Sybil Bruncheon's "Diller-A-Dollar Tales For Today's Investors"...

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Becky Shrubmeyer and Helen Thikfistle prided themselves on being modern women who could take their house allowances from their husbands and not only keep their homes running but also put aside some "pin money" to play the stock market. During the day, when their housekeeping chores were done, the laundry was in their washers and dryers, and dinners were already on the stove, Becky and Helen would sit over afternoon coffee and chocolate chip cookies and clip coupons for the grocery store and check out the financial pages of the Times and the Wall Street Journal... and boy did they hit it big! So big, in fact, that they finally opened separate (and secret!) savings accounts away from their husbands' prying eyes.

Their accounts grew and grew as they bought and sold, bought and sold; stocks for mining copper in Idaho and gold in Nigeria, corn futures in Iowa and wheat in Argentina, pork bellies in Kansas and beef from Brazil... The world truly was, as the saying goes, "their oyster"! The money poured in, and their private savings accounts climbed into the six figures. Even nice Mr. Throckmorton at the brokerage would greet them by their first names and scurry over with his secretary, Miss Pynch with coffee and donuts when they might wander into the office once a month to confer about their investments. All the other brokers and their support staffs would point and whisper about "those two gals from Grandy Corners" in the mostly male world of profits and portfolios of 1957.

It all seemed ideal, didn't it? The sleek and chic 1950s unfolding in post-war abundance... until that bump in the road called the Eisenhower Recession... when all the laughter and martinis turned into screeching and tears. Yep, "the gals" had made a careless choice to invest all their money in lipstick and mascara futures in some place called Iraq. In a single weekend, their accounts were gone... all gone. And it was back to the ironing boards and jello molds with carrot shavings, Spam chunks, and mini-marshmallows... with Phil and Carl none the wiser… oh well...

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