The potential for religious hysteria had always been present in the American culture, and this I knew, as my father had rubbed my nose in it from an early age. Father had pointed out to me that the only thing that preserved religious freedom in the United States was not the First Amendment and was not tolerance... but was solely a Mexican stand-off between rival religious sects, each sect intolerant, each sect the sole custodian of the One True Faith - but each sect a minority that gave lip service to freedom of religion to keep its own One True Faith from being persecuted by all the other True Faiths.

(Of course it was usually open season on Jews and sometimes on Catholics and almost always on Mormons and Muslims and Buddhists and other heathens. The First Amendment was never intended to protect such outright blasphemy. Oh, no!)

Elections are won not by converting the opposition but by getting out your own vote, and Scudder's organisation did just that. According to histories I studied at Boondock, the election of 2012 turned out sixty-three per cent of the registered voters (which in turn was less than half of those eligible to register); the True American Party (Nehemiah Scudder) polled twenty-seven per cent of the popular vote... which won eighty-one per cent of the Electoral College votes.

In 2016 there was no election.

The Torrid Twenties... Flaming Youth, the Lost Generation, flappers, cake eaters, gangsters and sawn-off shot-guns and bootleg booze and needled beer. Hupmobiles and Stutz Bearcats and flying circuses. A joy hop for five dollars. Lindbergh and the Spirit of St Louis. Skirts climbed unbelievably until, by the middle of the decade, rolled stockings permitted bare knees to be seen. The Prince of Wales Glide and the Finale Hop and the Charleston. Ruth Etting and Will Rogers and Ziegfeld's Follies. There were bad things about the Twenties but on the whole they were good years for most people - and they were never dull.

I kept busy as usual with housewifely things of little interest to outsiders. I had Theodore Ira in 1919, Margaret in 1922, Arthur Roy in 1924, Alice Virginia in 1927, Doris Jean in 1930 - and they all had the triumphs and crises that children have, and aren't you glad that you don't have to look at their pictures and listen to me repeating their cute sayings?

In February of 1929 we sold our house on Bentos Boulevard and leased with the option to buy a house near Rockhill Road and Meyer Boulevard - an old farmhouse, roomy but not as modern as our former Nome. This was a hard-nosed decision by my husband who always believed in making every dollar work twice. But he did consult me and not alone because title was vested in me.

‘Maureen,' he said to me, ‘do you feel like gambling?'

‘We always have. Haven't we?'

‘Some yes, some no. This time we would tap the pot, shoot the works, shout Banco! If I failed to bring it off, you might have to go out and pound a beat, just to keep a potato soup on the table.'

‘I've always wondered if I could make a living that way. Here I am, forty-seven in July -‘

‘Woops! Your age is now thirty-seven. And I'm forty one.'

‘Briney, I'm in bed with you. Can't I be truthful in bed?'

‘Judge Sperling wants us to stick to our corrected ages at all times. And Justin agrees.'

‘Yes sir. I'll be good. I always wondered if I could make a living as a streetwalker. But how do I find a beat? I understand that a gal can get per eyes scratched out if she just goes out and starts soliciting without finding out who owns that territory. I know what to do in bed, Briney; it's the merchandising of the product that I must learn.'

‘Don't be so eager, slippery bottom; it may not be necessary. Tell me... Do you still believe that Ted - Theodore - Corporal Bronson - carne from the future?'

I suddenly sobered. ‘I do. Don't you?'

‘Mo, I believed him as quickly as you did. I believed him before his prophecy about the end of the War proved true. Now I'm asking you this: do you believe in Ted strongly enough that you are willing to risk every cent we own that his prediction of a collapse in the stock market will be right on the button exactly like his prediction of Armistice Day?'

‘Black Tuesday,' I said softly. ‘29 October. This year.'

‘Well? If I take this gamble - and miss - we'll be broke. Marie won't be able to finish at Radcliffe, Woodie will have to scratch for a college education, and Dick and Ethel - well, we'll cross those bridges later. Sweetheart, I'm into this bull market up to my ears... and I propose to get deeper into it on the firm assumption that Black Tuesday takes place on the dot and exactly as Ted said it would.'

‘Do it!'

‘Are you sure, Mo? If anything goes wrong, we'll be right back to fried mush. Whereas it is not too late to hedge my bets - pull half of it out and stash it away. Gamble with the other half.'

‘Briney, I wasn't brought up that way. You remember Father's harness racer Loafer?'

‘I saw him a few times. A beautiful beast.'

‘Yes. Just not quite as fast as he looked. Father regularly bet on himself. Always on the nose. Never to place or show. Loafer could usually come in second or third... but Father would not bet that way. I've heard him talk to Loafer before a heat, softly, gently: "This time we're going to take ‘em, boy! This time we're going to win!" Then later I've heard him say, "You tried, old fellow! That's all I can ask. You're still a champion... and we'll take ‘em next time!" And Father would pat him on the neck and Loafer would whinny and nicker to him, and they would comfort each other.'

‘Then you think I should bet across the board? For there isn't going to be any next time.'

‘No, no! Shoot the works! You believe Theodore and so do I. So let's do it!' I added, as I reached down and grabbed his tool, ‘If it's fried mush time again, it need not be for long. You can knock me up, uh, let me see' - I counted - ‘next Monday. Which would mean that I would unload about' - I stopped to count again - ‘oh, a couple of weeks after Black Tuesday. Then we will receive another Howard Foundation bonus shortly thereafter.'

‘No.'

‘Huh? I mean, Excuse me? I don't understand.'

‘Mo, if Ted's prediction is wrong, the Foundation's principal assets may be wiped out. Justin and Judge Sperling are betting that Ted's prediction is correct; Chapman is bucking them. There are four other trustees... and two are Hoover Republicans, two were for Al Smith. Justin doesn't know which way it will go.'

Selling our house when we did was part of the gamble. It was a hard-nosed decision as it involved what came to be known as ‘block-busting'. We lived in an all-white neighbourhood, but Darktown was just north of us, not far away, and had been growing steadily closer in the twenty-odd years we had owned that house. (Dear, sweet house! - stuffed with happy memories.)

Brian had been approached by a white real estate agent who said he had an offer from an undisclosed client: how much did Brian want for his house?

‘Darling, I did not ask about his client... because, if I had asked, it would turn out that the client was a white lawyer who, if pushed, would be acting for a client in Denver or Boston. In this sort of a deal the cover-up is about six levels deep... and the neighbours are not supposed to find out the colour of the new owner's skin until the new owner moves in.'

‘What did you tell him?'

‘I told him, "Certainly 1'm willing to sell my house if the price is right. But the price would have to be attractive, as we are comfortable where we are and moving is always expensive in time and in money. What price does your client offer? In cash, I mean - not a down payment and take back a mortgage. If I am going to have to find another house for my large family - eleven of us - I'll need cash to work with. I may have to build, rather than buy - not too many houses can handle big families today; I probably would have to build. If I do this. So the price would have to be attractive and it would have to be in cash."