The Era -- Day By Day

[LizzieMaine]

("See now, Stell," declares Joe to Stella the Cat, who sits on the windowsill regarding him coolly thru half-closed eyes, "t'at's what happ'ns if y'ain't caehf'l. Y'otta be t'ankful t'at ain' you. I mean, raisin' kids, owr ev'n one kid, is real woik. I mean, lissen heeh." Joe pushes aside the newspaper and picks up a pamphlet on the table before him. "See t'is?" he continues. 'Infant Caeh,' it says onneah. 'Published by t' U. S. Depawrtment a' Labeh Children's Bureau.' See t'at? Depawrtm'nt a' Labeh! Who knows moeh 'bout babies 'n'ney do? Huh?" Stella blinks inscrutably as Joe opens the pamphlet. "Lissen heeh t'what it says. It says heeh t'at 'bladdeh an' bowel trainin' is a key pawrt'a ya child's characteh buildin'.' Y'see? An' it says 'youeh chil' will begin t'loin t'at he is a pawrt'a t'woil biggeh t'en t'at of his own desiehs.' An'nat's right, ain' it." Joe puts down the pamphlet and glares at Leonora, who is standing with her back turned away from the little wooden chair with the panda on the back. "DO'WANNA!" she insists, with a meaningful glare at her father. "Aw, c'mon, honey," pleads Joe. "We gotta go in five minutes! An' you gotta go before we'c'n go, awright? Lookit," he directs, bending down to look his daughter in the eye. "Ain' nut'n wrawng wit'tis chaieh. An' you need ta -- hey, whassat onna floeh?" Joe reaches over and picks up the small shiny object lying just under the stove. "Huh," he huhs. "A key. Oh, I know what t'is is, t'is is t'mailbox key! Ya ma musta drawped it. Hey, I'll tell ya what. You sit on'na chaieh t'eah, an'nen onna way down we'll check t' mailbox! Huh? Won'nat be fun?" "Uhh oh," replies Leonora.)

Queens residents, who were somewhat cheered on Sunday by Mayor LaGuardia's pledge that bus service in that borough will be kept as near normal as possible, today found themselves on the short end of another war-inspired economy move, as the Board of Transportation announced plans to sharply curtail subway service on the Queens Boulevard IND routes within a month. The annual saving is projected to exceed $500,000 annually, although the Board stressed that no dollar value can be placed on the value of conserving equipment that cannot be replaced during wartime. Lines to see services cut include the E or 8th Avenue expresses that run to 169th Street in Jamaica, the F, or 6th Avenye expresses running to Parsons Boulevard in Jamaica, and the GG crosstown Brooklyn-Queens locals connecting downtown Brooklyn to Forest Hills. The regular ten-minute headway on these lines from midnight to 1 AM will be increased to twelve minutes, and from 1 AM to 430 AM the existing 12 minute headway will be increased to 15 minutes. Headways on these lines during all other non-rush-hour periods will be increased from 1 minute to 3 minutes, or from 5 minutes to 6 minutes, depending on present schedules, but, the Board stressed, present schedules during the daily rush hour period from 4:30 AM to 9 AM will not be changed. The changes will take effect on July 4th. It is estimated that approximately 1,000,000 train-miles per year will be saved under the new schedules, and it is indicated that further adjustments may be expected on lines where capacity loads are not presently being carried.

Brooklyn and Queens butchers who kept their doors closed yesterday due to the lack of meat supply faced a difficult task today as they went in search of stock for waiting customers. The U. S. Department of Agriculture warned that meat deliveries to the city will be "very light" over the rest of the week. It is becoming a custom for local butchers to observe "Blue Mondays" by keeping their shops closed, and this was especially noticeable in Bay Ridge, Ridgewood, and Jackson Heights, where no shops were noted to be open. The New York State Association of Retail Meat Dealers indicated today that it does not endorse "Blue Monday" closings, but it appears that the trend for Monday closing seems to be spreading eastward into Nassau County. Among the stores that were open yesterday, several offered buffalo meat for sale in place of beef, but a survey disclosed that there are so few bison available on the hoof that the use of that meat will do little to ease the cattle shortage. It is estimated that only about 5000 buffalo are alive in the United States today.

Meanwhile, leaders of the retail fish industry warned of an impending serious shortage of seafood next winter, because the draft has decimated the ranks of experienced commercial fishermen. Arthur Coller, legal counsel for the Fish Fillet Dealers Association, announced today that he has sent letters of protest of the wholesale drafting of fishermen to President Roosevelt, Governor Dewey, Mayor LaGuardia, and the Selective Service Administration.

Fourteen men will rule the far-flung French colonial empire until France itself is liberated. The final organization of the French Committee for National Liberation, to be operated under the principles of the Third French Republic, was announced last night, with six of the ministers chosen from among followers of General Charles de Gaulle, and five of the ministers aligned with General Henri Honore Giraud, who will serve alongside Gen. de Gaulle as co-chairmen of the committee. One minister was known to be "neutral." The new Committee, to be recognized as the legitimate government of France by the Allies, will be empowered to direct the French war effort in all its phases, exercise French sovereignty in all territories outside enemy power, and to conclude treaties and agreements with all foreign powers.

(Robert Arden was a prominent figure in local Los Angeles radio, but this is the first I've heard of him being Charlie Chaplin's "representative." And why does he face deportation? Don't leave us hanging!!!)

(Putting the "Con" in "Con-Ed.")

The nutritional menace that is the "coffee and doughnut" breakfast will be attacked this week by the Nutrition Committee of the Fort Greene-Bedford District Health Committee, which is sending forth a mobile kitchen to help plan wholesome and hearty morning meals for families of war workers. The mobile kitchen, set up in the back of a truck, will be operated by the American Women Volunteer Service Motor Corps, and is fully-equipped for demonstrations in breakfast planning and preparation by Miss Emma Feeney of the Home Economics Department at Pratt University, and Miss Dorothy Jones, Director of Nutrition for the Brooklyn Red Cross. The recommended breakfast menu promoted by the program consists of a citrus fruit, a whole-grain cereal -- cooked if possible, and served with plenty of milk, eggs, if desired, and coffee if you have it. Miss Helen Hutton, field secretary of the Fort Greene-Bedford District Health Committee, denounced the doughnut-and-coffee breakfast as having "absolutely no vitamin value whatever, nothing but fat and immediate energy."

(AND REMEMBER -- NO DOUGHNUTS!)

Twenty thousand persons attending a Negro freedom rally at Madison Square Garden last night pledged their support for unconditional surrender to the United Nations by all Axis powers, and for the immediate opening of a second front in Europe. Prominent speakers urged the end of all economic and social discrimination against Negro Americans, and condemned the evils of segregation, the poll tax, organized anti-Negro, anti-labor, and pro-Fascist groups, along with "disruptors" such as Rep. Martin Dies and United Mine Workers president John L. Lewis. In a message to the rally read from the platform, 1940 Republican presidential nominee Wendell L. Willkie declared that the war has "performed a valuable service" by bringing into focus "the economic, social, and racial imperialisms we have practiced within our own borders for years." Along with the speakers, Paul Robeson headed a cast of 200 in a performance of "For This We Fight," which portrayed in dramatic form the contributions of the Negro to the progress of the United States and history.

("Joiges?" snorts Alice, poking at a dish of chocolate ice cream. "Who needs Joiges, anyway? An' hey -- SAL! Lookit'tis! Petey din' play las' night! Y'know what'tat means?? T'eah's a deal brewin', I tell ya! Ev'ryt'ing is fawlin' inta place!" "What's aall this now?" inquires Ma Sweeney, stirring up a Coca-Cola for Sally. "Oh, we been..." begins Alice, but she is swiftly cut off. "Nut'n, Ma," Sally interjects, with a sharp shake of her head. "Jus' basebawl tawk, nut'n serious. Um, did Leonora do anyt'ing funny today?" "Ahhh," chuckles Ma, "awl she did was go aaan and ann aboot sommthin' her papa found in the mailbox." Sally blanches, and coughs up a bubble thru her soda straw. "In faact, Joseph left it heer farr ye." Ma reaches under the counter, produces a rolled and wrinkled brown envelope and passes it to her daughter." "T'anks," groans Sally, slipping the envelope into her overall pocket. "C'mon!" enthuses Alice. "Op'n it!" "We betteh get goin'," Sally hastens. "C'mon, Leonora." "Op'nit!" commands Leonora. "Op'nit!!")

(Tom's not very bright, is he?)

(Everybody in 1943 knows Morse code.)

("His hands are busy under that newspaper.")

(Some kids in my neighborhood once built a raft out of old wood and scraps salvaged from the junkyard, and tied it to the town pier. It was a popular attraction for much of that summer until it broke loose in a storm, was declared a hazard to navigation, and was sunk by the Coast Guard. I'M JUST SAYIN', KIDS.)

(Classic Jo would NEVER PUT UP WITH THIS.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News....

"Liars and loafers???" Wow, WAY TO THROW THE BOOK AT THEM.

Miss Muir is not quite accurate here -- if Arden was picked up on an immigration charge in 1941, it was after he'd been broadcasting in Los Angeles as "Robert Arden, Foreign Correspondent" for nearly three years. Talk about "hiding in plain sight." And they still aren't telling us what he has to do with Chaplin -- seems a pretty odd choice to have a shady immigrant as your "fixer."

"I like the man with the beard." OBVIOUSLY IT IS CODE.

"And as for hunger -- do you know, in my country, what we did when we had no other food?"

"BAH! YOU AND YOUR NEWSPAPERS AND YOUR MOVIE MAGAZINES!"

Gonna need a front end job, at the very least.

OH WELL THAT'LL FIX EVERYTHING

The ascot's a bit much, don'cha think?

Just another night in the neighborhood.

Goofy's an Idiot.

 

[Fading Fast]

...

Meanwhile, leaders of the retail fish industry warned of an impending serious shortage of seafood next winter, because the draft has decimated the ranks of experienced commercial fishermen. Arthur Coller, legal counsel for the Fish Fillet Dealers Association, announced today that he has sent letters of protest of the wholesale drafting of fishermen to President Roosevelt, Governor Dewey, Mayor LaGuardia, and the Selective Service Administration.
...

The really amazing thing, considering, in most cases, how hard and low paying being a fisherman is, is that any of them would return to doing it after the war.

"Good news, soldier, yo can go home."
"Isn't there somewhere else you want me to fight?"
"No, no, you're free to go."
"How bout I hang around just in case a new war breaks out?"
"I'm sorry, you'll have to leave now."

...

(Robert Arden was a prominent figure in local Los Angeles radio, but this is the first I've heard of him being Charlie Chaplin's "representative." And why does he face deportation? Don't leave us hanging!!!)
...

The Eagle is doing a good job of channeling its inner Page Four with its coverage of this story - "He said all she had on was a man's bathrobe - with nothing underneath," but it will need some tawdry pictures if it really wants to play in the big leagues of the "scandal sheets."

...

The nutritional menace that is the "coffee and doughnut" breakfast will be attacked this week by the Nutrition Committee of the Fort Greene-Bedford District Health Committee, which is sending forth a mobile kitchen to help plan wholesome and hearty morning meals for families of war workers. The mobile kitchen, set up in the back of a truck, will be operated by the American Women Volunteer Service Motor Corps, and is fully-equipped for demonstrations in breakfast planning and preparation by Miss Emma Feeney of the Home Economics Department at Pratt University, and Miss Dorothy Jones, Director of Nutrition for the Brooklyn Red Cross. The recommended breakfast menu promoted by the program consists of a citrus fruit, a whole-grain cereal -- cooked if possible, and served with plenty of milk, eggs, if desired, and coffee if you have it. Miss Helen Hutton, field secretary of the Fort Greene-Bedford District Health Committee, denounced the doughnut-and-coffee breakfast as having "absolutely no vitamin value whatever, nothing but fat and immediate energy."
...

"...nothing but fat and immediate energy" is the point of the doughnut-and-coffee breakfast, just as it was of my 1980s college-student equivalent, the can-of-coke-and-Drake's-coffeecake breakfast, which got me through those four years.

...


("Joiges?" snorts Ali

ce, poking at a dish of chocolate ice cream. "Who needs Joiges, anyway? An' hey -- SAL! Lookit'tis! Petey din' play las' night! Y'know what'tat means?? T'eah's a deal brewin', I tell ya! Ev'ryt'ing is fawlin' inta place!" "What's aall this now?" inquires Ma Sweeney, stirring up a Coca-Cola for Sally. "Oh, we been..." begins Alice, but she is swiftly cut off. "Nut'n, Ma," Sally interjects, with a sharp shake of her head. "Jus' basebawl tawk, nut'n serious. Um, did Leonora do anyt'ing funny today?" "Ahhh," chuckles Ma, "awl she did was go aaan and ann aboot sommthin' her papa found in the mailbox." Sally blanches, and coughs up a bubble thru her soda straw. "In faact, Joseph left it heer farr ye." Ma reaches under the counter, produces a rolled and wrinkled brown envelope and passes it to her daughter." "T'anks," groans Sally, slipping the envelope into her overall pocket. "C'mon!" enthuses Alice. "Op'n it!" "We betteh get goin'," Sally hastens. "C'mon, Leonora." "Op'nit!" commands Leonora. "Op'nit!!")
...

A crowd of angry fans screaming "Open it!" are going to storm your theater tomorrow, Lizzie, if you don't reveal what's in the envelope.

How fantastic is Fitz's second win? It make you so happy to see him doing well.

...

("His hands are busy under that newspaper.")
...

Ew.

And in the Daily News....

"Liars and loafers???" Wow, WAY TO THROW THE BOOK AT THEM.
...

I hate this judge. He steered the entire trial to an insultingly weak sentence. It's not clear, but it sounds as if some or all could be out of "the toughest reformatory school in the East" (which ain't prison) in all of thirteen months. What utter BS.

Lovely Rita discovers that alimony cuts both ways.

...

"And as for hunger -- do you know, in my country, what we did when we had no other food?"
...

"You're not the least bit funny, Lizzie. Now I'm so upset, I feel faint. Get me to my couch."

"Oh my God, you have a fainting couch!"
"Shut up! It's not a fainting couch, it's just a couch that I relax on, being a big star and all."
[Singing] "You have a fainting couch! You have a fainting couch!"

...

"BAH! YOU AND YOUR NEWSPAPERS AND YOUR MOVIE MAGAZINES!"
...

When you are hiding out under an assumed identity, only an idiot would put him or herself in a situation - like a former keyboardist playing a piano - that would remind people of where they might have seen you before.

 

[LizzieMaine]

One of my very favorite memories of this entire project is Fitz going 16-2 in 1940, an absolutely magical season. I know it's unrealistic to expect a repeat, but we can certainly dream...

This is what the statue should look like, right on the corner, in front of his bowling alley.

 

[FOXTROT LAMONT]

I hate this judge. He steered the entire trial to an insultingly weak sentence. It's not clear, but it sounds as if some or all could be out of "the toughest reformatory school in the East" (which ain't prison) in all of thirteen months. What utter BS.

It seems a fix. A heinous crime of rape within conspiracy precludes mitigating factors and all eight should have been
tried for felonious conspiracy, assault/battery prelude with unlawful imprisonment; and actual rape itself.
And these fiendish whelps are emancipated minors by criminal actions and so should be rightfully tried and sentenced as adults, with prison sentences of at least a decade each. Their ages are 17-18....draft age or enlistment
British Army or Royal Navy, and America is at war. Reformatory? What is that prison in New York where all the toughs
go to in the movies, Jimmy Cagney did the chair with Father Pat O'Brien praying. That place not some reform school
silliness. And that judge is a piece. Corrupt to the core. And the press queers the pitch here. Call the case and that
judge out. Ms O'Brien deserved more than she received in court.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And we still don't fully know the role of the theatre manager in facilitating the events of that night. I do note that the theatre itself was shut down by the city, but we heard nothing about the fate of the manager, who, most certainly, was not a juvenile.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Whattaya MEAN we gotta transfeh???" bellows Sally as a red-faced BMT guard holds up his hands before the roiling rush-hour throng. "UNLESS YA BRUNG YA WADIN' BOOTS," thunders the guard, "ALLAYEZ OUT T'AT EXIT AN' ACRAWS T'T I-AWR-T F' WAWL STREET, RECTEH STREET, CAWRTLAN' STREET AN' HUDSON TOIMENAL AN' PERNTS NORT'!! PICK UP YA BLOCK TRANSFEH TICKETS AT AWL TICKET BOOT'S! NOW MOVE! MOVE! MOVE!" A rumble of frustration churns thru the crowd as two more guards and a patrolman approach, waving their arms and attempting to push the throng forward thru sheer force of will. "We might's well be inna Awrmy," grumbles Sally, as the motion of the crowd carries her forward. "T'EY TAKE YA F'RA HIKE WIT'OUT ANY WAWWWWRNIN'," sings Alice, swinging her arms in ragged time to the tune, "F'TWENNY-ONE DOLLEHS A DAY ONCE'T A MONT'!" "Aw, shaddup," growls Sally.)

Two thousand German troops assaulted the Soviet lines near Svesk, west of Kursk, today, but were thrown back in bitter fighting that cost them 429 officers and men. The toll boosted to more than 1500 the number of Germans killed over the past 24 hours along the front stretching from Leningrad to the Ukraine, including 800 in the Svesk area alone. Soviet artillery was credited with wiping out the other 400 Nazi troops near Svesk.

Bituminous coal operators send their three-month-old wage dispute with the United Mine Workers back to the War Labor Board today, where it is expected that the board is prepared to deal with the case itself this time. The WLB had previously ordered the operators and the representatives of John L. Lewis's union to resume their negotiations in an effort to adjust their differences in portal-to-portal pay along with various minor issues. With negotiations having reached a stalemate with no prospect of a resolution, it falls to the WLB to decide the case. Another negotiation meeting was scheduled for today but it was conceded in advance that no agreement will be reached.

(Slight hopes are better than no hopes at all.)

Laundries are closing at a rapid rate across Brooklyn and the entire metropolitan area due to a lack of available workers. Laundry operators observed today that all of the best workers are already working in defense plants or are in the armed forces, and new help is not only scarce but inexperienced. Work in laundries that are still operating is piled up so high that operators indicate they will soon be forced to switch to a "two week service" policy -- a sharp contrast to the snappy "seven hour service" offered by many laundries not so long ago. Experienced shirt pressers have disappeared completely from the scene, and unless the War Labor Board, the War Manpower Commission, and the Office of Price Administration can find a solution, housewives will soon be left having to iron everything themselves, with the possible exception of sheets and pillowcases. The Labor Board, stated industry leaders, refuses to allow general wage increases for laundries, the OPA won't raise ceiling prices, and the WMC has declined to declare commercial laundries essential services. In the main plant of the Pilgrim Laundry, Brooklyn's largest, sales executives and bookkeepers have been pressed into service helping to tie up bundles. Sales manager Sid Stacey said that his firm is 83 workers short of the number needed to adequately carry out the regular trade. Where once the laundry dealt with 2000 bundles per day the number is now up to 7500, and Stacey warned that "we will simply have to cut down collections until we dispose of the accumulated work." Smaller laundries are even harder-pressed to make do -- most Chinese laundrymen are in the armed forces, and neighborhood hand laundries are being forced to shut down entirely.

Hannah Williams Dempsey will get her first day in court today since her nervous collapse, which followed her husband Jack Dempsey's presentation of witnesses "linking her intimately" to two other figures from the boxing world. Both Dempsey, former heavyweight champion of the world, and his wife, a former Broadway soubrette, have filed for divorce, each charging the other with marital misconduct.

The most acute meat shortage in the history of the city looms as the packing industry swept its refrigerators clean in anticipation of the industry-wide rollback of prices due to take effect on June 21st. With coolers already lacking beef, veal, mutton, and lamb, the remaining supply of pork was being rapidly taken out of storage. Authorities differ in predicting how long it will take to replenish the supply, but Federal experts assert that the packers are prepared for quick action. City attaches of the Department of Markets were more pessimistic, pointing out that it took more than a week to bring in 600,000 pounds of beef the last time the situation was acute.

("Children Learn What They Live...")

"Thrifty" writes in to demand that men's neckties be banned by the War Production Board for the duration as an unnecessary waste of fabric. "An aggregate amount of the cloth so wasted would clothe all the naked children of Europe after the war is over."

("Heh!" hehs Joe, poring over the sports page. "Eleven million anna quawteh f' Dixie. Y'd t'ink a good squaeh danceh c'd get an even twelve. An' Fitz is woit' lots moe'hn five! Higsby t'ough? He ain' woit' ten cents!" "Soooo," queries Ma, in a carefully-casual tone as she pushes an egg cream across the counter, "what was in thaat envelope ye left f' Sally yistarrday? She left here awwl in a baather." "She din' op'n it right awf?" returns Joe. "Well, I ain' s'prised. She ain' got no use f' Hoist, y'know. In fack, I can'namagine why she's gett'n anyt'ing f'm Hoist at'awl. She won' have no Hoist papehs inna house y'know, special not t' Joinal-American. If I wanna get t'Mirreh t'read Winchell, I gotta dump it outside b'foeh I go in." "Ah, Sally's a garrrl of farrrm opinions," nods Ma. "But still I waander why she's playin' soo coy aboot this envelope." "In fack," continues Joe, "one time b'foeh we got married, I took 'eh t' Loew's Orien'al, y'know? T'see 'San Francsiceh.' An' whenna Hoist newsreel come on, she stawrted t'boo an' holleh, an' a buncha oteh people done'a same, an'nen Sal reaches in'eh pockehbook, an' takes out a brick an' t'rows it right t'rough t'screen. It was a reg'leh riot. We ain' daehed t'go inneah since." "That Alice Dooley didn't say annnything aboot it, did she?" pursues Ma. "Nah," shrugs Joe. "We din' even know Alice t'en. Y'know, t't'is day I neveh c'd fig'yeh out why Sal was carryin' aroun' a brick inneh pockehbook.")

That $11,250,000 man Dixie Walker has appointed a new assistant to fill in for him as atheltic director of the Sperry Gyroscope Company during the baseball season. New Assistant Athletic Director Russ Barber looks very much like Dodger announcer Red Barber, sounds very much like him, and is said to be distantly related to him. Russ will not only handle Walker's administrative duties at the Sperry plant over the summer, he will also take over as manager of the Sperry squad in the Brooklyn-Long Island Defense League. Russ is married to tennis star Norma Tauble, former National Indoor tennis champion and star of last week's Sears Cup matches.

("Hmph!" hmphs Dan Dunn. "That's why I got OUT of the federal-agent racket!")

("Oh that Bankhead! First it was walking around with a lion cub and now this. Anything for publicity!")

("Yeah, Dan, whatever. I'm getting used to it.")

(PROTECT JUNIOR BY LETTING THIS PUNK DROWN! AMERICA'S NUMBER ONE HERO DOG MAKES THE TOUGH DECISIONS!)

("Oh, well, that's out of my jurisdiction. CARRY ON!")

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

"Oh *that* lingerie. That was Paulette's. Or Lita's. I forget..."

Let's listen to a few records first.

Soon you will learn to spell it right.

Now be nice.

ALL BANDLEADERS ARE THE SAME

It's a wonder Bim has any money left at all.

Getting shot at is a powerful incentive to learn.

KEEP YOUR HEADS DOWN!

Why didn't anybody think of this sooner?

Goofy's an Idiot.

 

[LizzieMaine]

Oh, and...

Don't you dare answer that ad.

 

[FOXTROT LAMONT]

War certainly fills odd niches here and there doesn't it.

 

[Fading Fast]

("Whattaya MEAN we gotta transfeh???" bellows Sally as a red-faced BMT guard holds up his hands before the roiling rush-hour throng. "UNLESS YA BRUNG YA WADIN' BOOTS," thunders the guard, "ALLAYEZ OUT T'AT EXIT AN' ACRAWS T'T I-AWR-T F' WAWL STREET, RECTEH STREET, CAWRTLAN' STREET AN' HUDSON TOIMENAL AN' PERNTS NORT'!! PICK UP YA BLOCK TRANSFEH TICKETS AT AWL TICKET BOOT'S! NOW MOVE! MOVE! MOVE!" A rumble of frustration churns thru the crowd as two more guards and a patrolman approach, waving their arms and attempting to push the throng forward thru sheer force of will. "We might's well be inna Awrmy," grumbles Sally, as the motion of the crowd carries her forward. "T'EY TAKE YA F'RA HIKE WIT'OUT ANY WAWWWWRNIN'," sings Alice, swinging her arms in ragged time to the tune, "F'TWENNY-ONE DOLLEHS A DAY ONCE'T A MONT'!" "Aw, shaddup," growls Sally.)
...

Having done a three-legged commute into NYC, I tried to warn Sally not to take a job in NJ as three legs means three different things that can go wrong and one almost always does, which means you spend a lot of time standing on platforms (often in terrible weather), sitting on trains that are not moving or being shuffled off to this or that "other line" or "shuttle bus." And, as Sally just experienced, the weather wreaks havoc: rain floods tracks, cold freezes switches, heat expands metal and breaks a lot of things. She should start looking for a job in Brooklyn or, at minimum, Manhattan.

...

Two thousand German troops assaulted the Soviet lines near Svesk, west of Kursk, today, but were thrown back in bitter fighting that cost them 429 officers and men. The toll boosted to more than 1500 the number of Germans killed over the past 24 hours along the front stretching from Leningrad to the Ukraine, including 800 in the Svesk area alone. Soviet artillery was credited with wiping out the other 400 Nazi troops near Svesk.
...

In the history of bad military decisions, Hitler invading Russia has to be a top five. Had he not, the war and world we know today (for those of us who would still be here) would look very different.

...

("Yeah, Dan, whatever. I'm getting used to it.")
...

Mike started out as a much-smarter character - more Kay like - but has become a not-quite-but-getting-there female Irwin. Kay should just take over the strip.

And in the Daily News...

"Oh *that* lingerie. That was Paulette's. Or Lita's. I forget..."
...

I picture an alert siren and flashing light going off in the Page Four newsroom whenever a story has any link, no matter how tangential, to a woman's lingerie.

..

ALL BANDLEADERS ARE THE SAME
...

In the '40s, guys became bandleaders to get girls, in the '50s, crooners and in the '60s, rock stars.

Oh, and...

Don't you dare answer that ad.

$5/hour in '43 is ~$90/hour today. Not bad pay for looking pretty.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Soy beans!" grumbles Alice. "T'at'll be t'day! Hey, t'is brisket is pretty good, ain' it?" "Mmmph," mumbles Sally, chewing on a last mouthful of leftover brisket sandwich. "Hey!" insists Alice, abruptly changing the subject as is her wont. "Awr ya gonna op'n'at envelope f'm Kilgallen, a'what? Y'been carryin' aroun' f'two days now an' ya ain' even took it outa ya pocket!" "I'll get to it," growls Sally. "I'm waitn'lla time is right, t'at's awl. It's too warm out. Hell ain' froze oveh yet." "Aw, don' be t'at way!" exhorts Alice. "T'is might be t'key t'whole plan! We'eh get'n closeta t'middl'a June, y'know! If t'ey gonna make a trade f'Petey, we gotta step up t'pressheh! T'is Bawtley kid ain' woikin' out, Glawssop's a bum an' Leo's too old!! A push f'm a famous c'lebrity'll be jus' what t'ey need to make it hap'n! Y'know?" Without a word, Sally withdraws the now-tattered envelope from her overall pocket, gazes ruefully at it for a moment, and pushes it across the table. Alice snaps it up and in a single fluid motion strips off the end and withdraws the contents. "Deeh Fr'en," she reads."Hey! T'at's pretty good, ain' it! You an' she reailly *is* fr'ens! T'way y'tawk about'eh, y'know, I was kin'a havin' me doubts onnat, but if she cawls ya 'deeh fr'en', well, a'ts proof enough f'me! 'Deeh fr'en', she says. 'T'ank you f'writin'. I am pleased t'at you enjoy my column, 'T'Verse a' Brawdway,' an' I hope t'at you will continue to follow it, an'na many ot'eh fine featchehs appearin' each aftehnoon inna New Yawrk Joinal-American. Yehs Sinceehly, Dorot'y Killgallen.' Huh. How 'bout t'at." Sally has no reply, her face sunken into the palm of her hand. "Oh wait," continues Alice. 'T'eah's a PS. Sez heeh, 'be sueh t' heeh me soon on'na 'Bat'l of t' Sexes' broadcast on station W E A F. Consult t'Joinal American radio listin's f' date an' time.'" Sally makes no reply, as her head slips off her palm and drops to the table. "Oh," adds Alice. "T'eah's sump'n else in'neeh. Hey! Lookit t'is! It's a pitcheh! Auttagraphed, yet! 'Best wishes, Dorot'y Kilgallen!'" Sally's head remains down, and begins to tremble. "What's this?" inquires Mildred Kelly, overhearing the conversation and approaching the table. "Oh! Dorothy Kilgallen! Isn't she wonderful! You know, we should all get together sometime for lunch, I'm sure she'd have so many interesting stories of all the famous people she knows! And that husband of hers, Dickie, he's SUCH a dream! Did I ever tell you that Bud and I had dinner with them once, before the war of course..." But Sally hears no more, as the mounting roar inside her brain drowns out all conversation...)

Prospects for the alleviation of the present consumer and dealer food shortage faded today in the face of predictions of further shortages and food cuts by Governnment, industry, and farm experts. Deputy Food Administrator Roy F. Hendrickson warned last night that further food cuts in civilian food consumption are inevitable because increases in production will be insufficient to meet mounting war needs. Speaking at the conclusion of the two-day council of the American Retail Federation, Hendrickson indicated that the civilian population can expect to receive 75 to 80 percent of the total U. S. food production, but any increases in that figure will be limited -- and can be expected to soon reach a maximum point. Farm leader J. J. McConnell added that within the next six months, shortages of food both for civilian and livestock consumption will become critical if present agricultural conditions prevail. McConnel further accused Office of War Mobilization chief James F. Byrnes of "playing politics" with the food situation.

Legislation that would forbid another shutdown of the nation's coal mines for the duration of the war and would provide a fine and jail term for United Mine Workers president John L. Lewis should he call another strike, appears today to be headed for Congressional approval. A House-Senate conference agreed yesterday on such a measure, and hope to push it thru both houses of Congress before the present general coal truce expires on June 30th. Congressional leaders, however, declined to speculate today on whether President Roosevelt would sign such a bill into law.

(Ew.)

Curly-haired Texas fight promoter Benny Woodall faces additional cross-examination today in the Dempsey divorce trial over his story that he was "waiting for a street car" when former heavyweight champion Jack Dempsey found him in the Los Angeles apartment of his wife, Hannah Williams Dempsey, last November. With Mrs. Dempsey in the courtroom for the first time since her nervous collapse listening attentively, Woodall categorically denied that he was ever intimate with the former Broadway singer, or that he had ever engaged in any drunken parties with her. The Dempseys are suing each other for divorce, each charging the other with marital misconduct.

In Hollywood, the famous dance team of Veloz and Yolanda successfully received an emergency shoe coupon to replace their last pairs of dancing shoes, bought with Ration Coupon No. 17, and worn out in the course of performing for war bond rallies. The coupon will tide over the dancing pair until the next shoe coupon becomes valid on June 15th. Veloz and Yolanda pointed out to their local ration board that they have raised more than $100,000 in bond sales by performing in benefit shows.

(Booing? Catcalls? Have you considered Ebbets Field?)

Women looking to beautify "the Powers way" are invited to sign up at Abraham & Straus for an eleven-lesson course taught by the Mr. Know It All of modeling himself, John Robert Powers. The course will include lessons in skin care, makeup, hair styling, diet and exercise, posture, voice improvement, and wardrobe selection. Students will provide photographs of themselves at the start of the course, which will be personally critiqued by Mr. Powers. The tuition fee is $25, and enrollments are now being taken at the A&S main-floor salon.

("Business has never been better!" -- Horn & Hardart)

(At Locker No. 14, Freddie Fitzsimmons gazes at the paper with a chuckle. "Heh!" he rumbles. "That was a pretty good line, huh?" At Locker No. 13, Kirby Higbe offers no reply, his eyes rimmed with red, and his breath coming in short gasps. "Ah'll show that ol' blowhawd whut I got. Ah'll show him but GOOD." "Sure ya will, kid" reassures Fitz, patting the smaller man on the head as he hobbles toward the field. "Sure ya will.")

(Tom worked his way thru college as a Fuller Brush Man.)

(WHERE'S AN AIR RAID WARDEN WHEN YOU NEED ONE?)

(HE'S A HORSEMEAT SMUGGLER!)

(GOOD THING I'M ON DRY LAND. AMERICA'S NUMBER ONE HERO DOG KNOWS HOW TO KEEP SAFE.)

(This is why you don't see bathroom transoms anymore.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

And Gene Tunney laughed and laughed...

I guess that's one way to find out who your friends are.

"Ya! So What? Where iss my fancy uniform??"

Hope you saved the receipt.

Yeah, you wouldn't want any trouble with your draft board.

This is why urban farming never works out.

"Live entertainment! I know the perfect act, and they've even got a penguin! Seeza Maboiks!"

Oh, sorry, forgot to put it in neutral first.

It's a wonder anybody ever gets any sleep in this house.

You know, you could just close the window.

 

[Fading Fast]

...
("Soy beans!" grumbles Alice. "T'at'll be t'day! Hey, t'is brisket is pretty good, ain' it?" "Mmmph," mumbles Sally, chewing on a last mouthful of leftover brisket sandwich. "Hey!" insists Alice, abruptly changing the subject as is her wont. "Awr ya gonna op'n'at envelope f'm Kilgallen, a'what? Y'been carryin' aroun' f'two days now an' ya ain' even took it outa ya pocket!" "I'll get to it," growls Sally. "I'm waitn'lla time is right, t'at's awl. It's too warm out. Hell ain' froze oveh yet." "Aw, don' be t'at way!" exhorts Alice. "T'is might be t'key t'whole plan! We'eh get'n closeta t'middl'a June, y'know! If t'ey gonna make a trade f'Petey, we gotta step up t'pressheh! T'is Bawtley kid ain' woikin' out, Glawssop's a bum an' Leo's too old!! A push f'm a famous c'lebrity'll be jus' what t'ey need to make it hap'n! Y'know?" Without a word, Sally withdraws the now-tattered envelope from her overall pocket, gazes ruefully at it for a moment, and pushes it across the table. Alice snaps it up and in a single fluid motion strips off the end and withdraws the contents. "Deeh Fr'en," she reads."Hey! T'at's pretty good, ain' it! You an' she reailly *is* fr'ens! T'way y'tawk about'eh, y'know, I was kin'a havin' me doubts onnat, but if she cawls ya 'deeh fr'en', well, a'ts proof enough f'me! 'Deeh fr'en', she says. 'T'ank you f'writin'. I am pleased t'at you enjoy my column, 'T'Verse a' Brawdway,' an' I hope t'at you will continue to follow it, an'na many ot'eh fine featchehs appearin' each aftehnoon inna New Yawrk Joinal-American. Yehs Sinceehly, Dorot'y Killgallen.' Huh. How 'bout t'at." Sally has no reply, her face sunken into the palm of her hand. "Oh wait," continues Alice. 'T'eah's a PS. Sez heeh, 'be sueh t' heeh me soon on'na 'Bat'l of t' Sexes' broadcast on station W E A F. Consult t'Joinal American radio listin's f' date an' time.'" Sally makes no reply, as her head slips off her palm and drops to the table. "Oh," adds Alice. "T'eah's sump'n else in'neeh. Hey! Lookit t'is! It's a pitcheh! Auttagraphed, yet! 'Best wishes, Dorot'y Kilgallen!'" Sally's head remains down, and begins to tremble. "What's this?" inquires Mildred Kelly, overhearing the conversation and approaching the table. "Oh! Dorothy Kilgallen! Isn't she wonderful! You know, we should all get together sometime for lunch, I'm sure she'd have so many interesting stories of all the famous people she knows! And that husband of hers, Dickie, he's SUCH a dream! Did I ever tell you that Bud and I had dinner with them once, before the war of course..." But Sally hears no more, as the mounting roar inside her brain drowns out all conversation...)
...

"T'eah's sump'n else in'neeh. Hey! Lookit t'is! It's a pitcheh! Auttagraphed, yet! 'Best wishes, Dorot'y Kilgallen!'"

Freakin' perfect twist of the knife into Sally.

...

Curly-haired Texas fight promoter Benny Woodall faces additional cross-examination today in the Dempsey divorce trial over his story that he was "waiting for a street car" when former heavyweight champion Jack Dempsey found him in the Los Angeles apartment of his wife, Hannah Williams Dempsey, last November. With Mrs. Dempsey in the courtroom for the first time since her nervous collapse listening attentively, Woodall categorically denied that he was ever intimate with the former Broadway singer, or that he had ever engaged in any drunken parties with her. The Dempseys are suing each other for divorce, each charging the other with marital misconduct.
...

Of course, the right way to decide this is through the legal process that is playing out, but personally, I find in this trial, I believe everyone's accusations against everyone else and, tautologically, I don't believe anyone's denial. Impossible as it is, the right outcome is that they should both lose.

...

Women looking to beautify "the Powers way" are invited to sign up at Abraham & Straus for an eleven-lesson course taught by the Mr. Know It All of modeling himself, John Robert Powers. The course will include lessons in skin care, makeup, hair styling, diet and exercise, posture, voice improvement, and wardrobe selection. Students will provide photographs of themselves at the start of the course, which will be personally critiqued by Mr. Powers. The tuition fee is $25, and enrollments are now being taken at the A&S main-floor salon.
...

If he can't fill all the spots, in light of Walter Thornton's advertisement yesterday, Mr Powers might want to accept enrollment from men too.

...

(Tom worked his way thru college as a Fuller Brush Man.)
...

Can he really afford to do that with shoe rationing being what it is?

...

(GOOD THING I'M ON DRY LAND. AMERICA'S NUMBER ONE HERO DOG KNOWS HOW TO KEEP SAFE.)

...

"Before America's Number One Full-Of-Himself Dog forgets, do I need to remind him of his recent attempt to find his inner wolf?"
"Your mud bath is ready, Sandy"
"I'll be right there, I just have to finish making my point."
"Really? Maybe you should just exit quietly."

And in the Daily News...

And Gene Tunney laughed and laughed...
...

Ditto my earlier comments on the trial.

...

I guess that's one way to find out who your friends are.
...

I had the same thought.

friend (From the Free Dictionary)​

(frĕnd)
n.
1. A person whom one knows, likes, and trusts.
2. A person whom one knows; an acquaintance.
3. A person with whom one is allied in a struggle or cause; a comrade. [Bold added]

...

Yeah, you wouldn't want any trouble with your draft board.
...

This guy is an idiot. Tracy should be embarrassed that he hasn't caught him already.

...

"Live entertainment! I know the perfect act, and they've even got a penguin! Seeza Maboiks!"
...

Thinking a little, umm, outside the box, with all those recent houses of, uhh, "comfort" shut down, there probably is unmet demand just waiting to be served from a business which would provide a respectable cover.

"What? No, Tilda, we don't need your help in the new "VIP room," please just go back to scrubbing dishes in the kitchen."

"Andy, I have another applicant for us to meet?"
"What's her name?"
"Senga, and she says she has extensive experience and can provide a letter of recommendation from someone called Harold Teen."

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Name?" inquires the blue-uniformed Red Cross volunteer. "Joe Petrauskas." "Address?" "1762 63rd Street. T'at's in Bensonhoist, y'know. Not, y'know, inna City." "Date of birth? "June 6, 1913," he declares with pride. "I jus toin' t'oity. Me wife says I don' look it a bit." The volunteer looks up, rolls her eyes, and returns to the form. "Blood type?" "Um, A-B negative. T'is is me lit'l goil Leonoreh. C'n she come in wit' me? I'm on me way t'woik, an' I gotta droppeh awf wit' me mutteh'n'lawr fois'." Joe shifts Leonora from his left hip to his right, and she grabs his hair with a "Da!" The volunteer looks up again, and Leonora repeats for emphasis, "Da!" "Occupation?" "Skilt machinist, Sperry Gyroscope Comp'ny, Bush Toimenal plant," continues Joe."Y'know Dixie Wawkeh? He's a fren'a mine. Swell guy. Good danceh. Not so good as me, a'cawrse, but..." "When did you last give blood?" "Um, Mawrch I t'ink. Me pal Solly Pincus, y'know, he's inna Awrmy oveh t'Nawrt' Africa, he got shot, an' I felt like I needed t' do sum'p'n. I'm 3-B y'know, um, in case y'need t'put t'at down. It ain' like I don't wanna go a'nut'n, but y'know, I gotta kid, an'ney say I'm essential...um... a' sump'n." "Take a seat, Mr. Petrauskas, and you'll be called when it's your turn." "T'ank's ma'am," concludes Joe, but before he can sit down, Leonora emits a distressed squeal. Joe stops short and turns slowly back to the volunteer." "Um, missis," he whispers, "izzeah a place wheah I... I mean, me baby heeh, she woudln' use t'chaieh befoeh we lef' t'house, an' -- um --I t'ink she jus' -- um..." The volunteer nods and silently flicks her thumb toward a closed door at the left. "T'ank's, ma'am, it -- ah -- won' take lawng." "Next!" calls the volunteer, unsuccessfully suppressing a chuckle.)

The Axis was cut off from all legal means of secret communication with the Western Hemisphere today as a result of Argentina's ban on all coded radio messages to foreign countries. The ban, seen as a direct diplomatic slap at the Axis, was announced last night only a few hours after Germany and Italy had recognized the new Argentine Revolutionary Government under President General Pedro Ramirez. The message does not affect messages passing between Argentina and the United States and Britain, since there are cable links between both countries. The Argentine Foreign Office announced that its action was taken in compliance with Resolution 40 of the anti-Axis accords reached at the Pan American Conference at Rio de Janeiro. Those accords also recommended severance of diplomatic relations with the Axis, and all Western Hemisphere countries except for Argentina have complied.

Mayor LaGuardia today challenged the legality of the City Council's action in overriding his veto of $3,000,000 in budget cuts, warning that it could mean the shutdown of the Staten Island Ferry before the end of this year due to the Council's action cutting the city appropriation for fuel oil to nearly $2,000,000, which, he declared, would leave no coal available for ferry use. The Mayor asserted that the action taken by the Democratic-controlled council with the support of Councilman Stanley Isaacs, Manhattan Fusionist and Councilman A. Clayton Powell, Manhattan ALP-Fusionist, is illegal and invalid. The Mayor's veto of elimination of salary accruals was overridden by Council action to cut vacant jobs and to reduce the salaries of all city employees now in military service to $1 per year. Not all items vetoed by the Mayor were overridden, meaning that the $106,000 annual appropriation for the operation of municipal radio station WNYC will remain in the budget. Council Vice Chairman Joseph T. Sharkey, Brooklyn Democrat who has clashed with the Mayor during the budget controversy, warned that the Council will refuse to accept any proposed 1944 tax rate that is "based on trickery."

The debate over overriding the Mayor's veto saw a recent Brooklyn Eagle editorial brought into the spotlight, when Brooklyn Councilwoman Genevieve Earle insisted on standing with the Mayor on a particular budget point. Councilman Anthony DiGiovanna, also from Brooklyn, remonstrated Mrs. Earle for her position, and accused her of "not following the wishes of your constitutents, as set forth in the Brooklyn Eagle editorial last Sunday." That editorial charged that the Mayor has refused to acknowledge that war expenses must come first, and that municipal and state expenses must "be geared to avoid oppression of the city taxpayers." Councilman DiGiovanna argued that this editorial should be of special interest to Mrs. Earle, whom he termed "the outstanding Fusionist on the Council."

(Trying to make a race riot not sound like a race riot.)

War Production Board chairman Donald L. Nelson today is expected to reach a decision soon on a request from Oil Administrator Harold I. Ickes that authority over the entire petroleum rationing program be taken away from the Office of Price Administration and placed under his own office. Spokesmen for Nelson and Ickes indicated that the issue is being "thrashed out," but a decision will not be made until Price Administrator Prentiss Brown returns to Washington from his home in Michigan. Mr. Ickes is said to be ready to take his demand for autonomy in overseeing the production and distribution of all petroleum products all the way to War Mobilization Director James F. Byrnes if Nelson's decision is not in his favor.

The Grocery Manufacturers Association has issued a demand that the Government appoint an industry-wide "Food Czar" who would be charged with making a complete revision of the present system of rationing, including the end of ceiling prices on "basic food" products, and that remaining ceilings be imposed at the processor's level only, with consumers to be protected by a policy of "fair markups only" on the part of retail grocers. The demand comes as Federal Food Administrator Chester C. Davis warned that unsatisfactory weather so far this year threatens 1943 farm production of important food crops.

Residents of the Renaissance Apartments, 2015 Foster Avenue, will no longer summon a burly superintendent to fix their leaky faucets. After the building's super was taken into the Armed Forces, Mrs. Selma Winters, a tenant, stepped forward to discuss the problem with the building manager -- and ended up taking on the super's job herself. Mrs. Winters used to be a masseus, but is just as skilled at mopping the hallways, tightening loose screws, and rolling out the ash cans as she was at pounding the backs of clients. Although Mrs. Winters is 57 years old, she is a "dynamic" woman, and there have been no complaints from the sixty tenants in the building since she took over the job. In fact, the general opinion is that the quality of work done has improved, since it is now being done "from a woman's point of view."

(Keep 'em flying, Sel!)

(Um, this isn't how it's gonna work...)

("Daughter," declares Ma, pushing a Coca-Cola across the counter, "ye look like ye laaast ue last friend." "I should be so lucky," grouches Sally, sucking at the straw with emphasis. "Alice Dooley is gonna drive me t'drinkin'." "Indeed," squints Ma, stepping back with her arms folded. "And how woooud she be aaafter doin' somethin' loike that." "Aw," sighs Sally. "It's nut'n. But y'know how some people get hold of whatcha cawl a cawwse a' sump'n, an', well, take it to whatcha cawl -- extremes?" "Ahhhh," nods Ma, fixing her daughter in a gaze. "I do that. Tell me, are ye still carryin' bricks in ye bag?" "T'at was diff'nt," snaps Sally, her back rising. "T'at was, y'know, t'way ya do t'ings innat situation! But Alice -- well, she gets awna kick, an' she -- gets crazy ideehs an' does crazy stuff. Sendin' telegrams. Hangin' out outside'a -- places -- gett'n people riled up." "Ahh," nods Ma. "I don't know annnyboddy evar done thatt, no sirrr." "T'AT WAS DIFF'RNT!" shoots back Sally, thru clenched teeth. "HEY KID!" thunders a familiar voice, the screen door banging behind it. "IT'S INNA BAG!" "What now?" groans Sally, her head in her hands. "Ain'cha seen?" shouts Alice, snatching an Eagle off the rack and flinging the sports section down on the counter. "Thaat's three cents farr that paper!" interrupts Ma with a scowl, her hand extended. "Yeah, Ma, put it on me tab," hustles Alice. "Lookit heeh, t'ey got ridda Bawrtley, t'deal f'Joiges is awf, an'neah's no chance t'eah gonna trade Ducky, not even f'Milleh! Leo's inneah HIMSELF! Y'know what t'at MEANS? HE'S OUTA IDEEHRS! PETEY IS T"ON'LY HOPE LEFT." "Petey!" shouts Leonora. "INNA BAG!" "Whatcha do now," inquires Sally, not raising her head for fear of what she may see. "Oh, you t'ought some'a t'em telegrams befoeh was hot. I was jus' at Westehn Union! Wait'll Durocheh gets a loada t'nex one!" "Wondehful," sighs Sally, her head sinking to the countertop. "Oh, hey, I needed t'use a address f'what I put inna telegram..." "YOU DIDN'T PUT MY HOUSE!" yells Sally, her head snapping up right. "YOU DIDN"T!" "Awwww, soitenly not," grins Alice. "I ain' no dope. I put t'is jernt heeh, 503 Rogehs Aveneh." "YOU WHAT?" roars Ma. "Yeh," nods Alice. "I knew ya woudln' mind!" "You two take the baby upstairs farrr a minute," commands Ma, reaching into the till for a nickel. "I got somethin' I haave to do.")

(Next stop after that? A DESERTED ISLAND.)

("Really? OK, well, I guess that changes everything. Carry on.")

(And that phony Canadian accent didn't help at all. You didn't say "aboot" or "eh?" even once!)

(AMERICA'S NUMBER ONE HERO DOG IS TOO KIND HEARTED TO SWIM OUT AND TIP OVER THE RAFT.)

("If I Only Had A Brain...")

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

"Two bow-tied members of Gene Krupa's band were beaten by two unidentified sailors who, they said, crossed a subway third rail to reach them."

"I'd appreciate if you'd take one good shot and end my misery." Jeeezuz.

Grow a beard.

"You were in the Army, Ralph. "*harumph* Oh yes, well, that was different. They were French."

"And the dog too! Don't forget the dog!"

Don't worry, it'll never get past the eagle-eyed inspectors at the milk plant. Oh wait, today's Friday.

Ah. I'm sure he'll be gorgeous.

HEY A LITTLE APPRECIATION WOULD BE NICE

99 percent of the strife in this house would disappear if they'd just send the kid off to military school.

Or you could save some shoe leather and just play thru the window.

 

[LizzieMaine]

Oh, and...

If you ever saw Luis Tiant pitch, you've seen Fitz.

 

[Fading Fast]

("Name?" inquires the blue-uniformed Red Cross volunteer. "Joe Petrauskas." "Address?" "1762 63rd Street. T'at's in Bensonhoist, y'know. Not, y'know, inna City." "Date of birth? "June 6, 1913," he declares with pride. "I jus toin' t'oity. Me wife says I don' look it a bit." The volunteer looks up, rolls her eyes, and returns to the form. "Blood type?" "Um, A-B negative. T'is is me lit'l goil Leonoreh. C'n she come in wit' me? I'm on me way t'woik, an' I gotta droppeh awf wit' me mutteh'n'lawr fois'." Joe shifts Leonora from his left hip to his right, and she grabs his hair with a "Da!" The volunteer looks up again, and Leonora repeats for emphasis, "Da!" "Occupation?" "Skilt machinist, Sperry Gyroscope Comp'ny, Bush Toimenal plant," continues Joe."Y'know Dixie Wawkeh? He's a fren'a mine. Swell guy. Good danceh. Not so good as me, a'cawrse, but..." "When did you last give blood?" "Um, Mawrch I t'ink. Me pal Solly Pincus, y'know, he's inna Awrmy oveh t'Nawrt' Africa, he got shot, an' I felt like I needed t' do sum'p'n. I'm 3-B y'know, um, in case y'need t'put t'at down. It ain' like I don't wanna go a'nut'n, but y'know, I gotta kid, an'ney say I'm essential...um... a' sump'n." "Take a seat, Mr. Petrauskas, and you'll be called when it's your turn." "T'ank's ma'am," concludes Joe, but before he can sit down, Leonora emits a distressed squeal. Joe stops short and turns slowly back to the volunteer." "Um, missis," he whispers, "izzeah a place wheah I... I mean, me baby heeh, she woudln' use t'chaieh befoeh we lef' t'house, an' -- um --I t'ink she jus' -- um..." The volunteer nods and silently flicks her thumb toward a closed door at the left. "T'ank's, ma'am, it -- ah -- won' take lawng." "Next!" calls the volunteer, unsuccessfully suppressing a chuckle.)
...

I don't think it was an accident; I think the trolly was making a statement about defending its turf.

...

Residents of the Renaissance Apartments, 2015 Foster Avenue, will no longer summon a burly superintendent to fix their leaky faucets. After the building's super was taken into the Armed Forces, Mrs. Selma Winters, a tenant, stepped forward to discuss the problem with the building manager -- and ended up taking on the super's job herself. Mrs. Winters used to be a masseus, but is just as skilled at mopping the hallways, tightening loose screws, and rolling out the ash cans as she was at pounding the backs of clients. Although Mrs. Winters is 57 years old, she is a "dynamic" woman, and there have been no complaints from the sixty tenants in the building since she took over the job. In fact, the general opinion is that the quality of work done has improved, since it is n

ow being done "from a woman's point of view."


(Keep 'em flying, Sel!)
...

I have no doubt, no doubt at all, that she will run that building incredibly well. In nearly forty years of apartment living in over ten buildings, I have never once lived in a building with a female super; female building mangers - several - but never a female super.

....
("Daughter," declares Ma, pushing a Coca-Cola across the counter, "ye look like ye laaast ue last friend." "I should be so lucky," grouches Sally, sucking at the straw with emphasis. "Alice Dooley is gonna drive me t'drinkin'." "Indeed," squints Ma, stepping back with her arms folded. "And how woooud she be aaafter doin' somethin' loike that." "Aw," sighs Sally. "It's nut'n. But y'know how some people get hold of whatcha cawl a cawwse a' sump'n, an', well, take it to whatcha cawl -- extremes?" "Ahhhh," nods Ma, fixing her daughter in a gaze. "I do that. Tell me, are ye still carryin' bricks in ye bag?" "T'at was diff'nt," snaps Sally, her back rising. "T'at was, y'know, t'way ya do t'ings innat situation! But Alice -- well, she gets awna kick, an' she -- gets crazy ideehs an' does crazy stuff. Sendin' telegrams. Hangin' out outside'a -- places -- gett'n people riled up." "Ahh," nods Ma. "I don't know annnyboddy evar done thatt, no sirrr." "T'AT WAS DIFF'RNT!" shoots back Sally, thru clenched teeth. "HEY KID!" thunders a familiar voice, the screen door banging behind it. "IT'S INNA BAG!" "What now?" groans Sally, her head in her hands. "Ain'cha seen?" shouts Alice, snatching an Eagle off the rack and flinging the sports section down on the counter. "Thaat's three cents farr that paper!" interrupts Ma with a scowl, her hand extended. "Yeah, Ma, put it on me tab," hustles Alice. "Lookit heeh, t'ey got ridda Bawrtley, t'deal f'Joiges is awf, an'neah's no chance t'eah gonna trade Ducky, not even f'Milleh! Leo's inneah HIMSELF! Y'know what t'at MEANS? HE'S OUTA IDEEHRS! PETEY IS T"ON'LY HOPE LEFT." "Petey!" shouts Leonora. "INNA BAG!" "Whatcha do now," inquires Sally, not raising her head for fear of what she may see. "Oh, you t'ought some'a t'em telegrams befoeh was hot. I was jus' at Westehn Union! Wait'll Durocheh gets a loada t'nex one!" "Wondehful," sighs Sally, her head sinking to the countertop. "Oh, hey, I needed t'use a address f'what I put inna telegram..." "YOU DIDN'T PUT MY HOUSE!" yells Sally, her head snapping up right. "YOU DIDN"T!" "Awwww, soitenly not," grins Alice. "I ain' no dope. I put t'is jernt heeh, 503 Rogehs Aveneh." "YOU WHAT?" roars Ma. "Yeh," nods Alice. "I knew ya woudln' mind!" "You two take the baby upstairs farrr a minute," commands Ma, reaching into the till for a nickel. "I got somethin' I haave to do.")
...

"Yeah, Ma, put it on me tab,"

"Yeh," nods Alice. "I knew ya woudln' mind!"

Wow, nobody worries Alice.

...

(Next stop after that? A DESERTED ISLAND.)
...

"Sorry to have to make a liar out of you short stuff!" Nice.

...

"I'd appreciate if you'd take one good shot and end my misery." Jeeezuz.
...,

Saks and Old Gold are going to want a rebate.

...

Don't worry, it'll never get past the eagle-eyed inspectors at the milk plant. Oh wait, today's Friday.
...

Wouldn't the paper ID cards disintegrate in the milk?

...

99 percent of the strife in this house would disappear if they'd just send the kid off to military school.
...

That would be money well spent for everyone involved.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Somethin' haas got to be done," declares Uncle Frank, as a family council of war convenes around the fountain counter. "Tell me sommethin' I don't know, Francis," growls Ma. "This Alice Dooley is out of control, an' not only is she droivin' me daughter insane, noww she's callin' unnecessary attention to our little aaperations here. Soomebody's got to poot a stop to it." "Don't lookit me," shrugs Jimmy the Chest, "I had alla Alice I'm eveh gonna need." "Well, whas'evrybody lookin' at ME fawr?" blurts Danny the Neck. "Well, if none'a you moighty men c'n handle'r, then I suppose it faaals to me to..." Whatever Ma intends to propose is interrupted by the rasping of the screen door as it admits three sleekly-dressed, immaculately groomed gentlemen. A whisper of fine cologne carried in on the early evening breeze is sucked upward by the ceiling fan. "I'm to understand," begins the lead Gentleman, in a voice as smooth as his tailoring, "that someone at this address has -- a conflict-- with a certain person prominent in the sporting world." Glances are exchanged. "I don't think you quite heard me," continues the Gentleman. He nods at one of his colleagues, who briskly steps to the side and with a sudden, violent thrust, hurls the newspaper rack to the floor. "I'll repeat. I am led to understand that somoene at this address has a conflict with a certain person prominent in the sporting world." "Now joost a minute!" thunders Ma, her eyes blazing. "Who the hell are you to come waaltzin' in here an' start boostin' up me place?" "I'm sorry, Grandmother," purrs the gentleman. "I didn't introduce myself." With another nod, the second of the Gentleman's colleagues steps forward, and with a sharp motion grabs Uncle Frank's two-cents-plain from the counter and dashes it in his face. Jimmy and Danny reach into their coats, but Uncle Frank stops them with a motion of his hand. "Paarhaps you boys doon't know who I am," smiles Uncle Frank, dabbing at his face with his handkerchief as he rises from his stool. "My name is..." "Have a seat, Fats," commands the water-dasher, shoving Uncle Frank back onto his stool. "Now," resumes the Gentleman, "I have a message that I have been asked to deliver on behalf of that sporting personality." He nods again, and his two associates, in perfect syncrhonization, overturn a magazine rack and a cigarette display. "There's a bit more to the message," he continues, "and..." But before he can complete his statement, the door screeches open again. "What the hell....?" gapes Sally. "WHAT'S GOIN' ON HERE? MA! WHERE'S MY BABY?" She lunges forward, fists balled, her face contorted with rage. "WHAT'D YOU DO TO MY BABY!" The Gentleman and his associates step back, startled by this unexpected counterattack. "WELL I'LL BE DAMNED!" bellows Alice Dooley. "IZZAT HOISCHEL SCHWARTZ? HEY! SCHMECK!! Remembeh me? Alice Dooley? Fr'm Bushwick?" The colleagues exchange glances, as Sally pauses in her charge, and the Gentleman's eyes grow wide with recognition. "YEAH!" grins Alice, "TEN YEEHS IT'S BEEN! WHENJA GET OUT?" "Uh," stumbles the gentleman, sweat beading on his forehead. "WILLYA LOOK AT YOU!" laughs Alice! "YOU AWRWAYS DID KNOW HOW TA DRESS! HEY, REMEMBEH T"AT NIGHT AT LOEW'S PITKIN?" "Um," mumbles the Gentleman, "just wanted to deliver that message, ah...c'mon, boys." The guests make a hasty withdrawal, as Alice looks around at five pairs of goggled eyes. "It's swell," she grins, "t'see ol' pals again. Ain'it?")

New York City commercial laundries will open negotiations on Monday with the Laundry Workers Joint Board, a subsidiary of the Amalgamated Clothing Workers of America, at which a scale of increased wages will be offered by the operators in an attempt to forestall the closing of more laundries in the face of a critical labor shortage in the industry. Laundry operators are staggering under a mounting accumulation of laundry caused by a lack of manpower leaving an estimated 40,000 to 60,000 persons in the metropolitan area without laundry service. It is estimated that about 35 percent of all laundry workers in the city have either left for defense jobs or entered the armed forces, forcing many neighborhood laundries to close outright.

(Mr. Eastmond had better be careful where he parks his car.)

("If it wasn't for the slot machine, we'd go broke.")

A decision by the Board of Estimate assures that Coney Island will host the new Oceanarium planned for construction after the war. The Board voted yesterday to reverse its action of May 6th and to instead approve a capital budget amendment providing $42,000 toward the $1,502,000 estimated cost of construction, with the New York Zoological Society having already pledged $20,000. Parks Commissioner Robert Moses and officials of the Zoological Society favor a site adjacent to the boardwalk, near Surf Avenue and Ocean Parkway, for the new attraction.

(Even if you've never seen "Action in the North Atlantic," the cast alone will give you a pretty good idea of it.)

(Just as Leo Durocher rakes in another pot from wild-eyed, seething Kirby Higbe, coach Sukeforth steps over. "Phone foh ya, skippah," says Sukey. Leo steps into the manager's office , shuts the door, and picks up the receiver. "Yeah," he snaps. The voice on the other end comes quick and sharp. "WHAT?" bellows Leo. The voice gabbles frantically. "WHAT? Calm down! ALICE WHO??? WHAAAAAAAT?")

("Oh, the record will be there. Do you know what the penalty is for operating an unregistered boat?")

("Never be seen again?" huffs Irwin Higgs. "TELL ME ABOUT IT!")

(The SHIPPING NEWS! OF COURSE! ALL DETECTIVES READ THE SHIPPING NEWS!)

(Hey, it worked for George Washington crossing the Delaware...)

(A survey of neighborhood mothers finds that three-syllable names produce the optimal effect when shouted out a window.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

There's counts and then there's no-accounts.

Keep your eyes down and take up as little space as possible.

Today's strip is brought to you by the Pure Food League of America.

Between panel one and panel two Taffy took time to put on her earrings.

Oh, Bimbo, you laugh now...

Well, claim them as tax deductions!

"Did you try kicking it?"

"And on top of that, I'm hungry!"

Never mind filing an insurance claim on that door, they've already cancelled the policy.

Page Four is not allowed in Goofy's house.