The Era -- Day By Day

[LizzieMaine]

("Am pleased to infaaarm you infarrmation received," reads Ma from the yellow sheet, "thaat ye hoosband, Technician Fifth Class Joseph Petrauskas, treated farr minor wound received in snipaaar attack twenty-faaarst January and retarrrned to duty with his unit. Dunlaaap acting the Adjootant Gen'raaal." "Yeh," nods Alice. "T'at come yestehday." "Haaas she seen it?" queries Ma. "No," replies Alice. "Siddy seen it, I seen it, an' we showed t' t' Ginsboigs. But now we dunno what t'do. Sal neveh seen'at fois' telegram, so she don'even know he got shot inna fois' place. So if we show'eh t'is one..." "Ahhhh," nods Ma, tapping the telegram on the counter as she considers the situation. "Well," she resumes, folding the sheet and slipping it into her apron pocket, "ye can't show it to'arr if ye doon't have it." Alice nods, and exhales nervously. "Look," she injects, "I know we'eh awl tryin' to take cahe'ra Sal t'bes' we can, keep 'eh fr'm goin' awl -- you know -- but -- I mean, ain' -- ain'it agains' t'lawr t'mess aroun' wit' ot'eh people's telegrams? Ain'nat a Fed'ral rap a' sump'n?" "Hmph," hmphs Ma. "Oi nevaar knew YOU t'be soo squeamish 'boot th' loikes 'a thaat." "T'ings is diff'rent now," hesitates Alice, deflecting Ma's gaze. Ma ponders this remark. "Indeed" she acknowledges. "Oi s'poooose they aaaahr." There is an awkward silence as a muffled thud from outside and the grind of truck gears announces the arrival of the pink edition of tomorrow's Daily News. "Noine o'claaack aahn th' daaaht," notes Ma, glancing at the wall clock. "Ye g'wan hoom, ye hoosband'll be woond'rin'..." "He knows weh'r' I am," comments Alice as she gathers her coat around her. She heads for the door and pauses with her hand on the latch. "T'anks," she nods. She opens the door, steps out, and carries in the cold bundle of newspapers. "Mmm," nods Ma, watching Alice exit again and disappear into the Rogers Avenue night...)

(1945 is to 1865 as 2025 is to 1945. Yeah, it shakes me up too.)

("Ye know whaat we oota do," proposes Uncle Frank, as Ma enters the apartment after closing the store. "We oota goo out farr a droive on Soonday." "Ooooh no," insists Ma. "Haaaaaled aroond loike a looda pipe aaahn that fool troock, thaaat'd be a roit hooley, Oi DOON'T think!" "We could goo t'Elmharrst," proposes Uncle Frank. "Goo t' this Hooward Jaaahnson's. Look here in th' papaaar, they gaaaht roost taaarkey, Nora, think'a thaaat. Rooost taarkey an' ahhhl th' fixin's." "Read this," directs Ma, thrusting the folded telegram toward him. "Ah now," replies Uncle Frank, adjusting his glasses. "'Aaaam pleased to infaaarm ye...' Well now! Sooom GOOD news f'ra change! Has Sally..?" "No," replies Ma, her face set. "An' I don't think she SHOULD see it, naaaht whin we kept th' farrst woon froom 'arr." "Nora," exhales Uncle Frank, "ye treat th' garrl loike she's made a' brooken glass." "She IS," frowns Ma. "Ye knoo that s'well as Oi do." "She's goona find oot," warns Uncle Frank. "Joe's goona write to 'arr an' tell 'arr." "Better it should coom from him then," declares Ma, "thin from soom Dunlaaap actin' Adjootant Gen'raal man in a telegram." Uncle Frank ponders the logic and concedes the point. "Ye know," he resumes, "maybe what she needs is a distraaaction. Whaaat if aaahn Soonday, you an' me an' Sally an' Leonora goo ooot f'ra droive...." "Oi'm gooin' t'bed," sighs Ma. "Roooost taaarkey," murmurs Uncle Frank...)

("What's the meaning of this?" demands Mr. Rickey. "You told me those figures were prepared and ready to release!" "Oh, ah," demurs Mr. O'Malley, as he fits a fresh cigar into his stubby white holder. "About those figures, Branch, about those figures. As -- ah -- club legal counsel, it was my -- ah -- judgement that there were certain -- ah -- I would not venture to say irregularities, oh, certainly not that precise term, but nevertheless, it was my judgement, my carefully considered judgement mind you, that -- ah -- further review would be the prudent course. Every I dotted and every T crossed, if you will. All very thorough." "And how long," frowns Mr. Rickey, the imposing brows bristling as his silent partner lights his cigar, "do you expect such a review..." "These things," smiles Mr. O'Malley, leaning back in his chair and exhaling a fragrant cloud, "do take time, Branch. Oh yes, they do take time...." )

("Press my suit and call me tidy!" Well, it'd be a start. And lose that stupid hat!)

(Well at least he's got nice luggage.)

(I was kinda hoping this would turn out to be some elaborate byzantine scheme, but...)

(On the other hand, sometimes a scheme is just TOO elaborate...)

(Kitty is ready for the next story. Poor Kitty.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

"NNNNNNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" -- Bink Scanlan

Some pal.

There are a lot of days lately where I see poor Hessie's point.

Do you ever get the sense that Mr. Gould is a very troubled man?

Hm. Bromo Seltzer, mineral oil, hand lotion, Carter's Little Liver Pills, and iodine. We ought to be able to throw SOMETHING together.

It's really frustrating when nobody shares your triumphs.

Wait, what would Andy Gump do with a study?

"Besides, I got plans of my own. Tonight I thought I'd go up to -- ah -- Carnegie Hall!"

My grandfather used to smoke cut-up Lucky Strike butts in his pipe.

 

[Fading Fast]

"Am pleased to infaaarm you infarrmation received," reads Ma from the yellow sheet, "thaat ye hoosband, Technician Fifth Class Joseph Petrauskas, treated farr minor wound received in snipaaar attack twenty-faaarst January and retarrrned to duty with his unit. Dunlaaap acting the Adjootant Gen'raaal." "Yeh," nods Alice. "T'at come yestehday." "Haaas she seen it?" queries Ma. "No," replies Alice. "Siddy seen it, I seen it, an' we showed t' t' Ginsboigs. But now we dunno what t'do. Sal neveh seen'at fois' telegram, so she don'even know he got shot inna fois' place. So if we show'eh t'is one..." "Ahhhh," nods Ma, tapping the telegram on the counter as she considers the situation.

It's all a gamble, but I say show her this one and play dumb about the first one. Does the army informed by telegram every family of every soldier when that soldier's been wounded? You can't unring that earlier bell anyway, plus this one is, overall, from Sally's perspective, good news even if she'll rightly fret about the "minor wound."

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Chemin-de-fer?

1. a form of the card game baccarat.

Oh, all's good, carry on.

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It's really frustrating when nobody shares your triumphs.

The fate of the new guy in an already up-and-running establishment.

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"Terry and the Pirates?"

 

[LizzieMaine]

Oop! That page was missing in the Brooklyn edition, but I found it in the Pink --

Hmmmmmmmmmm.

It was general War Department policy to notify the next of kin of men wounded of their status -- either "slightly" or "seriously" depending on the specifics, but a standard form telegram was used for these messages. There'd be followup when it was available, which given the press of paperwork could be sooner or later. In the event of a death, the telegrams were longer and more detailed, and were usually followed by a personal letter from the CO telling the specific circumstances. This letter was if possible, hand delivered by a military officer, which is what happened when Mrs. Nucci's son was killed in action, as mentioned by Sally a few days ago. No one wanted to see an Army staff car pulling up in front of their house, and when such a car was spotted in a neighborhood it was received with all the anticipation of a circling vulture.

 

[Fading Fast]

Oop! That page was missing in the Brooklyn edition, but I found it in the Pink --

View attachment 680323
Hmmmmmmmmmm.

It was general War Department policy to notify the next of kin of men wounded of their status -- either "slightly" or "seriously" depending on the specifics, but a standard form telegram was used for these messages. There'd be followup when it was available, which given the press of paperwork could be sooner or later. In the event of a death, the telegrams were longer and more detailed, and were usually followed by a personal letter from the CO telling the specific circumstances. This letter was if possible, hand delivered by a military officer, which is what happened when Mrs. Nucci's son was killed in action, as mentioned by Sally a few days ago. No one wanted to see an Army staff car pulling up in front of their house, and when such a car was spotted in a neighborhood it was received with all the anticipation of a circling vulture.

Thank you, Lizzie, for both T&TP and all the information Re war notifications. One thing confused me, if the war department sent a telegram, first, informing the next of kin in the event of death of their son/father/etc. and then a letter from his CO came later, and hand delivered if possible, why then was the car showing up a big deal as the family would already have received the tragic news?

Edit add: Thinking some more about this, my guess is the process and reality were different and many times families didn't get the telegram notifying them of the death of their relative before the follow-up letter came, often hand delivered. So the car was still the symbol of death.

 

[LizzieMaine]

Exactly. And if the neighors didn't know what happened even after a telegram was received, the appearance of the military car made it clear to everyone within sight what was going on. Usually the process worked as designed, but...

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Yeh," yehs Sally. "I hoid'dat las' night. Moscow radio. T'ey was awn'eh tawkin' 'bout how its awrmos' oveh." "You was lissenin' t' Moscow?" marvels Alice. "Yeh," affirms Sally. "I couldn' sleep las' night. Got a lot on my min', y'know? So I got up an' wen' in an' toin't awna radio. Lissen't't Milkman's Matinee fr'a while, an'nen, y'know, I stawrted foolin' aroun' wit't' shawrtwave on'neh, an' I hoid a whole lawtta stuff bout t'wawr. I gotcha BBC, lissen'ta t'at f'ra while, an'nen I come acros'ta Moscow an' I lissen'ta t'at." "I didn' know you could lissen'ta shawrtwave onnat lit'l radio you gawt." "Ohhh yeh," declares Sally. "Doncha r'membeh? We gawt t'at radio jus' befoeh Leonoreh was bawrn, remembeh?" ""I wasn' livin'eeh t'en," reminds Alice. "I was -- um -- still livin' upstate." "Oh yeh," acknowledges Sally. "Well, back in'nem days, y'know, I kinda useta get woiked up pretty bad, y'know? I was pregnan', cooped up awl day inna house, an' I'd lissen t''t bawlgame, y'know? An' I guess I'd get kin'a woiked up an' -- well -- maybe I'd get so woiked up I'd -- um -- t'row t'radio out t'windeh," "Ohhhhhh yeh," nods Alice. "T'ez still awlat glass an' junk out'na coehtyawrd undeh ya windeh t'eh,. Siddy says he's awrways diggin' up stuff out t'eh." "It wasn'AT bad," frowns Sally. "An' I on'y done it a coupla times. Anyways, we got t'is radio awn sale at Davega, an' it's gotcha shawrtwave 'lawng wit'cha reg'leh, so I c'n lissen t' Moscow an' awlese places." "You neveh t'rew it out t'windeh las' yeeh?" chuckles Alice. "As bad as'em Dodgehs was?" "Whatcha t'ink?" scowls Sally. "Y't'ink I'm nuts'a sump'n?" "No," insists Alice. "Soitenly nawt." "Well don' insinuate," mutters Sally. "I ain' crazy. I'm jus' whatchacawl unusually sensitive 'bout stuff. Docteh Levine says so." "Yeh," nods Alice, knowing when to concede the point...)

A more equitable distribution of cigarettes intended to smoke out black market racketeers was promised today by regional OPA administrator Daniel P. Woolley. Thru that proposed program, he predicted, there is hope for a "considerable easing" of the present shortage by basing distribution to retailers on their proportionate consumption in the past. He did not reveal the specifics of the plan, which is believed to stop short of full cigarette rationing, but indicated that the details will be submitted for approval at a meeting of New York tobacco wholesalers, to be held tomorrow at the Hotel Commodore.

(We haven't heard much from Magistrate Solomon for a while, so it's good to see he hasn't lost his touch.)

("Oi think Oi'd loike t'see that pitcharr," declares Ma. "Hm?" hms Uncle Frank, trying to imagine what Bob Hope looks like in Technicolor. "This woon 'National Velvet,'" continues Ma. "It's aboot a little garrl and a'rr haaaarse. We had a harrse back in Oireland, ye know. Back ahhn th' faaarm. Oi was quite faand'a that harrse, use t'coomb 'ar mane an' whoot naaaht. 'Haaarse,' 'er name was." "Haaarse?" chuckles Uncle Frank. "Ye named a'rrr 'Harrrse?'" "Mm," affirms Ma. "We oonly had th' woon harrse, ye knoow. We wasn't none'a ye laaanded gentry, ye' know. So 'Harrse' was as good a name as any. Woondar what ivvar happent'a Harrse?" She is quiet for a long moment, pondering the past. "Ye know, Nora," observes Uncle Frank, "Oi've known ye, whaat, twenny-foive, twenny-six yaaars now, an' this is th' foist Oi've ivvar harrd aboot you an' a haaarse. You doon't taalk aboot Oirelan' much." "No," declares Ma, indicating the conclusion of the conversation. "Oi don't." "Ah," nods Uncle Frank...)

("An' when I TRY, th' FBI shows up!")

(You probably COULD make more money playing for the Bushwicks.)

("Oh! Yes! That's It! I posed as an old lady so I could see Count Hexx ahead of us! Of course! Perfectly reasonable explanation!")

(Sure, of all the hotels in this city, this one you pick. YOU POOR MISUNDERSTOOD MAN.)

(Spats??? On an inspector's salary? Ohhhhhh Commissioner Val-en-tine......)

(Aw, at least she's got company.)

(Someday the cats in this strip are going to rise up and....)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...


This is what happens when you don't keep all your paperwork.

The News, regardless of what you may think of the specifics of its editorial positions, does love to poke the bear.

"Anyway, thanks for the cigarettes."

"And as far as Phyllis knows you're just on a long shopping trip."

An aggressive investment strategy might not work for you, son.

Just be sure to clean up after.

Hey, you know what an extra-firm girdle brings these days on the black market?

Skip the first two degrees and go straight to the third.

It's great for a sore back.

"Don't you ever get tired of these conversations that are all subtext?"

 

[Fading Fast]

"Quake Rocks Tokyo as B-29s Blast City"

You are definitely having a bad day when first a large earthquake and then a massive air raid hit your city on the same day.

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"Yeh," yehs Sally. "I hoid'dat las' night. Moscow radio. T'ey was awn'eh tawkin' 'bout how its awrmos' oveh." "You was lissenin' t' Moscow?" marvels Alice. "Yeh," affirms Sally.

Wouldn't that be broadcast in Russian, or is this some US government radio station based in Russia?

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Spats??? On an inspector's salary? Ohhhhhh Commissioner Val-en-tine......

Well, if Adolphe Menjou's career ever takes a nosedive and he has to work comicstrips, he could slide right into this role - he sorta looks the part so few will see it's been recast and he already has spats from God knows how many roles where he's played of nattily-dressed spat-wearing character.

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"Don't you ever get tired of these conversations that are all subtext?"

Other than when she taught Terry how to dance, talking with the Dragon Lady has always been exhausting like this. Even reading the strip, you have to keep on your toes to follow her real meaning.

 

[LizzieMaine]

Moscow had a regular English language shortwave service starting in the early thirties, broadcasting from "Radio Center Moscow," with multiple broadcasts per day beamed to listeners in the US. Usually the content was news summaries, followed by commentaries read from Isvestia or other publications, or summaries of speeches by Soviet officials. Occasionally big events like the annual May Day parade would be broadcast live with English-language descriptive commentary, and sometimes there'd be music or other entertainment, but in general, from what I've heard of it at least, prewar Moscow shortwave broadcasting tended to be didactic and dry. Here's an example from 1939: https://soundcloud.com/eleanor-roosevelt-809230250%2F390320-soviet-news-in-english
Pretty much every country had an official shortwave overseas outlet like this, with the US being the primary exception, at least until the Voice of America began during the war. Prior to this, companies like GE, RCA, and Crosley operated their own shortwave services, mostly relaying American programs and such to listeners to Europe and South America.

 

[Fading Fast]

Thank you, Lizzie, that's very cool. "This is Radio Center Moscow calling..." very much of the era.