By BERNARD B. SMITH
Perhaps no aphorism is more universally accepted than the nostalgic cry of Payne's immortal lyric i "There is no place like home". Today, in fact, the phrase has attained the rank of a shibboleth, iterated from the seat of government in Washington and proudly repeated in newspaper columns and over the air waves.
For most Americans the word "home" brings up not the living reality but the "dream home" of the colorful advertising section: a neat white cottage of rustic charm set in a wide green lawn, bordered with friendly trees and draped with rambler roses. And within--from cellar to attic, all things gleaming and new and streamlined for gracious modern living. It is an interesting commentary that pictures portraying the modern American kitchen were forbidden in Hitler's Germany because of the envy and discontent they aroused in the hearts of the long-suffering hausfraus.
In training camp and on field of battle, our boys are told they are fighting for the sanctity and preservation of such a home. Yet the sober thought intrudes itself: For what home are those of our American soldiers fighting who have been drawn into armed service from the many unspeakable city and suburban slums that blight our countryside? What must they think of our otherwise remarkable system of private enterprise that has resulted in virtually half of all