(distant echo, as if calling the stops for a departing train. . .)
Snowsheen - Cake Flour - brings you -
Grand - Central - Station.
(locomotive whistle, rush of brakes, and bell ringing)
(distant echo again. . .)
All aboard - for better baking, - finer
cakes, - you're on the right track - with Pillsbury - Snowsheen - Cake
(rapidly, and in a hushed voice)
As a bullet seeks its target, shining rails
in every part of our great country are aimed at Grand Central Station,
heart of the nation's greatest city. Drawn by the magnetic force of the
fantastic metropolis, day and night, great trains rush toward the Hudson
River, sweep down its eastern bank for one hundred and forty miles, flash
briefly by the long red row of tenement houses south of 125th street,
(bell begins and continues)
dive with a roar into
the two and a half mile tunnel which burrows beneath the glitter and swank
of Park Avenue, and then. . .
(bell and crash of brakes)
(majestic voice. . .)
Grand Central Station! . . .
crossroads of a million private lives, gigantic stage on which
are played a thousand dramas daily.