The Era -- Day By Day

[LizzieMaine]

"I neveh done'at when *I* was dancin'," scoffs Sally. "Y'don't say!" marvels Alice...

 

[Fading Fast]

"I neveh done'at when *I* was dancin'," scoffs Sally. "Y'don't say!" marvels Alice...

"I'm surprised you had any left to wear'" deadpans Alice. "Shut up" rejoins a miffed Sally.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Well," headshakes Sally, emerging from the 18th Avenue BMT station, "awl I c'n say is we neveh hadda say no prayehs when I was at Erasmus. An' I wouldn'a if t'ey'd tried t' make me. I neveh needed to anyways -- I DONE my homewoik!" "I din' go t'school much," admits Alice, as they head up 18th Avenue. "But when I did, I prayed awla time. I prayed t' sistehs would stop hitt'n me wit' t' edge'a t'at ruleh..." "Huh," huhs Sally, as they pass the darkened windows of Ebinger's. "Bake'ry still closed," sighs Sally. "Siddy can't go on much lawngeh," sighs Alice, "wit'out no blackout cake." "T'at cake," snorts Sally, "izza REASON t'ezza sugeh shawrtage." "Excuse me," comes the firm voice of a man stepping out of the Manor Cafeteria. "Alice Dooley?" "It's Krause now," hesitates Alice. "An' who wants t' know?" "Sergeant Brosnan," announces the detective, displaying his badge. "Now justa' MINUTE," interrupts Sally. "She ain' got nut'nt'a do wit' anyt'ing! An' you c'n tell t'em rats awna Rankin Committee t'at..." "Sal..." interrupts Alice. She gives the detective a slow, hard look. "Whassis awlabout?" "Like to ask you a few questions," explains Brosnan. "About a friend of yours." "YOU DON' HAFTA TELL"M NUT"N!" snaps Sally. "Thought we'd go downtown," continues Brosnan. "Shouldn't be long." Alice breathes sharply, and shakes her head. "Can't we do it at my house?" she pleads. "Car's over here," directs Brosnan. "Sal," murmurs Alice. "Go home, tell Siddy. Tell'im I'll be awright, it won' be lawng..." "TAKE T' FIT' AMEN'MENT!" bellows Sally, as Brosnan helps Alice into the car....)

("Hiya, Solly," greets Joe. "Packa Camels," mutters Solly stepping to the counter. He riffles the stack of Eagles as Joe fills his order, and tosses down two dimes. "Keep t' change," he adds, stripping the cellophane tab from the pack. "Hey," heys Joe. "I was gonna ask ya -- some guy give Uncle Frank a coupla tickets t' t' footbawl game Friday night, an' he can't use 'em, so 'e give'm t' me. Sal don' like football, so how 'bout you'n me go, see what it's awlabout." "Neh," declines Solly. "I'm busy." "Ahhhhh, yawr t' boss!' chuckles Joe. "What'sa pernta bein'a boss if y'can't take a night awff..." "I SAID I'M BUSY," snaps Solly, a hard edge in his voice. He jams a cigarette in his mouth,. snaps a match, and takes a deep puff. "I'm busy," he repeats, heading for the door, just as Bink Scanlan enters. "SO LEEMEE ALONE!" "Get him," scoffs Bink, as the door slams closed. "What t'hell??" gapes Joe...)

(I'd think the board would go along with that...)

(If MacPhail really wants to make it interesting, he should appoint himself manager. Imagine how much fun he'll have getting drunk and firing himself...)

("So --ah -- anybody here know anything about navigation?")

(Dish the dirt! Dish ALL the dirt!)

(Booooo! Bring on Violent Ray!)

(Well, back to the grind...)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

"Clumsily hacked out with a pair of scissors." That's the trouble these days, nobody has any pride in their work.

And heeeeeeere we go....

"We'll give them to Mr. Tracy. He collects them. They'll make a lovely Christmas gift."

He's not the only one.

Always get a receipt.

You could make it a quartet...

"And whatever you do, don't ask him about farming."

And that's how you make money in real estate.

Plan for the future today!

That's it, sound enthusiastic...

 

[Fading Fast]

I'd think the board would go along with that...

Indeed. Today, the legal and compliance departments of banks often having larger staffs than the line of businesses. It requires massive resources, complex processes, and huge documentation to comply with all the banking regulations. It's one of the reasons we have these massive banks: They need the economies of scale. The smaller banks aren't even that small as, they, too, have compliance requirements that demand massive resource commitment.

*********************************************************

Dish the dirt! Dish ALL the dirt!

Wait until they get to the Leona Stockpool file.

*********************************************************

"Clumsily hacked out with a pair of scissors." That's the trouble these days, nobody has any pride in their work.

And they left the most valuable piece behind.

I think the war took away so many of the true professionals.

Separately, why in God's name is a union accusing a movie star of being a communist? Times sure were different. Today those groups pretty much fight to be seen as more radical as a point of pride.

**********************************************************

"We'll give them to Mr. Tracy. He collects them. They'll make a lovely Christmas gift."

"I'd prefer a nice piece of luggage. I have a leather grip all picked out if anyone cares. Anyone?" — Chief Brandon

**********************************************************

That's it, sound enthusiastic...

Who do we think suggested going along for the trip: the DL?

 

[LizzieMaine]

The AFL is pretty much a middle/right-wing organization in 1946 -- when in the Worker they talk about the "Dubinskyites," that's what they mean, unions, like David Dubinsky's ILGWU, descended from old craft guilds rather than the broadbased industrial unionism of the CIO. Jurisdictional disputes between old-line AFL unions and the newer CIO unions are very common, especially in Hollywood, and redbaiting the CIO has always been the AFL's weapon of choice. Miss Loy has gotten caught in the crossfire, and she won't, alas, be the last...

I wouldn't put it past Mr. Caniff to pull somebody really unexpected off the shelf for this final storyline. We haven't seen Normandie in years...

 

[Fading Fast]

...I wouldn't put it past Mr. Caniff to pull somebody really unexpected off the shelf for this final storyline. We haven't seen Normandie in years...

Normandie, with Pat not far behind, would be a neat choice that I'd be happy to see.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And their -- ah -- Normandie's little girl would be, oh, about eight years old now.

 

[Harp]

The Lind case will likely see the child, twelve year old June, remanded juvenile custodial
care until age twenty one. Her mother doesn't seem fit to raise her daughter.

The $10k bail charge release of June McNiece on Man 1 shows prosecution's weak hand.

And the Lehman jewels heist evidenced a heavy handed smash and grab approach
where the locked cabinet spoke all the haul; so prolonged locus stay unnecessary,
and the lock ripped out with scissors. Fencing all the ice will similarly prove challenging.

Coolangatta doesn't appear ready for Lana.

One would think Milt will bring Pat and Terry back together.

And, last but certainly not least is Ms Myrna Loy's vindication.
A lady of grace, beauty, and timeless elegance.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("I do'wanna tawk about it, Sal," insists Alice. "It was nut'n. Tat's awl it was, it was nut'n." "Cops don' pick ya up onna street jus' aroun'a cawrneh fr'm ya house at six o'clock at night jus' f' nut'n," observes Sally. They ride on in heavy silence for an interval, before Alice takes a deep breath. "T'ey t'ink he kilt a guy," she resumes, in a low, tight murmur. "T'ey t'ink Solly Pincus kilt t'at hood, t'at Wilentz guy t'at mugged ya las' winteh, an' helped Flannehry frame up awn Sammy." Sally is silent for another interval. "T'at's stupid," she finally replies. "Solly Pincus would'n even k ill time." "Wilentz beat 'im up," reminds Alice., "an'ee said 'ee was gonna get 'im." "I've known Solly Pincus longeh t'en I've known you," insist Sally. "He couldn' k ill nobody." Another silence ensues. "Wawr changes people," observes Alice. "It din' change Joe," argues Sally. "It did," counters Alice. "Nawt like t'at," counters Sally. "An' not Solly neit'eh. We gotta do sump'n. We gotta, I dunno, tawk t'somebody we can trust, figyeh t'is out. Maybe t'at lawyeh t'at helped Sammy, t'at guy Hoishkewitz." "I know who I'm gonna tawk to," mutters Alice...)

("Whassis?" questions Rosa Capiello as stagehands carry a cardboard jar of Instant Chase & Sanborn across the studio. "Something new the agency wants to do," sighs Mr. Sobol. "It's always something." "I gotta weah t'at???" frowns Rosa. "T' big can is bad enough, but..." "No," replies Sobol, flipping thru his timing sheets. "The idea is that the jar is your sister. She stands in the middle of the stage swaying to the music while you skate around her." "T'at'sa stupidest t'ing I eveh hoida," exhales Rosa. "Show business, baby," chuckles Sobol, as a light flashes in Rosa's mind. "Hey," she injects. "Who's gonna be inna jar?" "Dunno," shrugs Sobol. "I suppose I'll have to hire some chorine, like I have the budget. Unless one of the secretaries'll do it." "An' all she's gotta do is sway?" questions Rosa. "Yeah," nods Sobol. "Don' ask nobody yet," requests Rosa. "I gotta make a phone cawll...")

(Coming events...)

(I've done this, and it isn't easy. But neither is singing for Benny Goodman.)

(What, no box scores from Venezuela? I'm going thru withdrawal!)

(Sorry, no hitchhikers.)

(How 'bout all those years she cohabitated with a truck driver?)

(I suppose if Connie Mack and Lowell Thomas were to team up and turn to crime, it would look something like this...)

(That's it! Now throw a chair!)

(Don't worry, he'll be back at the house in time for breakfast.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

"You may catch the full story any morning on a radio serial." Nahhh, she's no Helen Trent.

So many old traditions are anything but.

"Depends on whether they button the coat."

Ornithologists are pretty tough birds.

Get packed, kid.

Andy's very good at what he does, but what he does is avoiding doing anything.

WHAT A REMARKABLE IDEA

MUSIC: Dramatic sting up and under

It's getting so a crook can't make an honest living.

"I won't d ie! I CAN'T d ie! I haven't seen 'The Jolson Story'!"

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Worker...

Nothing's Too Good For Our Veterans.

Wait Till Next Year!

 

[Fading Fast]

"Wawr changes people," observes Alice. "It din' change Joe," argues Sally. "It did," counters Alice.

Alice has a wonderful raw intelligence equalled by a wonderful raw bluntness when called for.

*********************************************************

Nature continues to heal itself. Has Joe gotten beef yet?

I assume this Drakes is what would become the conglomerate Drakes, which would then be absorbed (in only the last 20 or so years) into an even bigger bakery conglomerate that still makes the much beloved single-serve coffee cake (that was often my breakfast through four years of college).

*********************************************************

What, no box scores from Venezuela? I'm going thru withdrawal!

World Series starts tonight and Google AI promised me a true 8:03 PM first-pitch start. All the hoopla is from 7 Pm - 8 PM, again, according the the thing that is going to rule or bankrupt the world.

*********************************************************

So many old traditions are anything but.

But then or now, it still inspires some amazingly fuzzy thinking.

*********************************************************

MUSIC: Dramatic sting up and under

Would Gould kill off Themesong?

*********************************************************

Nothing's Too Good For Our Veterans.

Awful public housing condition in NYC continue to this day. For sure, not as horrible as described here, but truly awful. Some are so bad, the garbage and rat descriptions could still apply as I've seen it. What I don't understand is that NYC is a fully democratic run city with the only political fights between the regular lefties and the far lefties and they'd love to turn NYC into one huge housing project yet they don't actually care about making the existing projects work. The money is there, the political will or desire or payoff or something isn't there. Even our new democratic socialist mayor shows very little interesting in improving any of the numerous public services, but he wants to increase them anyway. One day, this disconnect will be explained to me.

 

[LizzieMaine]

Joe's got chicken, but I hear he's still waiting on the beef. He's p'ticuleh.

I always thought Drake's Cakes were far far superior to that Hostess junk. The coffee cakes were sublime, and so are Ring Dings.

 

[Harp]

*********************************************************Even our new democratic socialist mayor shows very little interesting in improving any of the numerous public services, but he wants to increase them anyway. One day, this disconnect will be explained to me.

A dreamer in over his head. We've another fool here in Chicago.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("'I'm tellin' ya," insists Alice, glaring under the dim light in the offices of F. Leary & Sons Plumbing and Heating, "t'ey t'ink he kilt 'at guy." "Oi allllways said," reproaches Uncle Frank, "th' man was a looooose cannnon. That woild tempaaar 'a his, spootin' aaaff at th' sloitest provaaaacation." "Well, he ain't spouted off yet," snaps Alice. "An' neit'eh did *I,* whenney spent two houehs grillin' ME about YOU." "What's that noo?" frowns Uncle Frank. "Oi nivvar ki lled noobody in me loife." "T'ey t'ink Solly Pincus," glares Alice, "was woikin' f' YOU, t'at YOU wan'ed t'is guy bumped awff! Cause who's truck was'ee drivin'? An' whose truck was *I* drivin' in nineteen t'oity-eight?" "Oh," gulps Uncle Frank. "Yeh," nods Alice. "T'ey ast' me awl about'at, an' how'd I end up gett'n c'nvicted when it was really Mickey t'at did awlat stuff, an' did somebody pay somebody awff? An' wheh *IS* Mickey, t'ey ast me did Solly Pincus k ill HIM TOO?" "Alice, caaanntrool ye'self," dismisses Uncle Frank, his fingers twitching as he unwraps a Tootsie Rolll. "Oi'll have a waaard with Doyle, an' it'll goo up th' loine, an'..." "T'ese guys," warns Alice, "ain' nut'n like Doyle. T'eh hawrd-berled cops, real by-t'-book guys. An' I'll tip y' awff. T'eh comin' aroun'eeh t' have a tawk wit'choo." "Well, nooow," stammers Uncle Frank. "An'ney awlso wanna tawk t' y' wife!" hammers Alice. "Oh my," murmurs Uncle Frank. "An' y'know who ELSE?" demands Alice. "T"ey was even askin' 'bout SAL! How come awlem times she got arrested, it neveh stuck? Who was pulllin' strings? JUST WHAT DOES SHE KNOW???" "She doon't knoo noothin'," flares back Uncle Frank. "We seen t' thaaaaat!!" "T'em cawps," exhales Alice, "might just fill'eh in!" "Moootharr'a maarcy," mumbles Uncle Frank....)

("T'ez no way I c'n sell f'ra dime an' a quawrteh," sighs Joe, tapping his pencil on the tablet. "Fifteen cents an' t'oity cents, at leas'. An' I do'wanna commit no money t'wa lotta beef till it comes down a lot moeh'rn what it is now." "You SHOULDN'T buy at these prices," insists Shirley Blick. "Chicken's still the better buy right now. Plus you've got a better product, who else is selling a chicken sandwich like this?" "Y't'ink?" frowns Joe. "Look at most of the chicken sandwiches you see around," continues Shirley. "Chicken salad. Who wants that when winter's coming? Sliced chicken grilled in potato flour batter. It's like a pancake and fried chicken all in one. Who else sells anything LIKE that." "Hm," hms Joe. "My pop told me a story," explains Shirley. There was this man that ran a bottling plant, see. Strawberry soda, things like that. Well, after World War I, the price of sugar went way high, just like beef is now. And this man bought a whole ship load of sugar on credit figuring he could make his money back fast by raising his own prices because people wanted soda and couldn't get it. People were buying whole warehouses full of sugar and sitting on it figuring it was going to go higher and higher. And then it crashed, and the man with the bottling plant lost everything he had because he couldn't pay for his sugar." "Huh," huhs Joe. "An' if he'd sold chicken sandwiches..." "Well, kinda," shrugs Shirley. "An' ya ol' man tol' ya that story, huh?" chuckles Joe. "He's a dentist," reminds Shirley. "Sugar's how he makes HIS living too..")

("Awr you SUEH nobody's gonna know it's me?" jitters Bink Scanlan, her voice hollow inside the cardboard coffee jar. "I do'wanna be embarassed. I got my dignity." "Who d'you know t'at's even GOT a television set," scoffs Rosa, lacing up her skates. "Besides, awl'ey c'n see of ya is ya legs. Which remin's me, whe'd you get t'em stockins?" "Borreh'd 'm from Ma," sighs Bink. "Cotton stockins?" sneers Rosa. "Y'look like somebody's granma. Take'm off!" "OHHHH NO!" roars Bink. "I ain' doin'AT kinda act!")

("For now.")

("WHERE," growls Mr. Rickey, "are my cigars?" "Ah," dissembles Mr. Parrott. "I'm afraid I -- ah -- left them on the plane. But I brought you this -- um -- bottle of fine Cuban rum..." "You are AWARE," glowers Mr. Rickey, "that I never imbibe." "Ohhhhhh," moans Mr. Parrott. "I FORGOT. I'm so sorry, sir, please don't take offense. In fact, I'll take this bottle away..." "Not -- so -- fast," scowls Mr. RIckey. "I do not imbibe. But Mr. Durocher, HE imbibes. This bottle shall constitute his Christmas gift." "Oh," sighs Mr. Parrott....)

(These jewel thieves get more and more reckless...)

(Well, this'll get us thru the winter...)

(There's nothing scarier than an 85 year old thug.)

("Even *I* did better than this." -- Billy Conn)

(It's a hard life.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News....

"A one-time circus queen and ******** rider." Hey, ever hear of a guy named Langford?

"We only want top headliners!" I dunno, I seem to remember Owen's name used to come up a lot.

"You're the one wanted to live in the suburbs!"

And they say Gray has no sense of humor.

"Pretty safe" = "You're in for it."

No, I don't think you will. Besides, any duck is much smarter than an old goose.

A moment here to take note of the classy, refined style favored by so many young men today. Poison needs to get with the trend.

Really, Milt? Best you can do?

Hey, at least let the poor kid finish her ice cream.

People walking the streets in their pajamas, what's the world coming to?

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Worker...

I once was hired to review and annotate all of Coughlin's surviving broadcast recordings. Goebbels should have gotten a "written by" credit.

 

[Fading Fast]

"T'ese guys," warns Alice, "ain' nut'n like Doyle. T'eh hawrd-berled cops, real by-t'-book guys.

"T'em cawps," exhales Alice, "might just fill'eh in!" "Moootharr'a maarcy," mumbles Uncle Frank.

Oh my.

*********************************************************

And then it crashed, and the man with the bottling plant lost everything he had because he couldn't pay for his sugar.

Just like we are seeing in real (1946) time with meat: markets go both ways based on supply and demand and they change each other too as, we see Joe responding, his own demand for meat is changing. Properly regulated against force and fraud (a problem for our friend Frank and for our not-friend Doyle), they really are marvelous organizing machines without any top-down bullying.

*********************************************************

Which remin's me, whe'd you get t'em stockins?" "Borreh'd 'm from Ma," sighs Bink. "Cotton stockins?" sneers Rosa. "Y'look like somebody's granma. Take'm off!" "OHHHH NO!" roars Bink. "I ain' doin'AT kinda act!"

"Borreh'd" is doing a lot of work in that exchange.

********************************************************

These jewel thieves get more and more reckless.

With all the comicstrip jewel thieves we've had lately and the real Page 4 ones, the stories are starting to bleed into each other in my small brain.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

"A one-time circus queen and ******** rider." Hey, ever hear of a guy named Langford?

What the heck is wrong with "dilettante" that caused our censor bot to block it?

********************************************************

"You're the one wanted to live in the suburbs!"

Other than that I was responsible for my own breakfast from a very young age, my father could have said the line in the strip, but dripping with a lot more ominous sarcasm.

********************************************************

Really, Milt? Best you can do?

Meh. I had forgotten about him.

 

[Harp]

Reading about Tyrone Powers' marital estrangement recalled his lovely Zorro costar
Linda Darnell; whom I've been in love with since age nine or ten. Basil Rathbone, a British
Army champion fencer, taught the sabre to Powers and considered him superior to Errol Flynn.

Terry drags like Hector these days. Milt might have been in his cups or merely despondent.
Whatever, but strip's off rails and seems utterly lost rhyme and reason.