The Era -- Day By Day

[Fading Fast]

...

Mayor LaGuardia yesterday vetoed a City Council measure that would have provided for the regulation and licensing of open-front sidewalk photographers, declaring that the proposed ordinance would legalize, rather than abolish the evils and nuisances practiced by the operators of such establishments. The Mayor this spring began a crusade against fly-by-night snapshot artists who prey on servicemen, charging them exorbitant sums for poor quality photos.
...

Showing once again how little is truly new, a version of this scam popped up a decade or so ago in NYC using adults dressed in unlicensed Disney and other cartoon characters who would bully tourists into buying pictures of themselves with the characters. I think the city has now licensed (sorry Little Flower) and controlled the business somewhat by restricting where it can operate and forcing disclosure, but the entire thing was (and probably still is) pretty scummy.

...
(Joel McCrea is a wonderful comic actor who could have been the dinner-pail version of Cary Grant if he didn't prefer horses to laughs.)
...

I agree, but kudos to him, he still had a heck of a career with, seemingly, more of the life he wanted.

...
("Hoiman!" erupts Sally. "GIVE IT T'DRESSEN, YA FATHEAD!" "Telegram?" suggests Alice, her pencil poised. "Nah," growls Sally. "We betteh go see'im poissonal. He knows us. He'll liss'n." "He didn' liss'n las' time," shrugs Alice. "'At's cause ya insulted his lemonade," snaps Sally. "I seen ya dump it out innat rubbeh plant." "I din' know it was a real plant," protests Sally. "I t'ought it was -- you know -- rubbeh!"")
...

Next year, they'll have to put Sally and Alice in separate classes.

...

HIlda Chester, in person, was present at Shibe Park last night to ring her bell for the National League at the All Star Game in Philadelphia. Hilda's appearance came courtesy of Dodger catcher Mickey Owen, who personally bought the Flock's number one rooter a ticket to the game.
...

Ticket clerk: "That's nice of you to do Mr. Owen. You got it? Oh, hurry, it looked like you had it in your hand for a second, but now the ticket's blowing away."

...

("I'M POIGNANT, FOLKS. NOTICE THE HANGING TONGUE!")
...

"Ham!"

And in the Daily News...

HENRY FONDA???? But he's so wholesome!
...

No kidding, nothing could be more off brand for Fonda than a fathering and "illegitimate" baby. For Errol Flynn, it's just another day, but not for Fonda.

..

His career doesn't really take off, though, until he changes his name to "Yul Brynner."
...

Yul Brynner's sex-idol status, I guess, I kinda got, but the one I'll never understand is Telly Savalas' sex-idol period in the 1970s. That was just a broken decade.

 

[FOXTROT LAMONT]

I saw that Second World War Gena Davis girls baseball movie. Madonna and Tom Hanks. Time period films
that fly back to tell the tale are the best flicks. Haven't seen Gena much if at all for quite some time.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("It's an ootrage!" fumes Ma. "A big forrrm like Soolivan's defraudin' th' goovernm'nt darrin waartime, aand they woooda gaaht away with it, if soombody hadn'a slipped oop. All the toime th' maayar spends gooin' aahfterr, oh, I don't know, ooold ladies an' vet'rn's an' aaaahl roonin, I doon't know, innarc'nt bingo games, ann' then we see the loikes a' this." "Terrible," nods a deadpanned Joe. "It's toimes like this," continues Ma, "that I think Sally's got the roit ideear, maaaarchin' in picket loines an' haaandin' oot circulaaars an' alll thot!" "It might be'n improvem'nt!" sighs Joe. "At leas' I bet Branch Rickey t'inks so." "Whoo's thaat?" queries Ma. "You know," continues Joe. "Big cheese a' t'Dodgehs." "Ahhhh," nods Ma. "Is thaat who she means when she sayyys..." "Yeh," confirms Joe. "T' Big Fathead.")

The new general manager of the Office of Price Administration will have complete authority to hire and fire thruout the agency, declared Price Administrator Prentiss Brown today in appointing Connecticut OPA Administrator Chester Bowles to that position. Brown predicted that Bowles will put that new authority to immediate use under a congressional mandate specifying that only persons with direct experience in business qualify for appointments to price jobs. Bowles' appointment to the position follows the resignation of OPA chief information officer Lou R. Maxon, head of a Detroit advertising agency, who stepped down from his position after warning that the OPA will fail unless it purges itself of "young lawyers and slide rule theorists." Maxon had been considered by Brown for the general manager's position, but today Brown strongly denied a charge by the adman that an "OPA clique" is "proposing that the Government take over the manufacturing and distribution of all commodities." Maxon quit after less than six months on the job, which he took on with the promise that he would "clean up the OPA in six weeks."

A general strike of New England's fishermen looms, as boats from New Bedford, Massachusetts to Portland, Maine remained tied up today, joining 45 Connecticut trawlers in their refusal to ship fish under the present ceiling prices. Fishing industry officials have warned that the current price structure will put 50 percent of seafood companies out of business. Spokesmen for the fishermen pointed out that the entire livelihood of fishermen depends on the prices paid at the boat. The New England War Labor Board stated today that it could do nothing about the tie-up other than warn the OPA in Washington that the present situation is "critical."

The U. S. Justice Department has extended to the fighting fronts its investigation of the Curtiss-Wright Corporation to determine whether aircraft engines manufactured by that firm and now in use have manufacturing defects. A Justice Department official confirmed that efforts are being made to track all engines shipped to the Armed Forces from the company's Wright Aeronautical plant in Lockland, Ohio to determine the whether the quality of construction, condition, and performance meet the required standards. The Truman Committee's report last weekend asserted that defective engines shipped from Lockland have been responsible for several crashes of military aircraft.

(Next July, huh? Before or after the All Star break?)

(Yeah, don't count on the fish.)

"Reader" writes in to complain that even though the coffee shortage appears to be easing, restuarants are still selling coffee in take-out containers that are smaller than they were before the war. "Office workers didn't complain much," Reader declares, "even though they still paid the same amount for the smaller container because they realized the situation called for economies. They didn't mind too much when the restaurants began chargingan extra two or three cents for the container itself. But now that coffee stocks are at or near normal once more, it's time the restaurants brought back the full size containers. The cost of living is high enough. Bring back the ten cent large-size container of good coffee! And fill the container to the top!"

("Besides, Reno's so warm this time of year, wouldn't it better to wait till the fall?")

Little Sammy Blank, three-year-old eater of razor blades, is back home today after three x-rays at Beth-El Hospital showed no evidence of the blade slivers he'd swallowed. A diet of raisins, jam, and lollipops was prescribed by doctors for the boy, to meet his apparent craving for iron.

Eleven Russians went on trial today in Moscow on charges that they collaborated with Nazis in atrocities committed against Soviet civilians during the German occupation of Krasnodar. The accused were reported to have confessed their complicity in the torture-slayings of over 6700 men, women, and children in the cellars of the Gestapo. The murders were said to be committed with the aid of a hermetically-sealed truck into which poison gas was pumped.

("Are they still out there?" mutters Mr. Rickey, peeking from behind drawn curtains. "Oh come away from the window," replies Mrs. Rickey, squeezing a lemon into a tall glass, "and do have a drink." "Wait!" Mr. Rickey shudders. "I think I see the big one, the redhead -- yes! See there, behind the hedge! Judas Priest, shall I have NO PEACE? I DID WHAT HAD TO BE DONE! DO THEY NOT UNDERSTAND THAT!" "Please dear, just have a drink." "And the other one!" trembles Mr. Rickey. "Those eyes, those staring eyes!" "Dear, please. Just drink this." Mr. Rickey accept the proffered glass and raises it to his quivering lips. "Splendid, my dear," he proclaims, as he drains the drink in one gulp. "A real bracer. There's nothing like fresh lemonade." "No, dear," smiles Mrs. Rickey. "Nothing like it at all." "EGAD!" sputters Mr. Rickey, jumping back to the window. "DID YOU HEAR THAT??? THEY'RE ON THE ROOF! THEY'RE BREACHING THE CHIMNEY! CLOSE THE DAMPER! GET MY SHOTGUN!" "It's just a squirrel, dear. Just a squirrel. "A squirrel?" "A squirrel." "A squirrel. A BIG RED HEADED SQUIRREL! JUDAS PRIEST!!")

(Hey, those low-rise girdles are hard to come by!)

("You heard me," demands Fay Wray to her agent. "ARE WE GETTING A CUT OF THIS?")

("All right, Irwin, that's a pretty good disguise, but I CAN SMELL THE SPIRIT GUM!")

(When a cat's tail sticks up like that you can tell that she's VERY VERY HAPPY.)

(Another popular midtown racket. Careful kids, some of those operators are pretty rough.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

Oh, Henry.

Jeeeeeeeezuz...

Bwahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahhaahhaha!

Trick or -- trick!

I bet they're paying ten bucks a piece for those records down at Liberty Music Shop!

If Snipe isn't a captain in the WACs, they're really missing out.

Well, if he couldn't even predict androgenic alopecia, how good can he be??

"Of course, at the rate this mess is growing, we won't be ready to serve until November!"

Nah, no way he's that smart.

That's why they call it MYopia, not YOURopia!

 

[Fading Fast]

("It's an ootrage!" fumes Ma. "A big forrrm like Soolivan's defraudin' th' goovernm'nt darrin waartime, aand they woooda gaaht away with it, if soombody hadn'a slipped oop. All the toime th' maayar spends gooin' aahfterr, oh, I don't know, ooold ladies an' vet'rn's an' aaaahl roonin, I doon't know, innarc'nt bingo games, ann' then we see the loikes a' this." "Terrible," nods a deadpanned Joe. "It's toimes like this," continues Ma, "that I think Sally's got the roit ideear, maaaarchin' in picket loines an' haaandin' oot circulaaars an' alll thot!" "It might be'n improvem'nt!" sighs Joe. "At leas' I bet Branch Rickey t'inks so." "Whoo's thaat?" queries Ma. "You know," continues Joe. "Big cheese a' t'Dodgehs." "Ahhhh," nods Ma. "Is thaat who she means when she sayyys..." "Yeh," confirms Joe. "T' Big Fathead.")
...

In wartime, the punishments for crimes like what the employees at Sullivan did should be greater.

Dempsey scored a complete knockout in his divorce trial and for awhile it looked like he was going to lose.

Ma's talking her book, but I agree with her, not every law needs to be enforced to the nth degree.

...

"Reader" writes in to complain that even though the coffee shortage appears to be easing, restuarants are still selling coffee in take-out containers that are smaller than they were before the war. "Office workers didn't complain much," Reader declares, "even though they still paid the same amount for the smaller container because they realized the situation called for economies. They didn't mind too much when the restaurants began chargingan extra two or three cents for the container itself. But now that coffee stocks are at or near normal once more, it's time the restaurants brought back the full size containers. The cost of living is high enough. Bring back the ten cent large-size container of good coffee! And fill the container to the top!"
...

The modern version of this cheat is "the fuel surcharge" that restaurants and other businesses charge when gasoline prices have a big spike, but then these businesses are very slow to remove it when gasoline prices come down. So little is new.

...
("Are they still out there?" mutters Mr. Rickey, peeking from behind drawn curtains. "Oh come away from the window," replies Mrs. Rickey, squeezing a lemon into a tall glass, "and do have a drink." "Wait!" Mr. Rickey shudders. "I think I see the big one, the redhead -- yes! See there, behind the hedge! Judas Priest, shall I have NO PEACE? I DID WHAT HAD TO BE DONE! DO THEY NOT UNDERSTAND THAT!" "Please dear, just have a drink." "And the other one!" trembles Mr. Rickey. "Those eyes, those staring eyes!" "Dear, please. Just drink this." Mr. Rickey accept the proffered glass and raises it to his quivering lips. "Splendid, my dear," he proclaims, as he drains the drink in one gulp. "A real bracer. There's nothing like fresh lemonade." "No, dear," smiles Mrs. Rickey. "Nothing like it at all." "EGAD!" sputters Mr. Rickey, jumping back to the window. "DID YOU HEAR THAT??? THEY'RE ON THE ROOF! THEY'RE BREACHING THE CHIMNEY! CLOSE THE DAMPER! GET MY SHOTGUN!" "It's just a squirrel, dear. Just a squirrel. "A squirrel?" "A squirrel." "A squirrel. A BIG RED HEADED SQUIRREL! JUDAS PRIEST!!")
...

Oy.

...

("All right, Irwin, that's a pretty good disguise, but I CAN SMELL THE SPIRIT GUM!")
...

Even out of work for months, Irwin couldn't get that thin.

And in the Daily News...

Oh, Henry.
...

We'll see if he can credibly rebut the charges, but it ain't looking to good for Mr. man of integrity right now.

...

Bwahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahhaahhaha!
...

"From my fathers, I have acquired some small feats of magic." Understatement is still one of the best forms of comedy.

I know you wanted the rug - I did, too - but a magic cape isn't a bad substitute.

...

I bet they're paying ten bucks a piece for those records down at Liberty Music Shop!
...

Granted he's a psychotic murderous thug, but you don't waste your top detective on file work anymore than you ask Whirlaway to pull a milk wagon.

...

Well, if he couldn't even predict androgenic alopecia, how good can he be??
...

*Note to our readers, while Gus Edson is on vacation, George Lichty has been kindly filling in.

...
"Of course, at the rate this mess is growing, we won't be ready to serve until November!"
...
That's why they call it MYopia, not YOURopia!

Somebody's channelling her inner Catskill comedian today.

 

[FOXTROT LAMONT]

Inflation story caught my eye before I remembered I am on holiday.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("I keep tellin' ye, Nora, there's naathin' to worry about!" insists Uncle Frank. "Jimmy an' Danny waar vaaary thorough in cleaanin' things op. They'll fiind naahtin' to c'nect us with him, n'maatar how deep they dig. Nooow staap paacin' the floor, ye'll waaar a trench!" "Ohhhh, ye say that, Francis," growls Ma, "buuut ye said that that baaack in tharrty-eight, that business with me boy Michael an' that Alice Dooley!" "She kept harrr mooth shut, though." reminds Uncle Frank. "Faaarst toime in haar life," snaps back Ma. "Is she still livin' with yaaar daughter an' Joseph?" queries Uncle Frank. "Is she STILL keepin' haar mooth shut?" "She mooved oot," explains Ma. "She's livin' doownstairs with the neighbors, some business aboot a gaas leak. I couldn't make much sense oot of it, you know how Joseph is when he tells a staary. Ye c'n nevaar tell when he's havin' ye on arr not." "He's a broit boy," nods Frank. "Maybe a little *too* broit." "He's broit enough t'know bettar than t'aassk too many questions," retorts Ma. "Don't ye worry none aboot Joseph." "But what aboot ya daaaghter?" interjects Frank. "Ye know how broit SHE is. Aaannnd the marr time she spend with thaat Alice Dooley.." "Ye just mind ye business, Francis Leary," growls Ma, her eyes shooting fire. "Me daaghter is none of ye concern, an' I'll thank ye t'moind ye place!" "Haaaps Gaffney's been tellin' me things," frowns Uncle Frank. "He tells me Alice an' Sally haave been seen oot to Faaarest Hills a lot lately. Whaat's gooin' ann oot thaar?" "Maybe thaay've taaken oop tennis," fires back Ma. "Now I doon't waant to heear....JOSEPH ME BOY! Come aan in! An' how's me faaavorte graaaanddaaghter!" "G'MA!" giggles Leonora, as Uncle Frank sips his two-cents-plain and covertly studies her father's face.)

President Roosevelt put a sharp end today to the "Word Wars" raging among leading officials of his administration by stripping Vice President Henry Wallace and Secretary of Commerce Jesse Jones of their duties in the joint economic war effort and issuing a circular letter to the heads of all agencies and departments demanding an immediate end to all accusations and counteraccusations among department heads. All public statements by officials accusing other officials of being "liars," "obstructionists," or similar names were ordered stopped, and the President warned that any future such incidents will end in immediate requests for resignations. The action was spurred by a public dispute between the Vice President and the Secretary of Commerce over their respective activities on behalf of the Board of Economic Warfare. Efforts by War Mobilization Director James W. Byrnes to mediate a resolution of the issues between the two officials were unsuccessful, leading to the direct intervention of the President. In addition to silencing Wallace and Jones, the President summarily stripped both men of their positions with the Board of Economic Warfare by abolishing that board. A new Office of Economic Warfare was then established by the President to coordinate international economic matters, under the leadership of Wisconsin industrialist Leo Crowley, previously the custodian of Alien Property and the chairman of the Federal Deposit Insurance Corporation. The moves strip Mr. Wallace of all involvement in any phase of the war effort, save matters that fall under his duties as Vice President. Jones retains his office as Secretary of Commerce, but the foreign activities of the Reconstruction Finance Corporation have been turned over to Crowley. There has not been, in a generation, such a broad repudiation and rebuke by a President of officials of his own choosing.

A Brooklyn policeman facing a departmental trial for conduct unbecoming a police officer and for association with subversive elements insists that the 3000 piece of anti-Semitic literature found in his garage are the property of a man presently serving a three-year Federal prison term for draft evasion. Patrolman James L. Drew of 2152 Stewart Street is on trial at Manhattan Police Headquarters this week, and denies all charges. In testimony today, Ptl. Drew stated that the anti-Semitic books, pamphlets, and papers belong to Thomas Joseph Quinlan, a plumber, who asked him to store the material prior to "going on a trip" two years ago. After Quinlan was sentenced this past February on the draft evasion charge, Ptl. Drew stated that he wrote to one Vincent McManus, a friend of Quinlan's, and asked him to come pick up the literature. The materials were discovered in the garage on April 16th by Commissioner of Investigations William Herlands. Drew admitted knowing anti-Semitic rabble-rouser Joe McWilliams and John Thornton, an Army deserter, but denied "associating" with them. Under questioning, Ptl. Drew admitted that he did invite McWilliams, known as the "Fuehrer of Yorkville," to his home after a meeting of the American Nationalist Party, but insisted that he did not see him after that. Eight character witnesses, including a fellow patrolman, four police captains, a Brownsville gas station owner, and a priest offered testimony on Drew's behalf.

Consumers were promised today that meat rations will remain about at present levels for the next year, but were warned that reductions may follow in 1945 if an anticipated food shortage develops. The War Food Administration stated today that civilians can expect to receive about 70 percent of a "record food supply," with the balance allocated to the Armed Forces. It is possible, though, with an expected drop in the beef supply, that only 63 percent of meat will go to civilian use.

(Leonora's birthday: September 7, 1941.)

("Victory Through Air Power:" the forgotten "Disney Classic.")

The Eagle Editorialist endorses the call by former OPA publicity director Lou Maxon for the elimination of "slide rule theorists" from that agency. "It is high time we had a cleanup of such theorists from the OPA and any other agency where they carry influence," the EE declares. "Happily, a cleanup of professors from the OPA's price-fixers is required under the Dirksen Amendment to the appropriations bill."

(I prefer mine smoked or pickled.)

The "Negro opera star" who introduced "Ol' Man River" in the original Broadway production of "Show Boat" has died of a cerebral hemorrhage at the age of 44. Jules Bledsoe, considered one of the greatest artists of his race, died on Wednesday at his home in Hollywood. He had recently concluded a bond-selling tour of Army camps. Mr. Bledsoe came to public attention in 1927 in the role of Joe in Florenz Ziegfeld's production of "Show Boat," and subsequently starred in the operatic adaption of "The Emperor Jones," in which appeared at the Metropolitan Opera after starring in the role in productions in Europe. Born in Waco, Texas in 1898, Mr. Bledsoe received the degree of Bachelor of Music from the Chicago Musical Academy in 1918, and a Bachelor of Arts degree from the same college in 1919. He made his debut on the New York concert stage at Aeolian Hall in 1924.

("WAIVEHS?????" screams Sally, as all heads in the Kearny Works lunchroom twist in her direction. "MACPHAIL PAYS A HUNNE'T GRAN' AN' RICKEY LETS 'IM GO ON WAIVEHS!!!!?????" As Alice whips out a pencil and paper and begins scrawling a telegram, Mildred Kelly strides over and smiles painfully. "Is everything all right, dear?" she inquires thru gritted teeth. "THAT FATHEAD!" roars Sally. "THAT FATHEADED PENNY PINCHIN' ST. LOUIS SON OF A..." Her tirade is mercifully subsumed beneath the clanging of the back-to-work bell as Mildred reaches into her pocket and gulps down another little white pill.)

Bobo Newsom is threatening to take his case against Branch Rickey to Commissioner Landis, charging that the Dodger president got rid of him to avoid having to pay off on an agreement obligating the club to give him a retroactive raise if he was still on the Dodger roster as of July 15th. Newsom maintains he signed at reduced pay for 1943 on the strength of Rickey's promise -- and argues that the fact he was sent to the Browns in a waiver deal on July 14th is evidence of deceptive practice on the part of the executive.

Eagle sports editor Jimmy Murphy has a suggestion for Mr. Rickey, given the recent turmoil at Ebbets Field -- why not build up goodwill by holding an old-timers game pitting the pennant-winning 1916 Dodgers against the 1916 Giants? Enough men from both squads are still available to make a real contest of it, and old-time Dodger catcher Otto Miller, who is still a prominent figure around the ballpark, is the ideal man to round up his old teammates. Moose McCormick, one of Mr. McGraw's old standbys, is likewise a good pick to bring together the veteran Giants. Such a game might well prove a big fundraiser for War Bonds, and it could even serve as the preliminary to a contest between a couple of top military teams.

(Sherry did all her modeling work for the underwear section of the Sears catalog.)

(And this is why all amusement parks have those signs that say YOU MUST BE THIS TALL AND NOT A GORILLA IN ORDER TO RIDE.)

("And it's the strangest thing, he always gives his name as 'Sinclair T. Esso.' I WONDER WHAT THAT MEANS!")

(YOU TELL HIM KITTY!!!!!)

(Of course it isn't working! WHO COUNTS BEARS???)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

Awful. Just awful.

Edith Pugilese, Secret Operative.

"Oh. Well, that explains the garrotte I found in his pants pocket."

Well, he wouldn't want to do it on the prisoner, they might need him for later.

"Ahhh, sahib. You shall see him again very soon."

It's never a good idea to annoy someone who controls your morphine prescription.

Meanwhile, at Table Six, a certain Chigger feels an unexpected breeze.

Aw, a nice old lady.

In an environment like this, a kid develops survival skills.

Like I said...

 

[Fading Fast]

...

A Brooklyn policeman facing a departmental trial for conduct unbecoming a police officer and for association with subversive elements insists that the 3000 piece of anti-Semitic literature found in his garage are the property of a man presently serving a three-year Federal prison term for draft evasion. Patrolman James L. Drew of 2152 Stewart Street is on trial at Manhattan Police Headquarters this week, and denies all charges. In testimony today, Ptl. Drew stated that the anti-Semitic books, pamphlets, and papers belong to Thomas Joseph Quinlan, a plumber, who asked him to store the material prior to "going on a trip" two years ago. After Quinlan was sentenced this past February on the draft evasion charge, Ptl. Drew stated that he wrote to one Vincent McManus, a friend of Quinlan's, and asked him to come pick up the literature. The materials were discovered in the garage on April 16th by Commissioner of Investigations William Herlands. Drew admitted knowing anti-Semitic rabble-rouser Joe McWilliams and John Thornton, an Army deserter, but denied "associating" with them. Under questioning, Ptl. Drew admitted that he did invite McWilliams, known as the "Fuehrer of Yorkville," to his home after a meeting of the American Nationalist Party, but insisted that he did not see him after that. Eight character witnesses, including a fellow patrolman, four police captains, a Brownsville gas station owner, and a priest offered testimony on Drew's behalf.
...

That's a lot of coincidences if he isn't an antisemite. Someone should just shout out a hard "Sieg Heil!", my money says Drew's right arm shoots up like it was spring loaded.

...

("Victory Through Air Power:" the forgotten "Disney Classic.")
...

"Five Graves to Cairo" is an excellent WWII propaganda film that, unfortunately, gets very little notice today. My comments on it here: #23,807

...

(Sherry did all her modeling work for the underwear section of the Sears catalog.)
...

This is quite the disease, she's going to die in sixty days, but exhibits no symptoms or ill health.

And in the Daily News...

Awful. Just awful.
...

Awful and very sad as it seems like she needed some family or friend support and it could have turned out differently.

...

Meanwhile, at Table Six, a certain Chigger feels an unexpected breeze.
...

I had all but forgotten about Chigger. He was the boss we all had at some time.

I would think the stress of worrying about your toupee shifting or something would way outweigh the concern about being bald.

...

Aw, a nice old lady.
...

I guess you can work as late as you want when you don't have a girlfriend or adopted son.

 

[FOXTROT LAMONT]

The Sand tragedy stopped me cold. War's ultimate cost labours heart and mind.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Look, it ain' my fault," protests Krause the super. "T'lanloehd don' b'long t'none'a t'em assocations. He don' even live in town heeh, he lives up t' Yawrktown Heights someplace. I on'y even met'im once'a twicet. An'ne says ya rent's goin' up Septembeh foist, fifty-five dollehs a mont'. It'sa cawsta livin'."" Yeh," fumes Joe, as Leonora fusses in her stroller, impatient for the trip to Grandma's to begin. "Yeh," he repeats for emphasis. "I bet t'cawsta livin' in Wes'chesteh is moideh." "I tried t'tawk 'im out'v it," Krause pleads. "Hones', Joe, I done me best. You been good tenants, mostly, ya awrways paid f't'em windehs Sal useta break, an' I don'like t'see ya put agains'a wawl. But lookit it t'is way, ya bot' woikin' again, money's comin' in. What's anot'eh five dollehs a mont'? An' remembeh, he din' chawrge ya extreh when'nat Dooley dame was stayin' witcha." "It'sa principle'a t'ting," grumbles Joe. "An' y'can tawkta me awlya wawnt, but you know how Sal is when it comes t'principles a' t' t'ing, 'special since she's scaiet t'deat' about me goin' inna soivice. An'nat Alice goes right alawng wit'teh, you wait'n see. T'ey'll be up t'eh picketin', at leas' as soon as'ey get done wit' Rickey." Krause mulls this possibility for a long moment. "Y't'ink Sal might have principles a' t' t'ing f' t'ree dollehs a mont'?" "Sal would have principles a' t'ting," shrugs Joe, "f'haffa buck. It's, you know, t'principle a' t' 'ting....")

In Nassau County, women may soon be driving police patrol wagons, in order to relieve policemen for active law enforcement work. Nassau police commissioner Abram W. Skidmore and County Executive Russell J. Sprague met yesterday with officials of the local Red Cross to consider forming a pool of volunteer drivers in order to help meet the local manpower shortage. Plans are to submit the proposal to the national governing body of the American Red Cross for consideration, and if approval is given, the program would be implemented immediately.

The ever-changing food situation in the metropolitan area took another turn today, with the declaration of a fish shortage in the wake of a protest by New England fishermen of current ceiling prices, and the butter and egg situation getting worse. On the other hand, it was indicated today that the diversion of supplies of lamb, veal, pork, and some beef into the city by slaughterers and packers should see an increase in the local supply of those meats next week. Improvement in the local supply of poultry is also expected. But no relief is expected on the butter and egg front for at least the next two months, with 15 percent of local stores having no butter at all, and many other grocers limiting butter purchases to one quarter-pound stick per customer.

(Tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick.....)

("Well, *I* hear she's gotten one of those black market girdles!")

("I'm sorry, Mrs. Petrauskas," is the crisp statement of Jane Ann Jones, as she sits behind her desk in the executive offices of the Brooklyn National League Baseball Club, Inc., on the fourth floor of the Mechanics Bank Building. "Mr. Rickey has left for the day, and he will be unable to see you at any time in the foreseeable future." "Petrauskas?" huffs Sally. "Um, t'at ain' me name. I'm Sweeney, Sally Sweeney. Erasmus Class 'a June '31. Tell 'im it's impoehtent." "Maybe y'know heh ma, Noreh Sweeney?" offers Alice. "Or heh uncle, Frank Leary? He musta hoid'a him. He's a big man inna Twenny-foueh't Ward. Y'wanna liss'n when he tawks t'ya!" "Who caehs about t'at," growls Sally. "Look, lemme do t'tawkin', awright? Look lady, we ain' got awl night. You go tell t'at fathead bawss'a yez t'at Sally Sweeney is heeh, an'..." Miss Jones reaches into her desk drawer, and withdraws an enlarged photograph. She glances at the photo, and at Sally. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Petrauskas," she concludes. "Mr. Rickey has left for the day and he will be unable to see you at any time in the foreseeable future." "Hmph!" hmphs Sally. "McDonal' was neveh like t'is." "No," nods Miss Jones, with an efficient smirk, "he wasn't.")

Bobo Newsom has evidently changed his mind about reporting to the St. Louis Browns, who acquired him from the Dodgers in a waiver trade three days ago. Browns president Donald L. Barnes indicated today that he expects Newsom to report to the Mound City tomorrow morning, and may pitch against the Indians tomorrow afternoon. Barnes declined to reveal the terms under which Newsom has agreed to join the Browns for the third time in his fifteen-year career. Newsom has been ranting all over Brooklyn since the July 14th trade, threatening to take his dispute with Branch Rickey all the way to Commissioner Landis, and calling the trade "the worst and rawest deal in baseball."

("Why, one would scarcely guess you were practically on death's doorstep!" "Are you kidding? Look at my waistline -- I'm wasting away to nothing!")

(Not that I've ever hung around with carnies, but don't they usually lock up the rides at night?)

("And to prove my confidence, I shall you my secret. Ready? You use -- twice---the--amount---of--gas!")

(AMERICA'S NUMBER ONE HERO DOG HAS FULL CONFIDENCE IN THE GOODWILL OF HIS HUMANS. Unlike that stupid cat.)

(Reboot Peggy, at least, is exactly the same as Classic Peggy in her attitude of 'nothing I can do will ever free me of the existential horror that is my life.')

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

"Who, me?" chuckles Abe Frosch. "Say, you should meet my ma!"

Ummmmmm, what???

Ah yes, Bim's favorite private eye, as efficient as ever!

"Sorry, no job transfers! Mr. McNutt says so!"

These novelty lighters are getting out of hand.

Poor Tess has really let herself go.

It really is a wonderful thing to enjoy your work.

"Um, I'm the same nurse as before. I just dyed my hair to get you off my back!"

Trolling the troll!

It's only gonna get worse.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And also...

Bobo just wants to go back to Washington because Clark Griffith always lets him win at gin rummy.

 

[Fading Fast]

("Look, it ain' my fault," protests Krause the super. "T'lanloehd don' b'long t'none'a t'em assocations. He don' even live in town heeh, he lives up t' Yawrktown Heights someplace. I on'y even met'im once'a twicet. An'ne says ya rent's goin' up Septembeh foist, fifty-five dollehs a mont'. It'sa cawsta livin'."" Yeh," fumes Joe, as Leonora fusses in her stroller, impatient for the trip to Grandma's to begin. "Yeh," he repeats for emphasis. "I bet t'cawsta livin' in Wes'chesteh is moideh." "I tried t'tawk 'im out'v it," Krause pleads. "Hones', Joe, I done me best. You been good tenants, mostly, ya awrways paid f't'em windehs Sal useta break, an' I don'like t'see ya put agains'a wawl. But lookit it t'is way, ya bot' woikin' again, money's comin' in. What's anot'eh five dollehs a mont'? An' remembeh, he din' chawrge ya extreh when'nat Dooley dame was stayin' witcha." "It'sa principle'a t'ting," grumbles Joe. "An' y'can tawkta me awlya wawnt, but you know how Sal is when it comes t'principles a' t' t'ing, 'special since she's scaiet t'deat' about me goin' inna soivice. An'nat Alice goes right alawng wit'teh, you wait'n see. T'ey'll be up t'eh picketin', at leas' as soon as'ey get done wit' Rickey." Krause mulls this possibility for a long moment. "Y't'ink Sal might have principles a' t' t'ing f' t'ree dollehs a mont'?" "Sal would have principles a' t'ting," shrugs Joe, "f'haffa buck. It's, you know, t'principle a' t' 'ting....")
...

"ya awrways paid f't'em windehs Sal useta break,"

"Y't'ink Sal might have principles a' t' t'ing f' t'ree dollehs a mont'?" "Dealmakers" and "people of principle" do not understand each other. I grew up mainly around "dealmakers."

...
("I'm sorry, Mrs. Petrauskas," is the crisp statement of Jane Ann Jones, as she sits behind her desk in the executive offices of the Brooklyn National League Baseball Club, Inc., on the fourth floor of the Mechanics Bank Building. "Mr. Rickey has left for the day, and he will be unable to see you at any time in the foreseeable future." "Petrauskas?" huffs Sally. "Um, t'at ain' me name. I'm Sweeney, Sally Sweeney. Erasmus Class 'a June '31. Tell 'im it's impoehtent." "Maybe y'know heh ma, Noreh Sweeney?" offers Alice. "Or heh uncle, Frank Leary? He musta hoid'a him. He's a big man inna Twenny-foueh't Ward. Y'wanna liss'n when he tawks t'ya!" "Who caehs about t'at," growls Sally. "Look, lemme do t'tawkin', awright? Look lady, we ain' got awl night. You go tell t'at fathead bawss'a yez t'at Sally Sweeney is heeh, an'..." Miss Jones reaches into her desk drawer, and withdraws an enlarged photograph. She glances at the photo, and at Sally. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Petrauskas," she concludes. "Mr. Rickey has left for the day and he will be unable to see you at any time in the foreseeable future." "Hmph!" hmphs Sally. "McDonal' was neveh like t'is." "No," nods Miss Jones, with an efficient smirk, "he wasn't.")
...

"Look, lemme do t'tawkin', awright? Look lady, we ain' got awl night. You go tell t'at fathead bawss'a yez t'at Sally Sweeney is heeh, an'..."

"tell t'at fathead bawss'a yez" is the verbal equivalent of throwing a radio through the window. It feels good, but it won't change the score. Still, God love Sally.

...

(Not that I've ever hung around with carnies, but don't they usually lock up the rides at night?)
...

"Thank goodness I landed in that pond."

Meh.

...

("And to prove my confidence, I shall you my secret. Ready? You use -- twice---the--amount---of--gas!")
...

Having read a lot of contemporaneous WWII fiction/spy/detective stories, it is amazing how many of them have a secret formula to double the power of gasoline at the core of their stories.

...

Ummmmmm, what???
...

How does a college professor in 1943 afford to live in a hotel suite?

The wife raided on the wrong night - the risks of war.

The magistrate - a woman, in 1943 - gave them the answer in her closing comments.

...

Poor Tess has really let herself go.
...

It's 3am and the street cars are running. This city has its act together.

...

Trolling the troll!
..

Can't say he doesn't deserve it though.

 

[FOXTROT LAMONT]

That college prof and his nude early morn romp started well but flamed out before the opening paragraph ended.
Thought I was reading a Fleet Street sheet for a second.

 

[LizzieMaine]

"I wonneh," sighs Alice Dooley, sitting on the stoop on a sunny Sunday afternoon with the paper spread in her lap, "if t'Eagle could help *me* out?" "Whatcha mean?" replies Sally, as she watches Joe crouching on the sidewalk next to Leonora, their attention fixed on a column of ants marching smartly from one crack to another. "Well," continues Alice, "t'is Cupid stuff. I ain' very good innat d'pawrtm'n, y'know. Ya lucky, Sal, y'don'know how lucky y'awr." "Oh, I dunno'f I'd say t'at," Sally responds. "I guess I know I'm lucky." "How'd y'meet Joe, anyways?" inquires Alice. "Maybe it'd woik f' me." "I dunno," shrugs Sally. "I jus' did. Me'n a buncha gals f'm Woolwoit's wenta Roselan' one night, y'know, jus' t'heeh t'band. Woody Hoiman was playin'at night, real swing stuff, y'know? An' Joe was t'eh, him an' Solly Pincus hangin' aroun'a stag line, an' he comes up'n asks me t'dance, so I says, 'why not,' an' we get out'teh -- an', well -- sump'n jus' hap'n't, y'know? Y'evveh get t'getteh wit' somebody knows whatcha gonna do befoeh y'ev'n do it? An' you know what *t'eh* gonna do befo'eh *t'ey* do it? Some fellas, ya dance wit'm, it's like t'eh pushin' ya 'rouna flooeh like a wheelbarreh, but it was'n like t'at wit' Joe, not f'ra secon'. An' I jus' knew. Ahhh, Ma din' like 'im at fois', 'you goin' aroun' wit' some Lit'uanian ditch diggeh, I brung you up better'n'at,' but she come aroun'. Yeh, I'm lucky, an' I know I'm lucky." "I t'ought it was gonna be like t'at wit' Hig," sighs Alice. "I t'ought I awrways knew what he was gonna do, 'til it toint out I didn'." "Well, t'ehs still fellehs aroun'," observes Sally. "I mean -- well, look downa street t'eh, t'ehs Flannerhy t' cop." Alice gazes down the block, where a lanky, red-faced patrolman is confiscating a rubber ball from an annoyed group of boys. " I don' get alawng too good wit' cops," Alice sourly comments. "Aw, he ain' bad f'ra cop," urges Sally. "He ain' married, an' I heeh he even lives wit' his mut'teh." Alice frowns and shakes her head. "Not f'me, t'anks." "Well'en," continues Sally, "how 'bout Krause t' supeh?" "I don' t'ink supehs is allowed t'get married," replies Alice. "Ain'ney like a capt'n onna ship? Married to t'eh buildin' a' sump'n lilke t'at?" "I dunno wheh you get t'is stuff," chuckles Sally. "Krause ain' half bad f'ra supeh. Y'otta go tawk to 'im sometime." "Hey Sal!" interrupts Joe, calling across the sidewalk. "What is it ya call t' ant t'at's, y'know, like t'queen a' t' ants?" "T' Queen," calls Sally. "Oh yeh," nods Joe. "See," he explains to his fascinated daughter, "t'is one heeh is t' Queen a' t'ants. She's like t' ma f'rawlese ut'eh ants." "Ma!" blurts Leonora. "Yeh," Joe replies. "Jus' like *yawr* Ma! We'll cawl'is one Queen Sally, huh?" "Quee' Sal!" laughs Leonora, pointing at the ants and then at her mother. "Ya sueh lucky," sighs Alice. "Yeh," agrees Sally. "Ai'n I?")

The Allies are preparing to convert tottering Sicily into a powerful base and gigantic unsinkable aircraft carrier from which long-range bombers will smash Italian war centers while swarms of other planes act as an aerial umbrella for invasion forces driving across the narrow Strait of Messina to the Italian mainland, it was believed tonight by military observers. With the conquest of Sicily now completed, the Allies will have 18 to 20 established airfields at their disposal for both strategic and tactical bombing.

The Amgot government, first of its kind in military history, has inaugurated its rule of occupied Allied territory in Sicily by issuing an edict nullifying the authority of the Italian crown, banning the Fascist Party, and repealing with immediate effect all racial and discriminatory laws. "Amgot" refers to the Allied Military Government, made up of hundreds of American and British officers and men who have been trained for months to administer occupied Axis territories. The Amgot authorities yesterday stated that their first priority is to free Italy from Fascist rule, and when this is done, to restore Italy as a free nation. Former New York Governor Charles Poletti, now a lieutenant colonel serving on General Eisenhower's civil affair staff, is believed to be serving with the Amgot in Sicily. Poletti, of Italian parentage, has made several radio broadcast in the Italian language urging Italians to unite to overthrow Mussolini.

(All of those cases cited are twenty or so years old. The Germans are clearly not keeping up.)

Twenty eight persons were convicted of subversive activity over the fiscal year ending June 30th, in cases investigated by the FBI, and Lieutenant General Hugh A. Drum of the Eastern Defense Command is urging even more drastic action against "subversive elements" in the year ahead. General Drum spoke, alongside FBI Director J. Edgar Hoover, at yesterday's graduation exercises for the Bureau's National Police Academy. General Drum noted that of the persons evacuated from the Eastern Defense Command territory under military authority granted by Executive Order 9066, 18 percent are native-born Americans of German or Italian ancestry, 67 percent are naturalized citizens of German or Italian birth, and 11 percent are German citizens. He did not identify the remaining four percent. He noted that citizens removed from the Eastern exclusion zone and not placed in concentration camps are "allowed complete freedom elsewhere."

G-Men are preparing to file kidnapping charges against the woman accused of abducting three-year-old Jimmy DiMaggio from an East Side playground in Manhattan two weeks ago. 20-year-old Mary Penora of 206 Forsythe Street is accused of taking the boy to Nashville, Tennessee in an attempt to win back the affection of her estranged husband by telling him that the child was his. When this failed, investigators say, Mrs. Penora brought the boy back to Manhattan and abandoned him in an Automat restaurant, where he was discovered by the manager and turned over to police. Miss Penora was picked up by Federal agents at Pennsylvania Station last night and brought to Manhattan FBI headquarters, where young Jimmy was waiting. "That's the one," declared the boy with a grin.

(Mysteries upon mysteries. I also remember a little girl who was found dead on a tenement roof back around 1939, and nothing was ever resolved on that. And then there's the grease-pit bridegroom, but I think that one was in Manhattan.)

("Those women came to see me at the office yesterday," says Mr. Rickey over breakfast, "and Jane Ann turned them away. She is a gem, that girl, a rare gem." "You should give her a raise," comments Mrs. Rickey, biting into an English muffin. "Let us not be hasty, my dear," hems Mr. Rickey. "Attendance, after all, is behind the pace, and we must carefully observe every expense." The executive leans back, lights a cigar, and takes a contented puff. "At least today, my dear, we shall enjoy a peaceful afternoon, a peaceful afternoon indeed." "Oh, this arrived for you," remarks Mrs. Rickey, poking a yellow envelope across the table with the tip of a bread knife. "Hm?" replies her husband, fiddling with his glasses. His face blanches as he scans the contents. "DON'T BE SO SURE FATHEAD," he reads aloud. "SIGNED A FRIEND." Mrs. Rickey attempts, and fails, to stifle a laugh. "Judas Priest," mutters Mr. Rickey.)

Dodger legend Zack Wheat is doing his bit for the war as a safety engineer at the giant Sunflower Ordnance plant in DeSoto, Kansas. Zack is a little heavier than he was in the days when he was wearing out the walls at Ebbets Field, and is happy to be helping with the war effort since, as the father of two young children at the time, he missed out on the last war. His son Pete is in the Army, stationed in Hawaii, and his daughter Mary is the wife of a soldier posted at Fort Leavenworth, Kansas. "Everybody who is helping out in the war now," declares Zack, "is in the Big Leagues!"

(Don't know much about kids, do ya cowboy?)

(And that is the skinniest you will ever see Young King Farouk.)

(In an effort to save money, Mr. Stamm filled up today's supporting cast with extras from a Charles Atlas ad.)

(This worked out fine for Phil, given his humiliation fetish. And, cmon, Mr. Hix -- if you're not going to tell us what the SHARP REMARK was, why even bring it up???)

("What? Poughkeepsie's not that bad!" And Irwin snickers and says "THEY'LL NEVER KNOW IT'S ME!")

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

You'll have a good long time to think about this, kid.

Or the guy across the street who sat on his stoop at 2 AM smoking cheap cigars and muttering "I'm gonna kill him, I'm just gonna kill him." And then one day he was gone and I never saw him again. I figured it was best not to know so I didn't ask.

You can tell that Mr. Gould really enjoyed drawing this page.

"Well, not wrong exactly. But I wanted to blow 'em up!"

"Hmph!" hmphs Ma Sweeney. "Countaarfeit'n! It's a sookar's game!"

Not hot anymore, are you?

Do you get the feeling that Mr. Mosley doesn't like to draw faces?

And with the pieces all set up on the board, let the game begin...

It's always the middle child who gets in the most trouble.

It's amazing how much work you can get done in the middle of the night if you're really focused.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And also...

The Real Flip Corkin.

 

[Fading Fast]

"I wonneh," sighs Alice Dooley, sitting on the stoop on a sunny Sunday afternoon with the paper spread in her lap, "if t'Eagle could help *me* out?" "Whatcha mean?" replies Sally, as she watches Joe crouching on the sidewalk next to Leonora, their attention fixed on a column of ants marching smartly from one crack to another. "Well," continues Alice, "t'is Cupid stuff. I ain' very good innat d'pawrtm'n, y'know. Ya lucky, Sal, y'don'know how lucky y'awr." "Oh, I dunno'f I'd say t'at," Sally responds. "I guess I know I'm lucky." "How'd y'meet Joe, anyways?" inquires Alice. "Maybe it'd woik f' me." "I dunno," shrugs Sally. "I jus' did. Me'n a buncha gals f'm Woolwoit's wenta Roselan' one night, y'know, jus' t'heeh t'band. Woody Hoiman was playin'at night, real swing stuff, y'know? An' Joe was t'eh, him an' Solly Pincus hangin' aroun'a stag line, an' he comes up'n asks me t'dance, so I says, 'why not,' an' we get out'teh -- an', well -- sump'n jus' hap'n't, y'know? Y'evveh get t'getteh wit' somebody knows whatcha gonna do befoeh y'ev'n do it? An' you know what *t'eh* gonna do befo'eh *t'ey* do it? Some fellas, ya dance wit'm, it's like t'eh pushin' ya 'rouna flooeh like a wheelbarreh, but it was'n like t'at wit' Joe, not f'ra secon'. An' I jus' knew. Ahhh, Ma din' like 'im at fois', 'you goin' aroun' wit' some Lit'uanian ditch diggeh, I brung you up better'n'at,' but she come aroun'. Yeh, I'm lucky, an' I know I'm lucky." "I t'ought it was gonna be like t'at wit' Hig," sighs Alice. "I t'ought I awrways knew what he was gonna do, 'til it toint out I didn'." "Well, t'ehs still fellehs aroun'," observes Sally. "I mean -- well, look downa street t'eh, t'ehs Flannerhy t' cop." Alice gazes down the block, where a lanky, red-faced patrolman is confiscating a rubber ball from an annoyed group of boys. " I don' get alawng too good wit' cops," Alice sourly comments. "Aw, he ain' bad f'ra cop," urges Sally. "He ain' married, an' I heeh he even lives wit' his mut'teh." Alice frowns and shakes her head. "Not f'me, t'anks." "Well'en," continues Sally, "how 'bout Krause t' supeh?" "I don' t'ink supehs is allowed t'get married," replies Alice. "Ain'ney like a capt'n onna ship? Married to t'eh buildin' a' sump'n lilke t'at?" "I dunno wheh you get t'is stuff," chuckles Sally. "Krause ain' half bad f'ra supeh. Y'otta go tawk to 'im sometime." "Hey Sal!" interrupts Joe, calling across the sidewalk. "What is it ya call t' ant t'at's, y'know, like t'queen a' t' ants?" "T' Queen," calls Sally. "Oh yeh," nods Joe. "Ma!" blurts Leonora. "Yeh," Joe replies. "Jus' like *yawr* Ma! We'll cawl'is one Queen Sally, huh?" "Quee' Sal!" laughs Leonora, pointing at the ants and then at her mother. "Ya sueh lucky," sighs Alice. "Yeh," agrees Sally. "Ai'n I?")
...

"See," he explains to his fascinated daughter, "t'is one heeh is t' Queen a' t'ants. She's like t' ma f'rawlese ut'eh ants."

...

(Mysteries upon mysteries. I also remember a little girl who was found dead on a tenement roof back around 1939, and nothing was ever resolved on that. And then there's the grease-pit bridegroom, but I think that one was in Manhattan.)
...

That grease-pit one was bizarre. It felt like there might be a mob angle, but the story just died. We also had the plump blonde bank robber from Asbury Park whom I don't think they ever caught. Hmm, I wonder if Alice ever went through a blonde phase? Although, I think she was already "upstate" at the time, so that should clear her.

...

(This worked out fine for Phil, given his humiliation fetish. And, cmon, Mr. Hix -- if you're not going to tell us what the SHARP REMARK was, why even bring it up???)
...

Now we have to wait a whole week to hear Fritzi's answer.

...

Or the guy across the street who sat on his stoop at 2 AM smoking cheap cigars and muttering "I'm gonna kill him, I'm just gonna kill him." And then one day he was gone and I never saw him again. I figured it was best not to know so I didn't ask.
...

Having lived the last forty years in apartments, I can report that all the above is true, plus he left out the mad piano player, the teenage boy who is going to be the next rock-star drummer and the disgruntled youth who plays the stereo at "This is Spinal Tap" eleven at all hours. Plus the angry stomper at midnight and the all-hours-of-the-day-or-night vacuumer.

There used to be the cigar or cigarette smoke wafting into your open window from your neighbor's open window event, but that all but went away about twenty years ago when smoking really went out of favor. But lucky us, there's a new version of it back now with marijuana smoke wafting in at all hours of the day and night.

...

You can tell that Mr. Gould really enjoyed drawing this page.
...

Yes he did. It also shows that film noir wasn't exclusive to cinema.

...

"Well, not wrong exactly. But I wanted to blow 'em up!"
...

"I understand your disappointment, Kid, but I've been at this game a lot longer than you have."

...

And with the pieces all set up on the board, let the game begin...
...

Caniff is not one of these "I'll just write what I feel and figure it out as I go along" writers; he plans his storylines out well in advance and, as you said/implied, then carefully assembles the pieces leading to a powerful climax. It's why his stories are so much better than most as the "I'll figure it out" style leads to silly deus ex machina and other nonsensical "plot resolutions."

 

[FOXTROT LAMONT]

Caniff is not one of these "I'll just write what I feel and figure it out as I go along" writers; he plans his storylines out well in advance and, as you said/implied, then carefully assembles the pieces leading to a powerful climax. It's why his stories are so much better than most as the "I'll figure it out" style leads to silly deus ex machina and other nonsensical "plot resolutions."

Terrence's creator in the current scene episode is dragging the narrative. Terribly. You remarked 'the real Flip Corcoran'
in that catching article about an air corps pilot, quite. Though Ryan is an interesting American as is Terrence, this
interminable island chapter bores. Added to drag are the always fascinating circa war home front columns.
And the strip competes with itself. Rouge is a real piece vivid being war criminal ruthless, determined. Yet pencilman
has left her and taken Taffy far too off course. Corcoran's coldness to Rouge was definitely noticed and a war trial
much more keen development than Snow White in never never land.