To the mass of students ambling homeward from the Yard, Felix's newsstand on Massachusetts Avenue affords a welcome glimpse of the latest headlines. But this is merely one of the legion services that Felix renders to the community; others are listed in gold-lettered profusion all over the drab facade of the store. Included are cleaning and pressing, hat blocking, shoe shines and repairs, and a service somewhat mysteriously designated as "shoe findings."

Anyone who enters Felix's to be shoeshined in one of the six thrones lining the wall stands a good chance of being attended to by the boss himself. The boss differs little from his three employees, all of whom are Mediterranean in appearance and deportment. He can be identified, however, by a pair of horn-rimmed glasses through which he blinks good-naturedly at the customer. Felix likes to talk, and his conversation requires a good deal of acoustic finesse and ingenuity on the part of the listener.

Felix Caragianes (for that is his full name) was born in the Peloppenese and came to these shores, like so many of his countrymen, in the hope of "more opportunity." In 1912, he founded the store on Massachusetts Avenue, which he has owned and expanded ever since. He has never been back home, because each time he was all set to go, some kind of revolution broke out to foil his plans.

Felix finds Cambridge little changed in 38 years, except for the "beeldings." His outstanding reminiscence of World War I are the riding boots of Kermit Roosevelt which he used to shine. The prosperity of the twenties carried him right into the presidency of Megalopolis, a society of Boston Greeks. In his cubbyhole sanctum Felix treasures the programs of the charity balls he sponsored. He contributed a full $2,000 to the erection of a high school near his home town, and carefully preserves his cancelled checks as living proof of his munificence.

It was in 1926 that Felix got his biggest publicity boost, making all the papers "across to San Francisco" (pronounce chisco). A certain Reverend Frank Chase of the Watch and Ward Society lodged complaint against Felix for the sale of the American Mercury; which contained an article deemed injurious to American morals. While Felix was sentenced to a $100 fine, the American Mercury continued to sell briskly in Puritan Boston without interference from the authorities. The nation's press took up the cause of the Little Man and by its moral support more than recompensated Felix for his financial loss.

The greatest man of Felix's acquaintance was the late Venizelos, the leading figure in Greek post-war politics. Felix met him in 1923 in a modest New York hotel; and ever since a large, signed portrait of the statesman has filled out the back wall of his sanctum. "A simple man," Felix says of his idol, "but a great brain. Too great for the Greece."

Felix is more reticent about the great of the present. "I am in beezness," he explains; "I keep my mouth shut." He likes the American system in which "you give everything to him you like and give nothing to him you don't like." When the air is clear of customers, Felix confesses that he is a Republican but that he will vote for Roosevelt for the third time. He makes his stand clear by a simple illustration. "Look at these postal cards," he says. "You couldn't buy zem because you don't know how zey sell. You have to be experient. Beezness is same as government. You make mess of things if you are not experient." Felix feels that Roosevelt is the more "experient" candidate. But he wouldn't like you to spread it around.