The Era -- Day By Day

[LizzieMaine]

("HEY MA!" bellows Sally, ascending the back stairs from the store to the upstairs apartment. "HEY GRAMMA!" bellows Leonora, echoing her mother. "Don' holleh," admonishes Sally, "it ain't cout'." They enter the apartment without knocking, as is their custom. "Hey Ma," repeats Sally. "Wait'll I tell ya what some bum onna subway was sayin'!" "T'WAWR IS OVEH!" yells Leonora. "It ain' nei'teh," declares Sally. "T'at's jus' one'a t'em stupid rumehs, an'...." Sally trails off when she realizes her mother is nowhere in view. "MA?" she yells. "In heeeeere,"comes a response from the bedroom. "Hey Ma," repeats Sally, banging into the bedroom. "Didja heeh what I was......deeeh gawdawmighty! What awr you WEARIN'?" "It's a dress," declares Ma. "Oi'm wearin' it when Oi go oot t'night with ye Uncle Frank. An' Oi wan'chee to shoo me how to do woona these, whatcheecaaahl victory updoos." "Don' ask me," shrugs Sally, pointing to her own head. "Two dolleh poimanent fr'm Namm's. But t'at DRESS..." "It's an oorginial d'sign," declares Ma. "Moozalesski a' Brooklyn." "Who?" puzzles Sally. "Y'mean'nat guy useta woik wit' Joe at Sperry's? Useta d'liveh oueh ice?" "Oi didn't knoo," frowns Ma, "aboot th' oice." "Look, Ma," backpedals Sally. "Let's stawrt oveh. Why awr you wearin'at dress at 12 o'clock onna Sunday aftehnoon? You didn' t go t'choich did ya? INNAT dress??" "Dooon't be r'diculous," flushes Ma. "Oi toold'jee, Francis is takin' me oot t'night. Aahhhn th' town. T'soom noitclub. OI'm troyin' t'figyarr oot how to waaar this thing withoot makin' a pooblic spectacle'a meself." "What nightclub?" queries Sally. "Oh, Oi don't know," fumes Ma, trying to get an uncooperative shoulder strap to stay put. "Leroy an' Edgar's aaahr soomthin'." "Ohhhhhh, Ma." chortles Sally, doing her best to prevent the eruption of a full guffaw. "Me'n Joe wen' up t'eh once -- d'you -- d'you KNOW, I mean, it ain' farrr people -- I mean -- well, Wayne King don' play t'eh, y'get what I'm sayin', OK?" "If yarr imployin'," scowls Ma, jerking on the strap, "that this cloob is naaaht for ooold people, Oi told Francis exactly that. 'We're too ooold t'goo oot trippin' t'loit fantastic like a coopla eedjits. An' he said t'me 'yaaar as oold as ye feel!' Oi think th'man's losin' 'is moind. Listen heer daughter, when ye see ye Doctarrr Levine t'day, you ask if she can take him on too. GIve 'im soom treatments, make'im staaap actin' loike a bloody oomadaun!" "Um," ums Sally. "O-ma-dhaun," repeats Leonora...)

(Tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick...)

(Mr. Owen is having a hard time of it down on the farm. I hear the milk pails keep tipping over and rolling all the way to the back of the barn...)

(Yes, that certainly sounds like a well-considered business plan.)

("Tomorrow's special -- Cassoulet de Lapin!")

(I wonder if Phil Fumble and Shadow Smart ever get together to talk shop?)

(Well now, Mr. Hix, I certainly agree that these are interesting Greer Garson facts, but -- ah -- they aren't really all that -- STRANGE.)

(This is a much better storyline than the weekday one.)

(I can see where performing Tristan could work up an appetite, but your 201st performance might lag a bit.)

(And meanwhile, back home, Bill burns the house down again. Yeah, what the hell, Mary, might as well stay.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

We need a Daily News diagram of this. But leave out the hernia.

I did not pose for the "Old Timer" sketch, and I never make that face anyway.

"Hey Pap," ventures Willie, as Krause bends over his workbench, the disassembled bowels of a furnace damper spread before him. "I brung ya." Krause looks up to discover the boy holding out a small paakage. "Weh...?" he queries, accepting the parcel. "Gramma gimme it," Willie explains. "Tol' 'eh ya laws' ya las' cigawr inna foinace. She says 'give 'im 'tis,' so I'm givin' it. G'wan, s'f'you." Reaching for a large pair of tin shears hanging over the bench, Krause snips the twine binding the package and unwraps the paper to find a cigar box. His eyes brighten as he lifts the lid -- to discover fifty Tootsie Rolls neatly aligned inside. "Gramma says t'eh good f'ya." "Ah," ahs Krause. "But she says," Willie warns, "don' have too many of'm awl at once. She says Unca Frank done'at, an' it made 'im crazy." " Huh," huhs Krause, peeling the wrapper from one of the Tootsie Rolls and wedging it into the corner of his mouth. He shifts it about until he finds the right spot. "Good?" queries Willie. "Yeh," nods Krause. He pauses, selects another Tootsie Roll, and extends it to the boy. Willie follows his pap's lead, and wedges the candy in the same corner of his mouth. "Yeh?" he asks. "Yeh," nods Krause...

"WHINE YOU RATS WHINE!" I wish I could be like Gravel Gertie.

Harold Gray's world is a very very dark place.

Some cab rides are cheaper than others.

"General Peanuts?"

Nothing like winter to make you feel your age. And -- um -- isn't a double date when you have two *couples*?? Because I don't think that's what we have -- ah -- oh never mind, I don't want to think about it.

Look, once this is all over, the two of you need to go off someplace for a week or two and just get it all out of your system.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And also...

"I don't know who sent it, dear," sighs Mrs. Rickey. "I found it on the floor just now, as though someone had shoved it thru the mail slot in the front door." Mr. Rickey blanches as he picks up the folded newspaper page, and regards an item circled in bold crayon. "A radical sheet," he mutters. "There is no question of its origin." He is about toss the page in the fire, when he hesitates, and re-reads the marked article. "Boston," he murmurs. "Boston..."

 

[Fading Fast]

They enter the apartment without knocking, as is their custom.

Let's all just be glad the newlyweds weren't going at it in the living room. Leonora will have enough "issues" to deal with as an adult after having growing up in this madhouse.

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Mr. Owen is having a hard time of it down on the farm. I hear the milk pails keep tipping over and rolling all the way to the back of the barn...

Nice one, Lizzie.

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Well now, Mr. Hix, I certainly agree that these are interesting Greer Garson facts, but -- ah -- they aren't really all that -- STRANGE.

"You try coming up with new material each week and then be a critic" -- EH

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We need a Daily News diagram of this. But leave out the hernia.

We do indeed. Boy, that wife is up for this fight - she's going at his defense with gusto. And BTW, she is quite the looker.

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Look, once this is all over, the two of you need to go off someplace for a week or two and just get it all out of your system.

Ditto Hu Shee and Terry.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Doity gamblehs," fumes Sally. "Y'know, sometimes I gotta bone t'pick wit' LaGawrdieh, but he was right onna button goin' afteh t'ese guys. I mean, what if, afteh t'wawr, I mean -- maybe I might wanna go t'collitch!" "Ain'choo a lit'l old f'collitch?" snickers Alice. "I mean, I seen'em movies, an' you ain' no Priscilla Lane!" "Y'don' get it," frowns Sally. "T'ings is gonna be diff'nt afteh t'wawr. A lotta people gonna be doin' a lotta t'ings -- so why not me? I went t' Erasmus, y'know. T'ey don' let jus' anybody inneh." "T"ey let Kilgallen inneh," chuckles Alice with a sidelong glance. "T'at's on'y b'cuz'eh ol' man was a big shot onna papeh," sneers Sally. "It's awl infloonce, y'know. 'It ain' whatcha know it's who ya know.' But I got good grades inneh, good as anybody, an' I coulda got inta t'at Brooklyn Collitch when it opened up t'eh, y'know? Didn't cawst nut'n. An' I wanned t' -- an' Ma wouldn' lemme! Said I'd meet t'wrawng kinda people!" "Gamblehs," shrugs Alice. "HE WASN' EVEN REGISTEHED!" bellows Sally, as the usual necks turn in the car and the usual sighs are sighed...)

("Doon't even taaalk t'me, Francis Leary," scowls Ma, pounding the coloring pill into a bowl of margarine with more force than that task requires. "A man'a YAAAAAR AGE, troyin' t' JITTERBOOG!" "Oi doon't wanna talk aboot that," groans Uncle Frank. "Didjee get th' doctarr aaah th' phoon? Whin c'n'ee see me?" "Oi didn't caaahl yet," snips Ma, slamming the yellow blob onto a plate and shoving it roughly across the breakfast table. "Oi'll get to it." "How'm OI gonna waaaark," pleads Uncle Frank, "whin OI c'n 'aaaardly stand oop?" "Francis," exhales Ma, her voice hard. "WHOOT has gaaaht inta yee? All Oi been hearin' oota ye farr days an' days is stoof an' naaahnsense aboot noit cloobs an' speakeasies, an' hoo we gaaaht t'moove with th' toimes. YOU, Francis, a man who haaasn't baaaaught new draaaawers since Coolidge was Pres'dent. What is WRAAAANG with ye?" Uncle Frank frowns. "Oi'm ooold," he mutters. "Yaaar noo ooldar thin ye was last week!" roars Ma. "That ain't th' point," sighs Uncle Frank. "Oi was taalkin' t' Doyle, ye see, an'nee was gooin' ahhn aboot hoow it ain't 1929 noo maar. An' aaahl Oi could think is 'whin did THAT happen?" "Well," shrugs Ma, "Oi ain't winnin' no beautiful baby caaahntests meself. But ye doon't see ME carryin' aaahn an' throooin' me back oot cuttin' didoes in a noit club!" "It's diff'r'n't f'ra man," mumbles Uncle Frank. "So ye gett'n baald headed," sighs Ma. "Ye know Mistar Krause? Alice toold me he was bald-headed when'ee was 16! Who caaaars aboot bald-headed anyway -- Oi mean, it's ahhl oi can do t'get'chee t' take ye hat aaahf at th' table, noobody's goona know anyhoo. Ye good enough far me, n'matter HOW old arrr bald arr fat'chee are." Uncle Frank gazes at Ma for a long moment. "Now," she resumes, "lit's have noo maaar naaahnsense aboot noit cloobs. Eatchee breakfast, an' Oi'll goo down't'th store an' caaahl th' doctarr." Uncle Frank nods, and winces as the hard chair grinds into his spine...)

("Oh he only said that so he could get into the GAR.")

(Tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick....)

(Racing forms in the Dodger clubhouse!!! "Why's everybody looking at me??" -- Chuck Dressen.)

(Cold Storage? I dunno, I'd think it'd taste better fresh.)

("Please, Mrs. Worth, don't listen to those violent radio serials during work hours.")

("And how long does it last??")

(Yeah, there's times I wish I could do that.)

(Life is an endless series of paths of least resistance.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

"Before the actor could remove them, a general paid an inspection visit."

"MIss Rheingold? Never heard of her."

Well, here's one way to wipe the slate clean...

You're slipping, Gould. When Flattop burned that one guy to death we got a tight closeup of the "cinder."

Look, next year just pay him to do your taxes.

"Aw they won't care! Just don't tell 'em you banged it up in the parking lot!"

HOSTILE WORK ENVIRONMENT

Well, Frankie Costello never thought of this one.

And later on, we'll play chess.

"Whelp" is a great insult you just don't hear anymore.

 

[Fading Fast]

"I mean, I seen'em movies, an' you ain' no Priscilla Lane!"

I love Alice.

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It's not quite there yet, but soon the "we weren't nazis" business will start, which will result in the odd occurrence of post-war Germany consisting only of those Germans who weren't nazis during the war. Who knew the allied bombs and bullets were so go that they only killed the Germans who were nazis?

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"Staring a home for the aged, Matt?"

Damn, that's harsh.

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Page Four is on a roll and won't stop.

The pin-up girl argument, in one form or another, is effectively still with us today – and will always be.

Despite Ms. Brooks' belief, I'm starting to think her hubby might be guilty.

Melody and Chic's marriage had to be a drunken, late-at-night JOP affair.

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Well, here's one way to wipe the slate clean...

All's well that ends well. Maybe Annie will inherit all of it.

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Pat is not in a kiss-and-make-up mood. She doesn't scare easily, but the DL has to have at least a twinge of fear running through her now as she knows Pat plays the game on her level.