Our Boys If We Have to Row Over!’) and fife and drum and drum and bugle corps and bands, and a unit of white and brown and black teen-agers in fatigues and green berets (they looked ready to swim ever), and the Comanche’s Raiders from Huntington, Long Island, and bands, bands, bands.
A Brooklyn housewife approached the group from the Greenwich Village Conservative Club and asked if she might parade along with them. “I’m sure you can,” a nice middle-aged lady told her. “I don’t belong to anything – I just thought I should come down and march.”
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