Panic Buying

As always in time of danger, there were some who bolted like frightened yearlings. They started runs on flour, although the U.S. has two years' supply of wheat in granaries, and on sugar, which is in no immediate danger of becoming as scarce as it was in World War I. In Washington there was a heavy sale of rifles and pistols--for use against parachutists.

In coastal areas there were legitimate runs on goods which became suddenly important. In Los Angeles, demand for flashlights and candles was 200 times normal; stores were nearly cleaned out. Portable radios sold fast; so did garden hose, useful against incendiary bombs.

Coastal cities snapped up everything black that could be used for light-proofing: cloth, oilcloth, automobile-top covers. Stores pulled out old stocks that had been on the shelves since black petticoats and bloomers went out of style, sent orders for millions more to textile factories.

The Los Angeles Times started a new classified-advertising section called "Defense Aids." A Manhattan department store used half a newspaper page to advertise air-raid whistles, asbestos gloves, first-aid kits, rubber boots, flashlights, axes, shovels, a 100-lb. sack of sand for $1.

Designers of women's clothes, always eager to ride a trend, worked their imaginations overtime. Sally Victor created a fireproof glass-and-asbestos hat, padded inside against cold and bumps, with a flashlight in the brim. Warborn was a handbag containing a bottle of luminous paint and a flap on which messages could be written.

Theater and night-club business slumped. Even Christmas shopping, which should have hit its peak, fell off.

This week panic buyers of sugar and flour remembered how they had done the same thing in 1939, and how foolish they felt afterward. Theater attendance picked up. Christmas buying edged back to normal. The first shock was over.

This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so reader's discretion is required.