Night in Boston. A middle-aged man stood by the pay­phone on the Mass. Ave. side­walk just south of the Har­vard Bridge. He clutched the receiver tightly in one hand while the other hand moved ner­vously. The street light, shad­owed by the brim of a plaid fish­ing hat, just barely illu­mi­nated the plain­tive face gaz­ing in the gen­eral direc­tion of the tele­phone. Passers-by hus­tled along the side­walk look­ing uncomfortable—perhaps bewildered—because the man, in pleas­ant, sonorous tones, was belt­ing out an old love song that echoed down the rain-slick street.