These stories by my father, Frank Lance, were written in the late 1940's and early '50s. They have been in storage since then. He died at age thirty three, from complications due to diabetes, without ever having published them. Many, but not all, the stories are humorous. Some are eerie and a couple make the reader wonder if the endings somehow are missing. We will never know. We (myself and my two teenaged children, Frank Lance Jr. and Zoe Lance) word processed them from a fading typewritten manuscript. We were faithful to the original manuscript, simply proofreading as we went along. My father started up many small poetry magazines in Chicago, none of which are extant today. He was part of the burgeoning beatnik coffee-house culture that was springing up in big cities in the country at that time. I am happy to have rescued these stories from oblivion, not only because the author is my father, but also because they are very good stories. "What is most moving to me...

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