The Era -- Day By Day

[LizzieMaine]

("It ain' like she's a bad poisson," declares Sally, as she and Joe sit on a bench in Satellite Park watching Leonora dig furiously in the sandbox. "I mean, Alice is got a lotta outstandin' qualities." "Yeh," grumbles Joe. "Look what her outstandin' qualities done t'me p'jama top." "She's allalone inna woil', Joe," Sally continues. "Ain' got no relatives, ain' got no fren's, 'cept f'rus. I feel bad 'bout makin' 'eh leave." "How come she gets t'bed an' we gotta sleep onna flooeh?" growls Joe. "Y'got guests," shrugs Sally, "an' ya s'posta make'm comf'table." "Who says?" Joe growls, kicking a pebble away with his toe. "Look," says Sally, "she says she's gonna leave soon's she c'n find a place to go. She says t'at room she had, when she din' come home, t'lanloehd jus' wen' ahead an' rented it to to somebody else, some weldeh downa shipyawrd a'sump'n. She foun'eh stuff in a box out onna stoop." "T'at's kin'a sad," agrees Joe. "An' her woikin' f'ra good cause like she is." "Whatcha mean?" queries Sally. "She woikis wit' me out t' Weste'n Electric. Yeah, I s'pose wawr woik's a good cause, but..." "Well, yeah," returns Joe. "But on toppa t'at she does awlis whatchacawl volunteeh stuff, sitt'n up awl night plannin' t'ings out. Awl f'ra good cause." "Well, yeah," agrees Sally. "It *is* a good cause, but I gotta say, I'm s'prised t'heeh ya say so. I neveh t'ought you even liked Petey." "Huh?" huhs Joe. "What Petey? I'm tawkin' bout Alice woikin f'r ya Uncle Frank, onnat Greateh New Yawrk Fund t'ing." "Whea'd you eveh heah t'at?" interjects Sally. "She ain' doin' nut'n like t'at. Her an' me is woikin' onna plan t'get t'Dodgehs t'get Petey back f'm t'Pittsboigs!" "No, no," insists Joe. "Uncle Frank tol' me his own self." "Well, he musta been t'inkin'a some utteh Alice Dooley," maintains Sally. "She ain' got nut'n to do wit' t'at. Wheah's she gonna get t'time?" "Oh," ohs Joe, his features sinking into a frown. "Y'know, two dollehs is a lotta money." "What?" "Nut'n.")

Russian dispatches reported today that the German air force lost another 66 planes north of Novorossisk yesterday, bringing enemy losses over the past three days to 197 aircraft in the Caucasus sector. Soviet land operations remain underway in that sector to wipe out the narrowing Axis bridgehead on the Kuban. Unofficial Soviet reports from Moscow report that Russian forces have broken several strong German counterattacks.

In East Farmingdale, bloodhounds combed the woods as police continued to search last night for 28-year-old David Cox, ex-sailor wanted in the connection with the Friday night strangling of 53-year-old painting contractor Valentine Glaab. Cox, a native of Melville, New York, was discharged from the Navy in February after a period of hospitalization, and was advised upon his discharge to enter a mental institution. His sister, Minnie Cox, who was employed by Glaab as a housekeeper, told police that her brother had called at the residence to pick her up, and, while walking across the living room, suddenly leaped upon Glaab, seized him by the throat, and choked him to death. Miss Cox told police she tried to pull her brother off Glaab, and beat him with a rolling pin to try to get him to let go, but without effect. He escaped and fled into the woods after she ran to get help from a neighbor. She further told police that her brother has been "undergoing treatment" since he was injured in a fall off a cliff in Englewood, New Jersey about a year ago.

The Post Office Department has finally conceded that Brooklyn is part of New York City, more than 44 years after consolidation made that a fact. Where mail slots in the main post office at the Brooklyn Federal Building were, until this week, labeled BROOKLYN and NEW YORK CITY, they now read BROOKLYN and MANHATTAN AND BRONX.

(Keep 'em flying.)

Brooklyn Hills' peppery critic of Mayor LaGuardia's crime policies has refused an invitation to debate a LaGuardia supporter at Girls High School next week. Aaron H. Eastmond yesterday declared that he will not appear at the debate proposed for next Friday night by Court Clerk Harry Wolkolf, but that he would gladly debate the Mayor himself if Wolkolf could get him on the stage. "My controversy," declared Eastmond in a letter to Wolkolf, "is wholly with a responsible elected official and not with a self-appointed attorney or representative." Wolkolf reiterated that he will be present at Girls High School next Friday prepared to debate Mr. Eastmond, or a substitute who shares his views, and that he is hoping to arrange for "Kate Smith or some other radio or stage celebrity" to sing the national anthem.

(I hear Margie Hart's in town.)

(Any debutante who shows up on the Society page in saddle shoes is OK by me.)

The formation of a new wartime "super bureau" under the supervision of James F. Byrnes must be conceded, declares the Eagle Editorialist, as an admission by the Administration of the "complete breakdown" of its homefront policy. The new Office of War Mobilization, announced by the President this week, must be seen as a response to the constant quarreling and failures within the War Labor Board, the Office of Price Administration, the War Manpower Commission that have brought "widespread condemnation on the part of the politics." "Sheer incompetency" is blamed by the EE for most of this, although he also sniffs that "cheap New Deal politics" must also take a share of the responsibility. The President himself sounded the correct note when he declared in his announcement of the new bureau that "we must streamline our activities, avoid duplications and overlapping, eliminate interdepartmental friction, and make decisions with dispatch."

("Hey Sukey," beckons Leo Durocher, slapping at the just-delivered telegram unfolded in his hand. "Whattaya make of this?" "They spelt 'Higbe' wrong," replies coach Clyde Sukeforth with a chuckle. "'I heard ya on the radio,' Sukey reads aloud, in his thick Maine accent, " 'an' yer as good a comedian as Higsby is a pitcha. Get wise t'yaself. Signed A Friend of Higsby.' Wal, now, that don't even make sense." It's Hig himself that sent it," fumes the Lip. "He was all bent up the other day about some fool telegram he thinks I sent him, an' this is his way of gett'n back at me. Well, I don't have to take nothin' from that cornpone fathead. Where's he now?" "Out shaggin' flies," Sukey replies. "He's pitchin' today, you ain' gonna do nawthin' t'get him riled up, ah ya?" "Oh," smirks Leo. "I'll rile him up. Gimme a pencil.")

The most severe test the Bushwicks have encountered yet this season unfurls this weekend, with back-to-back doubleheaders on the schedule. Today's twinbill at Dexter Park against the St. Louis Stars of the Negro National League will be followed tomorrow by another doubleheader against the Ellis Island Coast Guard squad. The St. Louis twinbill takes on the tone of a grude match, with the locals having beaten Negro National League teams eight consecutive times this season, and the Stars will be out to put a stop to that. The Bushwicks have won twelve straight games while losing only one over the young season.

Margie Hart has put her g-strings in mothballs, she declares, and intends to keep them there. The titian-haired former stripteaser is a legitimate actress now, and wants very much to put her past career into mothballs too, especially her Broadway turn last year in the officially-reviled "Wine, Women, and Song." Margie says when that show was closed down by judicial order, and its producers jailed, she was besieged by offers to appear in similar types of productions, and she turned them all down "because the only reason they wanted me was for just a lot of cheap notoriety and I didn't want that." Margie will appear next week at the Flatbush Theatre in "Cry Havoc," playing the serious role of a Red Cross nurse at Bataan, a role which, she laments, prevents her from wearing nail polish.

(True story: two cops were kicked off the local force in my town a couple years back for "abusing porcupines" while on duty.)

(WELL WHY DIDN'T HE THEN????)

(Well, hey, after the war packaged snack foods are gonna explode.)

(Ernie Bushmiller has a very strange sense of humor. And I have seen a rampaging moose in person, and yes, it's that menacing.)

(It's a sign of the times in the comics business that "Sally O'Toole" and "Mrs. Melrose" are played by the same actress.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

And we haven't even heard from Madeline yet!

An elevator building! WELL AREN'T WE RITZY!

Oh yeah, you can tell he's a farm boy by his delicately callused fingertips.

War is hell.

"Sir, that was a bundle of laundry."

"Well I have always had my suspicions!"

SURE, IT STARTS WITH A FEW INNOCENT TELEGRAMS AND THEN...

Ah well, if he wasn't a 4-F he'da been out in six weeks on a psychiatric anyway...

Walt is a partner in a firm that manufactures wicker furniture, and there's bound to be plenty of good war contracts there.

When there's an experienced Serbian assassin around, it's always good to have him on your side.

 

[Fading Fast]

("It ain' like she's a bad poisson," declares Sally, as she and Joe sit on a bench in Satellite Park watching Leonora dig furiously in the sandbox. "I mean, Alice is got a lotta outstandin' qualities." "Yeh," grumbles Joe. "Look what her outstandin' qualities done t'me p'jama top." "She's allalone inna woil', Joe," Sally continues. "Ain' got no relatives, ain' got no fren's, 'cept f'rus. I feel bad 'bout makin' 'eh leave." "How come she gets t'bed an' we gotta sleep onna flooeh?" growls Joe. "Y'got guests," shrugs Sally, "an' ya s'posta make'm comf'table." "Who says?" Joe growls, kicking a pebble away with his toe. "Look," says Sally, "she says she's gonna leave soon's she c'n find a place to go. She says t'at room she had, when she din' come home, t'lanloehd jus' wen' ahead an' rented it to to somebody else, some weldeh downa shipyawrd a'sump'n. She foun'eh stuff in a box out onna stoop." "T'at's kin'a sad," agrees Joe. "An' her woikin' f'ra good cause like she is." "Whatcha mean?" queries Sally. "She woikis wit' me out t' Weste'n Electric. Yeah, I s'pose wawr woik's a good cause, but..." "Well, yeah," returns Joe. "But on toppa t'at she does awlis whatchacawl volunteeh stuff, sitt'n up awl night plannin' t'ings out. Awl f'ra good cause." "Well, yeah," agrees Sally. "It *is* a good cause, but I gotta say, I'm s'prised t'heeh ya say so. I neveh t'ought you even liked Petey." "Huh?" huhs Joe. "What Petey? I'm tawkin' bout Alice woikin f'r ya Uncle Frank, onnat Greateh New Yawrk Fund t'ing." "Whea'd you eveh heah t'at?" interjects Sally. "She ain' doin' nut'n like t'at. Her an' me is woikin' onna plan t'get t'Dodgehs t'get Petey back f'm t'Pittsboigs!" "No, no," insists Joe. "Uncle Frank tol' me his own self." "Well, he musta been t'inkin'a some utteh Alice Dooley," maintains Sally. "She ain' got nut'n to do wit' t'at. Wheah's she gonna get t'time?" "Oh," ohs Joe, his features sinking into a frown. "Y'know, two dollehs is a lotta money." "What?" "Nut'n.")
...

Oh, Joe.

Also, Dempsey, or at least, his wives and lovers are having a moment.

...
("Hey Sukey," beckons Leo Durocher, slapping at the just-delivered telegram unfolded in his hand. "Whattaya make of this?" "They spelt 'Higbe' wrong," replies coach Clyde Sukeforth with a chuckle. "'I heard ya on the radio,' Sukey reads aloud, in his thick Maine accent, " 'an' yer as good a comedian as Higsby is a pitcha. Get wise t'yaself. Signed A Friend of Higsby.' Wal, now, that don't even make sense." It's Hig himself that sent it," fumes the Lip. "He was all bent up the other day about some fool telegram he thinks I sent him, an' this is his way of gett'n back at me. Well, I don't have to take nothin' from that cornpone fathead. Where's he now?" "Out shaggin' flies," Sukey replies. "He's pitchin' today, you ain' gonna do nawthin' t'get him riled up, ah ya?" "Oh," smirks Leo. "I'll rile him up. Gimme a pencil.")
..

Give Alice her due, no matter how it turns out, she's definitely stirring the pot.

...

(Ernie Bushmiller has a very strange sense of humor. And I have seen a rampaging moose in person, and yes, it's that menacing.)
...

Having lived in mainly rental apartments for the past thirty-plus years, I don't think I've ever lived in a place with wallpaper.

I am embarrassed to say I never thought about the origin of the term "freelancer," but it's very cool.

...

(It's a sign of the times in the comics business that "Sally O'Toole" and "Mrs. Melrose" are played by the same actress.)

To this day, it is one of the ironies of the modeling business that they are always shooting about half a season behind, so winter clothes are shot in the summer and vice versa. Patti doesn't have what it takes as there are more pretty girls than modeling jobs, so as crazy as it sounds, work ethic - which includes being able to hold up to the demands of a long day of shooting and, as seen here, wearing heavy clothes in the summer or freezing in summer clothes in the winter - matters a lot.

Sally/Melrose is just an early version of Heather Locklear when she starred on both "Dynasty" and "T.J. Hooker" at the same time. Not that I had a thing for Ms. Locklear, nope, not seventeen-year-old me, hmmhmmhmm. I did meet her once, many years later, in the lobby of the office building I was working in at the time, which was also where the Howard Stern show was produced. I was getting in to work and she was showing up for the show and we exchanged a "good morning" in the lobby. Yes, she is beautify, it's an arresting beauty, and also delicate looking, she's very small boned.

And in the Daily News...

And we haven't even heard from Madeline yet!
...

This trial's turned into one of his fifteen-round fights, regardless of who wins, everyone is coming out badly beaten up.

...

SURE, IT STARTS WITH A FEW INNOCENT TELEGRAMS AND THEN...
...

I get it's a comicstrip and they need storylines, but still, that is a pretty sick joke.

...

Ah well, if he wasn't a 4-F he'da been out in six weeks on a psychiatric anyway...
...

If Jack and Cindy ever do get married, tell me the broad outline of their marriage will be any different from this one.

...

When there's an experienced Serbian assassin around, it's always good to have him on your side.

"Why isn't the stunt dog more involved in the action, he's making me look timid."
"You are timid."
"Shut up! Why isn't he attacking the Nazis?"
"Why aren't you?"
"Shut up! The chef just called to say my organic, gluten-free lunch is ready, but we'll continue this conversation after my post-lunch massage and nap."
"Okay, killer."

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Well," glums Alice, as the H&M rumbles homeward, "I s'pose I c'd be like t'is guy heeh an' sleep inna pawk. I bet if I wrote a letteh t'Butch he'd lemme do it. He's like t'at." "Don't be t'at way," sighs Sally. "You ain' gotteh sleep inna pawk. Look, what if afteh we get home an' pick up Leonoreh we go oveh t' Davega's an' getcha a cot. We c'n set t'at up inna livin' room, an' y'c'n have it awltaya self. We c'n ev'n hang up a blanket a'sump'n f' ya privacy. Huh? How 'bout'tat." "A cot," ponders Alice. "Well, I mean, I'm kinda big..." "We'll get a big cot," interjects Sally with just a slight touch of desperation. "If it ain' big enough we'll get two'v'm, an' putt'm t'getteh. How 'bout t'at?" "Yeah," Alice nods. "T'at might woik at t'at" "Yeah, now, y'see," exhorts Sally. "It ain'nat hawrd t'figgeh sump'n out." "Gee kid," grins Alice. "Ya swell. An' hey, when we'ehrinteh Davega's, less get Joe some new pajamas." "Hey, now," agrees Sally. "T'at's a good idea. " "Yeah," chuckles Alice. "T'em old ones don't fit me right at'awl!")

The threat of a work stoppage at midnight tonight hung over the nation's soft coal fields today as representatives of the United Mine Workers and bituminous coal operators met again to discuss the issue of portal-to-portal pay and other matters in their contractural negotiations. Labor circles believed today that UMW president John L. Lewis might extend the truce once more if negotiations show signs of progress. Thus far, however, little headway appears to have been since the negotiations resumed in Washington after they collapsed in New York and the War Labor Board intervened. The question of how much a miner is to be paid for traveling from the time he enters the mine until the time he comes out -- "portal to portal" -- remains the primary sticking point in the talks. Miners have traditionally been paid only from the moment they actually begin digging to the moment when they lay down their tools.

Following yesterday's lull, the second half of the city's record Memorial Day weekend travel rush started today, as New Yorkers who had packed outward-going trains on Friday and Saturday for a three-day holiday away from home began their return trips. With bus travel and other forms of gasoline-powered transportation strictly limited by the present gasoline shortage, railroads bore the brunt of the burden. Mayor LaGuardia, contemplating the holiday quiet resulting from the sharp cut in bus travel in the city, declared on his weekly radio broadcast yesterday over WNYC that he didn't like it, and that it will have to be changed. He called the sharp reduction in bus service "unreasonable, unnecessary, and unscientific," and promised that conferences to be held this week will look toward a compromise permitting the city at least limited Sunday bus service. New York, the Mayor emphasized, has conserved more gasoline and oil than any other city in the country, "and anyway, if the OPA had been more active last year, we wouldn't be having these drastic cuts today."

(Ah yes, loyalty oaths, the essence of Americanism. "Coming Events Cast Their Shadows Before...")

Dodgers radio announcer Walter "Red" Barber will be decorated for his volunteer service to Civilian Defense in ceremonies to be held at home plate at Ebbets Field on June 13th. The popular broadcaster will receive a medal from the Sgt. Joyce Kilmer Post of the American Legion in recognition of his outstanding work recruiting blood donors on behalf of the Brooklyn Red Cross, and for his efforts on the air for the sale of war bonds.

(I suppose if you have to replace Tallulah Bankhead with somebody, you might as well replace her with Miriam Hopkins...)

Reader S. Weinberg writes in demanding to know just how long riders on the Brighton Line of the BMT must tolerate such wretched service. "With more local stations than express stops, who concocted the brilliant idea of two or more express trains to every one local train? The result is rank discrimination against the local train commuter who unfortunately does not reside near an express station." Station accomodations also come in for strong critique. "If we must wait for a local, provide us with plenty of benches. We are all tired after a day's work. Must we still stand on the platform?"

(Afternoon at the Half Moon Hotel. Be sure to check the windows!)

("An' they used to call me wild!" shrugs Freddie Fitzsimmons as Kirby Higbe glares out the window of the St. Louis bound train. "What were you aimin' at, anyways?" "Duhrochuh's haid," growls the sullen Southerner. "An' nex' time, ah tell yuh whut, I'm gon' HIT it.")

The Bushwicks continued their rampage yesterday at Dexter Park, taking two from the St. Louis Stars, edging out the Negro National Leaguers 8-6 in the first game and whomping them 12-6 in the nightcap. The victories extended the Woodhaven boys' current winning streak to 11 games since their only loss of the season so far. Today the Bushwicks host the Ellis Island Coast Guardsmen in another twinbill. Two members of the Guardsmen are already very familiar with Dexter Park, with Ben Ferriola, a burly catcher from Canarsie, having played for the Bushwicks before a minor league career in the Eastern League and the Southern Association, and Steve Ristau having put in some time with the Bay Parkways while holding down a business job in Manhattan.

Doc Brady declares that no one should ever take up smoking before they have finished growing up -- no sooner, under any circumstanes, than between the ages of 21 to 25. He deplores the common sight of 9 and 10-year-olds puffing away in the streets, and he urges parents to require their chlldren, upon reaching that age, to take an annual birthday pledge to abstain from tobacco and alcohol until they have attained full adult deelopment. "If possible, have your child take this pledge in the presence of your religious adviser. One day your child will revere you for it."

(Mary a cop? Hey, that has potential!)

(Point of order: Scarlet has been irreversibly invisible for weeks now. Has she changed her clothes yet? If so, do the clothes she takes off become visible as the ones she puts on fade from view? It hurts my head to think of all this.)

(Not only is Mrs. Melrose Sally O'Toole, but Mike clearly is wearing Patti Parker's cast-off old hats.)

(The disrespect this poor cat gets makes me want to cry. Come live with me, kitty, I'll treat you right.)

(Which one? Let's see, five people living here, two books each, that's a lot of ration books to lose.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

"Walter, a fashion designer, graduated from the Traphagen School, sent letters last winter indicating he was unhappy in the Army."

"The baby in fact had not been born at press time and was not expected for a few hours." Well, it beats waiting for the BMT.

Joe Blow? He gets around.

C'mon, beardy -- George showed you how to do it. Now YOU try a high kick!

Well, I mean, Artie Shaw ran away to Mexico...

"Henrietta! I've just bought you a dude ranch! Why are you looking at me like that?"

"What was her name again? Nonie? Nana? Nola?"

Y'know, I bet the Russians would take him.

They have very lenient lunch breaks at this defense plant.

Don't worry, toots, brown goes with everything.

 

[LizzieMaine]

Oh, and...

You can't fight the laws of nature.

 

[Fading Fast]

("Well," glums Alice, as the H&M rumbles homeward, "I s'pose I c'd be like t'is guy heeh an' sleep inna pawk. I bet if I wrote a letteh t'Butch he'd lemme do it. He's like t'at." "Don't be t'at way," sighs Sally. "You ain' gotteh sleep inna pawk. Look, what if afteh we get home an' pick up Leonoreh we go oveh t' Davega's an' getcha a cot. We c'n set t'at up inna livin' room, an' y'c'n have it awltaya self. We c'n ev'n hang up a blanket a'sump'n f' ya privacy. Huh? How 'bout'tat." "A cot," ponders Alice. "Well, I mean, I'm kinda big..." "We'll get a big cot," interjects Sally with just a slight touch of desperation. "If it ain' big enough we'll get two'v'm, an' putt'm t'getteh. How 'bout t'at?" "Yeah," Alice nods. "T'at might woik at t'at" "Yeah, now, y'see," exhorts Sally. "It ain'nat hawrd t'figgeh sump'n out." "Gee kid," grins Alice. "Ya swell. An' hey, when we'ehrinteh Davega's, less get Joe some new pajamas." "Hey, now," agrees Sally. "T'at's a good idea. " "Yeah," chuckles Alice. "T'em old ones don't fit me right at'awl!")
...

"We'll get a big cot,"

"Yeah," chuckles Alice. "T'em old ones don't fit me right at'awl!"

Perfect. Plus, you have to love Alice's tutorial in passive aggressiveness. Just wow.

...

Reader S. Weinberg writes in demanding to know just how long riders on the Brighton Line of the BMT must tolerate such wretched service. "With more local stations than express stops, who concocted the brilliant idea of two or more express trains to every one local train? The result is rank discrimination against the local train commuter who unfortunately does not reside near an express station." Station accomodations also come in for strong critique. "If we must wait for a local, provide us with plenty of benches. We are all tired after a day's work. Must we still stand on the platform?"
...

Maybe we can ask Hitler and Tojo to put he war on hold until we get this resolved.

...

(Point of order: Scarlet has been irreversibly invisible for weeks now. Has she changed her clothes yet? If so, do the clothes she takes off become visible as the ones she puts on fade from view? It hurts my head to think of all this.)
...

If she hasn't changed her clothes and, also, showered for weeks, she's not quite as invisible as she thinks.

...

(Not only is Mrs. Melrose Sally O'Toole, but Mike clearly is wearing Patti Parker's cast-off old hats.)
...

With a war on, everyone has to do more with less.

And in the Daily News...

"Walter, a fashion designer, graduated from the Traphagen School, sent letters last winter indicating he was unhappy in the Army."
...

Now, Lizzie, be nice.

Also, I don't think I remember ever reading before about man going to Reno to get a divorce. I get it, but in everything I've ever read or seen in movies about the Reno divorce business, it alway seems to be a woman showing up to establish residency and then sue for divorce.

...

"What was her name again? Nonie? Nana? Nola?"

...

You can see why living in that hellscape and facing death every day, many did not remain faithful as their old world must have seen a million miles away and many assumed they'd never see it again anyway.

 

[PrivateEye]

(Point of order: Scarlet has been irreversibly invisible for weeks now. Has she changed her clothes yet? If so, do the clothes she takes off become visible as the ones she puts on fade from view? It hurts my head to think of all this.)

Let's not go down that rabbit hole...It's inexplicable that pressing a nerve in her wrist makes whatever outfit she has on invisible as well as her body. And if she hasn't changed (or showered) her presence will be obvious regardless.

But I suppose we've suspended all logic by accepting invisibility at all, so I guess we just have to go with it.

 

[LizzieMaine]

Things I Never Knew Till Now...

A few years back, Russell Stamm Jr. rebooted his dad's strip as a graphic novel. There's also a stage play. Can a up-to-date movie be far behind?

 

[FOXTROT LAMONT]

But boy has this story picked up in the past few days. In market terms, we sold it at the low.

Last 28 December NVIDIA was $140. I don't even want to think about it or how I usually follow laggards and buy back
into strength reversal. Whatever, lost track of this dog after I sold it.

 

[Fading Fast]

Last 28 December NVIDIA was $140. I don't even want to think about it or how I usually follow laggards and buy back
into strength reversal. Whatever, lost track of this dog after I sold it.

There are sandboxes in financial markets that I don't trade in and, right now, Nvidia is one of them.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Now ain'nat a racket fawr ya," scoffs Joe, with a sip at his egg cream. "Swipin' packsa smokes, t'get out t'pennies. Who comes up wit' t'is stuff?" "Amatchoors," sniffs Ma Sweeney, plopping a blob of vanilla ice cream into a dish for Leonora. "Sorry, daaaarlin'," she apologizes. "All oota cones, y' juust caan't get'm." Leonora is unpeturbed as with a joyous chortle, she immediately smears the ice cream all over her face. "What'cha mean amatchoors?" queries Joe. "Waal," notes Ma, "ye evaar take a look at those paacks? Ye got yaar pennies under the wraaper there, undaar the wax paper. Thaat's so they don't come loose while the paacks are in the machine, buut ye caan still see ye'rr gettin' ye'rr chaange when ye boi 'em. But t'get oot the pennies, ye got to open up the paaper, an' shake the pennies oot." "Well, t'at don't take too long," argues Joe. "True," agrees Ma. "Boot then ye caan't sell the cigaarettes -- nobody waants cigarettes that's been opened up, ye see, they moit be stale, ye see. So if ye open the package to shake out the pennies, ye'er aaaatomatical losin' the value of the cigarettes. Ye losin' money eevr'y time ye do it." "Well," offers Joe, "What if ya sell the cigarettes one'ta time? You know, whatchacawl loosies.""Joseph!" erupts Ma. "That would be illegal! The very idea!" "Yeh," shrugs Joe. "I guess so. Be like, I dunno, havin' a slot machine. Awr runnin' bingo. Awr takin' bets.'" "Sooch a place as that," declares Ma, wiping Leonora's cheeks with her apron, "should be roon oota bus'ness." "One way t'get ridda t'competition," slurps Joe. "What?" "Nut'n. Hey, gonna miss me train!")

The critical period of the war has arrived, in which Americans must henceforth assume a major role in the battle against the Axis. So declared Office of War Mobilization Director James F. Byrnes last night in a speech at Spartanburg, South Carolina. The head of the newly created OWM displayed his full authority in his remarks by revealing facts about the war's progress that would have previously been reserved for an important fireside chat by the President. Mr. Byrnes announced in his speech that the United States has now produced more than 100,000 airplanes over its three-year building program, with the landmark aircraft having rolled off the assembly line yesterday, that 100 fighting ships have been built over just the first five months of this year, and that over the portion of the year yet remaining, the size of the U. S. fleet will be doubled. The OWM Director further disclosed that the Allied nations are planning not just a single attack on a single front, but for many attacks on many fronts in both the European and Pacific theatres of operation.

Generals Henri Honore Giraud and Charles de Gaulle have reached an impasse in their discussions concerning a post-armistice government in France, to be based on the principles of the Third Republic. Further meetings in Algiers of the central executive committee have been postponed. General de Gaulle, head of the Fighting French, stated today that he hopes to see meetings of the committee, which is expected to form the nucleus of France's postwar government, resumed shortly. Whether Gen. Giraud will be permitted to retain his posts as commander in chief of the French armies and as a member of the executive committee is among the issues under dispute, with Gen. de Gaulle insisting that no committee member may hold both military and civil positions. De Gaulle has further demanded the removal from the committee of three generals he accuses of defeatist and collaborationist beliefs.

Untold numbers of metropolitan homes will go without milk tomrrow when the Office of Defense Transportation's skip-a-day delivery plan goes into effect. It is expected that homes in Metropolitan New York, Westchester County, and Northern New Jersey will be short approximately 2,000,000 quarts with no reserve to tide them over until the next delivery. Milk companies serving the area have indicated they will comply with an ODT telegram sent yesterday warning of harsh penalties against any distributor found to be violating the four-days-a-week delivery schedule. That acknowledgement comes as the chairman of the Metropolitan Milk Distribution Committee of the National War Labor Board issued a warning to the Milk Wagon Drivers Union that it must comply with the order, or face action by the NWLB. The union, adamant about preventing loss of jobs and pointing out that a large proportion of city milk is now delivered by horse-drawn wagons instead of gasoline powered trucks, has issued orders refusing to allow union members to double-load their vehicles.

(When you're 101 years old and met Abraham Lincoln in person, you don't have to worry too much about the snappiness of your salutes.)

A proposal that the various United Nations grant European refugees temporary shelter until the end of the war was made by BrooklynRepresentative Andrew L. Somers last night at a memorial program for the Committee for a Jewish Army held at the Hotel St. Moritz. Representative Somers, joined by Representative Samuel Dickstein, branded as insufficient actions proposed by the recent Bermuda conference on refugees, and demanded the immediate opening of the Holy Land for settlement by Jewish refugees now fleeing Nazi persecution. The alleged hostility of the Moslem to the Jew, often held up as an obstacle to such settlement, was dismissed by Rep. Somers, who declared "if the Jews were returned to Palestine without interference from other nations, there would be no Moslem problem."

("Cry Havoc" is a play with an all-female cast featuring various types, all thrust into the horror of Bataan: among them a simpering Southern belle, a couple of 'artistic" types, a two-fisted tough girl, and an ex-burlesque queen. I WONDER WHO MARGIE WILL PLAY.)

(And the donuts, don't forget the donuts.)

An autopsy will be performed today on the body of a 5-year-old Queens girl who died yesterday after being struck in the face by a rubber ball. Betty Ann Avalentine of Jamaica had been under treatment for a heart ailment almost since birth. She was sunning herself in the roof of a vacant building yesterday afternoon while her fourteen year old brother Richard was batting the ball about inside that building, located next to the apartment house where they lived. The ball crashed thru a skylight and hit Betty Ann. By the time a doctor arrived, the child was dead.

(GawdBLESSya, Fitz!!!!)

There seems to be no stopping the Bushwicks this year, with the boys from Woodhaven taking two yesterday from the Ellis Island Coast Guardsmen. A 2-0 squeaker in the opening set was followed in the nightcap by an 11-1 romp.

("They'd be out of place --LATER." EWWWWWWWWW)

(Yep, War Time is two hours a head of Standard time, so yeah, it won't be dark till what, 9:30? SORRY MELINDA.)

("DETECTIVE!" scoffs Irwin, as he slumps in a darkened room, in his underwear, flipping cards into his hat.)

(Flexing on the windowsill after a hearty meal, Stella the Cat advises "don't knock it, kid!")

(No, no, you're doing it wrong. "EXTRA PROTEIN! NOT RATIONED!")

 

[LizzieMaine]

"Oh, I stayed inside for a while. Listened to a few records."

"I put in at Schrafft's oncet," grumbles Alice. "T'ey woud'n take me. Said t'ey din' have no unifawrms in me size. I was hoit." Y'din' miss much," scoffs Sally. "I woiked t'eah befoeh I went t' Woolwoit's. Awlem ol' ladies comin' in wit' white gloves on, smilin' atcha wit' t'eah t'eet' closed. I was woikin'neah oncet an' who comes in but t'at Kilgallen, awl dressed up fit t'kill. She looks right at me an' says 'Miss, I'd like a wawtehcress sanwich' please. Like she neveh seen me befoeh inneh life. Foueh yeahs we was at Erasmus t'getteh, an' she gimme t'high hat. I ASK YA." "Kilgallen?" queries Alice. "'At one'nat writes f't' Joinal American? 'T' Verse A' Brawdway?' 'T'at Kilgallen?" "Yeh," sneers Sally. "An' if ya knew'eh when I did, y'd jus' KNOW she'd en' up woikin' f'Hoist." "You know 'eh, t'ough?" continues Alice. "Y'coudl wawk up to 'eh an' aks 'eh f'ra faveh?" "Nawtawnyalife!" gusts Sally. "Me ask t'at stuck-up..." See, now," insists Alice, "t'at's wheah ya wrawng. Y'don' get ahead in life if ya don' take ya oppehtunities. If t'eah's somebody c'd do sump'n fawrya, well, ya let 'm! Wheah y'tink I'd be t'day if I didn' do like t'at?" "Not sleepin' on a cot in my livin' room?" "E'zackly!" nods Alice.

Pat is about to learn the meaning of "friendly fire."

"Just a minute -- could you tell us, please, how to do that kick again?"

"Sure I am! We used to do a regular hillbilly number! Funny hats and everything!"

"Oh, and thanks, Sarge, for not telling these guys my real name is 'Allison.'"

"THIS TIME it will be different, my boy! THIS TIME it will be DIFFERENT!"

"Got any more of that sacramental wine?" "Sorry, son, we're Methodists."

"See?" declares Alice. "Y'neveh get noplace if y'don't take t' initiative!"

Well what's keepin' YOU out?

 

[Fading Fast]

("Now ain'nat a racket fawr ya," scoffs Joe, with a sip at his egg cream. "Swipin' packsa smokes, t'get out t'pennies. Who comes up wit' t'is stuff?" "Amatchoors," sniffs Ma Sweeney, plopping a blob of vanilla ice cream into a dish for Leonora. "Sorry, daaaarlin'," she apologizes. "All oota cones, y' juust caan't get'm." Leonora is unpeturbed as with a joyous chortle, she immediately smears the ice cream all over her face. "What'cha mean amatchoors?" queries Joe. "Waal," notes Ma, "ye evaar take a look at those paacks? Ye got yaar pennies under the wraaper there, undaar the wax paper. Thaat's so they don't come loose while the paacks are in the machine, buut ye caan still see ye'rr gettin' ye'rr chaange when ye boi 'em. But t'get oot the pennies, ye got to open up the paaper, an' shake the pennies oot." "Well, t'at don't take too long," argues Joe. "True," agrees Ma. "Boot then ye caan't sell the cigaarettes -- nobody waants cigarettes that's been opened up, ye see, they moit be stale, ye see. So if ye open the package to shake out the pennies, ye'er aaaatomatical losin' the value of the cigarettes. Ye losin' money eevr'y time ye do it." "Well," offers Joe, "What if ya sell the cigarettes one'ta time? You know, whatchacawl loosies.""Joseph!" erupts Ma. "That would be illegal! The very idea!" "Yeh," shrugs Joe. "I guess so. Be like, I dunno, havin' a slot machine. Awr runnin' bingo. Awr takin' bets.'" "Sooch a place as that," declares Ma, wiping Leonora's cheeks with her apron, "should be roon oota bus'ness." "One way t'get ridda t'competition," slurps Joe. "What?" "Nut'n. Hey, gonna miss me train!")
...

There's a serious Page Four backbeat to the oil heiress potential-suicide story as you need a scorecard to keep the marriages and fancy people straight.

Joe and Ma's dances are getting more intricate.

...

Untold numbers of metropolitan homes will go without milk tomrrow when the Office of Defense Transportation's skip-a-day delivery plan goes into effect. It is expected that homes in Metropolitan New York, Westchester County, and Northern New Jersey will be short approximately 2,000,000 quarts with no reserve to tide them over until the next delivery. Milk companies serving the area have indicated they will comply with an ODT telegram sent yesterday warning of harsh penalties against any distributor found to be violating the four-days-a-week delivery schedule. That acknowledgement comes as the chairman of the Metropolitan Milk Distribution Committee of the National War Labor Board issued a warning to the Milk Wagon Drivers Union that it must comply with the order, or face action by the NWLB. The union, adamant about preventing loss of jobs and pointing out that a large proportion of city milk is now delivered by horse-drawn wagons instead of gasoline powered trucks, has issued orders refusing to allow union members to double-load their vehicles.
...

This is shaping up to be the mother of all milk wars.

...

A proposal that the various United Nations grant European refugees temporary shelter until the end of the war was made by BrooklynRepresentative Andrew L. Somers last night at a memorial program for the Committee for a Jewish Army held at the Hotel St. Moritz. Representative Somers, joined by Representative Samuel Dickstein, branded as insufficient actions proposed by the recent Bermuda conference on refugees, and demanded the immediate opening of the Holy Land for settlement by Jewish refugees now fleeing Nazi persecution. The alleged hostility of the Moslem to the Jew, often held up as an obstacle to such settlement, was dismissed by Rep. Somers, who declared "if the Jews were returned to Palestine without interference from other nations, there would be no Moslem problem."
...

Quoting Lizzie, "Coming Events Cast Their Shadows Before..."

"Rep. Somers, who declared 'if the Jews were returned to Palestine without interference from other nations, there would be no Moslem problem.'" This did not age well.

...

("Cry Havoc" is a play with an all-female cast featuring various types, all thrust into the horror of Bataan: among them a simpering Southern belle, a couple of 'artistic" types, a two-fisted tough girl, and an ex-burlesque queen. I WONDER WHO MARGIE WILL PLAY.)
...

Somehow, the Eagle left fighting Ann Sheridan off its list of WWII distaff warriors depicted in films, despite the movie "Edge of Darkness" having been featured prominently and just recently on this page.

"Errol, get your hand off my butt and pay attention as I'm only going to show you how to do this once. First, adjust your sight like this and then, Errol! Hand! Now, as to adjusting for the wind..." - Ann Sheridan

Maureen O'Hara, not as a soldier, but still, shows a lot of guts standing up to the Nazis and in bucking up wobbly Charles Laughton in "This Land is Mine" (also recently all over this page).

...

(GawdBLESSya, Fitz!!!!)
...

Ditto, it's so good to see.

"Oh, I stayed inside for a while. Listened to a few records."
...

Page Four is going all in with "Page Four" writing on this one:

"Hannah Williams Dempsey has reassembled her jangled nerves..."

"...the other man with whom Hannah is said to have misconducted herself, will not be around, but a number of witnesses are expected to evoke his spirit..."

There are always a lot of people "misconducting" themselves on Page Four.

...
"I put in at Schrafft's oncet," grumbles Alice. "T'ey woud'n take me. Said t'ey din' have no unifawrms in me size. I was hoit." Y'din' miss much," scoffs Sally. "I woiked t'eah befoeh I went t' Woolwoit's. Awlem ol' ladies comin' in wit' white gloves on, smilin' atcha wit' t'eah t'eet' closed. I was woikin'neah oncet an' who comes in but t'at Kilgallen, awl dressed up fit t'kill. She looks right at me an' says 'Miss, I'd like a wawtehcress sanwich' please. Like she neveh seen me befoeh inneh life. Foueh yeahs we was at Erasmus t'getteh, an' she gimme t'high hat. I ASK YA." "Kilgallen?" queries Alice. "'At one'nat writes f't' Joinal American? 'T' Verse A' Brawdway?' 'T'at Kilgallen?" "Yeh," sneers Sally. "An' if ya knew'eh when I did, y'd jus' KNOW she'd en' up woikin' f'Hoist." "You know 'eh, t'ough?" continues Alice. "Y'coudl wawk up to 'eh an' aks 'eh f'ra faveh?" "Nawtawnyalife!" gusts Sally. "Me ask t'at stuck-up..." See, now," insists Alice, "t'at's wheah ya wrawng. Y'don' get ahead in life if ya don' take ya oppehtunities. If t'eah's somebody c'd do sump'n fawrya, well, ya let 'm! Wheah y'tink I'd be t'day if I didn' do like t'at?" "Not sleepin' on a cot in my livin' room?" "E'zackly!" nods Alice.
...

Alice trying to get Sally to ask Kilgallen for a favor is going to be fun to watch. Sally is strong willed, but Alice has a weird way of getting her to do things.

...

Pat is about to learn the meaning of "friendly fire."
...

The lady has chosen, Joss should bow out gracefully.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Hah!" snorts Joe. "Payin' f'cake wit'a phony nick'l. Whatta chump. Soive'm right if t'at cake was fulla sawrdust." "Lahhhta phoony nickels gooin' 'round," notes Ma. "Thot's why I boite into'em whenaaver one doon't feel roit. If it's lead, y'see, ye teeth sink roit in." "Alla nick'ls ya get innis jernt," nods Joe, "y'gotta be caehful." "Thot I do, Joseph," agrees Ma. "Lotta ways t'spen'a nic'kl in heeh," observes Joe, looking around the store. "Coca-Cola, t'at'sa nick'l, canny bawr, t'at'sa nick'l. Phone cawl, 'at'sa nick'l. Yeah, lotta t'ings you can' spen' a nick'l on, lotta t'ings ya c'n droppa nick'l inta." "Indeed, Joseph, there be thaat. Spaaakin' o' cake," diverts Ma, "a little baaard tells me ye barrthday's comin' oop." "Yeah," shrugs Joe. "T'is Sunday. "M gonna be t'oity, jus' like Sal. She got all woiked up 'bout toin' t'oity, but it don' botteh me nut'n. Sueh, t'ez a few t'ings I can't do no moeh, but I t'ink I'm holdin' up awright. Strawng bawdy, shawrp mind. Wisht I had some cake t'ough." "Ahhh, well, Joseph, ye never know what moit happen in thaat direction." Ma trails off as Hops Gaffney saunters in the door, his beady eyes flickering at the sight of Joe. "Uhh, hiya Ma," he mumbles. "Eagle up yet?" "Roit on th'cooonter there, Leopold." "Leopold," snickers Joe. "Hiya, Leopold." Hops's nose gives a rabbity twitch as he lifts a broken cobblestone from the top of the pile, selects a paper, and tosses a nickel on the counter. "Keep t'change," he calls over his shoulder, as he snaps open the paper and strolls out the door. "T'at nick'l didn' sound right," observes Joe. "Kin'a went 'tunk.'" Ma frowns, picks up the coin, and clamps it between her teeth. "HOPS GAFFNEY!" she bellows, jerking around the counter and racing to the door with astonishing speed for one of her bulk. "YOU KNOW BETTER THAAAAN TO TROI THAT ON ME!" )

Three fatal assaults in the past 14 1/2 weeks dominate the crime record in the Brooklyn Hill section, where businessman A. H. Eastmond of 137 St. James Place has been loudly critical of Mayor LaGuardia's law enforcement policies, and has demanded more effective police protection for his neighborhood. But Police Commissioner Lewis J. Valentine, in a statement issued today to rebut Mr. Eastmond's criticism, noted that all three of those cases have been solved, with two of the defendants already sentenced to long prison terms at Sing Sing, another awaiting trial on first-degree murder charges, and another under arrest and awaiting Grand Jury action. The lengthy typewritten document released by the Police Commissioner mentions that Mr. Eastmond is the brother of John B. Eastmond, who formerly served as a Deputy Commissioner of the Department of Water Supply, Gas, and Electricity, but without mentioning what relevance John Eastmond might have to his brother's political activities.

A parade and rally in Downtown Brooklyn tonight will signal the borough's wholehearted participation in the citywide campaign to recruit new volunteers for the CDVO. Enrollment of new civilian defense workers, both men and women, will begin tomorrow morning at 10:30 in the camouflaged recruiting hut set up outside Borough Hall. The campaign calls for the enlistment of at least 500,000 additional volunteers for civilian defense work, and will be inaugurated tonight with speeches from Borough President John Cashmore, Kings County Clerk Francis J. Sinnott, Deputy State Treasury Department administrator Joseph Ree, and local CDVO chairwoman Mrs. Tracy S. Voorhees. The parade, beginning at 7:45 PM, will feature the New York City Fire Department Band, and marchers representing the WAACs, the WAVES, the Women Fliers of America, the Salvation Army, and local air raid warden units and other civilian defense workers.

(Just because you can doesn't mean you should.)

The New York District Director of the Office of Price Administration promised in a speech last night in Queens that the OPA is forming "the biggest army in history" to fight the "economic Quislings" responsible for the black market. Speaking to a CDVO rally at Lost Battalion Hall in Elmurst, Russell H. Potter condemned the "phony patriots" of the First World War who turned that conflict into an excuse for profiteering at the expense of the public by driving up prices to unjustified and unsustainable levels, and declared that he has no succor to offer to the "bellyaches which we hear from a small section of businessmen who want to see us commit economic suicide again." He warned that allowing unrestricted inflation in wartime is tantamount to "stabbing our boys in the back."

(In case you forgot what it looks like.)

A Brooklyn man who took part in the bombing raids over Foggia, Italy last weekend had an understandable reaction to the carnage. Speaking to an NBC reporter after the bombers returned to their base, Technical Sergeant John G. Geroni of 252 Navy Street declared that "it was just like Sunday afternoon at Ebbets Field when the Dodgers are taking on the Giants."

The Eagle Editorialist declares that the U. S. Fair Employment Practices Commission's present campaign against racial and religious discrimination in the workplace marks a real test over just how sincere we are in this country about democracy. While Americans are "amused by the myth of the 'master race' so dramatically exploded at Stalingrad and North Africa," something is gained when we candidly admit, as Americans, that "a great deal of progress must be made before the ideal of tolerance, which is fundamental to true democracy" is attained in this country. The EE acknowledges that the Commission's task in enforcing policies against discrimination is a difficult one, but so long as discrimination exists, "the American people cannot escape the charge that they are touched by one of the taints of Nazism."

("WELL DO LIKE ALL THE OTHER KIDS ARE DOING -- GO OUT BACK AND HAVE A CIGARETTE!")

The mother of former major league pitching star Waite Hoyt has died at her home in Flatbush. Mrs. Louise Hoyt was 70. Her son, who starred in the 1920s for the Yankees and ended his big league career with the Dodgers in 1938, is now a baseball broadcaster for the Cincinnati Reds.

("I'm tellin' ya," insists Alice Dooley, "we gotta shift t'strategy! I mean, lookit 't Cawdn'ls, makin' awlese deals. T'ey coulda jus' as easy got Petey, an'nen wheah'd we be? Huh?" "I ain' too worried 'bout t'Cawdn'ls," replies Sally, her mouth only partially full of a thin corned beef sandwich. "T'ey don' need no secon' baseman, t'ey got t'is Klien kid, t'ey don' need Petey." "Awright, but lookit us now. Durocheh's all hepped onnis kid Bawrtley f'shawrt, so hec'n put Hoiman back t'second. But Bawrtley din' play yest'day, now did he? T'ey hadda put t'at otteh kid, Bragan, inneah. Leo's movin' people awlaroun', he ain' set'ld. Eventual, he's gonna get sicka t'at. He's gonna wawnna be able to have somebody he c'n put inneah ev'ry day. An'nat's Petey, right? Right!" Alice punctuates her statement with a vigorous chew thru a large stalk of celery, as Sally mulls it over. "Awright, y'gotta pernt. But how's me tawkin' t'Kilgallen gonna woik intawit?" "Well, t'telegrams we been sendin', t'eah jus' stawrt'na bawl rollin'. But, see, nobody outside knows nut'n'aboutit yet, right? Well, what if we get Kilgallen t'print sump'n about, I dunno, 'what playboy pitcheh is in dutch wit' prominent choichman Branch Rickey fawr his nightcrawlin' ways?'" "Can'cha get arrested f'tat?" queries Sally, her eyes narrowed. ""Ain'nat whatchacawl libel, like cawlin' a guy Judas a'sump'n?" "Nahhh," dismisses Alice. "Lookit, if you want we don' hafteh tawk to 'eh d'rect. We c'n write 'eh a letteh. Onna way home we'll get a Joinal-American, an'..." "Oh no," declares Sally, her voice hard. "I ain' havin' no Hoist papeh in my house. Uh uh, t'at's a hawrd line wit' me." "We don' hafta take it inna house..." "I won' give Hoist t'ree cents a'my money even f'Petey." "Well, how we gonna write if we ain' got t'address?" Sally chews slowly, cogitating the question, and swallows. "Well," she says slowly and deliberately, "if you c'n find a Joinal-American inna gawrbage can...")

("Yeah, that's what Errol Flynn said!")

("Sorry, I can't make any donations just now.")

("DROP DEAD DAN?" Hmm, this looks like IRWIN's chickenscrawl!")

(I bet SANDY isn't mean to cats.)

(You can leave Sunken Heights but Sunken Heights never leaves you!)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

And in case you're wondering, Joan Barry is no relation whatever to Elaine Barrie.

In the meantime, why not have a talk with Madeline?

BUT FIRST WILL SOMEBODY PLEASE TRIM THAT GUY'S BEARD?

KId, you've saved yourself a lot of trouble.

Well, this won't end well.

"And hey -- SNIF SNIF -- ARE YOU WEARING COLOGNE? WHAT KIND OF FARM BOY ARE YOU??"

"But don't worry, I'll still pay the check."

But who's helping Papa Clock run the farm? Maybe Snipe finally got a new job!

Billy Gaxton is a veteran Broadway comic and drinking crony of Mr. Willard's, and this is one of his stage gags.

There are houses on my street that are this close together, but fortunately mine is not one of them.

 

[Fading Fast]

("Hah!" snorts Joe. "Payin' f'cake wit'a phony nick'l. Whatta chump. Soive'm right if t'at cake was fulla sawrdust." "Lahhhta phoony nickels gooin' 'round," notes Ma. "Thot's why I boite into'em whenaaver one doon't feel roit. If it's lead, y'see, ye teeth sink roit in." "Alla nick'ls ya get innis jernt," nods Joe, "y'gotta be caehful." "Thot I do, Joseph," agrees Ma. "Lotta ways t'spen'a nic'kl in heeh," observes Joe, looking around the store. "Coca-Cola, t'at'sa nick'l, canny bawr, t'at'sa nick'l. Phone cawl, 'at'sa nick'l. Yeah, lotta t'ings you can' spen' a nick'l on, lotta t'ings ya c'n droppa nick'l inta." "Indeed, Joseph, there be thaat. Spaaakin' o' cake," diverts Ma, "a little baaard tells me ye barrthday's comin' oop." "Yeah," shrugs Joe. "T'is Sunday. "M gonna be t'oity, jus' like Sal. She got all woiked up 'bout toin' t'oity, but it don' botteh me nut'n. Sueh, t'ez a few t'ings I can't do no moeh, but I t'ink I'm holdin' up awright. Strawng bawdy, shawrp mind. Wisht I had some cake t'ough." "Ahhh, well, Joseph, ye never know what moit happen in thaat direction." Ma trails off as Hops Gaffney saunters in the door, his beady eyes flickering at the sight of Joe. "Uhh, hiya Ma," he mumbles. "Eagle up yet?" "Roit on th'cooonter there, Leopold." "Leopold," snickers Joe. "Hiya, Leopold." Hops's nose gives a rabbity twitch as he lifts a broken cobblestone from the top of the pile, selects a paper, and tosses a nickel on the counter. "Keep t'change," he calls over his shoulder, as he snaps open the paper and strolls out the door. "T'at nick'l didn' sound right," observes Joe. "Kin'a went 'tunk.'" Ma frowns, picks up the coin, and clamps it between her teeth. "HOPS GAFFNEY!" she bellows, jerking around the counter and racing to the door with astonishing speed for one of her bulk. "YOU KNOW BETTER THAAAAN TO TROI THAT ON ME!" )
...

Hops should know better than to do that to Ma, period, but especially when he called attention to it with his "keep the change" comment.

Leslie Howard, like Carol Lombard, died on flight in which he and a friend, like Lombard and a friend did, bumped two other passengers off a full plane to get their seats. The hand of fate and VIP treatment blend in funny ways.

...
(Just because you can doesn't mean you should.)
...

If more people followed this advice today, we'd be much better off.

...

The New York District Director of the Office of Price Administration promised in a speech last night in Queens that the OPA is forming "the biggest army in history" to fight the "economic Quislings" responsible for the black market. Speaking to a CDVO rally at Lost Battalion Hall in Elmurst, Russell H. Potter condemned the "phony patriots" of the First World War who turned that conflict into an excuse for profiteering at the expense of the public by driving up prices to unjustified and unsustainable levels, and declared that he has no succor to offer to the "bellyaches which we hear from a small section of businessmen who want to see us commit economic suicide again." He warned that allowing unrestricted inflation in wartime is tantamount to "stabbing our boys in the back."
...

"the biggest army in history." Really, seems a little tone deaf to the times.

...
("I'm tellin' ya," insists Alice Dooley, "we gotta shift t'strategy! I mean, lookit 't Cawdn'ls, makin' awlese deals. T'ey coulda jus' as easy got Petey, an'nen wheah'd we be? Huh?" "I ain' too worried 'bout t'Cawdn'ls," replies Sally, her mouth only partially full of a thin corned beef sandwich. "T'ey don' need no secon' baseman, t'ey got t'is Klien kid, t'ey don' need Petey." "Awright, but lookit us now. Durocheh's all hepped onnis kid Bawrtley f'shawrt, so hec'n put Hoiman back t'second. But Bawrtley din' play yest'day, now did he? T'ey hadda put t'at otteh kid, Bragan, inneah. Leo's movin' people awlaroun', he ain' set'ld. Eventual, he's gonna get sicka t'at. He's gonna wawnna be able to have somebody he c'n put inneah ev'ry day. An'nat's Petey, right? Right!" Alice punctuates her statement with a vigorous chew thru a large stalk of celery, as Sally mulls it over. "Awright, y'gotta pernt. But how's me tawkin' t'Kilgallen gonna woik intawit?" "Well, t'telegrams we been sendin', t'eah jus' stawrt'na bawl rollin'. But, see, nobody outside knows nut'n'aboutit yet, right? Well, what if we get Kilgallen t'print sump'n about, I dunno, 'what playboy pitcheh is in dutch wit' prominent choichman Branch Rickey fawr his nightcrawlin' ways?'" "Can'cha get arrested f'tat?" queries Sally, her eyes narrowed. ""Ain'nat whatchacawl libel, like cawlin' a guy Judas a'sump'n?" "Nahhh," dismisses Alice. "Lookit, if you want we don' hafteh tawk to 'eh d'rect. We c'n write 'eh a letteh. Onna way home we'll get a Joinal-American, an'..." "Oh no," declares Sally, her voice hard. "I ain' havin' no Hoist papeh in my house. Uh uh, t'at's a hawrd line wit' me." "We don' hafta take it inna house..." "I won' give Hoist t'ree cents a'my money even f'Petey." "Well, how we gonna write if we ain' got t'address?" Sally chews slowly, cogitating the question, and swallows. "Well," she says slowly and deliberately, "if you c'n find a Joinal-American inna gawrbage can...")
..

Alice just keeps moving forward even if she has to swerve past a few potholes now and then.

I share this with Sally, in the old days, sometimes you wanted to read something in a paper whose editorial/political stance you hated. It always felt better if you borrowed someone else's copy rather than buying your own and giving that "hated" newspaper publisher your money.

...

(I bet SANDY isn't mean to cats.)
...

I'm not enjoying this be-mean-to-cat thing Beck is doing.

Sandy is too self-absorbed to be mean - indifferent yes, but never mean - but he did want me to note that maybe Bo is AMERICA'S NUMBER ONE JERK DOG!

...

In the meantime, why not have a talk with Madeline?
...

One of the least honest things in the legal profession that I have seen with my own eyes are the doctors lawyers hire to examine patients. Usually, a law firm will have its "go to" doctors who, miraculously, always have a diagnosis that will help that law firm's case - while the same is going on, on the other side of the case.

There are also plenty of precode movies that make reference to this ugly practice. In the case I was involved in, it was treated as an accepted practice - "you get 'your' doctor to give you the diagnosis you want." It's one of those moments in life that makes you even more cynical than you thought you ever could be.

...

"And hey -- SNIF SNIF -- ARE YOU WEARING COLOGNE? WHAT KIND OF FARM BOY ARE YOU??"
...

Go to 2:10 in.

 

[FOXTROT LAMONT]

Unrestricted inflation. I had a staff session today during which I pressed my brief that the Americans will raise
rates another .25 basis whatever the Labour Department report. Had them all on seat edge so decided to trigger
both barrels with possible unrestricted inflation caused by ever higher rates amidst slackened American manufacture.
And, of course Covid pandemonium skewers all empiricism. We definitely are flying by the seat and all radar is out.

 

[Fading Fast]

Unrestricted inflation. I had a staff session today during which I pressed my brief that the Americans will raise
rates another .25 basis whatever the Labour Department report. Had them all on seat edge so decided to trigger
both barrels with possible unrestricted inflation caused by ever higher rates amidst slackened American manufacture.
And, of course Covid pandemonium skewers all empiricism. We definitely are flying by the seat and all radar is out.

One day, amidst the smoldering wreckage of the global financial system, those who start to rebuild will work from this:

MV=PQ

The challenge is correctly defining the four variables, identifying them and measuring them in a complex global financial system - it's not easy with the best of intentions - but that formula should sit at the core of all the fancy algorithms built on top.

Central Bank abandonment of that Occam's razor brilliance for complex but squishy Keynesian models is why we are in the interest rate/inflation/yield curve/deficit/bulging debt/balance sheet/QE/QT mess we are in.

We gave up the loadstar and are lost at sea.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("C'mon!" hustles Sally, her work shoes splashing across lingering puddles toward the looming bulk of Hudson Terminal. "We'eh gonna miss t'train!" "Jus' a sec'," interjects Alice, stopping short at a chipped green pole box to pull a wrinkled envelope from her overall pocket and drop it in the slot. "Whas'sat?" asks Sally, as the pair completes their trot into the station, merging into the rumbling crowd on the platform. "At's ya letteh to Kilgallen," declares Alice triumphantly. "I got it all wrote while you was in feed'na baby." "I t'ought," contends Sally with a bit of a huff, "t'at we was gonna woik on'nat t'getteh? When I'm tawkin' t' Kilgallen, I'm p'ticuleh!" "Aw, be y'self," dismisses Alice. "I know what you wanna say t'Kilgallen, it ain' nut'n t'figgeh out. B'sides, you ain' writin' no life story, it's askin' f'ra faveh. I jus' took some'a t'em stories ya tol' me 'bout school, an' kin'a, whatchacawl, you know, made some impl'cations." "You WHAT?" gasps Sally. "You know, stuff like 'giv'na great success of ya c'reeh an' awl, I'm soit'n you would agree t'at my silience on'neese mattehs w'd be woit'while." Sally's head sinks into her palm. "Ya din' say t'at. Please tell me y'din' say t'at." "Well, maybe not innem 'zac' woids," acknowledges Alice , "but, you know, t'gist..." "You din' sign my name to it," pleads Sally. "Tell me y'din' sign my name." "Aw, no," shrugs Alice. "You know I can't spell 'Petrauskas." "Well, 't'at's a r'lief at leas'...." "Naw, so I jus' put 'Sally Sweeney.' I done a good job of it, too, I done them lit'l coils onna 's' jus' like you..." Sally's reply is lost under the rumbling clatter as the train rolls up to the platform...)

The pay-as-you-go tax bill, which forgives approximately $6,553,000,000 in 1942 taxes but will still raise $3,000,000,000 more in revenue over the next 13 months than the present tax plan, is on President Roosevelt's desk today awaiting his signature. The bill past its last legislative hurdle last night when the Senate approved the compromise plan endorsed by the House-Senate Conference Committeeby a vote of 62-19, thus ending a long and bitter Congressional fight dating back to last summer, when Beardsley Ruml, chairman of the New York Federal Reserve Bank, went before the Senate Finance Committee to propose that taxpayers be put on a pay-as-you-go basis. Ruml proposed forgiving an entire year's worth of taxes as a means of bringing taxpayers up to date for the start of the withholding program but the Roosevelt Administration opposed the original Ruml plan every step of the way, arguing that it would unduly benefit the wealthy at the expense of small taxpayers. The compromise plan allots the greatest forgiveness of 1942 tax debt to those earning between $1000 and $2000 per year. One hundred percent of tax obligation for 1942 will be forgiven those whose tax debt amounts to $50 or less, and a flat $50 abatement to those owing between $50 and $66.67 for the year, with 75 percent abatement granted to those whose tax obligation exceeds $66.67.

Ration point costs for beef have been raised from one to four points more depending on the cut, while ration values for certain cuts of pork, lamb, and veal have been lowered. Beef steaks of all cuts, save for chuck and shoulder rise three points on the new schedule, with boneless sirloin and all round and flank steaks going up to 12 points per pound. Chuck steak increases by one point. All roasts except for round tip go up two points, with round increasing from 8 points to 11 points per pound. The increases in point value for beef were blamed on increased demand and lower production, with the March thru May slaughter 10 percent less than that originally forecast, which will leave June a "short month" for beef. As for pork products, only ham shows an increase in point value, rising one point, but an ample supply of other pork cuts means an overall decrease of one point, and it is forecast that pork will be the better point buy for some weeks to come.

A Swiss dispatch received by the Office of War Information stated that "influential elements" within the Vichy Government, including "highly placed ladies, princes, and churchmen," are plotting a "palace revolt" against the regime of French Chief of Government Pierre Laval. The dispatch, published in a Swiss newspaper, stated that the French internal situation has grown "considerably more acute" since Laval's return from Berchtesgaden, where he reportedly acceded to Adolf Hitler's request for more French laborers to work in German war factories.

Meanwhile in Algeria, the Central Executive Committee finally held its twice postponed meeting today in a further effort to set up France's post-armistice government based on the principles of the Third Republic. The meeting is expected to resolve conflicts resulting from differences between views held by Fighting French General Charles de Gaulle and Gen. Henri Geraud, civil and military commander of North Africa. Once organization has been determined, the new government will assume control of the possessions of the French Empire until France itself is liberated. That new government will receive de facto recognition from the Allies as soon as it is created, indicated U. S. and British ministers.

("Back In Your Own Back Yard.")

A break in telephone lines in the Middle West last night silenced radio programs carried into New York over two radio networks from the West Coast. Transmission of Eddie Cantor's program by the National Broadcasting Company from Hollywood over WEAF was interrupted shortly after 9:15, and the line remained broken until 10:25, when local listeners were able to hear the conclusion of the Kay Kyser program. Transmission of Mutual Broadcasting System programs over WOR was also disrupted, but Columbia Broadcasting System features heard locally over WABC suffered no interruption.

Brooklyn housewives looked on their doorsteps this morning to find their regular milk deliveries, but there was no indication that yesterdays milk famine will not be repeated tomorrow, another "skip day" under the Office of Defense Transportation's edict governing the delivery of milk in New York City. Brooklyn milk companies all indicated that their drivers today carried the usual one-day supply, and no provision has been made for double loading of trucks and wagons. In most cases, noted the companies, it will be "left to the discretion of the driver" how the bottles aboard his vehicle are allotted to customers, and it was evident that few milk-bottle notes requesting extra quantities will be heeded. Mayor LaGuardia is said today to be considering setting up city-run milk delivery stations to aid in distribution of the milk supply. Several of the existing 29 municipal milk stations, where milk is sold to the public at 11 cents a quart, have indicated difficulties in obtaining the necessary stock.

(The war has been a good career move for Erich von Stroheim.)

Law-abiding citizens of Brooklyn, declares the Eagle Editorialist, should be pleased by the news that the death verdicts in the cases of Murder Inc. killers Louis "Lepke" Buchhalter, Emanuel "Mendy" Weiss, and Louis Capone for the brutal 1936 racket slaying of Brownsville candy store man Joseph Rosen have been upheld by the Supreme Court, and the three men will soon face execution in Sing Sing's electric chair. "Certainly we cannot conceive of Governor Dewey giving a great deal of time to any new plea for clemency."

(The war means everybody has to grow up that much quicker.)

In Mineola, Long Island, Supreme Court Justice Thomas J. Cuff has reserved decision in the separation suit and countersuit brought by Mr and Mrs. Arthur J. Lane. Mrs. Lane first filed for separation on the basis of cruelty after, she charged, her husband, angry because her brother was staying at their home, threw their roast turkey into the back yard where it was eaten a neighbor's dog. Mr. Lane countersued, insisting that he was justified in throwing out the turkey, and further charging that his wife was such a heavy drinker that he had to burn sulphur candles to rid the bedroom of the alcohol fumes coming from her breath, and on one occasion she kept him awake at night shaking the bed as she trembled with delirium tremens.

("I tell yuh, Buck, it jus' ain' right to do this t' ol' Hig." declares Kirby Higbe, flourishing yet another peculiar telegram before a sympathetic Bobo Newsom. Slouching against an equipment trunk in the Wrigley Field clubhouse, Newsom glares across the room at Leo Durocher, sitting across a bench from young Ed Head and smirking as he shuffles a deck of cards. "Ya right, kid. That sawed-off little pipsqueak's had it comin' for a long time. An' when that time comes, welll, you jus' wait. Ol' Bobo's gonna be right there gett'n in his licks.")

("Well, all right, I'll go on your boat. But I won't come look at the moon!")

("Oh well, I wonder what movies are playing....")

("Oh, and 'horse's neck' isn't a drink -- this is IRWIN's phone number!")

(ALL RIGHT AMERICA'S NUMBER ONE HERO DOG LET'S SEE YOU HERO!)

("Borrow? No, I just bought it from one of those guys on the sidewalk...")