The Era -- Day By Day

[FOXTROT LAMONT]

Laraine Day is a lovely lass. And Scarlett O'Neil isn't bad either....

 

[LizzieMaine]

It's time again to repost Thomas Wolfe's wonderful New Yorker piece, "Only The Dead Know Brooklyn," for everyone who has ever gotten lost on the BMT...

https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/1935/06/15/only-the-dead-know-brooklyn

Incidentally, 18th and 67th is just four blocks down from Joe and Sally's corner. Stop in at Schreibstein's and you might see 'em!

 

[Fading Fast]

It's time again to repost Thomas Wolfe's wonderful New Yorker piece, "Only The Dead Know Brooklyn," for everyone who has ever gotten lost on the BMT...

https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/1935/06/15/only-the-dead-know-brooklyn

Incidentally, 18th and 67th is just four blocks down from Joe and Sally's corner. Stop in at Schreibstein's and you might see 'em!

That's wonderful. I know I've read it before, but not for many years.

If you want to understand how complicated the NYC subway system is, take a look at the map below that captures most but not all of the system.

In the days before you could Google subway directions, you could almost mark your progress as a subway rider by how comfortable you were with the map. It took a few years, but at some point, the map all made perfect sense to me.

I used to have a large foldout one at home and another one at work, plus a laminated wallet-sized one with me all the time.

 

[LizzieMaine]

I have a 1939 BMT map on the wall of my home office -- comes in handy for pinpointing locations as the story unfolds!

 

[Fading Fast]

I have a 1939 BMT map on the wall of my home office -- comes in handy for pinpointing locations as the story unfolds!

I love that. I should get one too.

The really crazy thing is this map is a dramatic oversimplification of the real system. As just one example, the green line you see actually represents four tracks: two locals and two expresses; ditto, the red line.

 

[FOXTROT LAMONT]

Were I visiting New York City today I'd venture out to Manhattan's Ascot otherwise known Saratoga
for the Whitney Stakes tomorrow. Instead, I will saunter over to Ladbroke's and lay down a bet before seeing
Oppenheimer at the Imax with Glyn then pizza afterwards. New York has the best pizza, always available, always
the best. Joe's in the Village closes at 4 or 5 in the morning. I've closed a few pubs but closing a pizzeria is a
most singular accomplishment. London pizza is allright but New York is toppers sure.

 

[EngProf]

That's wonderful. I know I've read it before, but not for many years.

If you want to understand how complicated the NYC subway system is, take a look at the map below that captures most but not all of the system.

In the days before you could Google subway directions, you could almost mark your progress as a subway rider by how comfortable you were with the map. It took a few years, but at some point, the map all made perfect sense to me.

I used to have a large foldout one at home and another one at work, plus a laminated wallet-sized one with me all the time.

View attachment 537257

I think I'm a rare exception to the out-of-towner's "lost in the subway" problem.
I took one good look at that specific map - exceptionally well done - and figured it out.
I was, and am, a mechanical engineer who paid part of his way through school by doing drafting (and 3-view projections).
I could "see" what the subway layout was, and adapted to it immediately. I could make the right trains on a dead run by my second New York visit back in the '70's.

 

[LizzieMaine]

(“T’at,” declares Joe, “is whatchacawla very intelligen’ boid. I bet a boid like t’at could graduate f’m New Utrick, y’know it?” “Oi wouldn’ doubt it, Joseph,” chuckles Ma. “Maybe ev’n Erasmus,” continues Joe. “T’Ginsboigs downsteahs, t’ey got one’a t’em tawkin’ boids, Zippy t’ey cawl it. O’coehse, it ain’na ORIGINAL Zippy, it’s one Sal an’ Alice got’m afteh t’at gas leak. An’ y’know what? I’m t’one loint it t’tawk. Took’im a while t’catch awn, a’coese, but he fin’ly gotta hang of it. An’ you know what’s his fav’rite thing t'say?” “What?” “Nut’n!” snorts Joe, as he ducks a flying dishcloth in his dash for the door.)

Harlem remains peaceful today but a battle of words is raging over whether the Parks Department is giving the area enough playgrounds. Several Democratic City Council members set off the controversy by declaring at a Council session that the rioting this week might have been prevented if the Parks Department had provided sufficient playground space there. Parks Commissioner Robert Moses replied with a statement that those taking that position are “demogogues and loose talkers” who constitute a “lunatic fringe of the Council.” Moses asserted that Harlem has “not been overlooked, neglected, or discriminated against. The tendency has been in just the opposite direction, that is, giving more attention to Harlem than to other sections which are in jut as great a need of recreation, including other sections to which colored people In large numbers have moved.” The Parks Commissioner pointed out that over the ten years of the LaGuardia Administration, Harlem’s playgrounds have increased from 9 to 29. Council President Newbold Morris agreed, and condemned the “brazen gall” of Democratic council members in attempting to “blame the LaGuardia administration for conditions in Harlem,” particularly in view of Democratic attempts to cut the city budget and reduce police and other services in Harlem as well as elsewhere in the city.

The City Council committee investigating the affairs of the LaGuardia Administration has requested an appropriation of $40,000 to meet expenses of that probe, the Mayor disclosed today. Councilman Walter R. Hart, chairman of the committee, contends that the appropriation, which must be approved by the administration-controlled Board of Estimate, represents “a very very modest budget.” The board recently appropriated $1800 to pay six months’ rent on the committee’s headquarters.

Thieves who broke into the headquarters of the Southern Brookhaven Ration Board in Patchougue, L. I. avoided taking any ration coupons. They escaped instead, according to police, with three fountain pens, a pair of scissors, and a pack of cigarettes.

(Let’s all chip in and send her a bottle of leg makeup, an eyebrow pencil, and a sweatshirt from Davega!)

(SO DON’T EVEN TRY TO BRIBE BENNY THE BUTCHER!)

(“That’s it, Bernice -- I’m canceling your subscription to ‘Popular Mechanics!’”)

(“He got t’ petitions!” insists Sally. “He musta! Lookit t’at fathead, lookit’a look on’is face. Ask not f’whom t’bell is tollin’, it tolls f’ t’ee. YA FATHEAD!” “I can’t b’lieve Sid t’inks t’at secketary is good lookin’” fumes Alice. “You seen’eh, Sal? Is she got a Poit Irish Nose? IS SHE?” “Camilli ain’ gonna stan’fawrit,” Sally declares. “Fois’ t’ing we gonna do when we get ridda Rickey is make Camilli manageh, an’ Fitz f’ fois’ lieutenan’ coach. Leo can be wawteh boy. Wella secon’ an’ t’oid t’ing an foe’t t’ing we’ll do awlat, afteh we get Petey back.” “How we gonna do t’at?” inquires Alice. “I got it awl set,” growls Sally. “McDonal’. John McDonal’. He mus’ hate it upta Montreal, right? Who wants to live up t’eh witta poleh beahs? We get him t’come back, right? An’ we pull ‘is strings! I got it awl woiked out.” “T’at secketery ain’ got a poit Irish nose atawl,” grumbles Alice. “Send a telegram t’ John McDonal’, Montreal Royals, Montreal, in Canada,” dictates Sally. “Say t’is – REPO’ET T’BROOKLYN AT ONCE – SAY NUT’N TO NOBODY – AWAIT FOITEH INSTRUCTIONS – an’ sign’at BO’ED A’ DIRECTEHS BROOKLYN BAWL CLUB INC.” “T’at secketary’s got glasses,” ponders Alice. “Hey Sal, gimmie yeh glasses.” “Betteh pack ya cawrpetbag, ya fathead,” chortles Sally. “We got a rail all ready t’run ya outa town on!”)

(“It’s like this, Miss Vance. I have two weeks to live. I have appointed you my replacement. Congratulations.”)

(Thing is, they’d actually make a pretty good couple.)

(Well, at least wait till after the post-funeral spread. They always have those little deviled-ham sandwiches, and you know how hard it is to get meat.)

(DON’T WORRY FOLKS AMERICA’S NUMBER ONE HERO DOG HAS IT ALL PLANNED OUT.)

(A zook? Yeah, I can see that.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

Incidentally...

Poor, poor Joe.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

“Heart Balm” = the damages awarded in a Breach of Promise case.

That’s right, Jimmy, STIR THE POT.

“But I improved the design – I made mine with paper bags!”

REALLY “DADDY?” I HADN’T NOTICED! HEARD FROM THE TECUMS LATELY?

I wonder if Mrs. Gould knew before she married him?

Ohhhhhh Min…

Annnnnd away we go..

Atsa no good…

Well, at least Emmy finally got her safecracker.

At least it wasn’t balata, that stuff’s hard to digest.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And finally –

STEP UP FOLKS SiGN’A PETITION!

 

[Fading Fast]

(“T’at,” declares Joe, “is whatchacawla very intelligen’ boid. I bet a boid like t’at could graduate f’m New Utrick, y’know it?” “Oi wouldn’ doubt it, Joseph,” chuckles Ma. “Maybe ev’n Erasmus,” continues Joe. “T’Ginsboigs downsteahs, t’ey got one’a t’em tawkin’ boids, Zippy t’ey cawl it. O’coehse, it ain’na ORIGINAL Zippy, it’s one Sal an’ Alice got’m afteh t’at gas leak. An’ y’know what? I’m t’one loint it t’tawk. Took’im a while t’catch awn, a’coese, but he fin’ly gotta hang of it. An’ you know what’s his fav’rite thing t'say?” “What?” “Nut’n!” snorts Joe, as he ducks a flying dishcloth in his dash for the door.)
...

Joe and Ma's is the best relationship in all our comicstrips.

As to the judge and removing his coat, just to show how far we've come, even in the '80s and going into the '90s, when I started on Wall St., there were some firms whose dress code or culture required men to keep their suit jackets on all the time.

Back then, there were no firms that had anything more than "casual Friday," which in those days meant tailored dress chinos, shirt, tie and navy blazer. Then, in almost a flash, in the mid '90s, it changed rapidly as casual Friday became chinos and polo shirts, while some of the newer firms went casual everyday.

...

Thieves who broke into the headquarters of the Southern Brookhaven Ration Board in Patchougue, L. I. avoided taking any ration coupons. They escaped instead, according to police, with three fountain pens, a pair of scissors, and a pack of cigarettes.
...

Are they sure it was thieves and not just rich kids on a 1930s-style scavenger hunt? No self-respecting thieves would leave the ration coupons.

...

(Let’s all chip in and send her a bottle of leg makeup, an eyebrow pencil, and a sweatshirt from Davega!)
...

It's not easy to do, but somehow Lady Astor managed to look more self-absorbed than the Duchess of Windsor.

...
(“He got t’ petitions!” insists Sally. “He musta! Lookit t’at fathead, lookit’a look on’is face. Ask not f’whom t’bell is tollin’, it tolls f’ t’ee. YA FATHEAD!” “I can’t b’lieve Sid t’inks t’at secketary is good lookin’” fumes Alice. “You seen’eh, Sal? Is she got a Poit Irish Nose? IS SHE?” “Camilli ain’ gonna stan’fawrit,” Sally declares. “Fois’ t’ing we gonna do when we get ridda Rickey is make Camilli manageh, an’ Fitz f’ fois’ lieutenan’ coach. Leo can be wawteh boy. Wella secon’ an’ t’oid t’ing an foe’t t’ing we’ll do awlat, afteh we get Petey back.” “How we gonna do t’at?” inquires Alice. “I got it awl set,” growls Sally. “McDonal’. John McDonal’. He mus’ hate it upta Montreal, right? Who wants to live up t’eh witta poleh beahs? We get him t’come back, right? An’ we pull ‘is strings! I got it awl woiked out.” “T’at secketery ain’ got a poit Irish nose atawl,” grumbles Alice. “Send a telegram t’ John McDonal’, Montreal Royals, Montreal, in Canada,” dictates Sally. “Say t’is – REPO’ET T’BROOKLYN AT ONCE – SAY NUT’N TO NOBODY – AWAIT FOITEH INSTRUCTIONS – an’ sign’at BO’ED A’ DIRECTEHS BROOKLYN BAWL CLUB INC.” “T’at secketary’s got glasses,” ponders Alice. “Hey Sal, gimmie yeh glasses.” “Betteh pack ya cawrpetbag, ya fathead,” chortles Sally. “We got a rail all ready t’run ya outa town on!”)
...

It's like watching the Bungles talk past each other.

And in the Daily News...

“Heart Balm” = the damages awarded in a Breach of Promise case.
...

I've read that story twice and I'm still not sure what happened.

...

That’s right, Jimmy, STIR THE POT.
...

Edna D. Glessmann sounds like a charming woman.

...

I wonder if Mrs. Gould knew before she married him?
...

If she didn't, she learned on the first night of the honeymoon when he showed her what was in the locked closet and explained to her the meaning of a safe-word.

And finally –

STEP UP FOLKS SiGN’A PETITION!

Sadly, one has to assume the this is what the owners want.

BTW, Camilli does have a handsome looking family.

 

[LizzieMaine]

One of Dolph's boys, Doug, will make it to the major leagues in the 1960s as a light-hitting backup catcher, and will spend several years as a bullpen coach for the Red Sox. I yelled at his back for half an inning in 1971, trying to get him to turn around so I could get an autograph, but all my best efforts failed...

Dolph, for his part, will remain a Dodger at heart for the rest of his very long life. Here he is, working on the ranch in 1953 -- and still wearing his Brooklyn warmup jacket.

In the 1990s, he will team with old pal Pete Coscarart in suing baseball for a share of merchandisng money for "retro" card sets and other items using their names and images, and will end up being treated very shabbily by Mr. Bud Selig. Back in Brooklyn, 80-something Sally Petrauskas will write many long letters to Commissioner Selig to argue in support of their case.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Steak made outa yeast," marvels Joe. "Whattl'ey t'ink of nex'?" "We live in an aaage of miracles," agrees Ma. "But hey -- I useta eat yeast when I was a kid, y'know, t'get ridda pimples," Joe continues. "An' it gimme awrful gas. Who wantsta eat gassy steaks? I ask ya!" "Ahhhh, Joseph, ye see," replies Ma, "tharr's diff'rant koinds'a yeast. T'yeast ye use t'make beer, f'rinstance, thaat makes gaas. Boot thar's oothar kindsa yeast that doon't." "Zat so?" muses Joe. "Howcome you know t'at much 'bout yeast?" "Ahhh," recalls Ma. "Fraancis used t'have a hobby, ye see. He used t' c'lect yeast fr'm aaaal ovarr the waarld." "Kept 'em inna bat'tub, huh?" "What?" "**Burp.**")

All reports from the Sicilian front, declares reporter Hugh Baillie of the United Press, point to the campaign nearing its last stages, with German forces ruthlessly herded into the Messina cul-de-sac less than a month after the initial Allied landings. But, it is further noted, the Germans are still capable of the stubbornest and bloodiest resistance possible preliminary to attempting a Dunkirk-style evacuation of survivors to the Italian mainland.

The Brooklyn man charged by Federal agents with operating an elaborate school for draft evaders will be arraigned today in Federal court, with the attorney representing Stephen Weinberg, better known as Sterling C. Weyman stating today that his client "is definitely a nut." Attorney Samuel J. Siegel, who identified himself as a personal friend of Weinberg, declared that he "will plead that he is purely a pathological case, that he is psychopathic." Siegel noted that his faker-client had been committed to Bellevue Hospital's psychopathic ward in 1912, and that in 1919 he spent a year at the Dannemora Hospital for the Criminally Insane. Weinberg, who is being held on $20,000 bail, was charged by FBI agents with instructing his clients in "the finer points of faking physical and mental illness," while charging them a fee of up to $2000 for receiving the master's instructions.

(Now be nice.)

Publishers of the current best-seller "Under Cover," which purports to expose the activities of Fascist-minded Americans, today accused upstate newspaper publisher Frank Gannett of mounting an organized drive to suppress the book. Officials of the firm of E. P. Dutton, Inc. charged today that Gannett, who is the head of the "Committee for Constitutional Government" has, along with members of that committee, been sending letters to the publisher warning of libel suits if the book continues to be sold. Gannett is mentioned twice in the book and his committee is mentioned half a dozen times, with Gannett charging that those mentions are "libelous and inaccurate." The Dutton firm is promising financial protection to all booksellers who carry the book in the event that they are sued.

A draft board in Union, New Jersey is refusing to comply with Selective Service orders to begin reclassifying men exempted as pre-Pearl Harbor fathers. Members of Local Board No. 2 are threatening to defer all fathers until every single man under its jurisdiction is in uniform. Board Chairman Vincent de Paul Slavin called the Selective Service reclassification order "unfair," and promised to reclassify all father as 3-D hardship cases in order to avoid breaking up families when single youths "stand by with a broad smile" induced by an essential worker classification "demanded by an industrial personnel director." Slavin further charged that industrialists are using their ability to classify men as essential workers to reward "pets and stool pigeons" while punishing workers who "refuse to be yes men."

(Is it just me, or is Mr. Lorre losing a lot of weight lately...)

("Course, it might be a while before they have a rocket pack strong enough to lift MY old man!")

A Rye, New York man faces $300 a week in alimony payments after claiming that his 1-A draft classification entitled him to "a fling." Stephen Guardino, owner of a $1,000,000 contracting business, is charged by his wife Henrietta with conducting an affair with the "cute telephone operator" for his firm, and justifying the infidelity by declaring that "a man about to enter the armed forces is entitled to a fling." Mrs. Guardino noted that she and her husband, who were married in 1941, were happy until he began coming home with liquor on his breath, lipstick and rouge on his shirt collar, and descriptions of "a terrific day at the office." Guardino, whose firm has prospered thanks to Government contracts, stated that he will not contest the divorce suit, and offered to pay $80 per week in alimony, rising to $90 when the baby Mrs. Guardino is carrying arrives.

(In the offices of the Montreal Royals, John MacDonald glances once more at the bizarre telegram before him, and shakes his head. "Poor Larry," he mutters. "That stuff will kill him.")

Reports from the west coast suggest that Dolph Camilli may not be entirely thru with baseball. Although the former Dodger first baseman has refused to report to the Giants following last week's waiver trade, it is reported that he will be offered a lucrative contract after the season to manage a club in the Pacific Coast League in 1944. Camilli must obtain his unconditional release from the Giants before he may take such a job. If he formally retires from baseball, the Giants will retain his rights indefinitely unless such a release is given.

Reader R. E. B. Roe writes in to call for a full-scale boycott of Ebbets Field for one game during the current homestand as an emphatic protest against the Camilli trade, "just to show Mr. Rickey is the fans who pay the piper and should call the tunes."

("Well, I'll be dead soon too! Does THAT make a difference?")

(Isn't this like the fifth time we've seen somebody go off this exact bridge? They can't build a fence???)

(I thought the broken glass came from a pair of glasses? OR ARE YOU JUST MAKING ALL THIS UP AS YOU GO ALONG?)

(So much trouble could be avoided if they'd just keep their dumb dog in the house!)

("After all these years I finally get a real job -- and now you tell me I'm DOING IT WRONG?")

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

"I tried waiting in the bathroom, but she said I was taking too long!"

"Well, if we're going to boycott the Dodgers, we've got to do SOMETHING to pass the time!"

BE SURE THEY'RE MARROW BONES, I LIKE MARROW BONES!

CLOWN WHILE YOU MAY DETECTIVE!

Ohhhhh gooseface!

Ohhhh, you'd be surprised...

Awwwwwwww....

*****

Hey Junior Tracy, THIS is how you do it!

Ever notice how fast Goofy seems to be aging?

 

[LizzieMaine]

And finally...

Plus there'll be time to make it an even six.

 

[Fading Fast]

("Steak made outa yeast," marvels Joe. "Whattl'ey t'ink of nex'?" "We live in an aaage of miracles," agrees Ma. "But hey -- I useta eat yeast when I was a kid, y'know, t'get ridda pimples," Joe continues. "An' it gimme awrful gas. Who wantsta eat gassy steaks? I ask ya!" "Ahhhh, Joseph, ye see," replies Ma, "tharr's diff'rant koinds'a yeast. T'yeast ye use t'make beer, f'rinstance, thaat makes gaas. Boot thar's oothar kindsa yeast that doon't." "Zat so?" muses Joe. "Howcome you know t'at much 'bout yeast?" "Ahhh," recalls Ma. "Fraancis used t'have a hobby, ye see. He used t' c'lect yeast fr'm aaaal ovarr the waarld." "Kept 'em inna bat'tub, huh?" "What?" "**Burp.**")
...

"Patrolman John Donahue...stopped in the tavern a few minutes before to go to use the washroom." Yes, that's why he was in the tavern.

"...used to have a hobby..." Which was an oddly popular hobby from 1920 to 1933. I'm liking this family more and more.

...

(Is it just me, or is Mr. Lorre losing a lot of weight lately...)
...

"These wartime photo editors, oy!"

Saratoga racing at Belmont, I get the marketing, but I ASK YA!

...

A Rye, New York man faces $300 a week in alimony payments after claiming that his 1-A draft classification entitled him to "a fling." Stephen Guardino, owner of a $1,000,000 contracting business, is charged by his wife Henrietta with conducting an affair with the "cute telephone operator" for his firm, and justifying the infidelity by declaring that "a man about to enter the armed forces is entitled to a fling." Mrs. Guardino noted that she and her husband, who were married in 1941, were happy until he began coming home with liquor on his breath, lipstick and rouge on his shirt collar, and descriptions of "a terrific day at the office." Guardino, whose firm has prospered thanks to Government contracts, stated that he will not contest the divorce suit, and offered to pay $80 per week in alimony, rising to $90 when the baby Mrs. Guardino is carrying arrives.
...

"...a terrific day at the office." Wrong, but funny.

...

Reader R. E. B. Roe writes in to call for a full-scale boycott of Ebbets Field for one game during the current homestand as an emphatic protest against the Camilli trade, "just to show Mr. Rickey is the fans who pay the piper and should call the tunes."
...

I'd think Sally and Alice could get behind this.

...

(I thought the broken glass came from a pair of glasses? OR ARE YOU JUST MAKING ALL THIS UP AS YOU GO ALONG?)
...

I'm confused too, but I think, just think, "Marsh" is trying to show that Emil was in the laboratory. The glass from the pair of glasses could have been picked up in the brother-in-law's bedroom, so finding test-tube glass in Emil's shoes would show that Emil was also in the lab and, thus, he could have moved his brother-in-law's body there. This would have made much more sense, though, had "Marsh" first established that there was broken test-tube glass in the lab.

And in the Daily News...

"I tried waiting in the bathroom, but she said I was taking too long!"
...

"His fingers aching after copying in longhand the lengthy testimony of earlier sessions, Magistrate F. E. Field continued the hearing until Tuesday." What? I doubt the magistrate is made to do that? This feels like a "I saw a bear driving through the park" grammar moment.

Also, while I'm guessing "the count" is guilty, this fingerprint on the screen isn't selling me.

...

"Well, if we're going to boycott the Dodgers, we've got to do SOMETHING to pass the time!"
...

Arresting a bunch of guys playing dice is a complete waste of time, energy and resources for the police. Breaking up large organized games, maybe, but pulling guys out of alleys for shooting dice is ridiculous.

...

CLOWN WHILE YOU MAY DETECTIVE!
....

Gould [sitting on his cushioned davenport, feet up and with an old fashioned in had]: "Dear, if you get a chance, could you bring me an cube or two of ice as my drink is just a bit tepid?...What's that?...Oh, I'm just finishing up today's strip."

 

[FOXTROT LAMONT]

Saratoga racing at Belmont, I get the marketing, but I....

I busted yesterday's Whitney to my conservative bet with Cody's Wish for a 1 1/8th mile play, though he'd never gone beyond a mile because his heredity coupled past performance. Zandon sure for second, two discards, then show and place easy superfecta puzzle pieces felled heavenly stars across my ticket. Eighty pounds.

Oppenheimer is quite simply the year's best and a classic big screen theatre must see. I suppose it would be
naive to simply see him as a linear physicist without complications that account his downfall. In truest sense of
Greek tragedy the fates visited ruin upon what is without doubt a heroic life.

Carmine's for pizza. Ok but not any where at all close to Joe's. Post flick pizza I cannot be still or quiet. And Oppenheimer demands large pizza and flagons of wine to wash it all down.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Whatcha lookin' at?" queries Joe, as he watches Leonora toy with a stack of nickels while Ma ponders an official-looking paper. "Lettar from the Provost Maarshal," she sighs. "Aboout me Michael. Says here thaat prisonaars of war in Garrmany are receivin' 'fair treatment' undarr the Geneva Convention, and thaat if any furthaar infarmation is received, they will send anotharr lettar. And then it says all this aboot how I will receive instructions on how to wroit to him when plaace of intarrnment is known, an' tharrs a farrm t'use when wroitin' an' all that. An' that his parrsonal effects will be sent to me as soon as transpaartation can be arranged. Aand thar's lots of othar stuff here, about Red Craas packages and what not. Says a lot, boot it doon't say much." Ma hands Joe the letter and the mimeographed circular that came with it, and he skims it over as Ma twists a dishrag in frustration. "Guess t'eh doin' what t'eh doin'," he shrugs. "Butcha know he's awright, an'nat'seh impoehtn' t'ing, right?" "I suppose," sighs Ma. "Seems sometimes I spent haalf me life woonderin' if Michael's gon' t' be aaalright." "He awrways is," nods Joe. "I neveh see nobody could get outta trouble like Mickey. Sal says he's got moeh lives'na cat. She says one time one time when he was a kid he was hitchin' a ride onna back've a trolley an' fell awf an' when he got up he was staggehrin', an' got knocked down again by a wagon, an'nen'a hawrse stepped on 'im." "He punched the haarse," recalls Ma, "an' got in an aaahful foit with the droivarr. Twelve yaars old, he was." "T'em Goimans don' know what t'ey got hold of," agrees Joe. "They'll foind out," hopes Ma.)

An Army private from Manhattan, alleged to have been tutored on the fine points of draft evasion by accused racketeer Sterling C. Weyman, also known as Stephen Weinberg, will be charged with making false statements as part of his induction questionnaire as soon as he can be brought to Federal Court from the Army camp he entered last month. Twenty-year-old Private John Paul Mitaritondo is accused of being a pupil in the school for draft evaders alleged to have been operated by Weinberg, where for a fee draft-age men were taught how to obtain medical exemptions by feigning idiocy, deafness or various other types of disorders. Weinberg has pleaded not guilty to the charges, and his attorney Samuel Siegel has declared that his client's "silly impersonations" were "incapable of fooling anyone." Judge Vincent Liebell refused Siegel's motion to reduce Weinberg's bail to $20,000 and warned the attorney to "look out that you don't put yourself on his list of victims."

The death of a 30-year-old oil heiress was caused directly by her fall from a 16th story window, according to the reports of the city's Chief Medical Examiner and Chief Toxicologist. Manhattan District Attorney Frank Hogan indicated today that the reports rule out foul play in the death of Mrs. Janet Snowden Gill, who plunged from a window of her apartment in the Savoy Plaza Hotel on June 1st. The District Attorney did not reveal whether he intends to continue to investigate the case, as has been requested by the dead woman's family. Her husband, Capt. William Sherman GIll of the Army Intelligence Service, stated that he had just induced her to abandon plans to divorce him, and was asleep in another room when she fell from the window.

Four officers of the Sullivan Dry Dock Corporation, including the firm's vice president, and a company employee, will begin prison terms today for conspiracy to defraud the government. Andrew J. McAllister, vice president and member of the firm's board of directors, pleaded guilty along with three other officials to falsifying government contracts in order to give themselves lavish pay raises and bonuses, defrauding the government out of approximately $100,000. McAllister and company treasurer Walter Krausse will each serve two years in Federal prison, and will pay fines of $5000 each. The other defendants will each serve nine month sentences and pay fines of $1000 each. The company itself will also be fined $5000.

(FINE kitty!)

The Eagle Editorialist rebukes those who feel that Dolph Camilli owes it to the Giants to try and play for them this season, following the unfortunate waiver trade that took him out of Brooklyn. "He feels that his baseball days are over," notes the EE, "and he has a California ranch that needs his attention. Why should he stay here to prolong the agony? He takes with him the affection and admiration of thousands. All of us wish him well and know that though he is now old for baseball, he is still young enough to be as successful in a new career as he was in the old. All Brooklyn says 'Good luck, Camilli!'"

(LIVE ALONE AND LIKE IT!)

("Star and Garter" is now "That Robust Institution," is it? Well, that's one way to put it.)

("Foueht' place!" erupts Sally. "Foehteen'a half games out! An'awl Leo c'n do is KICK T'UMPIEH! I ASK YA!" "Least he c'd do," grumbles Alice, "is TACK'L 'IM!" "Whe'zat Frankie Ge'mano guy when ya need 'im?" Sally agrees. "I met'im oncet," nods Alice. "When I was goin' wit' Hig. We met'im inna 'Ol' Reliable' one night. Cute kid, but nawt me type, y'know? Kin'a shawrt." "Hmph," hmphs Sally. "Y'like'm tawl, do ya? What's Krause, five foot t'ree?" "Sid is," declares Alice, with a wrinkle of her Pert Irish Nose, "lawrgeh t'en life." "He'd hafta be," shrugs Sally. "What?" "Nut'n.")

National League President Ford Frick declared yesterday that all waiver transactions are made at the buyers' own risk, indicating that the Giants are owed no refund of the $7500 they paid for Dolph Camilli. Asked if the Dodgers did not have a "moral obligation" to refund the money now that Camilli has declared his retirement from baseball, the league president declared that that judgement "is up to Mr. Rickey."

("Well, personally, I'm fine with whatever you choose to do, but I answer to a Board of Directors, and THEY'RE all sour frustrated women!")

(Well, at least until the coffee wears off...)

(Dan's been taking those Gene Kelly dance lessons.)

(Shoulda brought the cat along, she's the one who can see in the dark!)

(DIY = Do Idiocy Yourself!)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

Aside to Joe -- don't make any plans for Christmas.

Just another night on the town.

Welcome back, Taffy! Watch out for a slick Navy lieutenant with a beard!

WHAT DO YOU MEAN I HAVE TO RIDE IN THE BAGGAGE CAR? DON'T YOU KNOW WHO I AM?

"Dear, have you cleaned out the basement? That old refrigerator is taking up space!"

LEAD FOLLOW OR GET OUT OF THE WAY!

Chained to the floor between two blocks of ice under an old refrigerator? Hmph, everybody's doing that now!

"And preferably something waterproof. You know how they like to rinse!"

Poor Plushie. He'll need stitches from the hacksaw blade.

Least she could do is lower the periscope...