Mayor v. Monoxide

Fiorello ("Little Flower'') LaGuardia has been known to call himself ''a Man of Destiny," has been described by a detractor as "a Roman candle gone mad." Neither friend nor foe of the small (5 ft. 4 in.), globular mayor of New York City denies, however, that he is a man of boundless energy, ample courage and vast showmanship. One morning last week New Yorkers at breakfast observed that their mayor had made headlines five times in one day by 1) trapping two "fixers" who were trying to extort money from a snow-removal machinery bidder; 2) receiving a copy of New York City's first yearbook on the steps of the Public Library; 3) making Transatlantic Flyer Beryl Markham wait half an hour to shake his hand; 4) denying that Brooklyn streets were dirty and promising to clean them up; 5) emerging victorious from a spectacular bout with Science.

No scientist himself, Mayor LaGuardia had uttered falsetto disapproval of an $18,000 Board of Estimate bill for ventilating equipment to be installed in an eight-block tunnel beneath Manhattan's Park Avenue. Since the tunnel had previously been used only by streetcars, it was sufficiently aired by three overhead manholes per block. Now that the trolleys had been scrapped and automobiles were about to use it, there might be danger from carbon monoxide. The Mayor was convinced that this danger was nil. To prove his point he arranged to enter the tunnel himself while 22 city trucks stood in it with running motors belching deadly carbon monoxide.

On hand for the test last week were a squad of ventilation engineers, the borough president, the fire commissioner, the health commissioner, fire and police trucks laden with rescue apparatus, a doctor and ambulance , a hook-&-ladder company, 50 patrolmen. Mayor LaGuardia arrived, rubbed his chin, shooed the trucks into the tunnel. When they had filled it with a stench of exhaust fumes, Fiorello La-Guardia strode in, followed by reporters and cameramen popping their flash bulbs in the murk.

Forgetting that monoxide is odorless, the Mayor sniffed, cracked: ''I get a worse gas barrage than this every day at City Hall." Mayor LaGuardia was informed that a monoxide concentration of more than three parts to 10,000 of air was not safe.

As the truck motors dinned on, the needles of the detecting instruments crept up from three parts to six to seven.* The Mayor disdainfully ignored the instruments, which he seemed to feel were getting too much attention. He refused to don a gas mask. After more than an hour in the tunnel, he was mopping his brow but still definitely conscious. Someone asked the health commissioner how long the average human could stand the existing concentration of gas. The commissioner replied: "About 20 minutes, but"--glancing at the Mayor--"some people are pretty tough." Having proved that he at least was invulnerable, tough little Fiorello LaGuardia indicated that if scientific tests disclosed the necessity of blowers for ordinary mortals he would not further oppose them. In high good humor, the Man of Destiny called a consulting engineer "an old faker," climbed into his automobile, went home.

*In these instruments carbon monoxide is oxidized to carbon dioxide by means of a contact catalyst. The heat of this reaction is transformed by a thermocouple into electric current which operates the needles of a dial.

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