The Era -- Day By Day

[Fading Fast]

("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?")
...

Jesus.

...

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

I caught the tail end of it growing up in the '70s/'80s when the older-style drug stores back then really did carry a wide variety of merchandise, in addition to having a soda/ice-cream counter; whereas, the newer chains that were opening didn't have a soda/ice-cream counter and carried mainly drugs, cosmetic and daily household goods like cleaning supplies and soaps, etc.

Those old drug stores tended to be on the high side price wise, but the selection was impressive. It's another thing all but lost to time.

They do however pop up all the time in old movies, like this one featured in 1949's "Tension."

And in the Daily News...

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

Tell me something about early 1940s New York City in one random independent clause: "We found the count dunking his sorrows in a Tom Collins at El Morocco...."

...

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

I've lived in NYC long enough to see a full cycle. The subways were dangerous in the '80s, reasonably safe from the '90s-2020ish - and are less safe now (not as bad, yet, as the '80s).

There can be big underlying social issues at work, but on a practical, make-a-difference-immediately front, policing and sentencing do it. And these 1940s commentators are very right about how much difference a strong and obvious police presence makes.

...

Oh, Bimbo, you laugh now...
...

Take this idea a step further and you are at the "comfort" business I was suggesting yesterday, just for the other gender. Now that would be forward thinking for 1943. I'm picturing lines out the door and fights over who is next.

"Dear, I'm off to the tearoom."
"What, again? You women love your tea."
"Yes, Dear, that's it."

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Hey Sal," chuckles Joe, seated in his undershirt on the front stoop, the better to soak up the early-afternoon sun, the newspaper spread out next to him. "Ain' gonna be no whatchacawl illusions fawr milady. No 'lusions a'tawl!" "Whassat s'posta mean?" replies Sally, bent over in front of 1762 63rd Street as she meticulously outlines a grid on the sidewalk with a fragment of coal while Leonora looks curiously on. "I ain' got no illusions 'bout nut'n." "It's about cloes," explains Joe. "Ya sil-hoo-ett, an'awlat." "Oh," responds Sally, "I t'oughtcha meant sump'n t'do wit' t'at mess yest'day." "What mess yes'tday?" inquires Joe, his attention piqued. "Nut'n," dismisses Sally, a sharp edge in her voice. "Jus' nut'n. Ev'ryt'ing's swell. Awright, Leonora, now wawtch." "Whatcha doin'neah, anyway?" asks Joe. "I'm gonna show Leonoreh how t'play potsy," replies Sally, dismissing at a stroke all thought of the previous day's unpleasantries. "Ain' she a lit'l young f'tat?" queries Joe, setting aside the paper to take a closer look at the proceedings before him. "She ain' even two yet." "Ya gonna be good at anyt'ing," declares Sally, standing up and gazing with conviction at her handiwork, "y'gotta stawrt young. How 'bout awlem whatchacawl prodigies t'at loin' t'play t'fiddle an' awl wheneah still in diapehs? An' I'd rat'eh she loin f'm me 'steada pickin' it up f'm some kid onna street. Y'know, when I was in 4-B I won potsy champion a' P. S. 92." "Yeh," nods Joe. "Ya said." "An' t'celebrate," Sally continues, as Joe silently mouths the words, "Ma took me oveh t' Zimmehman's an' bawt me a boxa Lowney's Vesta Creams! Y'know t'at box onna dresseh I put bobby pins in? T'at is t'at box! Y'toin' it oveh an' look onna bottom I wrote onnit 'Sally Sweeney, P. S. 92 Potsy Champion 1922.'" "Yeh, acknowledges Joe. "I seenat box. But hey -- t'em lines you drawred ain' right." "Ahh, scoffs Sally, "whattayou know 'bout potsy. You neveh played potsy. Boys don' play potsy." "I guess I hadda sisteh," huffs Joe, rising to the challenge. "I guess maybe I know a lit'l bit about it. An' hey, whassat ya got t'eah?" "Buncha safety pins clipped t'getteh," replies Sally. "I awrways use it f'ra potsy when I'm playin'. At's my secret, see? Ya t'row it inna box, an' it spreads out, gives y'good co'vrage, but it's still smawl enough it don't go oveh t'lines!" "Well," insists Joe, "t'at ain'a way me sisteh done it. She awrways used a tin can crushed flat. She liked t'use Silveh Cow Milk cans, t'ey mash down t'wa good shape. Ev'rybody in Williamsboig done'at." "Well, t'at ain'a way we done it in Pi--Eas' Flatbush." declares Sally, as she places her wad of pins in Leonora's hand. "Ta'ts right, honey," she encourages. "Y'jus' toss it inna numbeh one box, an'nen y'jump on one foot inna box y'self." Sally executes a graceful hop, picks up the pins, and hops back out. "Like t'at." "Aw," calls Joe, "T'at ain' no hop. Y'had ya shouldehs hunched up. T'at ain' no way t'do it." Joe rises from the stoop, hitches his suspenders, and strides confidently to the sidewalk. "Heeh, gimme t'at -- no, wait, I ain' usin'at foolishness, heeh's a good rock, I'll use'at. Now watch." With a quick flip of his wrist he tosses the rock, which lands in the upper left hand corner of the box. With hands on hips, and head held erect, Joe hops smoothly into the box, effortlessly pivots, bends at the waist to retrieve the rock, and hops out. "See? See t'at fawrm? At's t'way y'play potsy. Hmph! 'Champion 'a P. S. 92.' Wouln'a lasted one roun' on Lennid Street!""Awright, wise guy," grins Sally, her eyes sparkling. "Whatcha say? Let's go!" "Ya on!" "Make it innehrestin' -- I win, y'take me t' Loew's Met t'night. You win, I take you!" "Deal!" "Awright t'en, le's go!" And as this drama plays out, Leonora toddles to the stoop, and bends down in fascination as ants parade across the stone step.)

The Allied drive across North Africa has demonstrated to the Axis "a brand new form of blitzkrieg that makes their past performance in the battle of France appear as old-fashioned as an ancient Roman campaign," a military expert declared yesterday. It is a new kind of blitzkrieg for which the Axis has been unable to devise an adequate defense, as proven by the helplessness of German and Italian forces against Allied air power over Tunisia. Now, with Pantelleria and Lampedusa fallen, and Sicily expected to be next on the list, Axis generals appear to be as nonplussed as ever. Under this new system, Allied air forces are controlled by the top air-ground commanders in a given theatre, with entire air armadas operated as a single striking force, engaging in so-called strategic bombing over wide enemy areas.

Former Postmaster General James A. Farley appealed yesterday to "the national conscience" for unflinching support of the war effort, asserting in a speech delivered in Cambridge, Massachusetts that the country is experiencing a new wave of "petty compromise" and "excuse making." Addressing the Cambridge Lodge of Elks as part of their Flag Day exercises, Mr. Farley emphasized that "when the national leadership, which is a leadership of majority selection, determines upon the course of conduct necessary for the successful prosecution of a war, every individual has a patriotic obligation to support that leadership." Mr. Farley acknowledged that every American has a right to criticize their Government, "but we have no right to weaken the hand of our national Government in the prosecution of the war. We have no right to sabotage the laws which our own Government has enacted in the effort to lead us to victory and to preserve our liberties."

(Ahhhh, "Madcap Merry.")

The Eagle Editorialist takes umbrage at the fact that the new picture "Coney Island" will not premiere on Surf Avenue, nor anywhere else in Brooklyn. "This paper has deplored the tendency of the movies to treat Brooklyn as a whistle stop," he fumes, and goes on to note that the old-time ballyhooers of Coney Island's golden age would have found some way to work a live elephant into the publicity for the film.

("T'eah!" declares Alice, twirling her hammer as she steps back to survey her work."Good as new. Bes' lookin' magazine rack on'na whole street." "Well, it bettar be," declares Ma Sweeney, her arms stiffly folded. "T'h' very idea of you puttin' me address down on some fool telegram an' bringin' them hoodlums in here. My graaandaagther was upstairs! Did ye ever think a' that? Whaat if they threw in a bomb? Those weren't Hops Gaffney ye know, not ye neighborhood opaarators, they was the big time! What could you POSSIBLY be thinkin'?" "Aw," murmurs Alice, her eyes downcast. "T'at was a bad ideeh, yeh. I'm sawry t'em guys come in heeh, s'pecial in fron'na Sal. I know y'don' wanneh knowin'..." "Never mind what I wan't," snaps Ma. "You see to it ye keep ye nonsense t'yeself f'rm heeh on, an' if y'don't, well..." "Do'worry, Ma," assures Alice, crossing her heart. "I'm onna straight'n narrow f'm heeh on." "Ahhhl right then," says Ma. "Now get ooota..." "NORRRRRA!" comes a bass bellow from upstairs. "I CAAAAAN'T FIND ME SOCKS!" "I RIIINSED 'EM OOOT, AAAN' HUNG 'EM IN THE BAATHROOM!" "I DOOOON"T SEE 'EM!" comes the plaintive play. "Hootsam'chree," sputters Ma, heading for the back stairs. "A man's no good but faah one thing.." Alice watches her depart and takes a deep breath. She notes the Eagle spread out on the counter, and an item on the sports page catches her eye. She steps to the nearest telephone, fishes a nickel out of her overalls, and dings it down the slot. "H'lo," she begins. "I wanneh sen'na teleg'ram. Coit Davis, Ebbets Feel, Brooklyn...")

(The Square Dance King of Brooklyn.)

Actress Virginia Gilmore, who recently left Hollywood for Broadway, where she is the feminine lead in "Those Endearing Young Charms," once worked as a clerk in a San Francisco garage. But she didn't just keep books and file invoices -- when the regular attendant was out to lunch, she donned overalls and greased cars.

(I hope somebody takes the time to at least wash down that poor horse.)

(NEVER turn your back on a goat. One once ate the belt off my raincoat, while I was wearing it.)

("Mournful Bagly, the Insane Hypnotist." It's acts like that that killed vaudeville.)

("Please leave me alone, Phil." FINALLY. And yes, statistical proof that there is no such thing as a sure thing in any game of cards.)

(The Coast Guard? Isn't that a job for the NAVY? And my oh my, Mr. Andriola must be Cary Grant's very biggest fan.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And also...

(I've said it before, and will say it forever -- why isn't this man in the Hall of Fame?)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

When that zoot suit panic started up last year, it was only a matter of time. The wind was sown, and now we reap the whirlwind...

Here's a tip, gals -- when summer humidity comes, that's when my hair goes up under the headrag. You can't fight City Hall or an occluded warm front.

Quick, somebody call Petrillo! Incidentially, Woodstock is the town in Illinois where Chester Gould lives.

Erich von Stroheim loves "Little Orphan Annie" so much he's doing this part for scale.

"Maybe he's their uncle." Kid, there's a fine line between trolling and terrorizing.

Joss needs to start taking his saltpeter again.

"Joy riding?" GET OVER IT, JACK.

Pop had to run out and drop off some slips. It's the only way he can stay in business.

Happens EVERY TIME.

Anybody here read Japanese?

 

[Fading Fast]

("Hey Sal," chuckles Joe, seated in his undershirt on the front stoop, the better to soak up the early-afternoon sun, the newspaper spread out next to him. "Ain' gonna be no whatchacawl illusions fawr milady. No 'lusions a'tawl!" "Whassat s'posta mean?" replies Sally, bent over in front of 1762 63rd Street as she meticulously outlines a grid on the sidewalk with a fragment of coal while Leonora looks curiously on. "I ain' got no illusions 'bout nut'n." "It's about cloes," explains Joe. "Ya sil-hoo-ett, an'awlat." "Oh," responds Sally, "I t'oughtcha meant sump'n t'do wit' t'at mess yest'day." "What mess yes'tday?" inquires Joe, his attention piqued. "Nut'n," dismisses Sally, a sharp edge in her voice. "Jus' nut'n. Ev'ryt'ing's swell. Awright, Leonora, now wawtch." "Whatcha doin'neah, anyway?" asks Joe. "I'm gonna show Leonoreh how t'play potsy," replies Sally, dismissing at a stroke all thought of the previous day's unpleasantries. "Ain' she a lit'l young f'tat?" queries Joe, setting aside the paper to take a closer look at the proceedings before him. "She ain' even two yet." "Ya gonna be good at anyt'ing," declares Sally, standing up and gazing with conviction at her handiwork, "y'gotta stawrt young. How 'bout awlem whatchacawl prodigies t'at loin' t'play t'fiddle an' awl wheneah still in diapehs? An' I'd rat'eh she loin f'm me 'steada pickin' it up f'm some kid onna street. Y'know, when I was in 4-B I won potsy champion a' P. S. 92." "Yeh," nods Joe. "Ya said." "An' t'celebrate," Sally continues, as Joe silently mouths the words, "Ma took me oveh t' Zimmehman's an' bawt me a boxa Lowney's Vesta Creams! Y'know t'at box onna dresseh I put bobby pins in? T'at is t'at box! Y'toin' it oveh an' look onna bottom I wrote onnit 'Sally Sweeney, P. S. 92 Potsy Champion 1922.'" "Yeh, acknowledges Joe. "I seenat box. But hey -- t'em lines you drawred ain' right." "Ahh, scoffs Sally, "whattayou know 'bout potsy. You neveh played potsy. Boys don' play potsy." "I guess I hadda sisteh," huffs Joe, rising to the challenge. "I guess maybe I know a lit'l bit about it. An' hey, whassat ya got t'eah?" "Buncha safety pins clipped t'getteh," replies Sally. "I awrways use it f'ra potsy when I'm playin'. At's my secret, see? Ya t'row it inna box, an' it spreads out, gives y'good co'vrage, but it's still smawl enough it don't go oveh t'lines!" "Well," insists Joe, "t'at ain'a way me sisteh done it. She awrways used a tin can crushed flat. She liked t'use Silveh Cow Milk cans, t'ey mash down t'wa good shape. Ev'rybody in Williamsboig done'at." "Well, t'at ain'a way we done it in Pi--Eas' Flatbush." declares Sally, as she places her wad of pins in Leonora's hand. "Ta'ts right, honey," she encourages. "Y'jus' toss it inna numbeh one box, an'nen y'jump on one foot inna box y'self." Sally executes a graceful hop, picks up the pins, and hops back out. "Like t'at." "Aw," calls Joe, "T'at ain' no hop. Y'had ya shouldehs hunched up. T'at ain' no way t'do it." Joe rises from the stoop, hitches his suspenders, and strides confidently to the sidewalk. "Heeh, gimme t'at -- no, wait, I ain' usin'at foolishness, heeh's a good rock, I'll use'at. Now watch." With a quick flip of his wrist he tosses the rock, which lands in the upper left hand corner of the box. With hands on hips, and head held erect, Joe hops smoothly into the box, effortlessly pivots, bends at the waist to retrieve the rock, and hops out. "See? See t'at fawrm? At's t'way y'play potsy. Hmph! 'Champion 'a P. S. 92.' Wouln'a lasted one roun' on Lennid Street!""Awright, wise guy," grins Sally, her eyes sparkling. "Whatcha say? Let's go!" "Ya on!" "Make it innehrestin' -- I win, y'take me t' Loew's Met t'night. You win, I take you!" "Deal!" "Awright t'en, le's go!" And as this drama plays out, Leonora toddles to the stoop, and bends down in fascination as ants parade across the stone step.)
...

"Well, t'at ain'a way we done it in Pi--Eas' Flatbush."

"...Hmph! 'Champion 'a P. S. 92.' Wouln'a lasted one roun' on Lennid Street!"

...

(Ahhhh, "Madcap Merry.")
...

Well, the English had the Mitford Sisters, we needed somebody.

...

("Please leave me alone, Phil." FINALLY. And yes, statistical proof that there is no such thing as a sure thing in any game of cards.)
...

She's wearing high heals on the beach. Ernie Bushmiller might want to consult with a woman or two from time to time.

And in the Daily News...

When that zoot suit panic started up last year, it was only a matter of time. The wind was sown, and now we reap the whirlwind...
...

"...he will give his $50,000 castle and his daughter by a first marriage to his second wife in a property settlement that was allegedly a prenuptial agreement."

Who gives their kid from their first wife to their second wife in a divorce settlement? And could that really have been part of the prenup? "Listen if this marriage doesn't work out, I want your castle and, you know what, your kid." "Umm, that seems fair."

Daughter from the first wife: "WTF, Dad!"

...

Pop had to run out and drop off some slips. It's the only way he can stay in business.
...

No self-respecting candy, tobacco or ice-cream/soda fountain shop owner would not be running a, umm, "side business" in 1943. It's not like you can make a living selling the legitimate goods. My God, how many ice-cream sodas would you have to sell to pay rent, especially when most of your customers are kids on the cuff?

Separately, "I'm gonna see if I can't bone my buddy for a soda." Clearly, that expression meant something different in 1943 from what it does today.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Y'know," says Alice Dooley, as the train rocks thru the Hudson Tube, "ya awrful lucky." "Am I?" replies Sally. "Yeh," returns Alice. "I mean, lookit'is Dempsey t'ing. Lookit'em. Married awlem yeehs, anneah mis'rable. How lawng you'n Joe been married? Six, seven yeehs? An' you ain' mis'rable yet!" "Well, it d'pends," grumbles Sally. "Well, maybe," acknowledges Alice. "I see ya frownin' a lawt lately, makin'em faces ya make, bangin' ya head onna table'n'awl'lat. But'tat ain' becausa Joe, 'm I right? Joe's a pretty right guy, ain'ee?" "Yeh," acknowledges Sally. "I dunno what I'd do wit'out Joe. I might do sump'n drastic." "He took ya t'see a swell pitcheh las' night.., ain'at so? An' gee, t'at WAS a swell pitcheh! I awrways like t'at Bawrbra Stanwyck. She's f'm Flatbush, y'know. Nawt Pigtown like you, but way oveh t'utteh side by Lafayette an' DeKalb, y'know? I met 'eh brut'eh one time. Boitie his name was. Swell guy. Took me drivin' oncet, but nut'n com'v it. He neveh even run outta gas." "Gladja enjoyed t' pitcheh," sighs Sally. "Gladja c'd come wit' us." "Yeh," nods Alice. "I knew y'woul'n min'. I hate t'sit home alone. I tried to loin t'knit, but me fingehs is too fat, t'ey get tangled up n'awl. Yeh., I know you ain' upset 'bout Joe a'nut'n, he's a right guy. I know ya upset b'cause we ain' got Petey back yet, but I tell ya, it's awl comin' t'get'teh, now, lemme tell ya what I got in min' f't'is week..." Sally exhales a deep sigh, as the train rattles on toward Jersey.)

The House Appropriations Committee today called for the complete liquidation of the National Youth Administration, declaring that its functions are no longer necessary in wartime. The elimination of funding for the NYA was part of an $111,421,630 cut proposed for the budget of the Labor Department and the Federal Security Agency, a reduction which will curtail or abolish a number of agencies now operating under the aegis of War Manpower Commission director Paul V. McNutt.

Red Army forces today seized four villages in a surprise attack northeast of Orel, on the south-central front, as the toll of German planes destroyed during the last two weeks of intense air warfare reached 1300. A report over Radio Berlin acknowledged that 3200 Russian troops breached the German lines around Orel, in bitter hand-to-hand fighting on Friday, but the broadcast further claimed that a German counterattack "restored the situation."

American heavy bombers have again blasted Japanese installations at Kahili in the Solomons, it was announced today. A communique stated that all planes returned safely to base following the raid on Friday night. It was further revealed that four Marine pilots took on 40 enemy aircraft north of Guadalcanal on April 25th, and shot down six Zeros, dispersed 18 others, and caused 16 bombers to abandon an attempted attack on the Solomons.

Pope Pius XII told 20,000 Italian workers yesterday that time will prove "the stupidity of accusations" that he favors the war and provided funding from Vatican coffers for its continuation. The pontiff declared that propaganda accusing him of supporting and financing the war was circulated by "enemies of God" seeking to disturb workers and turn them against the church. ALthough the speech as monitored over the Vatican Radio in Washington did not specify a source for the Pope's statement, the German DNB news agency claimed that the pontiff blamed "Communists" for circulating the charges against him.

("Da!" blurts Leonora, banging the tray of her high chair. "Da! Foo!" "I'm comin', honey, keep ya shoit on," replies Joe, stirring a steaming saucepan of Cream of Wheat. "FOO!" squeals Leonora. "B'fut!" "T'at's right, honey, breakfas'," Joe continues, spooning the runny mush into a bowl. Here it comes!" Leonora eyes the bowl. "NO!" she bellows. "DO'WAN'NIT!" "But it's good!" pleads Joe. "BLAHHHHH!" spurts Leonora. "Ya right, kid," concedes Joe. "It IS blahhh. But'cha gonna eat it, ain'cha? F'ya papa? Please?" "Sppppppppt!" declares Leonora as her final statement on the issue as she shoves the bowl off the tray and sends it crashing to the floor. Stella the Cat races to the scene, sniffs the spillage, and huffs away. "T' Awrmy," sighs Joe, "couldn' be hawrdeh'nis...")

("Yeh," says Joe, sipping at his egg cream, "it was a pretty swell pitcheh. See, it's about t'is stripteaseh..." "Joseph!" scolds Ma Sweeney, snapping her towel for emphasis." "Well," shrugs Joe. "She ain'a kin'a stripteaseh like t'ey had in, y'know, t' Twenny T'ousan' Legs Un'neh t' Sea a' nut'n like t'at. She's whatcha cawl onna awrtistic side, y'know? It was wrote by Gypsy Rose Lee, y'know. She's'at one writes books an' awrticles inna New Yawrkeh an' awlat, y'know, stric'ly high class stuff. Anyways, t'is ut'teh goil inna show gets strangulated wit' a G-string." "A G string!" snorts Ma. "She plays the violin, does she?" "Nah," replies Joe, "it ain'nat, it's a t'ing ya weeah -- well, not a t'ing YOU weeah, but I mean, if you was a stripteaseh, you would, but you ain't, a'cawrse, but, um, say ya was -- um -- anyways, it kin'a goes -- um -- down'neah an'nen -- kin'a, I mean, up b'tween..." "That's quoit enough of that, Joseph," scowls Ma, as Joe's face flushes deep red. "Aaaanyways," he resumes, attempting to regain his composure, "see, t'is goil gets strangulated t' deat', an' Bawrbra Stanwyck an'nis guy, t'is comedian inna show, t'ey get onna case t' figyeh out who done it. It's like a detective pit'cheh, really, y'know, wit' -- ah -- spangles -- an'-- stuff." "The very idea!" huffs Ma. "I am disappointed in ye, Joseph! Takin' me only daughter to a trashy picture like that!" "Um, act'chl'y," explains Joe, "it wa'n like t'at. Sal took me. But on'y because I -- um -- let'eh win. Yeah. I let 'eh win. At potsy. Y'know?" "Whaaat?" "Nut'n.")

(Yamamoto in the wastebasket is a subtle touch for this type of cartoon.)

(TICK TICK TICK TICK TICK TICK TICK TICK TICK TICK TICK TICK...)

(COAST GUARD! HEAVE TO AND PREPARE TO BE BOARDED!)

(What happens to food and drink when Scarlet consumes them? Do they remain visible? STOP THINKING ABOUT THIS STUFF!)

("I'm Dan Dunn. I'm functionally incapable of joking!")

(AMERICA'S NUMBER ONE HERO DOG IS A RED CROSS CERTIFIED LIFE SAVER! NOT THE KIND WITH A HOLE IN A MIDDLE, BUT.. OH NEVER MIND.)

(Peggy may be a teenager now instead of a bitter thirty-something but she's still just as easily duped. I wish Teen Oakdale would show up.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

Did they stop off for confession first?

But I *LIKE* cheese odors!

SHOWOFF! Cutting capers in the air while honest Americans can't even get gas to go to the racetrack!

Of course, it isn't that Stroheim doesn't ENJOY playing this kind of part...

Pretty high standard for sanitation on this farm I must say.

Everybody's an admiral.

Oh, Min. You and your rhetorical questions.

Walt and Phyllis raised a very good boy.

You can tell by Honey's expression that this is just a role-playing fantasy thing they do. Go home, Shadow, you're in the way.

No wonder the Plushbottoms are broke, all these doors they have to keep replacing...

 

[LizzieMaine]

And also...

I bet Chic is a real funny drunk.

 

[Fading Fast]

("Y'know," says Alice Dooley, as the train rocks thru the Hudson Tube, "ya awrful lucky." "Am I?" replies Sally. "Yeh," returns Alice. "I mean, lookit'is Dempsey t'ing. Lookit'em. Married awlem yeehs, anneah mis'rable. How lawng you'n Joe been married? Six, seven yeehs? An' you ain' mis'rable yet!" "Well, it d'pends," grumbles Sally. "Well, maybe," acknowledges Alice. "I see ya frownin' a lawt lately, makin'em faces ya make, bangin' ya head onna table'n'awl'lat. But'tat ain' becausa Joe, 'm I right? Joe's a pretty right guy, ain'ee?" "Yeh," acknowledges Sally. "I dunno what I'd do wit'out Joe. I might do sump'n drastic." "He took ya t'see a swell pitcheh las' night.., ain'at so? An' gee, t'at WAS a swell pitcheh! I awrways like t'at Bawrbra Stanwyck. She's f'm Flatbush, y'know. Nawt Pigtown like you, but way oveh t'utteh side by Lafayette an' DeKalb, y'know? I met 'eh brut'eh one time. Boitie his name was. Swell guy. Took me drivin' oncet, but nut'n com'v it. He neveh even run outta gas." "Gladja enjoyed t' pitcheh," sighs Sally. "Gladja c'd come wit' us." "Yeh," nods Alice. "I knew y'woul'n min'. I hate t'sit home alone. I tried to loin t'knit, but me fingehs is too fat, t'ey get tangled up n'awl. Yeh., I know you ain' upset 'bout Joe a'nut'n, he's a right guy. I know ya upset b'cause we ain' got Petey back yet, but I tell ya, it's awl comin' t'get'teh, now, lemme tell ya what I got in min' f't'is week..." Sally exhales a deep sigh, as the train rattles on toward Jersey.)
...

Alice needs an off or, at least, a pause button installed on her.

...

("Yeh," says Joe, sipping at his egg cream, "it was a pretty swell pitcheh. See, it's about t'is stripteaseh..." "Joseph!" scolds Ma Sweeney, snapping her towel for emphasis." "Well," shrugs Joe. "She ain'a kin'a stripteaseh like t'ey had in, y'know, t' Twenny T'ousan' Legs Un'neh t' Sea a' nut'n like t'at. She's whatcha cawl onna awrtistic side, y'know? It was wrote by Gypsy Rose Lee, y'know. She's'at one writes books an' awrticles inna New Yawrkeh an' awlat, y'know, stric'ly high class stuff. Anyways, t'is ut'teh goil inna show gets strangulated wit' a G-string." "A G string!" snorts Ma. "She plays the violin, does she?" "Nah," replies Joe, "it ain'nat, it's a t'ing ya weeah -- well, not a t'ing YOU weeah, but I mean, if you was a stripteaseh, you would, but you ain't, a'cawrse, but, um, say ya was -- um -- anyways, it kin'a goes -- um -- down'neah an'nen -- kin'a, I mean, up b'tween..." "That's quoit enough of that, Joseph," scowls Ma, as Joe's face flushes deep red. "Aaaanyways," he resumes, attempting to regain his composure, "see, t'is goil gets strangulated t' deat', an' Bawrbra Stanwyck an'nis guy, t'is comedian inna show, t'ey get onna case t' figyeh out who done it. It's like a detective pit'cheh, really, y'know, wit' -- ah -- spangles -- an'-- stuff." "The very idea!" huffs Ma. "I am disappointed in ye, Joseph! Takin' me only daughter to a trashy picture like that!" "Um, act'chl'y," explains Joe, "it wa'n like t'at. Sal took me. But on'y because I -- um -- let'eh win. Yeah. I let 'eh win. At potsy. Y'know?" "Whaaat?" "Nut'n.")
...

"it ain'nat, it's a t'ing ya weeah -- well, not a t'ing YOU weeah, but I mean, if you was a stripteaseh, you would, but you ain't, a'cawrse, but, um, say ya was -- um -- anyways, it kin'a goes -- um -- down'neah an'nen -- kin'a, I mean, up b'tween..."

Joe needs to learn when to abort a conversation. In 1943, you do not want to be discussing G strings with your mother-in-law. It's 2023 and I don't want to have that conversation with my girlfriend's mother. She's modern and all, but still.

"Spitfire" isn't a great movie, but it is a good one that's well worth the watch. As to Leslie Howard the actor, it's hard to put your finger on it, as he is an unlikely male lead, but he had something that made it work.

...

(What happens to food and drink when Scarlet consumes them? Do they remain visible? STOP THINKING ABOUT THIS STUFF!)
...

"I can't understand what's wrong..."

Did you really understand the science behind it when it was working?

And in the Daily News...

Did they stop off for confession first?
...

So the movie "Waterloo Bridge" had some basis in fact. I bet they all didn't look like Vivian Leigh, though.

...

Oh, Min. You and your rhetorical questions.
...

Even Andy should notice the problem of owning only 1%.

...

You can tell by Honey's expression that this is just a role-playing fantasy thing they do. Go home, Shadow, you're in the way.
...

If you're right about the role-playing thing, let's at least hope they want Shadow to go home; otherwise, ew.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Hey Sal," whispers Joe, squinting at the alarm clock, its luminious hands pointing to quarter past three. "You awake?" "Yeh," sighs Sally, in equally hushed tones. "Keep ya verse down, at leas' Leonoreh's sleepin'." "It's like a steam bat' in heeh," complains Joe. "I can't stan' it no moeh. I'm goin' out an' sleep onna fieh 'scape." "Y'can't," returns Sally. "Alice is sleepin' onna fieh 'scape." "I don' caeh," insists Joe, swinging his legs out of bed with a huff. "A man c'n on'y take so much, an' I took it." "Y'can't, Joe! F'cry'n out loud!" Sally snaps back. "Y'jus' can't." "Why not?" grouches Joe. "'Cause she's a gues' an' we gotta be hospitable? Well, I ain' Em'ly Pos', an' ev'n if I was, I bet Em'ly Pos' would be dyin'a heatstroke, an' would wanna sleep onna fieh scape. It's inneh book. Look it up." "It ain'nat," groans Sally, her face buried in the damp pillow. "Well WHAT t'en!" rasps Joe, his sharp tone causing Leonora to stir in her crib. "Use ya head," growls Sally. "Wit' Alice onneah, t'at fieh scape can't hold no moeh weight." "Oh yeah," sighs Joe, settling back into bed. "Hey Sal. Wazzat a dig?" "Yeh," groans Sally. "T'at was a dig.")

Russian troops have captured a village near Sumy, 90 miles northwest of Kharkov, and beat off a strong counterattack on newly-won positions northeast of Orel. Soviet Finance Commissar Arseni Zvevrev stated in a Moscow broadcast monitored in London that the Red Army is preparing "crushing blows" against the enemy, and a Berlin broadcast reported that Soviet troops have broken into German positions at two places near Belev, 65 miles north of Orel, but claimed that those breaches had later "been sealed."

The War Labor Board decision in the United Mine Workers wage case may leave the underground travel pay issue unsettled, it was indicated today by informed sources in Washington. The WLB resumed consideration of the case today after a two-day lapse, and is expected to release its decision either late today or tomorrow. If the union refuses to accept the decision, it will leave the threat of a new work stoppage as of next Monday hanging over the coal fields, with the UMW having extended its old wage contract for the purpose of negotiations only thru June 20th.

(Soy -- The Wonder Food!)

The general drafting of fathers will not begin until after October 1st, but Selective Service authorities warned today that the only fathers likely to be deferred after that date will be those in essential occupations -- and even then the burden of justifying that deferment will be upon them. That statement came as Selective Service announced that single and childless men between the ages of 18 and 25 who are now occupationally deferred will have their deferments limited to six months unless they can prove that their jobs are exceptionally important and that they cannot easily be replaced thru a standard replacement schedule. War Manpower Commission chairman Paul V. McNutt declined at a press conference today to announce a precise date when the drafting of fathers will begin, nor would he confirm a statement by Selective Service Director Lewis B. Hershey before the House Appropriations Committee that lowered physical standards recently adopted by the Navy might delay the need of drafting fathers. It was stated before the committee that the present Selective Service quota calls for 9,200,000 men in the Armed Forces by the end of this month, and 10,900,000 by the end of 1943.

(The breaded veal cutlet in tomato sauce is pretty much the American national dish in 1943. It's the one item you can expect to be on every restaurant menu no matter how humble or pretentious the joint.)

Latest beauty secret is the Hair Color Stick, made by the Oglivie Sisters and now available at Abraham & Straus. Easy to use, and fun besides, this sturdy fat coloring stick offers a temporary touch-up to all shades of hair, from blonde to redhead to brunette, and washes out easily with shampoo. Apply it straight from the stick to stubborn grey streaks, or use a mascara brush to touch up straggling single hairs.

The Eagle Editorialist predicts the proud tongue of Brooklynese will take on an international flavor as a result of the war. At the Ingersoll Memorial Library in Flatbush, librarian Elaine Lewis says she's spending a lot of time looking up the definitions of mysterious foreign words and phrases in languages from pidgin English to Hindustani contained in letters from Brooklyn boys abroad. Several local recipients of letters have contacted the library because their serviceman overseas wrote to them about winning "a Sancho Pedro," and wanted to know what kind of medal that is. Miss Lewis says it's not an award at all -- it's a card game. A puzzling reference to a "having a washwash" turns out to be the way the Melanesians say "take a bath."

(And that's a quart bottle of beer, so you know he's serious about it.)

("Awright, so we gotteh get downa brass donuts heeh," declares Alice, as the train rumbles onward thru the Tube. "Tradin' deadline's midnight, so we gotta bring awlis t'getteh fas'. HEY SAL! Wake up!" "Mgggpfh," replies Sally, resting her head against the wicker seat, which is, for the moment at least, refreshingly cool. "So what I'm t'inkin' is, I'm gonna go home f'm woik oily, y'see, tell'm I got'cha lady pains a'sumpn'm but 'steada goin' home I'm goin' up t't' Poleh Groun's. See, I know t'is guy, wen'out wit'tim a coupla times, who's a special p'lice up t'eah. Not a reg'leh cop, y'unnehstan', but one'a t'em guys goes aroun' chasin' off kids try'na sneak in, 'at kin'a special. HEY SAL, wake up!" "Mggggprrhh." "So I'm gonna look up t'is guy, y'know, we hadda coupla dates an' I figgeh he owes me, I mean, he's got a face like a wieh haiehed terrieh, an' y'know, I felt sawryf'rim, an' we hadda coupla dates, so I done him a faveh, y'see, well, I guess a coupla favehs. Pretty big favehs, if ya get me drift. HEY SAL, wake up!" "Mgggggprrrrh." "So anyways, I figgeh he owes me, so I'm gonna tawk'im up, see, an' I'm gonna see'f he'll sneak me inta t'clubhouse up t'eah, you know? An' I'll hide out inna visitin' dressin' room, an' afteh t'game, whenna time is right I'm gonna go right inneah an' have it out wit' Durocheh face t'face. HEY SAL, wake up!" "Mggggrrrfph." "Ain'nat a good plan? He's gotta see it oueh way, right? HEY SAL! Wake up! If ya don' t'ink t'is is a good plan, say so, an' we'll t'inka sump'n else, but I t'ink t'is is gonna do it, don'choo?" "Mgggghrph." "Awright t'en! Glad ya agree! Boy, ain' Petey gonna be s'prised. I bet he'll come oveh'n t'ank us poisonal f'gett'n'm outta Pittsboig. Donch'a love it when a jawb comes off? I mean, by a jawb, I mean, you know, a plan, right?""Mggppprh...")

Our boy in the service Pete Reiser went five-for-five yesterday for the Fort Riley Centaurs in a service-league game against the Enid Airmen of Enid, Oklahoma. Fort Riley won 16-1, and in the true Reiser style, one of his five hits was a triple.

Jinx Falkenburg, tennis-playing model movie star will be the guest star tonight on the Al Jolson-Monty Wooley program from Hollywood, 8:30 pm over WABC.

("Ha! Isn't it obvious that won't work? I'll float!")

("Gordo" did it better.)

("Like bird dogs in quail country." Gee Dan, you never used to be so outdoorsy.)

(AMERICA'S NUMBER ONE HERO DOG'S CONTRACT IS UP IN AUGUST AND HE'S HOLDING OUT FOR A RAISE)

(Alternate Universe Sibyl Dardanella?)

 

[LizzieMaine]

Alas, the Daily News is missing for today and tomorrow, but the Out of Town Newsstand is open, giving us access, at least, to the comics...

"When do we eat?"

"Amnesia? More like FAKEnesia! SHOOT HER!"

"Good looking?" IN THIS STRIP?

"Eighty Eight" came from a big family. You should meet his sister "Eighty Seven."

"Spam again?" "Spam again."

"That Mullins kid thinks he's a troll. I'll show him how to troll!"

Well, that's one way to justify his draft exemption.

SHANK HIM! SHANK HIM! SHANK HIM!

 

[Fading Fast]

...

The general drafting of fathers will not begin until after October 1st, but Selective Service authorities warned today that the only fathers likely to be deferred after that date will be those in essential occupations -- and even then the burden of justifying that deferment will be upon them. That statement came as Selective Service announced that single and childless men between the ages of 18 and 25 who are now occupationally deferred will have their deferments limited to six months unless they can prove that their jobs are exceptionally important and that they cannot easily be replaced thru a standard replacement schedule. War Manpower Commission chairman Paul V. McNutt declined at a press conference today to announce a precise date when the drafting of fathers will begin, nor would he confirm a statement by Selective Service Director Lewis B. Hershey before the House Appropriations Committee that lowered physical standards recently adopted by the Navy might delay the need of drafting fathers. It was stated before the committee that the present Selective Service quota calls for 9,200,000 men in the Armed Forces by the end of this month, and 10,900,000 by the end of 1943.
...

I get that it's necessary, but I don't like this.

...

(The breaded veal cutlet in tomato sauce is pretty much the American national dish in 1943. It's the one item you can expect to be on every restaurant menu no matter how humble or pretentious the joint.)
...

"Five Graves to Cairo" is an underrated WWII movie and one of both Tone's and Baxter's better efforts. It's surprising that it is all but ignored today.

Slap a piece of mozzarella cheese on top of that breaded veal and tomato sauce and you have the very popular "veal parmigiana" that has been on restaurant menus ever since the war. Growing up, even my didn't-cook-much mother would, sometimes, do a chicken version (cheaper than veal) with Ragu sauce and Polly-O Mozzarella (which defies melting even at blast-furnace temperatures). Sadly, I thought that tasted good and was what Italian food tasted like. Don't judge me, it was the 1970s and the "foodie culture" hadn't yet gone mainstream.

...
("Awright, so we gotteh get downa brass donuts heeh," declares Alice, as the train rumbles onward thru the Tube. "Tradin' deadline's midnight, so we gotta bring awlis t'getteh fas'. HEY SAL! Wake up!" "Mgggpfh," replies Sally, resting her head against the wicker seat, which is, for the moment at least, refreshingly cool. "So what I'm t'inkin' is, I'm gonna go home f'm woik oily, y'see, tell'm I got'cha lady pains a'sumpn'm but 'steada goin' home I'm goin' up t't' Poleh Groun's. See, I know t'is guy, wen'out wit'tim a coupla times, who's a special p'lice up t'eah. Not a reg'leh cop, y'unnehstan', but one'a t'em guys goes aroun' chasin' off kids try'na sneak in, 'at kin'a special. HEY SAL, wake up!" "Mggggprrhh." "So I'm gonna look up t'is guy, y'know, we hadda coupla dates an' I figgeh he owes me, I mean, he's got a face like a wieh haiehed terrieh, an' y'know, I felt sawryf'rim, an' we hadda coupla dates, so I done him a faveh, y'see, well, I guess a coupla favehs. Pretty big favehs, if ya get me drift. HEY SAL, wake up!" "Mgggggprrrrh." "So anyways, I figgeh he owes me, so I'm gonna tawk'im up, see, an' I'm gonna see'f he'll sneak me inta t'clubhouse up t'eah, you know? An' I'll hide out inna visitin' dressin' room, an' afteh t'game, whenna time is right I'm gonna go right inneah an' have it out wit' Durocheh face t'face. HEY SAL, wake up!" "Mggggrrrfph." "Ain'nat a good plan? He's gotta see it oueh way, right? HEY SAL! Wake up! If ya don' t'ink t'is is a good plan, say so, an' we'll t'inka sump'n else, but I t'ink t'is is gonna do it, don'choo?" "Mgggghrph." "Awright t'en! Glad ya agree! Boy, ain' Petey gonna be s'prised. I bet he'll come oveh'n t'ank us poisonal f'gett'n'm outta Pittsboig. Donch'a love it when a jawb comes off? I mean, by a jawb, I mean, you know, a plan, right?""Mggppprh...")
...

Alice is close to going off the deep end.

"... I done him a faveh, y'see, well, I guess a coupla favehs. Pretty big favehs, if ya get me drift." Dear God, please don't tell us this. How am I going to get that image out of my head today.

...

Jinx Falkenburg, tennis-playing model movie star will be the guest star tonight on the Al Jolson-Monty Wooley program from Hollywood, 8:30 pm over WABC.
...

No one tries harder.

...

(AMERICA'S NUMBER ONE HERO DOG'S CONTRACT IS UP IN AUGUST AND HE'S HOLDING OUT FOR A RAISE)
...

The Poverty Row Studios of comicstrips can't pay a lot no matter how long he holds out."

Alas, the Daily News is missing for today and tomorrow, but the Out of Town Newsstand is open, giving us access, at least, to the comics...
...

...

"Good looking?" IN THIS STRIP?
...

Good point, God only knows.

These scans are amazingly clean and crisp.

...

SHANK HIM! SHANK HIM! SHANK HIM!

"I think the stunt dog should go for the German's throat now. He is the fearless hero of the story after all."

"Why don't you get in there and show him how to do it."
"Why don't you mind your own business."

 

[PrivateEye]

Alas, the Daily News is missing for today and tomorrow, but the Out of Town Newsstand is open, giving us access, at least, to the comics...

Thanks for the extra effort Lizzie

 

[LizzieMaine]

Incidentally, Alice is based on someone I know, but I won't say anything more about that. Suffice it to say that truth is always stranger than fiction.

The News was bound for office use in volumes containing all of the editions of the paper for two days at a time -- the resulting books are about seven inches thick, and very heavy. Three of those volumes, abstracted from the News morgue under conditions which remain a mystery even to me, are under my bed right now, in order to keep my mattress from falling on the floor if the frame should collapse during the night. But none of themm, unfortunately, are volumes covering June 15-16 1943.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Huh," huhs Sally, taking in a deep sip of her Coca-Cola. "Butch t'inks *he's* got troubles. He otta have Alice Dooley f' troubles." "Ahhhhh," ahhhs Ma, upending a long, thin carton of Nabisco waffle cones into the countertop dispenser. "Whaaat's she dooin' now?" "I get home, awright?" relates Sally. "I take care'a Leonora, I stawrt gettn' stuff t'getteh f' suppeh. An'nis kid f'm t'neighbehood comes t't' dooeh. I gotta cawl downa Schreibstein's, he says. It's oigent, he says. I gotta hurry, he says. So I leave t' food onna table, an' I grab Leonoreh, an' we run up t'street, an' grab t'phone, an' it's Alice. She's inna jug, she says. Ma's eyes flare with terror for just a fraction of a second before she regains her composure. "She's inna jug upta Hawrlem," continues Sally. "An' I gotta come help'eh. She got arrested at t'Poleh Groun's. I gotta come help'eh, she says. I gotta hurry, she says. Mout's goin' a mile a minute, she ain' makin' much sense, so I says 'awright,' I says, I'm comin'." So I run outtat'eah wit' Leonoreh, get onna subway, ride allaway upta Hunne't'n Ffty-Fi't Street, run down t't police station, Leonoreh fussin' awla way, an'nen t'ey tell me t'ey took'eh downa t' women's jail downa Hunnet'n Twenny-T'oid! So I get BACK onna subway, ride down'neah, an' Alice is GAWN awready. Says t' chawrges was dropped. Awlat ridin' awlaway uptown, an'f'what? I ask ya! So I get BACK onna subway, ride allaway backta Bensonhoist, get inna house, an' Alice is inneah inna bat'room gett'nawl dressed up t'kill! An' ask'eh, I says, "WHAT GIVES? Whassgoin'awn?" So she says t'me, she says, oh, Durocheh din' wanna press chawrges. He t'ought it was funny. She got inna Dodgehs clubhouse, while t'game was goin' awn, an' she figgeh'd she'd hide out in one'a t'ese equipm'n trunks t'ill afteh, an'nen she'd pop out, right, an' go in an' tawk t' Durocheh 'bout tradin' f' Petey." "Petey," ponders Ma. "And Petey is..." "You know who Petey is," dismisses Sally. "Ev'rybody knows who Petey is. Anyways, she tells me she gets inneh trunk t'eah, an' while she's inneah, y'see, somebody's movin' stuff aroun', cleanin' up, an'nee puts an'oteh trunk on toppa t'one Alice is in. Get it? She can't get out! So she stawrts pound'n inside t'trunk, an' yellin', an' by t'is time t'game is oveh an' alla playehs is comin' in' ann'ey heeh awla racket an'ney op'n up t'trunk an' Alice is inneah -- an' she CAN'T GET OUT! She's STUCK! So t'ey hafta bust up t'trunk wit'a crowbawr t'getteh out, awla while Alice is bellowin' like Mrs. Gawrgantua, an' Leo is bent oveh wit' laughin, an'nen awlofa sudd'n Koiby Higbe comes outa t'showeh an' sees 'eh an' he's so s'prised he drops his tow'l. Right in fronna Alice. An'nen, well, awl hell breaks loose, somebody cawls a cop, anney take 'eh in f'disawrdehly cawnduct. Alice Dooley! I ASK YA." Ma shakes her head with astonishment at this extraordinary drama. "An'nat ain' even'a best pawrt!" continues Sally. "Anyways, Leo don' press no chawrges an'ney let'teh go. I get home, like I said, an', well, foist, t'food's awl gone off t'table an' Stella's all coiled up unneh t'stove like she jus' had t'bes' meal of 'eh life, so we ain' got no suppeh. An'nen Alice comes outa t'bat'room awl dressed up like Moil Obehrawn a'sump'n, haieh awl done up, makeup on, awlarest'v it, an' I says "whatta ya got t'say f'y'self!" "An' she says 'don' worry 'bout me f'suppeh, kid, I'm goin' out! I'm meet'n Koiby Higsby in t' City!' An'nen she goes sashayin' out t'dooeh an' says 'don' wait up f'me! An'nen'nis mawrnin', alwaway out onna train, awl day at woik, an' awlaway home it's Higsby t'is, an' Higsby t'at, HIgsby's bright blue eyes an' tousled haieh till ya wanna scream! I ASK YA!" Sally takes a deep breath and sips up the last of her Coke. "I mean," she shrugs, "if it was Petey, I could unnehstan' it. But KOIBY HIGBE???)

Over 50 percent of Brooklyn gasoline rationing violators brought before local ration boards for hearings have had their ration books revoked for the duration, according to Kings County OPA administrator George C. Tilyou. Cracking down hard on ration violators, the board in session at the downtown OPA offices at 123 Adelphi Street meted out the harshest possible penalty to the most egregious violations of the pleasure-driving ban. Full revocations were automatic for those who failed to appear when summoned to a hearing. "These people have no one to blame but themselves," declared Mr. Tilyou, "since they willfully or intentionally violated the pleasure driving ban." Lesser penalties ranging from the revocation of one A coupon to three C coupons were imposed on a smaller number of violators, and nine persons were asked to return to the board with evidence supporting their claims of occupational necessity. A total of 36 cases were dismissed after cardholders demonstrated to the board's satisfaction that their use of their vehicles was justified on occupational or other essential grounds.

Appalachian coal operators re-formed their united front against John L. Lewis today as they awaited a War Labor Board ruling which they expected will again result in a rebuff to the United Mine Workers. The breakdown in negotiations between the UMW president and central Pennsylvania soft-coal operators who bolted the Appalachian conference last week threw the Pennsylvanians back in line with the other producers, though they made no formal move to reunite. The UMW's 200-member policy committee meets today to consider the new breakdown in the present wage dispute, and the possibility of a work stoppage once the present truce expires at midnight Sunday.

(Waiting at the Old Reliable for another date tonight with her new gentleman friend, Alice Dooley tears an ad out of her copy of the Eagle, and slips it into her purse.)

Complaints by servicemen that photography racketeers at Coney Island are charging them outrageous prices for simple postcard photos are being investigated by the Brooklyn Eagle. The complaints, also under investigation by the Coast Guard Shore Patrol, were conclusively proven to be true by an Eagle reporter, acting last night in cooperation with an obliging sailor, who strolled casually along Surf Avenue posing for various photographers operating there. One of the photographers offered "two big pictures" for $3, but attempted to charge the sailor for six prints. The "big pictures" were postcard-sized, with only the faces enlarged, and one print displayed a prominent water blot. In response to a rising tide of protest over the operating of the photo racket, Brooklyn City Councilman Edward Vogel, who represents the Coney Island district, has proposed a bill to regulate and license photographers operating from shops, stands, booths, on foot on sidewalks and in nightclubs and restaurants. The bill, already passed by the Council and the Board of Estimate, now awaits Mayor LaGuardia's signature, but the Mayor has given no indication of whether or not he will sign it.

"A. P. B." writes in to Helen Worth wondering what to do about a family problem -- she just can't bring herself to call her soon-to-be-mother-in-law "Mother." Her own mother died not long ago, she explains, and though she likes her fiance's mother fine, she just can't call any other woman "Mother" but her own. "My fiance can't understand this," she acknowledges, "and we have had quite some arguments. I'll break my engagement before I change my mind -- and I mean it!" Helen says A. P. B. is "absolutely justified" in taking this stand, suggesting there are plenty of other endearing names she could call her new mother-in-law, like "Chere" for example. "Your fiance," Helen declares, "should not make this matter so important. It isn't, really."

(Jinx and Joan? That's BRILLIANT. They could be the new Thelma Todd and Patsy Kelly!)

The Eagle Editorialist declares the present food situation in the US beyond the scope of "a few repairs," and demands a full overhaul of production and distribution policies. "The whole thing is in such a muddle by this time that only heroic actions can bring about a restoration of order," he proclaims. "There are as yet no signs of such action."

("Besides, we can always make a constitutional amendment later.")

("Hey Hig," asks Dixie, juggling an armful of trays. "Ain't that the lady was in the trunk? Set'n ovuh theyah? She sho' is shined up!" "Yo' min' yo' business," huffs Hig. "Yo' a married man." "I ain' the only one," frowns Dix.)

("Don't threaten us! We got a contract!")

(SCARLET ON COCAINE!)

(The Narcotics Squad would like a word with you, Dan.)

("I mean, I don't have anything to worry about, my Pap is passed out drunk in a shack!")

(It's Schickelgruber, actually, but the sentiment is well taken.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

The News will return tomorrow, so again we visit the Out of Town Newsstand...

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

The accent gives it away.

"You'll never know till it hits you."

I knew a kid just like this, and he came to a very bad end.

I also knew a kid just like *this,* and *she* came to an even worse end.

"Wait, you didn't check his draft status first???"

"Oh I get it! You're Harold Teen and I'm Shadow Smart!"

Pressing them in an unabridged dictionary works better.

 

[Fading Fast]

("Huh," huhs Sally, taking in a deep sip of her Coca-Cola. "Butch t'inks *he's* got troubles. He otta have Alice Dooley f' troubles." "Ahhhhh," ahhhs Ma, upending a long, thin carton of Nabisco waffle cones into the countertop dispenser. "Whaaat's she dooin' now?" "I get home, awright?" relates Sally. "I take care'a Leonora, I stawrt gettn' stuff t'getteh f' suppeh. An'nis kid f'm t'neighbehood comes t't' dooeh. I gotta cawl downa Schreibstein's, he says. It's oigent, he says. I gotta hurry, he says. So I leave t' food onna table, an' I grab Leonoreh, an' we run up t'street, an' grab t'phone, an' it's Alice. She's inna jug, she says. Ma's eyes flare with terror for just a fraction of a second before she regains her composure. "She's inna jug upta Hawrlem," continues Sally. "An' I gotta come help'eh. She got arrested at t'Poleh Groun's. I gotta come help'eh, she says. I gotta hurry, she says. Mout's goin' a mile a minute, she ain' makin' much sense, so I says 'awright,' I says, I'm comin'." So I run outtat'eah wit' Leonoreh, get onna subway, ride allaway upta Hunne't'n Ffty-Fi't Street, run down t't police station, Leonoreh fussin' awla way, an'nen t'ey tell me t'ey took'eh downa t' women's jail downa Hunnet'n Twenny-T'oid! So I get BACK onna subway, ride down'neah, an' Alice is GAWN awready. Says t' chawrges was dropped. Awlat ridin' awlaway uptown, an'f'what? I ask ya! So I get BACK onna subway, ride allaway backta Bensonhoist, get inna house, an' Alice is inneah inna bat'room gett'nawl dressed up t'kill! An' ask'eh, I says, "WHAT GIVES? Whassgoin'awn?" So she says t'me, she says, oh, Durocheh din' wanna press chawrges. He t'ought it was funny. She got inna Dodgehs clubhouse, while t'game was goin' awn, an' she figgeh'd she'd hide out in one'a t'ese equipm'n trunks t'ill afteh, an'nen she'd pop out, right, an' go in an' tawk t' Durocheh 'bout tradin' f' Petey." "Petey," ponders Ma. "And Petey is..." "You know who Petey is," dismisses Sally. "Ev'rybody knows who Petey is. Anyways, she tells me she gets inneh trunk t'eah, an' while she's inneah, y'see, somebody's movin' stuff aroun', cleanin' up, an'nee puts an'oteh trunk on toppa t'one Alice is in. Get it? She can't get out! So she stawrts pound'n inside t'trunk, an' yellin', an' by t'is time t'game is oveh an' alla playehs is comin' in' ann'ey heeh awla racket an'ney op'n up t'trunk an' Alice is inneah -- an' she CAN'T GET OUT! She's STUCK! So t'ey hafta bust up t'trunk wit'a crowbawr t'getteh out, awla while Alice is bellowin' like Mrs. Gawrgantua, an' Leo is bent oveh wit' laughin, an'nen awlofa sudd'n Koiby Higbe comes outa t'showeh an' sees 'eh an' he's so s'prised he drops his tow'l. Right in fronna Alice. An'nen, well, awl hell breaks loose, somebody cawls a cop, anney take 'eh in f'disawrdehly cawnduct. Alice Dooley! I ASK YA." Ma shakes her head with astonishment at this extraordinary drama. "An'nat ain' even'a best pawrt!" continues Sally. "Anyways, Leo don' press no chawrges an'ney let'teh go. I get home, like I said, an', well, foist, t'food's awl gone off t'table an' Stella's all coiled up unneh t'stove like she jus' had t'bes' meal of 'eh life, so we ain' got no suppeh. An'nen Alice comes outa t'bat'room awl dressed up like Moil Obehrawn a'sump'n, haieh awl done up, makeup on, awlarest'v it, an' I says "whatta ya got t'say f'y'self!" "An' she says 'don' worry 'bout me f'suppeh, kid, I'm goin' out! I'm meet'n Koiby Higsby in t' City!' An'nen she goes sashayin' out t'dooeh an' says 'don' wait up f'me! An'nen'nis mawrnin', alwaway out onna train, awl day at woik, an' awlaway home it's Higsby t'is, an' Higsby t'at, HIgsby's bright blue eyes an' tousled haieh till ya wanna scream! I ASK YA!" Sally takes a deep breath and sips up the last of her Coke. "I mean," she shrugs, "if it was Petey, I could unnehstan' it. But KOIBY HIGBE???)
...

Holy Smokes! This "an' she CAN'T GET OUT! She's STUCK! So t'ey hafta bust up t'trunk wit'a crowbawr t'getteh out...." is freakin' perfect and freakin' hilarious.

A secret microphone caught the brief exchange between Chaplin and his lawyer when Chaplin told the lawyer that, in the middle of his paternity suit with a 23-year-old, he's going to marry an 18-years-old.

Lawyer: "That's it, I quit!"
Chaplin: "The case?"
Lawyer: "No, being a lawyer."

Here's the really amazing thing: Chaplin's marriage to O'Neill would last thirty-four years till his death and produce eight (!) children.

...

(Waiting at the Old Reliable for another date tonight with her new gentleman friend, Alice Dooley tears an ad out of her copy of the Eagle, and slips it into her purse.)
...

That said, in 1943, it would be worth it to go for the air-conditioning alone.

...

"A. P. B." writes in to Helen Worth wondering what to do about a family problem -- she just can't bring herself to call her soon-to-be-mother-in-law "Mother." Her own mother died not long ago, she explains, and though she likes her fiance's mother fine, she just can't call any other woman "Mother" but her own. "My fiance can't understand this," she acknowledges, "and we have had quite some arguments. I'll break my engagement before I change my mind -- and I mean it!" Helen says A. P. B. is "absolutely justified" in taking this stand, suggesting there are plenty of other endearing names she could call her new mother-in-law, like "Chere" for example. "Your fiance," Helen declares, "should not make this matter so important. It isn't, really."
...

I don't give this marriage two years.

...

(SCARLET ON COCAINE!)
...

Putting the question of morals aside, we are witnessing the greatest missed business opportunity ever, literally just lying at his feet.

...

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
...

I didn't think the boy had it in him (assuming it's really his).

...

The accent gives it away.
...

You can hear the Aryan superiority in their scream of abject terror, being the master race and all.

...

"Oh I get it! You're Harold Teen and I'm Shadow Smart!"
...

Pat thought about being Dan Dunn and Irwin first, but wisely decided to pass on that thought.

 

[LizzieMaine]

An interesting thought occurs to me here in view of Pat's comment. It is established in the modern era that Annie and Tracy exist in the same shared universe -- although "Annie" the strip was cancelled a few years ago, she and her supporting cast appear as recurring guest stars in "Dick Tracy." And an oblique reference made in "Tracy" some years back made it evident that "Terry's" cast exists in that same Tribune Media Properties universe as well.

Which raises a number of questions. How, in 1943, does Pat know about Annie and Tracy. Tracy is, essentially, a local cop. How would a man who's spent the last ten years gadding around China have any idea who he is? Annie, maybe, due to her connection to Warbucks, a globally-famous billionaire, maybe she's showed up in the occasional double spread in the Sunday coloroto sections or in "Life" magazine, but would she, even then, be a popular culture reference point? Or, do both Tracy and Annie appear in comic strips drawn from their actual real-life activities, in the way that there was and is a radio show about a fictitious version of Tom Mix? If so, do they collect royalties? And more to the point, is there a strip about Terry Lee and Pat Ryan that they themselves might one day read?

We also know that Harold Teen, Shadow Smart, Pop Jenks, and Lilllums also exist in that same shared universe, having appeared as guests in "Tracy" some years back. Which raises even more questions. Will Smilin' Jack swoop in to rescue Taffy? Will Moon Mullins finally get drafted and dropped in the South Pacific as a jungle commando? Will Chester Gump and that Dr. Nitro guy show up with their secret explosive just in time to blow Pat's hat off? And will Pat then READ about all this in a delayed edition of "Stars and Stripes?" THE MIND BOGGLES.

 

[Fading Fast]

An interesting thought occurs to me here in view of Pat's comment. It is established in the modern era that Annie and Tracy exist in the same shared universe -- although "Annie" the strip was cancelled a few years ago, she and her supporting cast appear as recurring guest stars in "Dick Tracy." And an oblique reference made in "Tracy" some years back made it evident that "Terry's" cast exists in that same Tribune Media Properties universe as well.

Which raises a number of questions. How, in 1943, does Pat know about Annie and Tracy. Tracy is, essentially, a local cop. How would a man who's spent the last ten years gadding around China have any idea who he is? Annie, maybe, due to her connection to Warbucks, a globally-famous billionaire, maybe she's showed up in the occasional double spread in the Sunday coloroto sections or in "Life" magazine, but would she, even then, be a popular culture reference point? Or, do both Tracy and Annie appear in comic strips drawn from their actual real-life activities, in the way that there was and is a radio show about a fictitious version of Tom Mix? If so, do they collect royalties? And more to the point, is there a strip about Terry Lee and Pat Ryan that they themselves might one day read?

We also know that Harold Teen, Shadow Smart, Pop Jenks, and Lilllums also exist in that same shared universe, having appeared as guests in "Tracy" some years back. Which raises even more questions. Will Smilin' Jack swoop in to rescue Taffy? Will Moon Mullins finally get drafted and dropped in the South Pacific as a jungle commando? Will Chester Gump and that Dr. Nitro guy show up with their secret explosive just in time to blow Pat's hat off? And will Pat then READ about all this in a delayed edition of "Stars and Stripes?" THE MIND BOGGLES.

What does this mean, "although 'Annie' the strip was cancelled a few years ago, she and her supporting cast appear as recurring guest stars in 'Dick Tracy'?" Was the strip "Little Orphan Annie" no longer carried in the Tribune - is that what you mean?

The real life vs. the comic life vs. the "what universe" life is something we probably give much more thought to today - just like we do with Invisible Scarlet's science - than the writers probably did at the time.

Think about poor Sandy, he has to not only navigate being an actor in a comicstrip and all the inconsistencies that come from that, but he is also an anthropomorphized dog - with a terribly insecure ego - which requires an entirely separate balancing act.

All that aside, and while I greatly miss the Daily News, the scans from "the out of town newsstand" are of a fantastic quality.

 

[LizzieMaine]

Annie's actual real-world strip was cancelled by the Tribune syndicate in 2010 --it was down to less than 30 papers, which is hard to imagine from the perspective of 1943, when it appears in hundreds of papers around the world. The storyline ended on a cliffhanger -- Annie and Sandy were presumed lost at sea -- and the story wasn't resolved until Daddy Warbucks showed up in "Dick Tracy" a year or so later to get Tracy in on the case. Since then, Annie and company have shown up in Tracy once a year or so to engage in joint adventures with Tracy, and, as noted, other Tribune syndicate characters occasionally turn up as well. One such crossover even brought in a non-Tribune character, "The Spirit." (Tracy has also fought alongside the Green Hornet, which means that, since the Hornet is the Lone Ranger's grand-nephew, this shared universe goes back to frontier times...)

I remember, in the 70s, after Harold Gray died, that Annie fell on very hard times. There were a couple of different artists who tried to carry on, none of whom could ever capture the feeling of the strip, and eventually the syndicate canned the replacements and went to Harold Gray reruns from the '30s. I remember picking up my Sunday News at the drugstore, and being amazed how much of an improvement there was with the reprints compared to what we'd been getting. They started the reruns with strips from 1937 or so, and I seem to remember them running up until around the start of the Nick Gatt story before they gave the strip to Leonard Starr, who rebooted it to be more in line with the movie. He did a fine job, but for my fifty cents a week, it was never the "real" Annie.