Fiction | June 01, 1982

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A place of shouts, swats, suet and saurkraut, Murphy’s neighborhood was pure German.  All up and down the block the mothers were fat, loud and from Milwaukee.  In aprons, rolled-down hose and shoes with powerful heels, they were porch stompers, lawn shakers, Wiener schnitzel screamers. But their husbands were not.

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