September 8, 1915 “Goot sausage needs no mustard,” Frank Muench bellowed to the crowd in his German smothered Swiss accent. His concession, set up facing the field and near the first base dugout, had a black chalkboard trimmed in blond wood. On the top in carefully drawn bold letters was “New Meat Market.” Below a […]

September 1, 1915 “The phone call is for you,” Maggie shouted from the kitchen. “Hurry up, we are on a party line.” Who would be calling me? I have only used this new invention occasionally and only because no one was around to answer the ringing machine. “Ah… hello, yes?” “Julius, it’s Corina.” “Oh, hello. […]