The Era -- Day By Day

[Fading Fast]

"I bet when'ee grows up, 'e won' get mixed up in no comp'ny union. He's gonna be CIO awla way!"

He might make a good chief investment officer at that. I didn't have him penciled in as the Wall Street type, but plenty of CIOs have come from humble backgrounds. Or could CIO mean something else?

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C'mon, Joanie. Give us a smile...

At least she didn't run upstairs and beat her children... that we know.

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CANE HIM! CANE HIM! CANE HIM!

I disdain the Wilmers of the world more than an outright crook.

 

[Harp]

The Eleanor Deveney-Ellsworth Wisecarver article holds more than prurient interest. Although Eleanor will face probation, she'll not be accused of statutory **** of a minor; whom would have been all of fourteen years old at the time of their tryst. And this double standard, though frayed to some extent, still lingers in the law.

Stoop is putting Sandhurst to past tense, tying up Terry's loose end. Lad is slated for discharge-something he incongruously seems oblivious of-and the kid needs some Hong Kong down time. Stud poker at a Macau table,
American bourbon, and some skirt safari. Milt Caniff is definitely ''dragging *** in the company area.''

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Well, 'at's 'at," sighs Sally, returning to the A&S Basement. "I tol''em t'is was my las' day, I'm goin' back'ta my ol' jawb." "T'at mus'," sighs Joy, "be a nice t'ing t'be able t' do." "Y'gotta push'm, y'know," counsels Sally. "T'ey got ads runnin' right now f'people t'woik upstaiehs. Go up t'eh'r'n TELL'm. You shouln' hafta be stuck down'eeh when'eh hirin'ese gals awffa t'street t'woik in Betteh Dresses jus' 'cause'ey come in'eeh wit' white gloves awn. Awlat 'fam'ly' junk t'ey give ya when ya stawrt 'eeh -- would a fam'ly stick ya downa basemen'?" "Some fam'lies would," sighs Joy. "I read about'm inna Daily News...")

("Ye doon'a good jaahb hoid'n th' brewin' tank," nods Uncle Frank. "Solly ain't noon th' woisarrr. An' Oi doon't knoo what say 'ee's got anyway, th' deed t' that warrehoose ain' in his name." "He was nosin' aroun'eh pretty good," observes Danny. "But he didn' go down inna back behin'em big crates." "See'as 'ee don't," warns Uncle Frank. "Noo -- hoo are yee coomin' alaaang with gett'n th' still set oop?" "I tol' ya, Pop," sighs Danny. "T' pot's up on Ma's roof wit' t' resta t'at stuff we used t' build t'at freezeh f' Joe. An'na coppeh tubin's rigged up t' run t' gas t'w'is grill. We can't put up t' still wit'out no still." Uncle Frank ponders his options. "Sooma thim engine paaarts Solly picked oop that toime'ee went t' Philly. Thar's soom fuel tanks coom offa tanks." "Huh?" huhs Danny. "Tanks f'ra tank," repeats Uncle Frank. "Ya welcome," shrugs Danny. "Don't give me noona ye vaudeville," snaps Uncle Frank. "Getchee woona thim things, an' ye got a 90 gallon pot. That's ploony big. An' tharr's some feed loine tubin' ye can caaaaaarl oop far a condensarr. You an' Jimmy get whatchee need oota th' shop an' goo oovar tharr t'noit an' get it set oop. Oi wanna start th' mash t' cookin' roit away." "I dunno wheh Jimmy is," admits Danny. "I ain' seen'im awl day." Uncle Frank's eyes narrow. "Has'ee gaaaht th' troock?" "I ain' seen'at neiteh," nods Danny. "Toockahoe!" fumes Uncle Frank...)

(Social Media, 1946)

(Padgett hit a TRIPLE?? I bet the ground shook.)

(Form follows function.)

(Trashy Victoriana? That's so Jeff.)

(Say it a little louder, the extras didn't hear you!)

(Whatever you're drinking, Sandy, you've had enough.)

(AMERICA'S NUMBER ONE HERO DOG should know better than to blame others for his shortcomings.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

Bet she stole the teeth too.

"Coming Events..."

"YES! HE IS! DON"T ARGUE WITH ME!"

Don't worry, he'll send back the parka.

Dig yourself in deeper, kid.

Hey, Burns and Allen worked for thirty years on material like that.

C'mon, in this bunch there has to be at least one experienced yegg.

You couldn't dull the blow even a little, could you D I C K?

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Worker...

It must be hard to be Stan Rojek.

 

[Fading Fast]

"Ye doon'a good jaahb hoid'n th' brewin' tank,"

Since Prohibition is over, is this just a liquor-tax-avoidance scheme?

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"YES! HE IS! DON"T ARGUE WITH ME!"

No kidding, do not push the buttons of the angry, depressed young girl with an ax in her hand.

*********************************************************

Dig yourself in deeper, kid.

Two people congenitally unfit to be partners.

 

[LizzieMaine]

The postwar beer-and-booze shortage is a window for opportunity for the forward-thinking bootlegger. "Me haaaand," asserts Uncle Frank, "has nivvar lost it's skill!"

 

[Fading Fast]

The postwar beer-and-booze shortage is a window for opportunity for the forward-thinking bootlegger. "Me haaaand," asserts Uncle Frank, "has nivvar lost it's skill!"

Dear God, he is one of the sloppiest businessmen I've ever seen. No detail is too big or too small not to escape his attention until it mucks up the works. He anticipates nothing; checks nothing; and has no process beyond having his two idiot sons haphazardly clean up his mess. Bootlegging had to be like picking up fifty-dollar bills off the ground or he'd have never been successful at it.

 

[LizzieMaine]

"Whoy d'ye think Oi keep th' buildin' in me own name?" -- Ma.

 

[Harp]

The brazen blonde thief with white teeth and the book shop penny ante break in robbery
remind me of an incident six years ago. I was walking to my dawn Rock Island downtown Chicago train
and noticed Chicago Police standing outside a favorite deli. The glass door had been broken and thieves
had busted open the store ATM machine.

Another snippet about the Elizabeth, New Jersey sniper taking pot shots at Jersey Central trains recalls a highly instructive law school case. In 1918, a Texan fired a single round from his Colt 1911A1 .45 caliber automatic ****** at a moving train, killing a conductor sleeping inside the caboose. Arrested, he was prosecuted, convicted, and executed on a prison gibbet. The court reasoned that the convicted killer assumed responsibility for his actions
whether he actually intended to inflict bodily harm or death on anyone. This line of reason is now known as ''stepping
into the actor's shoes.'' And when an individual so chooses to step inside the actor's shoes, he assumes the
actor's responsibility. This common sense linear logic is so simple, it's serene.

...However, liberals; like my sister and brother in law, cannot accept this premise.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("I'm jus' glad it's oveh," sighs Sally, staring at a small white flake about to separate from Dr. Levine's ceiling. "T'marra I go back t' t' plant, an' maybe t'ings'll get back t'nawrm'l. But I doubt it." "Why do you say that?" queries the Doctor, turning the page in her notebook. "Didn't you say you were getting a five dollar a week raise? That's going to help, isn't it?" "Eh," ehs Sally. "I don' trus' nut'nat comp'ny union says. T"ey had us out f'two mont's, an' f' what? T'keep t' CIO out." "Ah," nods the Doctor. "But still, five dollars is five dollars." "I'll b'lieve it," frowns Sally, "when I see it. An' I know as soon's I get out'teh t'eh gonna try'n get ridda me. T'ey din' stan' up f' Alice wheney busted'eh down fr'm supehviseh, an'ney ain' gonna stan' up f'me." "Suppose that happens," concedes the Doctor. "What would you do?" "I ain' goin' back t' Abraham 'n Straus," vows Sally. "You oughta see t' pans awna people woik t'eh when nobody's lookin'." "Are you still going to school?" queries the Doctor. "Once'a week maybe," sighs Sally. "It's jus' -- t'ez been so much goin' awn. T'is whole winteh -- I mean, Joe's try'na get t' hamboigeh t'ing goin', an'nen Leonoreh gets sick, an'nen'nat t'ing happn'ta Sammy Schreibstein, an'nen'a strike hits, an'nen Joe hoits 'is back shovelin'at snow. One t'ing afteh'rano'teh. I'm afraid t' leave t' house, wonderin' what's comin' nex'." "It's coming," warns the Doctor, "whether you leave the house or not. Isn't it better to stand up and face it?" "Maybe you say t'at now," retorts Sally. "But less'see you say it at t'ree o'clock inna mawrnin'...)

("No," shrugs Joe. "I ain' seen Jimmy. Since I can't remembeh t' las' time I seen 'im." "T'at fathead," fumes Solly. "I need t' truck, an'ee's awf seein'at goilfrien' he's got in Tuckahoe." "Jimmy? A goilfrien'?" marvels Joe. "Is she -- uh -- awright?" "Whatta YOU t'ink," eyerolls Solly. "Frank knows I need t' truck, an'ee lets'at meatball run awff wit' it." "He din' know neit'eh," corrects Joe. "He was in'eeh t'is mawrnin', fit t'be tied. Said 'e needed t'get sump'n oveh't' waehhouse." ""Onna Sunday mawrnin'?" frowns Solly. "Hmmmmmmmm......")

(The first box score of the spring. Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.....)

(Nah, they got too many shortstops as it is.)

(Newspaper Bugs always seems to end his stories at the point where Movie Bugs would begin his..)

(Ernie's having troubles this year.)

(And if you saw "State Fair," you see that he kept his word: his voice was dubbed!)

(I don't think Mr. Stamm has ever been out with a woman in his life.)

(A team? They're the Phillies of royalty.)

(Zetta ain't buying it.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

Dr. Marcel Petoit? What a role for Lionel Atwill.

"Tiny?" I don't know who she is, but Mr. Hill better hope he doesn't run into her at the post office.

"It's been hard to tell you." Pffft, D I C K Tracy lives for these moments.

Maybe Terry will run into him while he's drifting aimlessly around Asia.

Keep bringing up Handsome, and she'll tie that nose in a knot.

Every night's a circus.

All this could be avoided if chinstraps came back in style.

Getting a bit meta, are we?

"Didja get his wallet?" "Nah, just a bunch of dumb papers."

There are certain things in life that are inevitable...

 

[Fading Fast]

"Jimmy? A goilfrien'?" marvels Joe. "Is she -- uh -- awright?"

Joe channels his inner Alice.

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Dr. Marcel Petoit? What a role for Lionel Atwill.

Indeed it would be. That was a full Page 4 today.

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Annie's entry for understatement of the year.

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There are certain things in life that are inevitable...

I'll say it again, two people congenitally unfit to be partners.

 

[Harp]

The war brides arrival makes for delightful reading; although life tragic occasional entry throws
cold water fated destiny to the fore. Mrs Barnum, widowed enroute to America, with child and just
twenty one, tears heartstrings. Then, the eviction of a vet with fifteen kids sends this confirmed Irish bachelor
reeling. And apparently the veteran painter is only working two days a week.... I personally prefer a more
restrained lifestyle centered the Wall Street Journal and The Daily Racing Form.
I really admire married ball-and-chained guys tremendously however and wish that evicted vet all the best.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Awright, ladies," bellows the foreman. "Atcha benches!" "Hmph," hmphs Sally. "You was betteh at it t'en he is." "Yeh," sighs Alice." They look around the vast factory floor, under the bleaching lights, and move to their work stations. "Hey!" growls Sally, examining her equipment. "Who's been messin' wit't'is??" "Huh?" huhs Alice. "T'ey said nobody's been in'eeh since t' strike." "Oh yeh?" challenges Sally. "Lookit my lens!" She pulls the magnifier into position and snaps on her work light. "Lookit'em fingehprints awneh! T'em ain' mine! Ann'is light, it's awl wrawng!" She pulls open her drawer, and examines the contents. "An'neese tools! T'ey ain' whe'h I left'm! T'is whole jig's outa line!" "Maybe t'ey was cleanin'," sighs Alice, reaching for her own tools. "Cleanin'?" scoffs Sally. "Scabbin'! Whezzat flooeh stewehd! HEY!" Sally stalks off in search of an explanation, as Alice leans back on her stool, gazing up at the big clock overhead...)

("Thaaaar ye aare, ye gombeen!" growls Uncle Frank, as Jimmy swaggers into the offices of F. Leary & Sons Plumbing and Heating. "Woipe that smoile aaahf ye face an' tell me whot's th' big ideeh! You, swankin' in at this hoor'a th' marrnin' withoot a warrrd'a explnation! Wharr's me troock!" "Heh," chuckles Jimmy. "'Sout back. Hiya Pop, howza ol' timeh!" Uncle Frank glowers and sniffs. "Have ye been drinkin'??? Oot with it, boy!" "Jus' a lit'l toast," chortles Jimmy, "jus' a lit'l celebrat'n!" "Oi'll give ye soomthin' t' celebrate," snaps Uncle Frank, boxing his son's ear. "Ahhhhhhh," laughs Jimmy, "T'at ain' no' celebrat'n. Have a cigar, Pop!" He reaches into his coat, and pulls out the stub of a pencil. "Oh," snickers Jimmy. "Well, awright, look'eeh. Write down'a kin'a cigars ya want an' I'll bring'm to ya from Atlan'ic City!" "Whaaat?" gawps Uncle Frank. "Talk sense, ye plank! Atlan'ic City?" "Bes' place inna woil f'ra honeymoon, ol' timeh!" giggles Jimmy. "Mitt me, Pop! I'm a married man!" Uncle Frank blinks uncomprehendingly. "Hey Isabel!!!" bellows Jimmy. "C'maaawn in!" "Dia ar sabhail..." gasps Uncle Frank as his new daughter-in-law approaches....)

(The old songs are always the best.)

(The only time I was ever in Miami I was disgusted by the size of the cockroaches. Interesting to see they were even bigger in 1946.)

(Commit to the bit.)

(For those who gave up early...)

("You might as well confess and save us a lot of time. Besides, I have an appointment at the fur-storage place.")

(Just what's in that pipe?)

(Hey Trix, here's a fresh mark for ya!)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

Winter isn't over yet.

"...what our lonesome boys wanted at a time when they wanted it most." So we have seen.

Four more days...

"What grade were you last in?" "Wellllll......."

Don't smoke all those cigs, stupid -- they're valuable in prison!

"Yes. It will be EASY. VERY EASY!"

KIDS TODAY

Does Mr. Hoover know you're using his G-Man gear for private jobs?

"Nope, never heard of him."

No one will ever know.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Worker...

If you don't like Vera Cruz, there's always Havana...

 

[Fading Fast]

"Scabbin'! Whezzat flooeh stewehd! HEY!" Sally stalks off in search of an explanation, as Alice leans back on her stool, gazing up at the big clock overhead...

I hope somebody has the bail money.

Separately, I think Ralph Lindstrom has to be at the top of the suspect list.

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"Mitt me, Pop! I'm a married man!"

Oy.

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For those who gave up early...

For those the smart ones who gave up early...

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"...Besides, I have an appointment at the fur-storage place."

It is getting to be that time.

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"...what our lonesome boys wanted at a time when they wanted it most." So we have seen.

Of course there's no one answer and I agree with that ⇧ and I'd bet that the guy talking about escaping poverty is probably hitting the nail most often. Yet it was interesting that "culture," "grammar," and "natural" ("no makeup") came up a few times as none of those are things I would have thought of ahead of time.

 

[Harp]

John Cardinal Glennon received cardinalate investiture as an octogenarian, passed away, and now after his trip to Pius' consistory, receives a Dublin state funeral with all the trimmings done right by a son of the ol' sod.
...and meanwhiles back at the ranch a Manhattan magistrate throws five Irishmen into the calaboose for missing Lenten advent solemn Mass. This sentence is apple ripe for appellate recourse, the magistrate clearly committed erroneous trespass against First Amendment grounds. Magistrate hearing though being small potato, nevertheless poses germane justiciable issues under Article III, US C.

The black market nylon stocking fence losing a cool $18 geewhizes over a shipment gone wrong hurts.
As a leg man, I appreciate the underlying aspects of this larceny.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Ma was fit t'be tied when she tol' me," relates Sally, resting her head against the familiar old seat back. "Who'd marry Jimmy Leary? I ask ya!" "I don' like t'say mean t'ings 'bout nobody," sighs Alice. "Special' behin'eh back. But -- well, Jimmy's an idiot." "Yeh," nods Sally, swerving upright as the train makes a curve. "But he's my stepbrot'eh. My idiot stepbrot'eh. An' you know what t'at means." "What?" trembles Alice. "We gotta do sump'n about't'is," declares Sally. "It's --" "Yeh," sighs Alice, resigned to her fate. "It's t' principle'a t' t'ing...")

("Th' naaaaaarve'a that wooman," fumes Ma, slapping her cleaning towel against the counter. "Isabel Ten Eyck!" "Ick?" replies Bink. "As ye say," agrees Ma. "It's disgracefool! She's oold'enoof t'be 'is moothar!" "Old as you?" queries Bink, looking up from her confession magazine. "Hey, you oughta sen' it in t' t'is book. T'ey pay f't'em kin'a stories." "Th' blooody NAAARVE!" repeats Ma. "Flooncin' in me door big as brass in that riDICuloos faaaar coot loike she's Lady Muuck!" "Mavis Doyle's gotta betteh coat," scoffs Bink. "An' thim DIAMONDS," disdains Ma. "Di'jee ivvar SEE th' loikes?" "Inna hock shawp windeh," shrugs Bink. "WHOY," erupts Ma, "wood sooch a wooman as that marry that thick-necked caboog! He's gahht NOOO mooney, he's gaaaht NOOO brains, he's got NOOO sense. All th' bloonderin' eembicile's got is --" "Nah," snickers Bink. "He ain' got'tat neit'eh...")

(When a joke doesn't go over with the studio audience, Eddie Cantor drops his pants. Are you sure you want to see that?)

("Are you certain," frowns Mr. Rickey, "that we cannot sue the Army for damages?" "I told you," sighs Mr. Parrott, "it can't be done." "We should have demanded," growls Mr. Rickey, "a deposit.")

(You gotta admit they did nice work.)

(The party's over...)

(You really never read Ellery Queen?)

(And just like that Sandy became the male Mary Worth...)

("I'm looking for an untrustworthy good-for-nothing dog. Any ideas where I might find one?)