A few of us were bored with the movie and snuck out to stroll around Times Square. What a terrific place in 1934. All kinds of honor and horror transpired even as we watched, of course strictly forbidden to interfere with any event that might alter history. Talk about tread lightly, we couldn't even stop people in their tracks so that they might miss a bus, a taxi or a train—dominoing effects that could be disastrous down the line.
Of course the argument has been made that by inserting ourselves into history we are already part of the established flow of time. So if we somehow were to, say, delay a certain Peter Zaminski from an appointment where he would have struck a deal for a new comic strip creation that he called 'Superman' . . . well it was meant to be that Jerry and Joe carry their version to fruition within time. And we apologize to Peter that one of us accidentally knocked his cardboard portfolio into the mud and ruined his samples. A brief glimpse showed that he had a style somewhat like Neal Adams, which personally I think the editors would have shot down anyway, the times not really ready for that sort of dynamism. Really Peter, sorry, it just wasn't meant to be.
But other than a few incidents like that, things went well, and we even came back with a few souvenirs (the posters below) that a newsstand guy was taking down and a theatre manager was tossing in the trash, saying they were just taking up room for two years. When we asked to have them, the theatre manager looked at us so strangely, like, why on Earth would you want these things? When we told him they were perfect to wrap fish in, he understood.
We wanted to see Cleopatra, but that theatre was packed that night. We all agreed to make another trip at the end of its run so the theatre would be pretty empty and we could offer to take the posters off the theatre manager's hands so he wouldn't have to fill up his trash barrel.