The Innocent Fruiterer

Bouncing along on a Manhattan subway last May, innocent Leo Pigola, 45, shifted nervously under the hard, steady stare of a middle-aged woman who was seated across the aisle. When the woman asked: "Do I know you?" and "Did you ever live near Eighth Street and Second Avenue?" timid Mr. Pigola had had enough. Explaining that he came from Paterson, N. J., he slipped off the train at the next stop.

Fortnight ago, still staring hard, Mrs. Mary Klein appeared in Paterson with her daughter, Juliet. She commandeered a detective, went looking for Leo Pigola. Finally she found him, hawking fruit from a truck. She had him arrested, taken to court. There she charged him with desertion, told the judge that Leo Pigola was really Ballou Klein, her husband, who had disappeared in 1922 with their savings of several hundred dollars, stranding her with three infants. In vain Mr. Pigola protested that he was a Polish immigrant who had landed in the U. S. in 1921, had never be fore laid eyes on Mrs. Klein.

Last week they had it out in court. Mrs. Pigola, two little Pigolas and 75 Pigola supporters went along to back him up.

Mrs. Klein brought three children, a sister and 30 friends. Looking very uneasy as Mrs. Klein's cohorts squinted at him, tickled him to make him laugh (a witness was sure he would never forget Mr. Klein's laugh), demanded his signature, Mr. Pigola finally convinced the court that he was Mr. Pigola. Angry Pigolates and Kleinsters bandied insults as the case was dismissed. Mrs. Klein shook her head, sadly muttered: "He looks like him, every bit of him looks like him."

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