The Era -- Day By Day

[LizzieMaine]

I think these celebrity types have their salaries under deferred-payment contracts, so they'll get the rest of it after the war. Their agents probably have deferred contracts too.

I was disappointed to see David Soden's name come up in connection with some scandal or another recently. He's always been very conscientious about taking care of the orphans, and I imagine he and Uncle Frank are old pals.

Sally is not the most self-aware person in the world, but I imagine the longer she lives with Alice, the more she will see an extreme version of herself. That is, if she doesn't throw Alice out the window first. WATCH OUT MRS. GINSBERG!

Parrott's column today is a hilarious takedown of that MacPhail vs. Rickey thing in the News the other day. Careful you don't have too much fun, there, son, or Rickey will offer you a job.

 

[FOXTROT LAMONT]

Is it only me who yawns over Terrence? The artist for this strip has pulled amnesiac Taffy and her predictament
out of focus far too long without cause or seeming purpose. When he does sketch heat, he throws a cold water
bucket all over it. Rouge and the Nippon's bargain all disappeared. Sorry for my British snob sarcasm but with
all those men on whatever island or inlet and she hasn't been bothered....

 

[LizzieMaine]

("He's a zoot coot, wit' a reet pleat.." sings Sally, in a vain attempt to cheer up Alice, who sulks beside her as the train rocks homeward. "I ain' inna mood," mopes Alice, wiping a tear from the side of her Pert Irish Nose. "He broke me hawrt. T'at rat broke me hawrt. It hap'ns ev'ry time. Ev'ry fella. T' rat awrways breaks me hawrt." "Look," sighs Sally, "I ain' no Helen Woit' a' nut'n, but maybe y'should t'inka t'is. Wheah ya meet'n'eese fellas t'at break ya hawrt? Bawrs? S'loons? Night clubs?" "T' clubhouse at t' Poleh Grouns," interjects Alice. "Don' f'get t'at. Shoulda knowed woul'n be nut'n but rats t'eah." "Now t'at ain' faieh," replies Sally. "Not awl bawlplayehs is rats. Petey ain' no rat. Camilli ain' no rat. Fitz ain' no rat." "Hig's a rat," growls Alice. "A grade 'A' sout'n fried rat. I hope t'nex' time he ptiches t'ey beat his head awf." "Look," continues Sally. "What I'm get'n at is, maybe y'need t'consideh try'na meet fellas at --places not so likely t'be fulla rats. I mean, who hangs aroun' in night clubs? Hoodl'ms. T'ugs. Tommy Manville. Whatcha need t'do is stawrt hangin' roun' BETTEH places. Y'otta go out t'NICE places. T'Acad'my a' Music. T' Museum. Loew's Met." "I don' llike t'em places," mutters Alice. "T'ey fulla people lookit me funny when I wawk in, like I don' b'long t'eah." "Well," insists Sally, "you look right back at'm like y't'Queen a'Sheba. Y'gotteh have *confidence.* But ya gotta be sueh y'goin' in NICE places, notcha hangouts f'bums an' rats." "Well," wells Alice, "tell me t'is. Whea'dja meet Joe?" Sally flushes for a moment. "Um," she ums, "Roselan'. BUT IT WASN' LIKE IT IS NOW." "I wen' inneah once wit' t'is guy," frowns Alice. "Some kid come up an' sells 'im a reefeh. I din' like it. It made me goofy." "T'at explains it," eyerolls Sally. "What?" "Nut'n.")

The prosecution in General Sessions Court in Manhattan is spinning a web of evidence around Jacob "Gurrah" Shapiro, former Brooklyn resident and partner of the notorious Louis "Lepke" Buchalter, at Shapiro's trial for extortion. One-time union official Philip Orlorsky told the court how Shapiro and Buchalter ordered him to serve as their messenger and go-between in negotiations which, he testified, netted the racketeers $7500 for their actions in preventing a strike against a clothing firm. Orlofsky, who after leaving union work, subsequently established himself in business as a garment sponger, indicated that he paid over $200 a month in protection money from 1932 until the shakedown racket was broken by then-District Attorney Thomas E. Dewey. He testified that he was summoned to a conference by Shapiro and Buchalter in May of 1935 at their Manhattan offices, and was told by them that he had been chosen to serve as a collection agent on their behalf, bringing in an average of $1100 a month including his own $200. He further testified that he was approached by the owner of the Hamilton Park Clothing Company, a man named Kestler, and asked to contact Buchalter, who advised that a threatened strike could be prevented on a payment of $15,000, a sum later reduced to $7500. Today's testimony followed testimony that Mayor LaGuardia, during his time serving as chairman of the Textile Finishers Association in 1932 and 1933, suspected the garment industry was being shaken down by the Lepke mob, but was unable to find conclusive evidence from garment executives to prove this.

A London newspaper reported today that Count Galeazzo Ciano, son-in-law of Premier Benito Mussolini, has left for Germany to plead with Adolf Hitler for additional needed aid to Italy, in the face of continuing Allied air bombardment and an expected invasion. The Daily Sketch reported that Ciano carried on his mission a list of urgent defense needs prepared by Mussolini and his military advisors during a recent series of conferences. Germany has already sent Italy reinforcements of troops, planes and guns, it was reported.

In Detroit, Michigan Governor Harry F. Kelly ordered the relaxation of his emergency proclamation, as "nearly normal" conditions were reported to have resumed in the wake of Monday's race riot in which 31 persons were killed. Curfew for the Wayne County area was extended to midnight, and the absolute ban on the sale of all alcoholic beverages in the county was relaxed to allow the sale of alcoholic drinks between 7am and 10 pm. Bans on public assemblies and carrying of firearms remain in effect. Governor Kelly further urged "the generous display of the American flag" as a boost to morale and to "restore the peace of mind" of Detroit residents affected by the rioting.

("A chemical change occured in the characteristics of the water???" As in, the water was contaminated? By what? And how? This all raises more questions than it answers.)

The parents of Staff Sgt. Raymond J. Henn of Queens, who was posthumously awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross today, revealed that they received their last letter from their son the same day they were notified by the Army that he had been killed in action.That last letter, dated March 25th, arrived at the Henns' home in the Middle Village section read "Doing fine, and hope to see you soon." Sgt. Henn was a tail gunner on a Flying Fortress who had previously earned the Air Medal with oak leaf cluster.

(Croaker is a cheap, greasy fish usually served baked or fried. It is not -- um -- a frog. We aren't that desperate -- yet.)

("Especially this one marine..")

A list of 100 Brooklyn white collar workers willing to sign up for Saturday "Victory Shifts" in war plants has been collected by the Brooklyn Junior Chamber of Commerce as the nucleus for a full scale recruiting drive. All volunteers have further indicated their willingness to accept their pay in War Bonds.

("If Leo knows what's good f'rim," muses Joe, leaning across the counter to sip his egg cream without wrinkling his newspaper, "he's gonna keep t'at Higsby onna bench f'ra while. Sueh, he's pitchin' good now, but he ain' gonna pitch so good afteh Alice Dooley breaks bot' his awrms." "Ahhhhh," sighs Ma, her eyes rolling. "Whatta night," continues Joe. "We hadda sleep onna fieh escape, 'cause she was inna bedroom awl night, howlin' like a moose a' sump'n. It's like havin' anot'eh kid inna house, except one'at makes ya sleep onna fieh 'scape. An'nen Ginsboig downstaiehs is bangin' onna ceilin' awl night yellin' f'ra t'be quiet. I ask ya!" "I don't know what to tell ye, Joseph," offers Ma, with a shake of her head. "Sally was never loike that. She waas a very well behaved garrl, except f'r haandin' oot the pamphlets an' maaakin' th' speeches an' whaat not. Woon time, I caaght her haandin' ooot papers farr the Baaarth Controol League, and I gave harr a good scoldin'. 'What would you be,' I said to her, 'if I went in for such as thaat!' 'An oonly child!' she said. Boot asoide fr'm that she gaave me no trooble, really. Nevaar raan aroond much with boys, nevar got arrested. Well, asoide fr'm that toime at that the-ay-tarr, where thaat Rudy Vallee waas playin', boot that waas just a misundarrstandin'. Noo, she never gaave me mooch trooble. Well, asoide fr'm that toime at Woolwaarths when she had the whole lot of 'oom fired up singin' songs aan' whaat not. No trooble at awll." "She don' even carry a brick inneh pockehbook no moeh," adds Joe. "Check the loinin' of harr cooat." "What?" "Noothin'.")

(It's always nice to have a kindly, concerned boss.)

(Hey Gargantua, you won't get jobs if you don't learn your lines.)

("Now I'll run awa....AAAACK! KAAAAF! KAAAAAAF! GAAAASP!")

(DON"T WORRY FOLKS WE'RE USING A BODY DOUBLE.)

(Yeah, it can be kinda boring when Levant isn't on the panel.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

Speaking of icky divorces, what ever happened to the Dempseys? Haven't had a word all week.

"The Good Neighbor Policy."

A SECRET UNDERGROUND LAIR??? NOT YOU TOO CANIFF!!

"And besides I have Pappy's gas ration book." "YEAH??" Mr. Gould is trolling us.

"I'll -- I'll chide him most fiercely! That's what I'll do." "Yes, sahib," nods Punjab, reaching for the rug.

Like a lamb to the slaughter.

Ah, Skeez. Maybe you shouldn't talk any more.

Look, she works on commission, OK?

Poor Plushie.

She's one of Frankie's enforcers, just in case he forgets to pay his losses.

 

[LizzieMaine]

Oh and,

Poor Joe.

 

[Fading Fast]

...

The prosecution in General Sessions Court in Manhattan is spinning a web of evidence around Jacob "Gurrah" Shapiro, former Brooklyn resident and partner of the notorious Louis "Lepke" Buchalter, at Shapiro's trial for extortion. One-time union official Philip Orlorsky told the court how Shapiro and Buchalter ordered him to serve as their messenger and go-between in negotiations which, he testified, netted the racketeers $7500 for their actions in preventing a strike against a clothing firm. Orlofsky, who after leaving union work, subsequently established himself in business as a garment sponger, indicated that he paid over $200 a month in protection money from 1932 until the shakedown racket was broken by then-District Attorney Thomas E. Dewey. He testified that he was summoned to a conference by Shapiro and Buchalter in May of 1935 at their Manhattan offices, and was told by them that he had been chosen to serve as a collection agent on their behalf, bringing in an average of $1100 a month including his own $200. He further testified that he was approached by the owner of the Hamilton Park Clothing Company, a man named Kestler, and asked to contact Buchalter, who advised that a threatened strike could be prevented on a payment of $15,000, a sum later reduced to $7500. Today's testimony followed testimony that Mayor LaGuardia, during his time serving as chairman of the Textile Finishers Association in 1932 and 1933, suspected the garment industry was being shaken down by the Lepke mob, but was unable to find conclusive evidence from garment executives to prove this.
...

Yes, there is a hokey but entertaining 1957 movie about mob corruption in the garment industry in NYC called "The Garment Jungle." It's no "On the Waterfront," though, as it has no balance to its pro-union message, but it's still fun to watch Lee J. Cobb chew up the scenery as a garment company boss.

...

("A chemical change occured in the characteristics of the water???" As in, the water was contaminated? By what? And how? This all raises more questions than it answers.)
...

Sadly, whoever wrote this has a bright post-war future on Madison Avenue writing ad copy or in Washington D.C. as a speechwriter. It's a skill that never goes out of style.

...
("If Leo knows what's good f'rim," muses Joe, leaning across the counter to sip his egg cream without wrinkling his newspaper, "he's gonna keep t'at Higsby onna bench f'ra while. Sueh, he's pitchin' good now, but he ain' gonna pitch so good afteh Alice Dooley breaks bot' his awrms." "Ahhhhh," sighs Ma, her eyes rolling. "Whatta night," continues Joe. "We hadda sleep onna fieh escape, 'cause she was inna bedroom awl night, howlin' like a moose a' sump'n. It's like havin' anot'eh kid inna house, except one'at makes ya sleep onna fieh 'scape. An'nen Ginsboig downstaiehs is bangin' onna ceilin' awl night yellin' f'ra t'be quiet. I ask ya!" "I don't know what to tell ye, Joseph," offers Ma, with a shake of her head. "Sally was never loike that. She waas a very well behaved garrl, except f'r haandin' oot the pamphlets an' maaakin' th' speeches an' whaat not. Woon time, I caaght her haandin' ooot papers farr the Baaarth Controol League, and I gave harr a good scoldin'. 'What would you be,' I said to her, 'if I went in for such as thaat!' 'An oonly child!' she said. Boot asoide fr'm that she gaave me no trooble, really. Nevaar raan aroond much with boys, nevar got arrested. Well, asoide fr'm that toime at that the-ay-tarr, where thaat Rudy Vallee waas playin', boot that waas just a misundarrstandin'. Noo, she never gaave me mooch trooble. Well, asoide fr'm that toime at Woolwaarths when she had the whole lot of 'oom fired up singin' songs aan' whaat not. No trooble at awll." "She don' even carry a brick inneh pockehbook no moeh," adds Joe. "Check the loinin' of harr cooat." "What?" "Noothin'.")
...

Everybody is getting in the the "What?" "Nut'n" act.

And in the Daily News...

Speaking of icky divorces, what ever happened to the Dempseys? Haven't had a word all week.
...

Some of these judges (like in that awful theater rape trial) should start enforcing perjury laws.

Didn't something happen where the judge ruled against Mrs. Dempsey and it kind of ended that divorce case. It was unclear, but it seemed like it might be over.

...

"The Good Neighbor Policy."
...

"Most of the remainder of her testimony was confined to answering questions with either a 'djess' or a 'nooo'."

"She answered with one of her more emphatic 'nooos'."

Mrs. Dorothy Smitely, 22-year-old wife of a soldier and mother of an infant son is going to have some splainin to do when her husband gets home. Also, she averaged 4 or 5 a day, that had to be physically wearing after awhile.

"Hard day at work, dear?"
"You don't know the half of it."
"Hey, what are you implying?"

...

A SECRET UNDERGROUND LAIR??? NOT YOU TOO CANIFF!!
...

It's a good thing Basements 'r Us' Secret Underground Lairs 'r Us department has an international division. I think we've finally found a fully recession-proof business.

...

"I'll -- I'll chide him most fiercely! That's what I'll do." "Yes, sahib," nods Punjab, reaching for the rug.
...

I'm not pointing fingers, but somebody, and it's not Punjab, likes using that rug just a little bit too much.

...

Poor Plushie.
...

"Why I ever moved in on this battle ground in the first place will always be a mystery to me."

Possibly the most-aware statement ever uttered in a "Moon Mullins" strip.

 

[FOXTROT LAMONT]

"Most of the remainder of her testimony was confined to answering questions with either a 'djess' or a 'nooo'."

"She answered with one of her more emphatic 'nooos'."

Mrs. Dorothy Smitely, 22-year-old wife of a soldier and mother of an infant son is going to have some splainin to do when her husband gets home. Also, she averaged 4 or 5 a day, that had to be physically wearing after awhile.

"Hard day at work, dear?"
"You don't know the half of it."
"Hey, what are you implying?"

Here I am today after remarking a chaste tepid boredom with Terrence good lad yesterday and I somehow missed this.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("C'mon!" hustles Sally. "We'eh gonna miss t'train!" From behind the bathroom door comes an anxious wail. "Y'go on wit'out me!" howls Alice. "I betteh absentee t'day! Yeh! Go on wit'out me!" With a roll of her eyes and a grit of her teeth, Sally pounds on the door. "Hey!" comes Joe's weary voice from the bedroom. "I'm tryn'a sleep!" Sally shifts to a quiet but urgent tapping. "C'mon, Alice!" she commands. "Open up! We gotta go! I don' want Mildred Kelly down my neck! C'mon!" With the sharp snap of a lock, the door slowly squeaks open -- to reveal Alice, half dressed, and her hair billowing around her head in a puff of bright orange-colored curls. As a sharp ammonia smell wafts into the kitchen, Sally jumps back at the sight of this apparition. "Migawd!" she yelps. "What'dja do'ta y'self!" "I din' do nut'n," Alice wails. "T'at Powehs Model guy done it!" Sally takes a deep breath, sags her head into her palm, blinks, and ventures forth. "What?" she inquires, with as much patience as she can muster. "Powehs done it. At'tat class las' night. Y'know, at Abraham 'n Straus. T'at I signed up feh. He was demonstrat'n whatcha cawl haieh cultcheh. Showin' howta do up ya haieh t'be allurin' an' mysterious an' awlat" "Ah," ahs Sally, with a slow shake of her head. "He had'is stuff he was demonstrat'n. How t'do a poimenant wave at home. Witcha lotion an' rollehs an' ya litt'l pieces'a papeh'nawl. He brung out t'is gal, an' said she was allurin' an' mysterious. I sez t'meself, t'at's f'me. I'll show t'at rat Higsby. I'll be allurin' an' mysterious. No floozy blonde's gonna push me out'a t'pitcheh. So I bought one'a t'ese kits he was selllin'. Two nine'y-eight it cos' me. An' while you'n Joe was sleepin', I come in heeh'n tried it out." "Didja read t' d'rections fois'?" demands Sally thru clenched teeth. "I din' fin'em 'til afteh," confesses Alice. "T'ey was down inna bot'm'a t'box. I guess I lef't'stuff on'neah too long." "Well," groans Sally, y'can't skip outta woik f't'at. Tie a rag on ya head an' make t'best'v it." "I can't," sniffles Alice, in a small, sad voice. "It's awl puff'd up. Me bandana don't fit." "Well come up wit' sump'n," growls Sally, her eyes flicking to her watch. "If we go now we got jus' enough t'ime to make t'train." The door creaks closed. Moments pass. And the door again swings open to reveal Alice, her eyes tear-streaked, with a towel wrapped enormously around her head." "Awright, Punjab," snickers Sally. "Le's go." Alice steps reluctantly forward to gather her things. "Um," she inquires, pointing to her headwear. "Wheah's t' Bedf'd Hotel?" "Wheah we had oueh honeymoon," snaps Sally, jerking open the apartment door. "C'mon!" "Izzat like Bedf'd Aveneh? Y'had ya honeymoon in Flatbush? T'at's kin'a chintzy ain' it?" "Don' be stupid," growls Sally, as they clatter down the stairs. "Who has a honeymoon in Flatbush! We done it up big! We went t'Asb'ry Pawrk!")

A temporary freeze on all beef sales in New York City and the nation is the newest possibility to be offered as the city continues to suffer the worst meat shortage of the war. Reporting that cattle are coming to market at half the normal rate, the American Meat Institute indicated the drastic action of a retail beef ban may be required in order to insure an adequate supply of meat to the Armed Forces. Talk is common today in meat circles of a two-week freeze to be ordered by Washington, and whether or not such an action is taken it is agreed among all observers that the present situation will grow more acute before it begins to improve. Meanwhile, in an effort to divert stocks of feed corn from the profitable feeding of hogs to beef manufacturing plants, the War Food Administration indicated today that it is preparing to requisition corn from grain belt terminal market elevators.

All signs point to a "crescendo assault"" against the islands of the Mediterranean and Italy as an extension of the current pulverizing bombardments, and while neither the time of such an invasion or the specific pattern of the attacks can be discussed, it is considered likely that the goal will be to establish a base on Italian soil for flanking operations against the enemy in the Balkans. Meanwhile, pounding air assaults can be expected to continue against German industrial centers while "a static front" is maintained in Russia.

King George VI is back in England after his tour of the North African theatre of operations, his face bronzed from the African sun. Ten minutes after his plane touched down somewhere outside of London, Prime Minister Winston Churchill arrived by car, and the two leaders conferred for half an hour over tea and sandwiches at an RAF station before departing for London.

("Hmph!" hmphs Edward J. Flynn. "Paint brushes! The very idea!")

A new type of magnet came to the aid this week of a 5 1/2 year old Flatbush boy who swallowed a padlock. Donald Brown of 3917 Church Avenue was brought to Dr. Samuel J. Silber of 865 Park Place last week, and it seemed at first that nothing short of surgery would succeed in removing the lock from his stomach. Then, Dr. Silber said today, it occured to him that perhaps a small magnet might do the trick. He contacted a friend who works in the research department at the General Electric Company in Schenectady, and that friend immediately flew in carrying a tiny sample of a new alloy called "Elnico," a magnetized metal capable of lifting 25 times its weight. Dr. Silber attached the Elnico to the tube of an esophascope, inserted it into the boy's stomach, and the magnet immediately snapped onto the hasp of the lock, allowing Dr. Silber to easily pull it up. The entire operation took four minutes, and no anesthetic was used.

("Huh!" huhs Joe. "Bawbehshops! Ya know, Sal cuts me haieh hehse'f. She don' like I should go inta bawbehshops. She says awlkindsa crooked stuff goes on in bawbehshops. Bookmakin', numbehs, slot machines, awl kindsa rackets." "Terrible," nods Ma Sweeney, pushing Joe's glass across the counter. "Sooomthin' ought t'be done." "Tough competition," agrees Joe. "What?" *Slllllllluruuuuuuurp.*)

The Eagle Editorialist declines to endorse President Roosevelt's proposal that he be given the authority to draft into the Army any man over the age of 45 who participates in a strike in a war industry. "It looks more like an outburst of anger against John L. Louis," concludes the EE, "than a well-thought-out plan to bring industrial peace."

Reader Clarence L. Low writes in to pass along the sort of letter that would be written to the American people from Germany if communications permitted, a letter praising the participants in the Detroit race riot for proving how silly the doctrines of freedom and liberty are, and how silly it makes the doctrines of Christianity appear -- and for proving the effectiveness, once again, of the tactic of "divide and conquer." The letter is signed "Again my thanks, in which my friends Joseph Goebbels and Hermann Goering join me. Sincerely, Adolf Hitler."

(As we see, Mr. Lichty works with a very short lead time.)

(Theolic "Speed Ball" Smith?? Why can't we get HIM? Oh, right. Hey Commissioner, didn't you say there was no rule against it?)

Yankee infield star Phil Rizzuto, whom the Dodgers well remember, now serving with the Navy at Norfolk, Virigina, has recently married. The bride is the former Cora Anne Esselborn of Newark. "Happy sailing!"

(Because a strapless bra is just the thing for everyday wear.)

(This is HEINOUS. WHERE'S THE SPCA???)

("He's funny," snickers Harrington. "Act like a man for once," chortles Kay.)

(THAT'S RIGHT KIDS A LIE WILL ALWAYS FIND YOU OUT! SO DON'T PRETEND YOU DIDN'T FALL IN THE CREEK OR SUNK A SUB OR ANYTHING LIKE THAT!)

(At least he didn't buy a fish and lie about it!)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

Ew.

I had an aunt named Hazel Jackson, but she lived in Red Hook. And I know for a fact that she never "kissed and told."

Well, yeah.

"Oh Mr. Smith, it'll be swell! No one will ever guess! They'll just think I'm your catamite!"

"Don't worry, I bet after the war we can get one packed in a crate for $50!"

Yes, it's always safe under water in a pressurized tin can.

In the next room, Mrs. Minerva Gump opened a bureau drawer, reached in, and felt the cold heft of the revolver...

Hurry up and wait.

There's no such thing as "having too much fun."

"Hmph!" hmphs Sally. "I was nut'n like t'is as a kid!"

 

[LizzieMaine]

Oh, and...

RICKEY'S ALREADY OFFERED PARROTT A JOB???? MAYBE *HE* CAN PLAY SHORTSTOP!!!!

 

[Fading Fast]

("C'mon!" hustles Sally. "We'eh gonna miss t'train!" From behind the bathroom door comes an anxious wail. "Y'go on wit'out me!" howls Alice. "I betteh absentee t'day! Yeh! Go on wit'out me!" With a roll of her eyes and a grit of her teeth, Sally pounds on the door. "Hey!" comes Joe's weary voice from the bedroom. "I'm tryn'a sleep!" Sally shifts to a quiet but urgent tapping. "C'mon, Alice!" she commands. "Open up! We gotta go! I don' want Mildred Kelly down my neck! C'mon!" With the sharp snap of a lock, the door slowly squeaks open -- to reveal Alice, half dressed, and her hair billowing around her head in a puff of bright orange-colored curls. As a sharp ammonia smell wafts into the kitchen, Sally jumps back at the sight of this apparition. "Migawd!" she yelps. "What'dja do'ta y'self!" "I din' do nut'n," Alice wails. "T'at Powehs Model guy done it!" Sally takes a deep breath, sags her head into her palm, blinks, and ventures forth. "What?" she inquires, with as much patience as she can muster. "Powehs done it. At'tat class las' night. Y'know, at Abraham 'n Straus. T'at I signed up feh. He was demonstrat'n whatcha cawl haieh cultcheh. Showin' howta do up ya haieh t'be allurin' an' mysterious an' awlat" "Ah," ahs Sally, with a slow shake of her head. "He had'is stuff he was demonstrat'n. How t'do a poimenant wave at home. Witcha lotion an' rollehs an' ya litt'l pieces'a papeh'nawl. He brung out t'is gal, an' said she was allurin' an' mysterious. I sez t'meself, t'at's f'me. I'll show t'at rat Higsby. I'll be allurin' an' mysterious. No floozy blonde's gonna push me out'a t'pitcheh. So I bought one'a t'ese kits he was selllin'. Two nine'y-eight it cos' me. An' while you'n Joe was sleepin', I come in heeh'n tried it out." "Didja read t' d'rections fois'?" demands Sally thru clenched teeth. "I din' fin'em 'til afteh," confesses Alice. "T'ey was down inna bot'm'a t'box. I guess I lef't'stuff on'neah too long." "Well," groans Sally, y'can't skip outta woik f't'at. Tie a rag on ya head an' make t'best'v it." "I can't," sniffles Alice, in a small, sad voice. "It's awl puff'd up. Me bandana don't fit." "Well come up wit' sump'n," growls Sally, her eyes flicking to her watch. "If we go now we got jus' enough t'ime to make t'train." The door creaks closed. Moments pass. And the door again swings open to reveal Alice, her eyes tear-streaked, with a towel wrapped enormously around her head." "Awright, Punjab," snickers Alice. "Le's go." Alice steps reluctantly forward to gather her things. "Um," she inquires, pointing to her headwear. "Wheah's t' Bedf'd Hotel?" "Wheah we had oueh honeymoon," snaps Sally, jerking open the apartment door. "C'mon!" "Izzat like Bedf'd Aveneh? Y'had ya honeymoon in Flatbush? T'at's kin'a chintzy ain' it?" "Don' be stupid," growls Sally, as they clatter down the stairs. "Who has a honeymoon in Flatbush! We done it up big! We went t'Asb'ry Pawrk!")
...

I would've bet Joe and Sally had honeymooned in Atlantic City and not at the future site of the plump blonde's, apparently successful, bank robbery.

...
("Hmph!" hmphs Edward J. Flynn. "Paint brushes! The very idea!")
...

You only brought his name up so as to make my blood boil.

...

A new type of magnet came to the aid this week of a 5 1/2 year old Flatbush boy who swallowed a padlock. Donald Brown of 3917 Church Avenue was brought to Dr. Samuel J. Silber of 865 Park Place last week, and it seemed at first that nothing short of surgery would succeed in removing the lock from his stomach. Then, Dr. Silber said today, it occured to him that perhaps a small magnet might do the trick. He contacted a friend who works in the research department at the General Electric Company in Schenectady, and that friend immediately flew in carrying a tiny sample of a new alloy called "Elnico," a magnetized metal capable of lifting 25 times its weight. Dr. Silber attached the Elnico to the tube of an esophascope, inserted it into the boy's stomach, and the magnet immediately snapped onto the hasp of the lock, allowing Dr. Silber to easily pull it up. The entire operation took four minutes, and no anesthetic was used.
...

Good for 1943 ingenuity and technology.

...
("Huh!" huhs Joe. "Bawbehshops! Ya know, Sal cuts me haieh hehse'f. She don' like I should go inta bawbehshops. She says awlkindsa crooked stuff goes on in bawbehshops. Bookmakin', numbehs, slot machines, awl kindsa rackets." "Terrible," nods Ma Sweeney, pushing Joe's glass across the counter. "Sooomthin' ought t'be done." "Tough competition," agrees Joe. "What?" *Slllllllluruuuuuuurp.*)
...

The dance continues.

Versus our modern "everything has to be revealed / everything has to be said out loud" world, 1943 America had a wisdom we lack as Joe, Sally and Ma function better letting some truths they all know exist stay unsaid. I grew up in a world like that and it had its pluses and minuses - like everything - but over the years, I've come to appreciate it more as I see the wreckage of our let-it-all-out approach.

...

(Because a strapless bra is just the thing for everyday wear.)
...

When the story flags, go for the cheesecake.

...

(THAT'S RIGHT KIDS A LIE WILL ALWAYS FIND YOU OUT! SO DON'T PRETEND YOU DIDN'T FALL IN THE CREEK OR SUNK A SUB OR ANYTHING LIKE THAT!)
...

"I'm fearlessly fighting for my life here practically taking on the entire German submarine fleet singlehandedly and you're taking pop-shots at me from the cheap seats? And it was two subs that I sunk."

"We need a cleanup on the set, Mr. Fearless did it again."

...

Yes, it's always safe under water in a pressurized tin can.
...

That will soon need to surface for oxygen and to recharge its batteries.

...

In the next room, Mrs. Minerva Gump opened a bureau drawer, reached in, and felt the cold heft of the revolver...
...

Morally, she should only fire the gun once leaving the police to investigate her suicide, but if she fires it twice and the police have to investigate a murder-suicide, I think we'd all understood what drove her to that point.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("C'mon, Sal," urges Joe, under the dull glow of a sinking quarter moon. "C'mon out, ya gonna cook t'deat' inneah." "I can't bring Leonoreh out onna fieh 'scape!" calls Sally thru the kitchen window. "I tol' ya befoeh." Sally rubs a small sliver of ice over her daughter's skin in an attempt to stop her fussing. "'Hey Joe!" she calls out the window. "Din'na iceman come t'is week? We hardly got any lef', anna food's gonna sperl." "What food?" returns Joe. "Ain' been no meat inneah since'at pot roast I neveh got t'eat none of." "HEY!" comes a foghorn voice from outside. "KEEP IT DOWN UP T'EAH! PEOPLE TRY'NA SLEEP!" "T'at don' soun' like Ginsboig," calls Sally. "IT AIN'!" returns the loud voice. "IT'S ME -- ALICE!" Sally leans out the window, and looks down, past Joe with a pillow clamped over his ears, to see Alice, her hair still tied up in a towel, waving from the platform below. "Wheah's'a Ginsboigs?" calls Sally. "T'ey said teh wasn' room f'tree people onna platfawrm," yells Alice. "So t'ey lef'! Said t'ey got relations inna Bronx, so t'ey wen'nup t'eah. One'a 'tem big houses onna Mosholu Pawrkway, Ginsboig said. Big fieh 'scapes up t'eh!" "You made t'em pooeh people go awlaway up t''t Bronx on a night like t'is?" snaps back Sally. "T'ey was happy to do it," retorts Alice. "Ginsboig said t'ey might not even come back a'tawl. Says t'is jernt is too nersy! 'Magine'at! Cawlin'nis nice quiet neighbehhood nersy! I neveh noticed..." Alice's observations are interrupted by a nasal bellow from the ground floor. "SHADDUP AWREADY!" comes the harsh voice of Krause the super. "AWR I'M COMIN' UP 'TEH AN' T'ROWIN' OUT T"LOTTAYEHZ!" "AW, STICK YA FOOT IN IT!" roars back Alice. "Now, like I was sayin'...")

While Brooklyn taxpayers faced a record high rate of $3.05 for every $100 of assessed valuation for the coming year, the Democratic majority in the City Council blamed Mayor LaGuardia for the increase, due to his refusal to accept the Council's proposal to cut $11,000,000 from the executive budget, even as the Fusionist council bloc threw the responsibility back at the Democrats. Minority Leader Mrs. Genevieve Earle, representing the Fusionists, argued that the Democrats brought on the increase, which amounts to eight points above last year's tax rate, by refusing the support the Mayor's request that the State Legislature be called into special session to give the city new powers of taxation that would shift some of the burden away from the property tax. Four of the five boroughs of New York City will see their property taxes go up, with only Queens seeing a reduction, and that of only one point.

Red Army troops smashed the strongest German attempt in recent weeks to force the northern Donets, and hurled the enemy forces back in bitter local fighting northwest of Moscow. The Soviet High Command reported that a Nazi infantry regiment numbering about 3000 men ran into concentrated Soviet fire and suffered heavy losses when it tried to push across the Donets in boats near the Balaklaya sector southwest of Kharkov. The Germans retreated, behind a smoke screen, to their embarkation points.

Meanwhile, Soviet vengeance against Germany "grim enough to frighten German children for the next century" may follow the war, stated a well-informed source today after reviewing recent Nazi atrocities against Russia. A report listed by name six German military leaders held responsible for the murder of civilians and destruction of property. Among the atrocities listed in the report was the poisoning by Nazi troops of 1000 patients at the Sapogov Psychiatric Hospital near Kursk. "An awful day of reckoning is facing the Reich," warned the Soviet source after reviewing the report.

The president of the American Federation of Musicians today indicated that several leading singers will refrain from making recordings in reply to his request for support of the continuing recording strike by the AFM. Union head James C. Petrillo stated that he has received statements of agreement from such prominent vocalists as Bing Crosby, Barry Wood, Frank Sinatra, Connie Boswell, Dick Haymes, and Perry Como. However, representatives of Sinatra, Haymes, and Boswell indicated that those singers had not received any request for support from the AFM, which does not hold jurisdiction over vocalists.

(Well said, Mr. Schroth.)

(Well, there's a nice three-room-and-bath might be opening up soon in Bensonhurst...)

(21,000 people paid to see the Phillies??? Hey Rickey, what's with that?????)

(And so begins the "housing shortage comedy" craze in Hollywood. I wonder where they're putting all these creative screenwriters?)

("Oh my!" gasps Tommy Manville. "Who is this exquisite, mature lady of experience!")

(YOU COULD YELL, STUPID! THEY'D THINK IT WAS THE MONKEY AND IT'D SAVE YOUR LIVES AND HIS CAREER!)

(I am shocked, shocked.)

("Clamdigging, you say? FREE SHELLFISH, you say? WHAT A BRILLIANT IDEA!")

("Oh, and save that gristle, please. We're having a raffle after your speech!")

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

"Maybe it was just as well."

After all, there's a war on, and everybody's got to cut back.

"Ohhhh, I don't want no more of Ar-mee life..."

"Maybe changing places with Bumley wasn't such a bad deal after all.."

"And stop beefin' about your hands, we got this new soap that promises to keep 'em 25 percent less red!"

Panel one. And they say Gould has no sense of humor.

"Who iss -- Punjab? Punjab who??"

"Oh, and don't forget to grab a couple of Purple Hearts from that bowl on the desk."

"I lost the combination to the safe, and my will to live."

Well, I dunno, a minor nasal fracture is getting off easy...

 

[LizzieMaine]

Oh, and...

"Well, I say it's spinach, and I say the hell with it."

 

[Fading Fast]

...

Red Army troops smashed the strongest German attempt in recent weeks to force the northern Donets, and hurled the enemy forces back in bitter local fighting northwest of Moscow. The Soviet High Command reported that a Nazi infantry regiment numbering about 3000 men ran into concentrated Soviet fire and suffered heavy losses when it tried to push across the Donets in boats near the Balaklaya sector southwest of Kharkov. The Germans retreated, behind a smoke screen, to their embarkation points.
...

That threat was carried through on.

...

(Well said, Mr. Schroth.)
...

It needs to be said and good for Mr. Schroth saying it forcefully. Yet however ugly and hypocritical America was - and it was - there's still a huge gap between America's problems/hypocrisy/guilt and Germany's state-sanctioned-and-driven systematic killing of six million Jews and other "undesirables" in massive death factories called concentration camps.

...
(Well, there's a nice three-room-and-bath might be opening up soon in Bensonhurst...)
...

Ma can always send Frank over if the super tries to carry through on his threat.

...

(And so begins the "housing shortage comedy" craze in Hollywood. I wonder where they're putting all these creative screenwriters?)
...

As is often the case, the first one of a type of movie that has a vogue for a bit is the best or nearly the best of the lot as is "The More the Merrier."

...

(I am shocked, shocked.)
...

Translation:
"You're not going to kill him? I won't get mixed up in anything like that!"

"You'll go to jail if you don't."

"So, how do we dispose of the body?"

...

After all, there's a war on, and everybody's got to cut back.
...

Most inherited wealth is squandered away completely by the third generation. Tommy is clearly doing his part to hold up the averages.

...

"Ohhhh, I don't want no more of Ar-mee life..."
...

"...Terry Lee pounds away at his training."

Earlier in his life, Terry Lee missed so many better opportunities to pound away at his training.

...

Well, I dunno, a minor nasal fracture is getting off easy...

No kidding:

Oh, and...

"Well, I say it's spinach, and I say the hell with it."

And the Daily News, once again, lives up to its slogan of being "New York's Picture Newspaper."

 

[FOXTROT LAMONT]

The dance continues.

Versus our modern "everything has to be revealed / everything has to be said out loud" world, 1943 America had a wisdom we lack as Joe, Sally and Ma function better letting some truths they all know exist stay unsaid. I grew up in a world like that and it had its pluses and minuses - like everything - but over the years, I've come to appreciate it more as I see the wreckage of our let-it-all-out approach.

Topper Fast. The present day advanced tech I appreciate but little else.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("I do'wanno trouble wit' t'at uncle a'yez, Miss's P., " insists Krause the super as Joe and Sally slouch on the front stoop in as little clothing as is legally possible in an effort to escape the heat, while Leonora, concealed beneath the brim of an enormous sun hat, crouches on the sidewalk and observes the ants, "but I gotta do what t'lan'loe'd says. An' he says ya lease calls f'two adults an' one kid. It don't say nut'n 'bout no foeh't pawrty. She's gotta go!" "Izzat so," growls Sally. "Well, we'll see 'bout t'at. Y'can't toss somebody out inna housin' shawrtage! It's agains' t'OPA. Didja know me Uncle Frank knows a guy onna ration boehd t'at knows Prentiss Brown poissonal? Tell'a lan'loe'd I'm gonna t'row Prentiss Brown down'is neck, see whattee says t'tat!" "Look," wheedles Krause, "You know t'Ginsboigs downsteahs, right? You been livin' oveh'rm f' six yeehs now, an' did'dey eveh complain'? No. T'ey t'ink t'woil'a yez. Nice people. Y'know t'ey lived heeh since t'place was built? Raised six lit'l Ginsboigs heeh. An' foeh'v'm's inna soivice now. An' now t'eh sayin' t'eh gonna move t't'Bronx cause t'is Alice dame won't pipe down at night. Awrways bangin' up t'stehs awl houehs'a t'night. Yellin' an' screamin' an' cryin' t'll t'windehs shake. An'neh gonna move t't Bronx b'caus'v it. T' Bronx! Y'd make t'em pooeh people live inna BRONX jus' f't'sake'a t'is Alice dame. Well, like I said, me hands is tied. T'lan'loehd don' wan'no trouble witcha uncle anymoeh'n I do, so he's gonna be big about it. He'll give ya a week t'get ridd'v'eh. Howzat." "Noitz," mumbles Sally. "Look," interjects Joe, rising from the stoop, his undershirt heavy with sweat. "Le's you'n me g'woveh heeh'n tawk." Joe and Krause step to the curb, and Joe sticks his hand in his pocket. "Lissen, Sid" he begins in a low whisper. "She hawnest'ta'gawd ain' got noplace t'go. We tried t'YWCA, t YWHA, ev'ykin'a YW t'eah is, an' nobody'll take'eh. We can't ez'acly put'teh in a papeh bag an' t'row'eh off t'bridge, can we?" Y'gotta give us time. T'ez a wawr on, an' she's a wawr woikeh. Sal's been askin' aroun' oveh'n Joisey tryin' t'fin' sump'n, an' maybe she'll get lucky. But until t'en.." With that, Joe draws his hand out of his pocket, and presses a crumpled bill into the super's hand. "T'at's five bucks. Tell'a lan'loehd Alice is moved out. Y'look aroun', an' ya don' see Alice.""I don't see Alice," nods Krause, understanding the proposition. "My eyes ain' so good anyways. But my *eehs,* well, I got good hearin'." "Come aroun' nex' Sunday," nods Joe. "We'll see'f'we c'n do sump'n bout y'eehs. Anyt'ing t'keep t'peace. An' tell Ginsboig if he knows a place inna Bronx, t'lemme know...")

Russian troops attacking with powerful tank support have driven two armored wedges into the rim of the German salient looping around Orel, the big base midway between Moscow and Kharkov, it was reported last night by the Berlin radio. Red Army assault forces, the Nazi broadcast stated, broke thru German lines both north and southeast of Orel, suggesting the possibility of a pincer squeeze on the salient jutting eastward between the central and southern fronts. The German report asserted that both penetrations were "sealed" without indicating if the striking forces were isolated within Nazi positions or driven back to their starting points. Meanwhile, editorials in Moscow papers warned that large-scale fighting may be expected to erupt at any moment, and urged workers in war factories to speed up their production.

The British radio reported yesterday that Italian war workers in Turin went on strike last March, in response to the RAF raids on that city and the failure of the Italian government to make good on promised bonuses. Between 40,000 and 50,000 workers are believed to have taken part in the strike, which was described in an underground Italian newspaper which recently reached London.

In Fort Fairfield, Maine five army fliers and four farm workers were killed yesterday when a two-motored Army bomber on a routine flight from the Presque Isle air base crashed into a potato field. Flying fragments from the crashed plane injured a fifth farm worker, who escaped by leaping into a nearby wagon and lashing the team of horses into the nearby woods. Another horse team was killed by debris from the exploding wreckage. One flier was identified as 22-year-old Lt. Bertram Robinson of Greenville Junction, Me., whose father in law Carl Rassmussen owns the farm on which the plane crashed.

A thousand gasoline retailers in Brooklyn are threatening to close their stations for a full week in order to protest unfair treatment from the wholesale distribution companies that supply their fuel. Louis Kimmel of the Gasoline Merchants of Brooklyn and Queens, Inc. is demanding that the wholesalers return to distribution quotas that were in effect when rationing first took effect last year. Under that plan, dealers were guaranteed quantities of fuel based on a percentage of sales from the previous year, with all stations closed on Sunday and operating only from 7 AM to 7 PM the rest of the week. Kimmel charged that "unessential users" such as trucks, taxicabs, and city-owned vehicles are receiving an unfair share of the present fuel supply, and he called on War Production Board chairman Donald L. Nelson to remove all jurisdiction over gasoline rationing from the OPA and put the entire petroleum industry under the control of Petroleum Coordinator Harold Ickes, "who knows our problems best." Failing this, warned Kimmel, the week-long "gasoline holiday" will be declared, and predicted it would bring the borough "to a halt."

("Yeh," sniffs Alice. "But look'at'eh! She ain' got a Poit Irish Nose!")

Old Timer Jack Leckie recalls the glory days of Old Williamsburg, when the big Thanksgiving Day parade was annual highlight, and the Grand Theatre lived up to its name, with an opening night featuring live elephants, lions, bears, and monkeys in the lobby.

("YA LOUSE!" roars Alice, her voice carrying out the open window and into the street. "I hoid that," shrugs Krause, extending his palm, as Joe, growling an unmentionable phrase, rummages deeper into his soggy pockets.)

(Meanwhile in Boston, a columnist for the Daily Record nominates as "the man who has done the most for Boston baseball in 1943" the cabbie who ran over Stengel and broke his leg.)

A Gilbert-and-Sullivan double feature will be the highlight of the musical season at the Flatbush Theatre this week when "H. M. S. Pinafore" and "Trial By Jury" take the stage starting Tuesday, as presented by the Metropolitan Comic Opera Company.

He's both producer and leading man of the Broadway hit "Early to Bed," now playing at the Broadhurst Theatre, and that's been Richard Kollmar's goal all along. He acknowledges that shows with fantasy plots are a tough sell to the hardboiled Broadway crowd, but "at the end of the run, even if I've lost my shirt I shall be happy." Should that happen, though, Mr. Kollmar need not fear going shirtless for long -- he is married to prominent Broadway newspaper columnist and Erasmus Hall alumna Dorothy Kilgallen, who, he laments, "never mentions my name in the paper at all."

(BUT WHAT ABOUT THE PORCUPINES????)

(I knew there was a reason I like Rouben Mamoulian movies.)

("I'm keeping the suit though! It's got a reeve sleeve and a stuff cuff!")

(Yeah, Fritz, I've had days like that. Anyway, keep up with the golf lessons.)

("Well, there's this dance the children do that sounds like it might be easy. Let's try the 'Big Apple.'" And c'mon, Dan, at least they didn't tie you to a chair this time.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

DON'T YOU KNOW THERE'S A WAR ON?????

Fels-Naptha is good for poison ivy. Just sayin'.

Not very good at this, are ya kid?

There certainly does seem to be a lot of German sailors who come from Milwaukee.

("Andy, where's Chester? He didn't come home." "Who?")

Bank? You mean the NUMBERS BANK?

You can take the men out of the commandos, but you can't take the commandos out of the men.

Hmph! Where's the guy from Brooklyn????

"Oh well, I found that hat on the bus anyway. Now, about this policy...""

One of the most enjoyable things about Mr. Willard's work is the many background gags, such as the bum "Taking the Pledge" in panel five. Even though that stuff is about to go on the ration!

 

[LizzieMaine]

Oh, and...

Ummm, what size? I mean, they *ARE* hard to get now...

and also...

"Heat wave? What heat wave?"

 

[Fading Fast]

...

In Fort Fairfield, Maine five army fliers and four farm workers were killed yesterday when a two-motored Army bomber on a routine flight from the Presque Isle air base crashed into a potato field. Flying fragments from the crashed plane injured a fifth farm worker, who escaped by leaping into a nearby wagon and lashing the team of horses into the nearby woods. Another horse team was killed by debris from the exploding wreckage. One flier was identified as 22-year-old Lt. Bertram Robinson of Greenville Junction, Me., whose father in law Carl Rassmussen owns the farm on which the plane crashed.
...

It's one of those crazy quirks of war that Skeezix, on the battlefield, made out better than the four farm workers in Maine.

...
("Yeh," sniffs Alice. "But look'at'eh! She ain' got a Poit Irish Nose!")
...

"Enough already with the poit Irish nose" mutters Sally.
"What?"
"Nut'n."

BTW, Joe's my hero, what a standup guy.

...

Not very good at this, are ya kid?
...

This kid is an absolute moron. Dad should have put her in the corn shredder years ago.

...

Bank? You mean the NUMBERS BANK?
...

Pops should know by now that putting Shadow in charge of the soda joint is a fox-in-the-henhouse moment.

Oh, and...

Ummm, what size? I mean, they *ARE* hard to get now...

and also...


"Heat wave? What heat wave?"

Great pic of the ice. Is that the guy that always catches Joe at the worst possible time; where's his stogie?

I don't care how hard it is to buy, I'd go commando before wearing Barrymore's old underwear. No matter how many times you washed it, God knows what you could catch.