I was not too pleased about it. My dissatisfaction was partly with the war itself, in which the bad guys seemed to win all the battles, partly with myself for not being part of it. Around the office we told each other that we were, after all, contributing very significantly to the war effort. We were supplying morale-boosting relaxation to our brave boys on the combat fronts, not to mention Rosie the Riveter and the other heroes and heroines of the aircraft plants. Every issue we put out was jam-packed with gung-ho exhortations to buy war bonds, keep military secrets ("Loose Lips Can Sink a Ship"), lay off the black market and avoid unnecessary traveling ("Is This Trip Necessary?"). I doubt any of us really believed it. Paper was getting short. There was plenty of it at the mills, but the mills were in Canada. All the transportation that would normally have brought it to our presses was otherwise engaged. Every month we killed a couple of titles on the Popular list. Futurians were disappearing into the armed services and returning on leave, looking quite different in uniform.
