The Era -- Day By Day

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

Leonora woulda bit him.

Never mind the Dodgers, big boy -- worry about the Browns!

"Actually, fellers, it's the third." "What?" "Nut'n."

A smarmy murderous bandleader. Never mind the censors, Gould -- you'll answer to Petrillo!

"We're not either too young! Don't you read the papers?"

"But if he insists..."

"Actually what he said was 'show me the thieving infidel of a Yankee dog that his bones may bleach in the desert sun.' But I guess you get the gist of it."

You may think you're cool, but you'll never be Pat Ryan with a beard racking his automatic in the jungle cool.

Just one big happy family.

Who needs Batman and Robin?

 

[Fading Fast]

("Hey, ya din' hafteh wait up f'me," says Joe as he pads quietly into the bedroom at quarter to two in the morning. "I couldn' sleep," replies Sally. "I go to Ma's afteh woik t'pick up Leonoreh, an' she's babblin' sum'pn 'bout 'Da fight, Da fight.'" Sally snaps on the light and Joe pulls his cap down over his forehead. "Gawdawmighty, Joe!" she blurts. "Whassat egg on ya head? Don't tell me ya got in a fight, you jus' havin' a concussion! Don' TELL me..." "It wan' nut'n," Joe stammers. "Jus' sump'n stupid onna subway, t'at's awl. Nobody got hoit." Sally glares, and Joe takes a deep breath. "I'm takin' Leonoreh t' ya ma's house, right? An'nis guy gets on at Atlan'ic, t'is saileh. An' he's stan'in nex'tme, givin' me t'look, you know, sizin' me up, an'ne pernts t'Leonoreh an' says 'Daddy's lit'l exemption, huh?', an' he kin'a gives me t'elbow inna ribs an' stawrts snickerin', ya know? An' I try t'ignawr'im, y'know, takin'a high road, an'nen he says 'betcha livin' it up, huh? Makin'a bucks, g'home at night t'ya lit'l wife an' awllat, huh?" Sally's face reddens and her eyes narrow, but she says nothing. "He keeps it up, y'know, wit't lit'l jabs an' Leonoreh's fussin', an' fin'ly I look'im oveh an' say sump'n like, oh, I dunno, sump'n like 'nice suit, Popeye, y'get a pipe wit'it'" An' nen he shoves at me an' Leonoreh stawrts cryin', an'nis lady settin'eah readin' PM looks up an' sez to 'im "AW GET OVEH YASELF," an' befoeh anyt'ing else happens we pull inta Prospec' Pawk, an' we get off, an' we get out onna platfawrm, an' he stawrts in jawrin' at me again, sayin' if t'baby wan'neah, he'd show me a few tricks." "An'nen he HIT ya?" gasps Sally. "Well, no," Joe continues. "He's flappin' his mout', an' jus'ten one'a t'em Leary boys, you know? One'a Uncle Frank's boys, t'one t'ey cawl 't' Neck?' He just shows up utta nowheah, an' says 'awright, saileh, shove off.' An' so he does." Sally blinks with surprise, and taps her forehead. "But what..?" "Well," shrugs Joe, "t'saileh's goin' off an' he yells back at me 'good t'ing ya boyfrien' showed up!' An' I toin t' yell sump'n back...an' I...um...wawk right into a pole." "Ah," nods Sally. "Yeah. Hoits like hell, too. Y'know, t'ough, it's a funny t'ing t'at Neck guy jus' hapn'ta be hangin' 'roun'a station like t'at." Yeah," replies Sally with a slow nod. "Funny t'ing.")
...

"...I...um...wawk right into a pole." Freakin' perfect, LOL.

..

In London, the Polish government in exile may ask Prime MInister Churchill and President Roosevelt to intervene in a diplomatic dispute that has led to the suspension of relations between the Poles and the Soviet Union. General Wladislaw Sikorski. the Polish Premier, conferred today with the Prime Minister and Foreign Secretary Anthony Eden, and while a press conference scheduled for today was cancelled a statement is expected from the British Government tomorrow. Moscow has called for the removal of "anti-Soviet" elements in the Polish government in exile as a condition for the reinstatement of diplomatic relations. The move is interpreted by some as a prod from Moscow for the establishment of a second front, and for the recognition by Britain and the US of postwar Soviet territorial claims.
...

Poor Poland. It would take almost fifty years for things to get better. Yet here we are again, today, with the threat to Poland having returned.

...

(Jean Litz, The Platinum Blonde Waitress is now accepting selected theatrical bookings. Contact her agent for full particulars.)
...

It still seems that the case against them are one thing, the "confession," at a time when we know how police got "confessions."

It would be nice to see a picture of the platinum blonde waitress as I think we all have an image of her in our heads.

...

(LOOK OUT PATTI! It's not Adolphe Menjou at all -- it's Warren William!)

...

I'm getting more of a sinister vibe and William was, sometime, ruthless, but usually just joyfully selfish. Normally, though, he was not sinister. I could more easily see early Vincent Price or George Coulouris in the role, if they do comicstrip work.

...

(TAKE SALMON OUT OF SEASON? NOT AMERICA'S NUMBER ONE HERO -- gulp!)
...

Our since deceased Springer Spaniel would pull his metal dinner bowl out from the corner to the middle of the kitchen floor and then bang his paw on it if we were at all late with his meal. I don't think he'd be doing any better than Bo, had our boy had to fend for himself.

...

Never mind the Dodgers, big boy -- worry about the Browns!
...

Today, like an idiot, I'd read about fifteen responses to this Tweet, where half would support it and half would denounce it and, then, I'd finally realize I'm wasting my time. 1943 was lucky to have less social media.

...

"Actually, fellers, it's the third." "What?" "Nut'n."
...

"I'm three for three as I humbly do my part for the war."

Sub-Sinker Sandy

"You have got to be kidding me. After you wet the floor, you ran and hid under the bed when all this was happening, all the while screaming 'stunt dog' at the top of your lungs."
"Shut up! I was there quietly orchestrating the strategy behind the scenes while letting others take credit as I don't care about that stuff."
"Oh my God!"

...

A smarmy murderous bandleader. Never mind the censors, Gould -- you'll answer to Petrillo!
...

I want the name of her insurance company as, while I've never collected a large payment, based on the foot-dragging, BS paper work and other obstacles insurance companies put between you and a small payment for a legitimate claim, she's getting paid out six months or more before it might even have a chance of happening in the real world.

...

"But if he insists..."
...

Now that Bim's money is conveniently just one giant pile of gold coins, she can easily reach in and grab a handful as a reward. How nice.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Heh!" hehs Sally, looking over the front page as she sips a Coke at the counter of Lieb's Candy Store while Leonora watches Ma Sweeney stacking nickels. "Remembeh when *I* woiked at t'at Schrafft's? I'da chased'm right oveh t'roof." "How are ye likin' ye new job then?" inquires Ma, biting into a suspicious nickel to check its authenticity. "I got a lot t'loin," shrugs Sally. "T'ey got me takin' a class t'get trained bef'oeh I go onna line. So fawr it's jus' like school. C'ep y'meet a betteh class'a people." "And how's Joseph's head?" Ma continues. "Yeah," nods Sally, "I been meanin' t'ask y'bout'tat. Howcum Danny Leary was hangin' aroun' inna station jus' when Joe's train was comin' in? You wouldn' know nut'n 'bout t'at wouldja?" "Ahhhh, Danny's a busy lad, he's got looooots of interests in the neighborrrhood. Prob'ly just lookin' out for...things." "Look, Ma," insists Sally. "Joe might not be Joe Louis a'nut'n, but he c'n take caeh've'imself." "Joseph is a good boy, daughter," sighs Ma. "But you an' oi both know he ain't got the -- innstinct. Loooord help 'im if he ever gets in the Army." Sally is silent for a long moment. "I know," she finally sighs. "'At's why I married him, I din't want some dumb palooka. Plus he could dance. An' -- ut'eh t'ings." "What?" "Nut'n." Sally takes a long sip of her Coke. "Hey Ma, you said Joe is a good boy. T'at's t'fois' time I eveh hoid'ja say t'at." "Well," nods Ma, watching Leonora examining a nickel, "he is. An' ye'll find that this is a harrrrrd world for a good boy.")

A drive against the black market in potatoes is being pressed today by Mayor LaGuardia and the Office of Price Administration, following complaints from purchasing agents for 115 city hospitals that they have had to discontinue the purchase of potatoes due to their being unobtainable except from black-market dealers, who are demanding $9 per hundred pound bag, despite the present OPA ceiling price of $3.85 per 100 pounds. Patients in those hospitals are being served macaroni, spaghetti, and rice in place of potatoes as the source of starch in their diets. Edward L. Coffey, chief attorney for the OPA district, revealed today that his office has issued citations to 425 wholesale dealers in Maine and Idaho potatoes who are accused of selling above the ceiling price. Dealers receiving those notices will be re-checked in ten days, and if they are still found to be in violation, Federal action will be taken to close them down. The steps taken by the local OPA are in concert with the call by Mayor LaGuardia during his Sunday broadcast for stern action against the potato black market.

Soviet bombers and artillery today shattered German military trains and enemy strong points in a systemic bombardment today while the lull in ground fighting continued. At least four trains, one of them loaded with German army trucks, were destroyed in Soviet air raids south of Balakleya in the Ukraine. Red Army artillery and machine guns destroyed several dugouts and pillboxes in the same area.

(I spent many happy hours with my best friend from across the street digging holes in the ground. What was one more hole, more or less? YOU TELL 'EM HELEN!)

(Gyps is a playwright now?? Take that, Claire Boothe Luce!)

The Eagle Editorialist urges a measured response to the present diplomatic crisis between Poland and Russia, noting that whatever the facts are in the case of the deaths of 12,000 Polish officers, as reported by the Nazi propaganda ministry, the present situation at the present time benefits no one but Hitler. "Undoubtedly there are actions and policies of both of our major allies which we do not like, but it might well be suicidal if we permit ourselves to be distracted from the major business at hand -- that of destroying the Axis."

(Future Page Four story.)

(Honestly, having Show Biz Leo for a manager doesn't really give you an accurate picture of what things are like for the rest of the league...)

("....and the youngest." Well, that's creepy.)

(Hey Tallulah, why aren't you in the Army?)

(Wait, isn't that Tommy Manville? What's he doing in a dump like this?)

(International geopolitics made easy.)

(Sure, but can it TALK?)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

"Shoelegging."

Legal recognition of "common law marriage" in the State of New York was abolished in 1933, but as Mr. Friedman notes, its practice was still very far from rare.

All right you two, there's no time for flirting.

"Ah! I love Ursula Parrott!"

LOOK BEHIND YOU.

Nobody ever just goes to the police.

"This is a magnificent knife, effendi. Very well. I'll TAKE THAT WATCH NOW."

To be fair, though, how many piano tuners do *you* know?

You'd have better chances playing the numbers.

Poor Harold. And I bet Pipdyke doesn't even offer Blue Cross.

 

[LizzieMaine]

Oh, and...

How to say "back up the truck" without saying "back up the truck."

 

[Fading Fast]

View attachment 512278
("Heh!" hehs Sally, looking over the front page as she sips a Coke at the counter of Lieb's Candy Store while Leonora watches Ma Sweeney stacking nickels. "Remembeh when *I* woiked at t'at Schrafft's? I'da chased'm right oveh t'roof." "How are ye likin' ye new job then?" inquires Ma, biting into a suspicious nickel to check its authenticity. "I got a lot t'loin," shrugs Sally. "T'ey got me takin' a class t'get trained bef'oeh I go onna line. So fawr it's jus' like school. C'ep y'meet a betteh class'a people." "And how's Joseph's head?" Ma continues. "Yeah," nods Sally, "I been meanin' t'ask y'bout'tat. Howcum Danny Leary was hangin' aroun' inna station jus' when Joe's train was comin' in? You wouldn' know nut'n 'bout t'at wouldja?" "Ahhhh, Danny's a busy lad, he's got looooots of interests in the neighborrrhood. Prob'ly just lookin' out for...things." "Look, Ma," insists Sally. "Joe might not be Joe Louis a'nut'n, but he c'n take caeh've'imself." "Joseph is a good boy, daughter," sighs Ma. "But you an' oi both know he ain't got the -- innstinct. Loooord help 'im if he ever gets in the Army." Sally is silent for a long moment. "I know," she finally sighs. "'At's why I married him, I din't want some dumb palooka. Plus he could dance. An' -- ut'eh t'ings." "What?" "Nut'n." Sally takes a long sip of her Coke. "Hey Ma, you said Joe is a good boy. T'at's t'fois' time I eveh hoid'ja say t'at." "Well," nods Ma, watching Leonora examining a nickel, "he is. An' ye'll find that this is a harrrrrd world for a good boy.")
...

"Ma, biting into a suspicious nickel to check its authenticity." Perfect. And you know she did it without missing a beat.

"...An' -- ut'eh t'ings." Nice, Sally

"...An' ye'll find that this is a harrrrrd world for a good boy." I grew up around a lot of Ma-types who said similar things.

...

(Gyps is a playwright now?? Take that, Claire Boothe Luce!)
...

Got to keep those checks coming in; it costs a lot to maintain a mansion.

Gyps and Jinx should team up on a project as their names sound good together and their images are, while different, on the same continuum. (Sorry, Jinx, but it's true.)

...

"Ah! I love Ursula Parrott!"
...

It's really quite amazing what was going on in books (and, as we see here everyday, in newspapers) versus the squeaky clean world of movies back then. It's one of the reason I believe movie audiences saw through all the silly separate beds and "oh, we can't do that we're not married" nonsense they saw on the screen.

...

Nobody ever just goes to the police.
...

It's 1943 and Bim's wealth is all in unmarked coins. Maybe not calling the not-always-honest police right away makes sense.

...

Poor Harold. And I bet Pipdyke doesn't even offer Blue Cross.

Now, as you've noted, in this case, the police, well, FBI, should have been called in long ago.

 

[FOXTROT LAMONT]

That American marine has a serious case of jungle fever.
And some little unsuspecting tree monkey is set to slip on a banana peeled.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("I tol'ya ya din' hafta wait up," says Joe, as he tosses his overalls over the bedroom chair. "Y'otta be gettin' ya sleep. Y'dowanna fawl asleep onna subway, 'at's how people get rolled. I seen it happen oncet -- me'n Solly was onna Brighton Beach line t'is one time, an'....hey, you lissenin'? Whassat book ya readin'?" "Uh huh," replies Sally, absorbed in her reading. "Mus' be a good one," continues Joe. "I bet t'butleh done it." "It's f'woik," Sally sighs. "I figyeh if I'm gonna be makin' radio pawrts I need t'unnehstan' what t'eyre awla'bout, right?" "Huh," huhs Joe, glancing at the cover. "'Principles a' Radio.' How 'bout't'at. I din' t'ink radio HAD no principles." "It's scientific," explains Sally. "Tells awlabout what makes it act'ch'lly woik. You eveh t'ink about t'at? I mean, you eveh look at a radio tube? Awlem wiehs an' stuff inside'eah? Awlem t'ings does some'p'n. Ya gotcha heateh, an' ya cat'ode, an' ya grids an' ya screens an' ya plate. An' when ya toin onna radio t'electricity hasta go t'rough awlat jus' so you c'n lissen t'ta bawlgame. Y't'ink about it, it's kinda mirac'yalous." "Huh," ponders Joe, climbing into bed and reaching for the light switch. "Kinda makes ya wanna t'ink twicet 'bout pitchin' t'radio out t'windeh." "What?" "Zzzzzzzz......")

The former Democratic leader of Bay Ridge stepped off the political sidelines and into the fray surrounding the bitter intraparty rivalry that led this week to the election of Joseph J. Madden as party leader for the 9th Assembly District. Thomas F. Wogan, dethroned as Tammany chief for the 9th A. D. during the bitter party battle of 1934, but still a force in Bay Ridge Democratic circles, threw his support today to Madden over Congressman Donald O'Toole. O'Toole had succeeded the late Thomas J. McGee, who unseated Wogan nine years ago, and whose political faction had supported the O'Toole candidacy. Wogan refused to align himself with the McGee-O'Toole faction during McGee's eight years as district Democratic leader, but in endorsing Madden the new leader, promised to join the district organization in support. Meanwhile, O'Toole supporters continue to challenge the "widespread use of proxies" in the balloting that led to Madden's victory, and pledged to continue the fight for O'Toole's leadership into the next round of primaries.

Both the nation and the Second Federal Reserve District have exceeded the quota set for the Second War Loan Campaign, with figures today projecting a final figure of $15,500,000,000 for the drive, exceeding the original goal by $2.500,000,000. Brooklyn and Queens led the way, more than doubling their original quotas for the campaign. The drive will conclude on May 1st, two days later than originally scheduled.

In Rockville Center, Long Island, a rift between the mayor of that town and local Civilian Defense authorities has widened today with the resignation of Sector Warden Harold Bucken as head of the local Air Raid Precaution Service. Bucken's resignation is the latest in a wave of resignations by civilian defense officials following Mayor Walter J. Halliday's refusal to reappoint Curtis Browne as chief squadron leader of the Auxiliary Police. Halliday dismissed Browne from that post after Browne took a position as campaign manager for former mayor Edgar Beamish, who was ousted by Halliday in the March village elections.

(Oh, it'll be divulged, sooner or later. It's just a matter of how much it'll cost.)

A 36-year-old house painter from Bushwick, stripped of the Army uniform he wore with such swagger that he won the heart of a burlesque queen, will be sentenced on May 19th following his conviction today on bigamy charges. Orazio Lucenti, classified 4-F, posed as a soldier to win the love of dancer Lillian Kornblum, whom he married last December without benefit of a divorce from his wife, and the mother of his three children, Mrs. Gladys Pica Lucenti of 1368 Myrtle Avenue. The scheme unraveled when Miss Kornblum's sister became suspicious of her new "brother-in-law's" long and frequent furloughs and checked up on him with the Selective Service Board, which revealed that not only was he not a soldier, he was already married.

The shortage of essential foods in the city grew more acute today with incoming supplies of fresh meat, poultry, and potatoes reported to be at a low ebb. Reduced receipts of poultry were even lower than those of last week, when they came in at only ten percent of normal, a situation attributed to a revolt by poultry farmers against the new schedule of OPA ceiling prices set last week.

(Good riddance. That explains why his meat was always stringy.)

(First rule of negotiation: wait 'em out.)

Memorial ceremonies last night at Public School 186 in East Flatbush for hero flyer Sgt. Meyer Levin were highlighted by Principal Isidore B. Kaplan's call for the school to be renamed in Sgt. Levin's honor. Brooklyn's heroic bombardier graduated from the school in 1929. The call followed the dedication of a tree planted on the school grounds in Levin's memory.

(ED HEAD! ED HEAD! ED HEAD! In a league full of stumbling old men, a kid with stuff like this is bound to win 20! Oh wait, *we're* the team full of stumbling old men.)

With Sperry Gyroscope Co. athletic director Dixie Walker on detached service for the summer with the Dodgers, it has fallen to former Richmond Hill High School star Ralph Banzenberg to manage the Sperry baseball team during its 1943 campaign in the Brooklyn-Long Island Defense League. Banzenberg is no stranger to managerial duties, having managed in the Giants farm system in the Eastern Shore and Three-I Leagues. Benzenberg will double as second baseman for the Sperrys, and Dixie will act as an advisor as well as League President. The League has also elected Dodger president Branch Rickey, business manager John Collins, and broadcaster Red Barber to serve as a board of arbitration to settle any disputes among the teams during the season.

The Century Patio Theatre, Flatbush Avenue and Midwood Street, will host a monster war bond rally at midnight tonight, with Jeanne Cagney, Dorothy Sarnoff, and Walter Kassel heading a roster of stars who will appear in person in a drive to fund the purchase of two submarine chasers. Admission is scaled from $100 to $10,000 in War Bond purchases, and the Patio Theatre manager indicated today that advance sales have already exceeded $500,000.

(If you ever wondered what SEETHING SLIT EYED HATE looks like, take a close look at panel four.)

(The reason why police in 1943 are always getting into trouble is because NOBODY EVER CALLS THEM IN TO HANDLE ACTUAL CRIMES.)

("Star?" Well, actually, her name is Shirley, but, you know, business purposes...)

("A DEAD BODY? WE MUST ALERT THE AUTHORITIES AT ONCE! WAIT, WHERE'D IT GO?")

(Even in this weird alternate Bungleverse, it's comforting that George is still the kind of a guy who'd paint his junky old car with a brush.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

Incidentally...

KIDS TODAY.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News....

Chasing down kids on a trike? Well, it's a nice break from bulldogging runaway milk wagon horses.

"Brooklyn: That letter in the Voice complaining about nickels is a lot of banana oil. Come to Lieb's Candy Store, 503 Rogers Ave, we have lots of nickels. Mrs. N. K. S."

Evidence seized without a warrant? JUST ANOTHER DAY'S WORK!

"Yep, a real rookie move. I told ya to blow it up in a secluded cove! Nobody ever sees anything there, that's why they call it 'secluded'!"

"I told you, Mother, I'm following the Lindlahr diet!"

All right, let's try to figure this out. A $20 gold piece weighs 1.075 troy ounces, which is 1.18 standard ounces. A million dollars in double eagles is 50,000 coins, weighing 59000 ounces even, or 3687 pounds 8 ounces. So two million dollars would weigh 7375 pounds, three million 11,962 pounds and 8 ounces, and so forth. One million might be feasible, but a little truck like that would sag a bit. Two million, and you're not going anywhere. And while you're trying to jack up the truck to fix the suspension, the Feds will get you for illegal gold hoarding.

"That sea dog Pat Ryan." I see you guys have had time to get acquainted.

"Wait, where's the little wire for the choke? There's supposed to be a little wire for the choke."

Here's a tip, Doc. Never antagonize the guy who cooks your food.

Migawd, what did you do to his spine?

 

[Fading Fast]

("I tol'ya ya din' hafta wait up," says Joe, as he tosses his overalls over the bedroom chair. "Y'otta be gettin' ya sleep. Y'dowanna fawl asleep onna subway, 'at's how people get rolled. I seen it happen oncet -- me'n Solly was onna Brighton Beach line t'is one time, an'....hey, you lissenin'? Whassat book ya readin'?" "Uh huh," replies Sally, absorbed in her reading. "Mus' be a good one," continues Joe. "I bet t'butleh done it." "It's f'woik," Sally sighs. "I figyeh if I'm gonna be makin' radio pawrts I need t'unnehstan' what t'eyre awla'bout, right?" "Huh," huhs Joe, glancing at the cover. "'Principles a' Radio.' How 'bout't'at. I din' t'ink radio HAD no principles." "It's scientific," explains Sally. "Tells awlabout what makes it act'ch'lly woik. You eveh t'ink about t'at? I mean, you eveh look at a radio tube? Awlem wiehs an' stuff inside'eah? Awlem t'ings does some'p'n. Ya gotcha heateh, an' ya cat'ode, an' ya grids an' ya screens an' ya plate. An' when ya toin onna radio t'electricity hasta go t'rough awlat jus' so you c'n lissen t'ta bawlgame. Y't'ink about it, it's kinda mirac'yalous." "Huh," ponders Joe, climbing into bed and reaching for the light switch. "Kinda makes ya wanna t'ink twicet 'bout pitchin' t'radio out t'windeh." "What?" "Zzzzzzzz......")
...

...

(Oh, it'll be divulged, sooner or later. It's just a matter of how much it'll cost.)
...

The shame in all this is the attention and, even, kindness these two murderers are receiving. Their victim, Susan Flora Reich, didn't get any elaborate last meals.

And based on what we know of Madeline, I'm surprised she can even write a note. I wouldn't expect any deep insight from it when the note finally becomes public.

...

A 36-year-old house painter from Bushwick, stripped of the Army uniform he wore with such swagger that he won the heart of a burlesque queen, will be sentenced on May 19th following his conviction today on bigamy charges. Orazio Lucenti, classified 4-F, posed as a soldier to win the love of dancer Lillian Kornblum, whom he married last December without benefit of a divorce from his wife, and the mother of his three children, Mrs. Gladys Pica Lucenti of 1368 Myrtle Avenue. The scheme unraveled when Miss Kornblum's sister became suspicious of her new "brother-in-law's" long and frequent furloughs and checked up on him with the Selective Service Board, which revealed that not only was he not a soldier, he was already married.
...

Dear Lord.

...

("Star?" Well, actually, her name is Shirley, but, you know, business purposes...)
...

For some reason, 1930s-1970s America love flaming food. Crepe Suzette, steak Diane, shish sabobs, baked Alaska, cherry jubilee, banana Foster and other dishes were often brought out of the kitchen ablaze or set on fire at the table.

I ate at a few of those type of restaurants that were still hanging on in the 1980s and it was a crazy thing. You'd see dishes on fire being carried here and there or be surprised by a burst of flames from a dish at the table next to you. It was nuts.

And in the Daily News....

Chasing down kids on a trike? Well, it's a nice break from bulldogging runaway milk wagon horses.
...

Of course the police have time to track down two seven-year-olds on a tricycle since no one calls them when there are murders at nightclubs or when German spies are stealing military parts from a war factory.

...

"I told you, Mother, I'm following the Lindlahr diet!"
...

What kid wants to order a vegetable plate?

...

All right, let's try to figure this out. A $20 gold piece weighs 1.075 troy ounces, which is 1.18 standard ounces. A million dollars in double eagles is 50,000 coins, weighing 59000 ounces even, or 3687 pounds 8 ounces. So two million dollars would weigh 7375 pounds, three million 11,962 pounds and 8 ounces, and so forth. One million might be feasible, but a little truck like that would sag a bit. Two million, and you're not going anywhere. And while you're trying to jack up the truck to fix the suspension, the Feds will get you for illegal gold hoarding.
...

Which is the exact reason why paper currency was first created and, initially, simply represented a claim on gold stored in a vault. But that was before we discovered the "wonders" of fiat currency.

Fans of the move "The Italian Job" (both the '69 and '03 versions) know that the best way to transport a large amount of stolen gold is with three Mini Coopers.

 

[LizzieMaine]

Incidentially, looking over the sequence showing ED HEAD's pitching motion, I have to wonder what a certain seven-year-old boy in Borough Park by the name of Sanford Braun thinks about it. The similarities are interesting.

 

[FOXTROT LAMONT]

I am hardly in favour of the gallows approach but the final meal piece above for those two blokes
who murdered that woman leaves me shaking my head in disgust.
We had a film here about the last hangman in Britain. His name was Pierpoint I believe and he was professional
about the job no doubts there but he was so methodical with practiced precision quite indifferent so it looked
where his objects of employ were concerned. He executed the last woman ordered hung by the Queen's Bench
and this moment was portrayed in the movie. So perfunctory a mannered method he had. I suppose he needed
a certain calloused mind and all but then you read the American repast recount with the lovey dovey note he was sent
by an accomplice whom yet escaped the rope seemingly because she was a woman.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Sally?" comes a sharp voice, as Sally stands in the lunch line at the Western Electric Kearny Works. "Could that be Sally Sweeney?" ""Huh?" huhs Sally, turning to face her inquisitor. "Who wants t'know?" "It's me," comes the reply. "Mildred McCullough! You know, from Erasmus!" "Oh yeah," grits Sally, her lips forcing themselves into a smile as she brushes her fingers against the proferred hand. "As I live an' breat'e. Mildred McCulleh. Well I'll be. Di'n't reco'nize ya at fois', ya haieh din' usta be t'at coleh." "Of course," continues Mildred, with a slight toss of her head, "it's Mildred Kelly now. Remember Bud Kelly? He was in June '30? A year ahead of us? Football team?" "Oh yeah," nods Sally. "Haven't t'ought'a him in yeeahs. How's he doin'?" "Oh, he's off in th' service. Reserve officer, y'know, so when we got in th' fight, he was called right up. He's a FIRST lieutenant, y'know, over in Africa or Burma or someplace. A FIRST lieutenant." "Ah," ahs Sally. "Ain'nat nice." "We've got a boy who's eight now," continues Mildred, "an' a sweet little girl who'll be starting school next year, so I figured, you know, it was time I did my bit for the war. How 'bout yourself? Did you ever get married?" "Yeh," nods Sally, again with the smile. "Joe Petrauskas, f'm Williamsboig. I don't imagine you know 'im. Got married in t'oity-seven, an' we got a lit'l goil who's awrmost two." "Oh, look at YOU!" giggles Mildred. "Good things come to those who wait, isn't that always the way! Petrauskas -- that's Russian, isn't it? Those Russians are so brave!" "Lit'uanian, actually," sighs Sally. "An'neah pretty brave too. He was in -- ah -- road construction fr'a while, an'nen inna food business, a big consoin in Williamsboig in fac'." "Oh," smiles Mildred, "I don't get around to Williamsboi-uh-berg much." "He's in defense woik now," continues Sally. "At Sperry's. A skilled machinis'. An ESSENTIAL skilled machinis'." "Oh, you're so FORTUNATE," gushes Mildred, "having your husband at home in these difficult times! It must be so COMFORTING for you!" "Yeah," shrugs Sally. "It's swell." "Do you ever hear from any of the old bunch?" Mildred inquires. "You know, Alice Behan, Mags Flaherty, Isabel Cullinen, Dorothy Kil--" "No," interrupts Sally, "We live in Bensonhois' now. I neveh get aroun' t'Flatbush much, You know how it is." "Isn't it just THRILLING about Dottie?" gushes Mildred. "That stunt where she flew around the world! And that newspaper column! And that radio show! And that husband of hers, a Broadway producer yet! I love to see an Erasmus girl make good, don't you?" "Yeah," mutters Sally, trying to control her eyeroll. "It's swell." "So -- " interjects Mildred, "what do you do here?" "I'm jus' stawrt'n t'is week," Sally replies. "I'm trainin' to be in tube assembly." "ISN'T that a coincidence!" erupts Mildred. "I'm an assistant foreman on that line! We'll see a LOT of each other, oh isn't it MARVELOUS!" "Yeh," sighs Sally. "It's swell.")

A load of 300,000 pounds of potatoes arrived in New York today and will be on sale in municipal markets tomorrow morning at 10 AM. Mayor LaGuardia announced the shipment today, and added that the potatoes, amounting to ten carloads, have already been unloaded under the supervision of the Department of Markets. Another such shipment is due to arrive tomorrow, and will be unloaded immediately upon arrival. According to the Mayor the shipments are part of an effort to stamp out the black market in potatoes, and will be sold at prices slightly below the OPA ceiling, at 2 pounds for 15 cents, with each purchaser limited to ten pounds. The present ceiling price stands at 8 cents a pound. The Mayor hailed the arrival of the trainloads of spuds as "the breaking of one link in the black market operation by wholesalers," noting that wholesalers have been requiring purchasers of potatoes to also purchase two or three bags of onions for every bag of potatoes sold, and charging $6 or $7 per hundred-pound bag instead of the normal price of $3.85.

(I wonder if Mr. Barshay was able to introduce any rubber hoses into evidence?)

("Mr. Fitzsimmons," observes Ma Sweeney, as Joe drops off Leonora for the afternoon, "is a verrrry handsome figure of a man." "He's married," notes Joe. "I'm not," smiles Ma. "Indeed, tharrr's much to be said for a yoonger man." "I betteh get to woik," flushes Joe.)

"Something is happening in this war that is pregnant with the possibility of social change," declares psychologist Lawrence Gould in the latest issue of the quarterly magazine "Predictions of Things To Come." Noting that the war is pushing several million American women out of the home and into the workforce, Dr. Gould anticipates that, as recently noted by War Manpower Director Paul V. McNutt, as many as 80 percent of them will be fully able to do their work as well as any man could, and some may do it better. He further predicts that the woman "whose secret feeling has always been that 'anything is better than housework' wont go back if she can help it, now that she has found a way out. And I think that there are far more such women than the average complacent male imagines."

A reader signing their name as "FORMER MEMBER CLEANER BROOKLYN COMMITTEE" writes in to ridicule the idea that children should be allowed to express themselves. From the schoolboys who destroyed an iron railing in front of the house at Franklin and Gates Avenues this week, to the pre-school children who show their contempt for ash cans by smashing bottles on the street, "I have spoken to many, but the solution must come from home!"

("Harumph! The chair recognizes Mr. Baldworthy." "Thank you. What are your views on Kraft Dinner?")

Two thieves who did not know how to tie a gag and instead suffocated their victim paid with their own lives for that crime last night in the electric chair at Sing Sing Prison. Eli Shonbrun and John Cullen, who joined with Shonbrun's lover Madeline Webb in the robbery-murder of wealthy Polish refugee Mrs. Susan Flora Reich, went to their deaths at midnight. Shonbrun, who was raised Jewish, converted to Roman Catholicism during the last 24 hours of his life, and was led to the chair by the Rev. Bernard Martin, who performed the same service for Cullen. "Forgive me father," stated Shonbrun before taking his seat in the deadly chair. "They crucified an innocent girl and now they're going to kill an innocent man." He then sat down, kissed the crucifix held to his lips, and three minutes later Executioner Joseph Francel sent three lethal jolts of electricity thru his body. To the moment a blindfold was slipped over his eyes, Shonbrun kept his gaze locked on the priest, and twice tried to force his lips into a smile. Cullen was more distraught as he entered the death chamber, and, waving his arms in a clumsy gesture, proclaimed "I'm about to meet my God, and I want to repeat -- Governor Dewey, I am innocent of any crime."

Meanwhile, Madeline Webb, who acted as the decoy who lured Mrs. Reich to her death, lay depressed and tense in the infirmary at Westfield State Farm for Women, as her paramour walked the last mile. The letter she had written to Shonbrun was given to the condemned man two hours before his execution, in an exception to the usual rule forbidding written communication between prisoners, and after reading the missive, he handed it back to Warden Robert J. Kirby, who told reporters that it has been destroyed.

(If Mr. Waner could hit .335 over seventeen years in the majors without glasses, imagine what he could have accomplished WITH glasses. Vanity, thy name is athlete.)

Tuners-in will hear quite a broadcast tonight if they spin their dials to WOR for the annual ball of the Newspaper Guild, direct from the Hotel Astor. Among the talent scheduled to appear are Gypsy Rose Lee, Paul Robeson, Ray Bolger, Irving Berlin, Lois January, Diosa Costello, and the orchestras of Harry James and Duke Ellington.

("No, I only perform for pay. SIT DOWN, SAILOR, I'M NOT TALKING TO YOU!")

(Super powers are great, until they aren't.)

(AND THEY DIDN'T EVEN PAY THE CHECK!)

(And we have a new winner, edging out DICK Tracy for the 1943 Worst Dad Ever Award...)

(Hey Bo! Down here, boy!)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

There was a time when the News would smuggle a camera into the death house, the better to depict the convulsions of the body at the precise moment of execution. But people are more sensitive now.

"Neither do I condemn you. Go and sin no more."

All right, take off the whiskers Warbucks. We know it's you.

Oh yeah, Mister Smart Guy Detective Bandage Face? What if a tuning fork gets out of tune because the metal has expanded in the heat? Wouldn't you just want to be able to grind off just enough to bring it back into tune? HUH? NOT SO SMART NOW ARE YA? Oh, and keep your eyes on the road, you just ran over an old lady.

THAT's what you get for black-marketing potatoes! Oh, and if this is Bim in drag, I will howl with laughter.

Well, those aren't exactly safety shoes.

"Sergeant" Wallet. Well, pretty soon.

When you've got a good angle, work it for all it's worth.

Your timing would be better if you didn't talk to yourself so much.

"Now, about that promotion..."

 

[Fading Fast]

("Sally?" comes a sharp voice, as Sally stands in the lunch line at the Western Electric Kearny Works. "Could that be Sally Sweeney?" ""Huh?" huhs Sally, turning to face her inquisitor. "Who wants t'know?" "It's me," comes the reply. "Mildred McCullough! You know, from Erasmus!" "Oh yeah," grits Sally, her lips forcing themselves into a smile as she brushes her fingers against the proferred hand. "As I live an' breat'e. Mildred McCulleh. Well I'll be. Di'n't reco'nize ya at fois', ya haieh din' usta be t'at coleh." "Of course," continues Mildred, with a slight toss of her head, "it's Mildred Kelly now. Remember Bud Kelly? He was in June '30? A year ahead of us? Football team?" "Oh yeah," nods Sally. "Haven't t'ought'a him in yeeahs. How's he doin'?" "Oh, he's off in th' service. Reserve officer, y'know, so when we got in th' fight, he was called right up. He's a FIRST lieutenant, y'know, over in Africa or Burma or someplace. A FIRST lieutenant." "Ah," ahs Sally. "Ain'nat nice." "We've got a boy who's eight now," continues Mildred, "an' a sweet little girl who'll be starting school next year, so I figured, you know, it was time I did my bit for the war. How 'bout yourself? Did you ever get married?" "Yeh," nods Sally, again with the smile. "Joe Petrauskas, f'm Williamsboig. I don't imagine you know 'im. Got married in t'oity-seven, an' we got a lit'l goil who's awrmost two." "Oh, look at YOU!" giggles Mildred. "Good things come to those who wait, isn't that always the way! Petrauskas -- that's Russian, isn't it? Those Russians are so brave!" "Lit'uanian, actually," sighs Sally. "An'neah pretty brave too. He was in -- ah -- road construction fr'a while, an'nen inna food business, a big consoin in Williamsboig in fac'." "Oh," smiles Mildred, "I don't get around to Williamsboi-uh-berg much." "He's in defense woik now," continues Sally. "At Sperry's. A skilled machinis'. An ESSENTIAL skilled machinis'." "Oh, you're so FORTUNATE," gushes Mildred, "having your husband at home in these difficult times! It must be so COMFORTING for you!" "Yeah," shrugs Sally. "It's swell." "Do you ever hear from any of the old bunch?" Mildred inquires. "You know, Alice Behan, Mags Flaherty, Isabel Cullinen, Dorothy Kil--" "No," interrupts Sally, "We live in Bensonhois' now. I neveh get aroun' t'Flatbush much, You know how it is." "Isn't it just THRILLING about Dottie?" gushes Mildred. "That stunt where she flew around the world! And that newspaper column! And that radio show! And that husband of hers, a Broadway producer yet! I love to see an Erasmus girl make good, don't you?" "Yeah," mutters Sally, trying to control her eyeroll. "It's swell." "So -- " interjects Mildred, "what do you do here?" "I'm jus' stawrt'n t'is week," Sally replies. "I'm trainin' to be in tube assembly." "ISN'T that a coincidence!" erupts Mildred. "I'm an assistant foreman on that line! We'll see a LOT of each other, oh isn't it MARVELOUS!" "Yeh," sighs Sally. "It's swell.")
...

I was so sure it was going to be Dorothy Kilgallen herself. Sally has to be thinking, "I have to go all the way to Jersey for this?"

Couldn't the girl from Cleveland have found a criminal in her hometown to date? Did she really have to come to Brooklyn to find a crook to go out with?

...

(I wonder if Mr. Barshay was able to introduce any rubber hoses into evidence?)
...

From what we know, I'd guess they are probably guilty, but based on the BS evidence Turkus presented, they should be acquitted.

...

("Mr. Fitzsimmons," observes Ma Sweeney, as Joe drops off Leonora for the afternoon, "is a verrrry handsome figure of a man." "He's married," notes Joe. "I'm not," smiles Ma. "Indeed, tharrr's much to be said for a yoonger man." "I betteh get to woik," flushes Joe.)
...

Joe married into an interesting family with two very strong-willed women. I think he loves it, but it does bounce him around a bit.

...

Two thieves who did not know how to tie a gag and instead suffocated their victim paid with their own lives for that crime last night in the electric chair at Sing Sing Prison. Eli Shonbrun and John Cullen, who joined with Shonbrun's lover Madeline Webb in the robbery-murder of wealthy Polish refugee Mrs. Susan Flora Reich, went to their deaths at midnight. Shonbrun, who was raised Jewish, converted to Roman Catholicism during the last 24 hours of his life, and was led to the chair by the Rev. Bernard Martin, who performed the same service for Cullen. "Forgive me father," stated Shonbrun before taking his seat in the deadly chair. "They crucified an innocent girl and now they're going to kill an innocent man." He then sat down, kissed the crucifix held to his lips, and three minutes later Executioner Joseph Francel sent three lethal jolts of electricity thru his body. To the moment a blindfold was slipped over his eyes, Shonbrun kept his gaze locked on the priest, and twice tried to force his lips into a smile. Cullen was more distraught as he entered the death chamber, and, waving his arms in a clumsy gesture, proclaimed "I'm about to meet my God, and I want to repeat -- Governor Dewey, I am innocent of any crime."
...

"Shonbrun, who was raised Jewish, converted to Roman Catholicism during the last 24 hours of his life..."

Okay then.

...

Tuners-in will hear quite a broadcast tonight if they spin their dials to WOR for the annual ball of the Newspaper Guild, direct from the Hotel Astor. Among the talent scheduled to appear are Gypsy Rose Lee, Paul Robeson, Ray Bolger, Irving Berlin, Lois January, Diosa Costello, and the orchestras of Harry James and Duke Ellington.

...

I'm sure she's very good on radio as she's smart and a talented, but Gypsy loses something quintessential to her brand playing on that medium.

...

("No, I only perform for pay. SIT DOWN, SAILOR, I'M NOT TALKING TO YOU!")
...

LOL.

...

(Super powers are great, until they aren't.)
...

Good twist, though, as all superheroes need a Kryptonite.

And in the Daily News...

There was a time when the News would smuggle a camera into the death house, the better to depict the convulsions of the body at the precise moment of execution. But people are more sensitive now.
...

In 1933, James Cagney stared in Warners Bros. "Picture Snatcher" in which he plays a reporter trying to take an illegal picture at an execution. From memory, I think he hides his camera by strapping it to his ankle with a cord coming up inside the pants leg to his waist that controlled the trigger. Then, when he wanted to take the picture, he pulled his trousers leg up a bit, aimed and snapped the picture.

Why didn't the gunmen in the $5900 heist just start at or just outside the club and hold Stark up there? It seems going to his home was an unnecessary complication. Haven't these guys ever heard of Occam's razor?

....

"Neither do I condemn you. Go and sin no more."
...

It would be fascinating to learn how her life turned out.

...

Your timing would be better if you didn't talk to yourself so much.
...

Because my eye hadn't drifted ahead, I took panel three in at just the right moment and it was incredibly effective. Caniff is so good.

 

[LizzieMaine]

The actual photo that inspired that film, taken exactly as described in the picture...

The Snyder-Gray case was one of the most notorious tabloid extravaganzas of the twenties -- Judd Gray was a corset salesman in love with Mrs. Judd, who convinced him to beat her husband to death in his bed with a sash weight. Love will find a way.

 

[FOXTROT LAMONT]

That Marine killed a Japanese soldier carrying a Thompson machine gun.

The minor girl caught in the prostitution ring released by the justice is within age of reason.
I wonder how she turned out. Sadly, I have doubts but he did what clearly merited.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Ma job," declares Leonora to Stella the Cat, as Stella fixes her bright green eyes on Joe, up to his elbows in the diaper pail. "Da job," continues Leonora with a serious nod. A knock at the door breaks the moment, and Stella scurries under the stove, as Joe hastily wipes his hands on his apron. "Who is it?" he yells. "Jawn L. Lewis!" comes a rough voice from the other side. The door opens to reveal a burly man in his fifties, the stump of a dead cigar clutched in his teeth, and an enormous block of ice balanced from rusty tongs over a wet leather pad slung over his shoulder. "Whatcha wawnt?" inquires Joe. The visitor looks Joe up and down, surveys the scene, and shifts the cigar to the other side of his mouth. "I'm sellin' Goil Scout cookies," he snorts, as he shoulders into the kitchen, and in a single fluid motion, flings open the top of the icebox, only to stop short. "Hey," he heys. "Whassa big idea? Y'still got haffa blocka ice in'neah. Whassa idea owrdrin' fifty pounds ice when y'don' need it?" "I din' ordeh no ice," Joe protests. "Well," growls the iceman, a puddle of water collecting around his feet, "howcum y'put t'cawrd inna windeh? Look, I ain' got time t'mess wit' no houseboy. Wheah's Mrs. P.?" "I din' put no cawrd inna windeh!" asserts Joe, squaring his shoulders and pulling down the frilly hem of his apron. "Well," reiterates the iceman, markedly dropping the block of ice in the sink, "SOMEBODY put t'cawrd inna windeh! Cawrds don' fly t'rough t'aieh an' flitteh to a gentle landin' inna windeh awl by'm self, now do t'ey?" "Look, bud," stammers Joe, "I neveh ordehed no ice, an' I neveh put no cawrd inna windeh." "Le'noreh job," comes a voice from the floor, as a small figure toddles to the window and holds up the ice card. "Le'noreh job!")

The Corona woman who yesterday threw her two children off the roof of a six story apartment house at the Queensbridge Houing Development and then leaped to her own death also stabbed her aunt in the face following a "violent argument" between the who. Fifty-eight-year-old Catherine Jermahian of Astoria told detectives today that she and her niece. Mrs. Rose Tanhelian had engaged in that argument after Mrs. Jermahian called her niece "an unfaithful wife." Mrs. Jermahian told police that Mrs. Tenhelian then attacked her with a knife before taking her two children to the roof. Mrs. Jermahian is recovering from her injuries at Long Island City Hospital.

A cosmopolitan Manhattanite will find the next two and a half to five years a peaceful interlude in a busy life as he spends them in Sing Sing Prison after pleading guilty to bigamy charges. Twenty-six-year-old George E. Van Dreyer admitted to Queens County Judge Joseph M. Conroy that he had married Marie Trefzer of College Point on January 12th of this year while still married to Ethel Jean Ten Eyck of East Orange, New Jersey. He also pleaded guilty to passing two bad checks for $25 each in a Flushing tavern, but sentence on those charges was suspended. Van Dreyer, who was born in Siberia as the son of a Russian naval officer, and holds multiple degrees from the Sorbonne, appeared in court in the uniform of an Army private, but has already been convicted of Army desertion. Judge Conroy called Van Dreyer "a moocher who used the uniform for his own personal benefit."

(Control the chickens and you control the eggs. Or is that the other way around?)

Lt. Colonel William O'Dwyer, presently on leave from his military duties, is expected to seek reelection as Kings County District Attorney, it was learned today, and it is reported that the American Labor Party, again expected to control the political balance in the election, has received overtures from both Democratic and Republican sides in what is expected to be a hard-fought battle for the job of Brooklyn's chief prosecutor. ALP representatives strongly suggest that rumors that a Labor endorsement of O'Dwyer is imminent are "wishful thinking" on the part of his supporters, and it is indicated that ALP leaders will take their time to see how the political situation develops before taking a side. O'Dwyer's term as district attorney expires at the end of this year. It is indicated that Army regulations will allow him to seek reelection this fall, but he will not be permitted to do any active campaigning for the position.

Unless relatives come forward to claim their bodies, executed murderers Eli Shonbrun and John Cullen will be buried at state expense. Sing Sing Prison warden Robert J. Kirby was preparing to have the two men buried unless relatives appear today. Shonbrun has a living mother and an ex-wife, but there is no record of Cullen having any living relatives. The two were electrocuted Thursday night for their part in the 1942 killing of wealthy Polish refugee Mrs. Susan Flora Reich.

("I don't know WHAT it is with these children today," huffs Mildred Kelly, as Sally dubiously regards a cheese sandwich and a fruit cup on the tray before her. "Don't they know there's a WAR on? WE never carried on like this." "Yeah," nods Sally, taking a cautious bite of the sandwich. ""Remembeh t'at time we wen' t'see Rudy Vallee at t'Paramount? Allem goils t'rowin'neah unnehpants up onna stage? R'dicul'ous." Mildred shoots Sally a look, but her face, as she takes a more confident bite, is inscrutable. "Jitterbug dancing!" snorts Mildred. "So vulgar!" "T'is is a good san'wich," declares Sally.)

("I always prefer an upper berth!")

(And what goes without mention here is that Eddie Anderson, better known as "Rochester," owner of Horse No. 9, "Burnt Cork," is the first Black stable owner to enter a horse in the Kentucky Derby. There's a new world coming.)

(You'd be more convincing. Mr. Varzoni. if you had more than one facial expression.)

("Oh well, she'll be okay I guess." Yeah, we need to talk about your taste in boyfriends.)

(That's what you get for ordering crepes suzette.)

(NOT A CHANCE.)

(War is Hell.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

No words, other than to point out how rampant untreated mental illness is, and once again with horrific results.

And to think Bo ran away.

"Only one thing to do, I better frisk her." "You really are a dog, you know that?"

"And if they don't, well..."

"What, you in my court again? Unlawful search and seizure! Case dismissed!"

You wanted action?

Seeza Maboiks!

You have to wonder how Willie ever finds the courage to leave the house.

Stock footage.

I guess this is why they didn't call in the FBI.