magazines in the van and we tear and scatter them so that Mr. McCaf-
frey will think theyre all page sixteen from John OLondon.
The biggest customer for the magazine, Mr. Hutchinson, tells Mr.
McCaffrey get to hell out of his shop or hell brain him, get away from
them magazines, and when Mr. McCaffrey keeps on tearing out pages
Mr. Hutchinson throws him into the street, Mr. McCaffrey yelling that
this is a Catholic country and just because Hutchinson is a Protestant
that doesnt give him the right to sell filth in the holiest city in Ireland.
Mr. Hutchinson says, Ah, kiss my arse, and Mr. McCaffrey says, See,
boys? See what happens when youre not a member of the True
Church?
Some shops says theyve already sold all their copies of John OLon-
don and Mr.McCaffrey says,Oh,Mother oGod,whats going to become
of us all? Who did ye sell them to?
He demands the names and address of the customers who are in
danger of losing their immortal souls from reading articles on birth con-
trol.He will go to their houses and rip out that filthy page but the shop-
keepers say, Tis Saturday night, McCaffrey, and getting dark and would
you ever take a good running jump for yourself.
On the way back to the office Eamon whispers to me in the back
of the van, I have twenty-one pages. How many do you have? I tell
him fourteen but I have over forty and Im not telling him because
you never have to tell the truth to people who lie about your bad eyes.
Mr. McCaffrey tells us bring in the pages from the van.We scoop up
everything on the floor and hes happy sitting at his desk at the other
end of the office ringing Dublin to tell them how he stormed through
shops like Gods avenger and saved Limerick from the horrors of birth
control while he watches a dancing fire of pages that have nothing to
do with John OLondons Weekly.
Monday morning I cycle through the streets delivering magazines
and people see the Easons sign on the bike and stop me to see if theres
any chance they could get their hands on a copy of John OLondons
Weekly.Theyre all rich-looking people, some in motor cars, men with
hats, collars and ties, and two fountain pens in their pockets, women
with hats and little bits of fur dangling from their shoulders,people who
have tea at the Savoy or the Stella and stick out their little fingers to
show how well bred they are and now want to read this page about
birth control.
Eamon told me early in the day, Dont sell the bloody page for less
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