buying it, Buster. I used to work at the Civic Machine myself, so I know all the Standard Answers backward and forward." "Well, I assure you, madam--" I said. "Don't hand me that stuff again. What I want is for you to call off the Civic Machine and quit trying to roof the only place left where our children can feel the open air and sunshine." "I see. You aren't going to be satisfied with anything else," I said. "That's right." "I'm sorry, but that's impossible. We have programmed the roofing job for next month on the Civic Machine and we can't change it now." "That, Mr. Ro, is a lie," she said, leaning across my desk and sticking a slim white finger under my nose. "I know you can change it in five minutes if you want to." "It won't be changed," I said. "Is that your final word?" "Final." "Mr. Ro," she said, putting her hands on her hips, "I think you'll be sorry." She headed for the door, only to turn around and ask me if my wife was at home. "I suppose she is," I said, "but don't bother her--she takes no interest in Civic affairs." I don't have to tell you boys that I dismissed the lady from my mind and went on to other more important matters. Or so I thought.