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The Last Day began with a 50-gun salute at 9 o'clock in the morning. Whistles blew and bells rang for a full five minutes throughout Chicago. An aerial bomb broke over the Lagoon as the day's 10,000th visitor pushed through the turnstiles. Two bombs signaled the arrival of the 20,000th. Buglers posted on "L" platforms throughout the Loop blew long & loud at high noon. Schools closed. Early in the afternoon a bewildered grey-haired grandmother was whisked off to the Administration Building where, as the 16,000,000th visitor of 1934, she was presented with a five-acre farm and enough clothes, clocks, books and food to fill a truck. THE APOTHEOSIS OF MAN-MADE LIGHT began at 10 p. m. At midnight Rufus Cutler Dawes pulled a switch, blacking out every electric bulb in the grounds. Immediately the dark sky flared gorgeously with 500,000 bursting pyrotechnic bombs. Taps were sounded. Thus one day last week A Century of Progress came to the end of its second and last year as the nation's biggest entertainment feature.

But for the 300,000 men. women and children inside the Fair at the time it was by no means the end. When officials tried to close the gates a loud fun-crazy crowd engulfed 200 police reserves, trampled down fences, pushed on to fresh destructions. It was not only Last Night at the Fair but also Halloween; together they offered a fine excuse for a fierce form of celebration. Mobs swept up & down the Street of Villages, snatching everything in sight. In the shoving, pushing, screaming press people fainted by the score. Masked as witches, a group of gay hoodlums nearly demolished the Italian Village where Sally Rand refused to do her bubble dance. Peepshow ladies fled in terror as raucous audiences insisted on ripping down screens and netting.

In the Avenue of Flags elderly matrons fought like savages for bits of bunting. For their backyard gardens housewives stripped the Horticultural Building of rare plants and flowers, some worth as much as $200 each. Roving bands of youths stormed the booths of concessionaires. A 13-year-old boy was caught by police lugging off two huge bones of a prehistoric monster, to feed to his dog. Recurring showers of bottles from the 64-story Skyride Tower grew so alarming that the elevators were finally stopped. Dancing feet stomped into ruin landscaped lawns. Into Lake Michigan went benches and tables, and when policemen sought to admonish the revelers, they tossed the policemen in, too. All through the night until dawn ambulances screamed through the grounds, carrying more than 100 victims of good-natured rowdyism to hospitals. If the Fair had opened on the morrow, the damage would have been $150,000 or more. As it was, the amateur wreckers were only doing the work of the professionals who were to start razing the Century of Progress this week. Not since the closing of the World's Fair in 1893 had Chicago seen such a night.

But neither had Chicago ever seen such a Fair. In two years 38,600,000 persons paid 50-c- each to see a $55,000,000 spectacle, most of which had been provided by advertisers. Big exhibitors like General Motors could boast that 18,000,000 people had visited its exhibit alone.* It was estimated that $700,000,000 was poured into the Chicago market by 15,000,000 out-of-towners. More amazing was the financial success of the Fair itself. All but $600,000 of $10,000,000 of the bonds underwritten by big Chicago businessmen had been paid off. And the salvage from demolition was expected to make up that deficit.

Far different was the story of the concessionaires. On the basis of the amazing success of a few concessions like the Streets of Paris in 1933, they fairly fell over each other to obtain space in 1934--only to lose their shirts. Yet the Fair's shrewd management, having dictated its own terms, actually took in more from concessions this year than last.

*Visited by 3,000,000 people was the TIME-FORTUNE Building.

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