The Era -- Day By Day

[LizzieMaine]

"Hey," heys Alice, as Sally rummages in her handbag. "Ya drawpped sump'n." She reaches down to retrieved the tattered, yellowed scrap of newsprint. "GIMME T'AT," snaps Sally. "Sueh," snickers Alice.....

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Hey," heys Joe, walking slowly down the 7th Floor corridor of the RCA Building, with a small cardboard suitcase containing Rosa's costume firmly in hand. "T'at guy we seen awna elevateh? I t'ink t'at was H. V. Kaltenbawrn. Wait'll I tell Leonoreh, he's 'eh favorite radio stawr." "T'is place makes me noivous," mutters Rosa. "It smells like'a hawspit'l. "I think this is it," declares Shirley. pausing outside Room 755. "See there? 'Television.'" "Sammy!" calls Joe. "Hurry up, t'is is it." "Sawry, Misteh P," exhales Sammy. "T'is Victrola is heavy wit' awla reckeds in it." With a simultaneous deep breath, the Brooklyn contingent steps into the office. "I am Miss Blick," announces Shirley, pausing before a secretarial desk to display her visitor's pass. "This is Mr. Petrauskas and Mr. Schreibstein. And this is Rosa Capiello. Please notify Mr. Sobol that we are here." "Oh yes," nods the secretary, eyeing the visitors as Joe fidgets, Rosa flushes, and Sammy gazes adoringly at his steady. "The roller-skater audition. You'll find Mr. Sobol downstairs waiting for you in Studio 3H. Third floor, take the elevator and check in at the reception desk. Mr. Sobol will send a page for you." "Thank you," nods Shirley, mustering the group for their exit. "Good luck," replies the secretary as they depart. "A page," murmurs Joe, as they head for the elevator. "T'eh gonna senda PAGE." "I don' like t' sounda t'at," groans Rosa. "Ya done swell," whispers Sammy. "Naturally," nods Shirley, as the elevator doors close...)

("I neveh see so many lights in my life," exhales Joe, gazing up into the web of cables and rigging suspended from the ceiling. "Television requires a great deal of light," nods Mr. Sobol. "When we turn them on please be careful not to look up." "An'nem t'ings 'eh," gestures Joe, indicating two enormous metal boxes mounted on wheeled stands, against one of which a bored technician peruses a Racing Form, while his associate idly gnaws a doughnut. "T'em'sa camerehs?" "That's right," replies Mr. Sobol. We'll use two cameras for this audition, one will track Miss Capiello's movements in a long shot while the other tracks her either from the waist up or the waist down. We want to see not just how she moves but how she *looks* while she's moving, you see?" "Ah," shrugs Joe. "She's almost ready," announces Shirley, arriving from the small dressing room off the studio. "You sueh y'don' need t'ese reckeds?" questions Sammy. "We'll play music from the control room thru those speakers there," explains Mr. Sobol. "From our transcription library." "Awright," calls out Rosa, rolling carefully to avoid a cable snaking across her path. "I guess I'm ready. Hey, howcome t'ey put awlis extra makeup on me? I look like one'a Blanche Dineen's goils." "Neveh min'," mutters Joe. "Very fine," declares Mr. Sobol. "Now, Miss Capiello, please take note of these marks on the floor. That X marks the center point of the shot, and those red lines along the side are the outer boundaries. Please stay within those lines, and keep the center point in mind as you turn. If you look at the camera, you'll see a red light. That's the camera that's live. Don't look directly into the camera." "I catch," nods Rosa. "B'sides, I'll be wawtchin' Sammy -- he's my metrehnome." "Ah," nods Mr. Sobol. "We got a buncha sawngs awl timed out," adds Sammy. "Well," acknowledges Mr. Sobol, "we're going to use 'The Skater's Waltz,' which should..." "Did you say -- wawltz?" gapes Sammy. "A *wawltz???*" gasps Rosa. "Like a Wayne King kinda wawltz??" "Mr. Sobol," smiles Shirley, her voice high and tight, "may we have a word....")

(The Honeymoon Is Over.)

("One more question, Mr. Frisch. WHERE IS PETE COSCARART???")

(It's nice to see Alfalfa Switzer getting work.)

(Radio is full of drips like this.)

("Jest tell me whar to park my hoss.")

(Czar Nicholas, I presume?)

("Did I sign a contract? I never signed a contract!")

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

Sure, you can write about the Lonergan case, but not that other one. And what does Page Four have to do with a parking garage? Unless it's surfaced with Belgian paving bricks.

Be sure to stock up, just in case.

"Oh wait, that's not a footprint, it's an acutal foot. Never mind."

Molech likes his sacrifices pre-cooked.

"I hit the beach at Normandy, but not on a horse."

"Aw gee, can't we go to that place with the roller skates?"

Bar Harbor draws all kinds.

Yes, by all means. Mama needs a heartwarming romance story.

"I have it on good authority that Mr. Charles is a rattle-brained hep-feline."

It's good to have boundaries.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Worker...

 

[Fading Fast]

"I am Miss Blick," announces Shirley, pausing before a secretarial desk to display her visitor's pass. "This is Mr. Petrauskas and Mr. Schreibstein. And this is Rosa Capiello. Please notify Mr. Sobol that we are here."

I was going to say I wish I had Shirley's poise at her age, but I think I wish I had her poise at my present age.

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

Drone warfare — nah, that will never happen.

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

Unless it's surfaced with Belgian paving bricks.

More unpunished corruption.

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

"Aw gee, can't we go to that place with the roller skates?"

Indeed.

 

[Harp]

The Herbst widowhood is beyond tragic.

Still cannot figure the Charlie angle dangle with Smythe-Heatherstone other than a
swan song if Caniff intends to bail the strip.

 

[LizzieMaine]

Caniff's last strip is December 31st. It will be continued by another artist, as we will see, but I don't think it's been publicly announced yet -- so keep it under your hat.

 

[Fading Fast]

Caniff's last strip is December 31st. It will be continued by another artist, as we will see, but I don't think it's been publicly announced yet -- so keep it under your hat.

I'm sure he wouldn't as it would be petty and possibly a form of career suic*de, but would anything prevent him from killing off several of his key characters - the DL, Pat Ryan, etc. – before leaving to make it harder for the strip to go forward successfully? BTW, how knee-to-the-groin would it be to bring back Burma, Hu-Shee, Cheery, and some others and have them all killed in a boat sinking or plane crash? "Your strip now, enjoy."

 

[LizzieMaine]

I can't imagine Caniff would do that, especially with Capt. J. M. Patterson, the News publisher, who had become his arch-enemy behind the scenes, now dead -- but I do anticipate there'll be some sort of clearing of the decks going on over the next few months. Hopefully, at the very least, they'll finally drop those ten-year-old piracy charges against Burms....

 

[Harp]

Hopefully, at the very least, they'll finally drop those ten-year-old piracy charges against Burms....

Flotsam of little substance, long since washed away war's cruel torrid wake.
Several characters, Burma amongst, might have stood further development during the war
but slipped beneath strip feature except for brief yet notable cameo appearance. And, as I've often remarked, such literate comic chasteness-locus and era-wrought critical focus its heavy handed editorial strictness. Caniff does admirable work around editorial corners but his skill shouldn't have been so tethered.

 

[LizzieMaine]

Of course, he'll never totally forget...

Left to right: Captain Blaze, the DL, Terry, Charlie, Pat, Dr. Ping, Hu Shee, Burma, Connie, Big Stoop, and Chopstick Joe. Somewhere, they're all still out there...

 

[Harp]

Of course, he'll never totally forget...


Left to right: Captain Blaze, the DL, Terry, Charlie, Pat, Dr. Ping, Hu Shee, Burma, Connie, Big Stoop, and Chopstick Joe. Somewhere, they're all still out there...

I saw Burma at the Off Track Betting stable in Crestwood, Illinois, where she stood three or four persons ahead of me in the cash out line. She left before I could introduce myself, and launch me Irish charm, but it definitely was her. A cool, calm, and collected blonde; looking like she had just stepped out of the strip.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("I wouldn' wanna go t' t' moon," frowns Alice. "Don' seem like eh'd be too much goin' awn. I mean, y'don' see no lights awn when y'look up'teh. 'S one'a t'em places ev'eybody goes t'bed at seven'a clawck. No t'anks." "What?" whats Sally. "Oh, sawry," shrugs Alice. "I was lookin'atcha papeh." "Anyways," resumes Sally. "What I was sayin' 'bout Joe. He's awl woiked up 'bout'tis television t'ing, y'know? T'ey was real excited 'bout Rosa awna rolleh skates once'ey straightend out 'eh music. Joe says t'is guy Sobol says 'we'll cawl.' An'ney give 'im Docteh Blick's phone numbeh." "He's not gonna like'at," frowns Alice. "He's awrfl crabby. R'membeh when I had'at bum toot'? T"at moleh? Docteh Blick was try'na pull it out an' 'ee was inneh yankin', an'ee loses 'is grip awna pliehs an'ee tips oveh backwehds an' knocks oveh t'at t'ing a' laughin' gas. He felt pretty good f'ra while 'eh, but when it woehr'awff 'e was awrfl crabby." "Yeh," dismisses Sally. "Anyways, I tried'a t'ell Joe not'ta get 'is hopes up too much..." "Whatcha mean?" questions Alice. "Din'ee say 'e was gonna cawl? He wouln'a said'at if 'ee wasn'." "Show business people," snorts Sally, "say t'at awla time." "Whatta YOU know from show business?" challenges Alice. "I been aroun'," replies Sally. "Yeh," chuckles Alice. "You put awna show at Loews Orien'al, Loews Met, an'na Paramoun'.' "Bahh," scoffs Sally. "You neveh put on no show at t' RKO D ykeh didja?" snickers Alice. "T'at's a dump," grumbles Sally, as the train rolls on toward home...)

("Yeh," declares Rosa. "T'is guy Sobol's eyes was fawlin' onna flooeh." "Hmph," hmphs Bink. "One'a T'EM." "No, he was lookin' at t'ese lit'l televisions he had awl lined up in'nis lit'l room 'e was in, wit' a big glass windeh. I'm out'eh doin' my stuff, an'ee's got 'is eyebawls glued awn'ese televisions. He says I come acrawst real good. He says t' camereh loves me." "T'at's what'ey awl say," snorts Bink. "Ya jus' jealous," snips Rosa. "I'm gonna be a stawr awn television an' yawr gonna be stan'in'eeh awnya milk legs wishin' you was me." "HMPH," hmphs Bink...)

(Peace Is Hell.)


("He drove a hard bargain," sighs Mr. Parrott. "He was still pretty sore about Fitz. And when he brought up Camilli, I had to double the offer." "An investment in the future," declares Mr. Rickey...)

(Harry Carey? The cowboy star?)

(You don't have a chance against Arthur Godfrey.)

("I hyarr they take baths when it ain't even Satuhday!")

(Hey, you can make it a double wedding with B-O and Gertie!)

(ANOTHER TRIUMPH FOR AMERICA'S NUMBER ONE MOOCHER DOG!)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

An Officer and a Convict.

*Most* other weeds. But what's a few sniffles?

Two contrasting facts may be simultaneously true.

You know what you need? A good dog.

"I dunno boutcha boyfriend, but if you keep sitting there like that, you're gonna get splinters."

We've only got five months left, Mr. Caniff, so you better get busy.

"Would you care to undertake the Istanbul expedition?"

You say that now, kid, but where will you be in twenty years?

"We should have evacuated the neighborhood." "Oh, well, you can't think of everything."

Um.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Worker...

And what do Billy Herman, Dixie Walker, and Marty Marion have in common? They've all sat across the negotiation table from Mr. Rickey.

 

[Fading Fast]

"I'm gonna be a stawr awn television an' yawr gonna be stan'in'eeh awnya milk legs wishin' you was me."

Charming.

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

The King must have been a joy to work for. I bet the Kishke King doesn't padlock his phones.

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

You know what you need? A good dog.

As we've seen earlier, "good" is doing a lot of work in that sentence.

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

We've only got five months left, Mr. Caniff, so you better get busy.

Plenty of time to bring back Hu Shee.

 

[Harp]

Lt Farrell, given a triple fin, will face further convict inquiry regarding his heinous battery.

Smythe-Heatherstone amuses me. She reminds me of the rich girls I met in college
after the war whose daddies were loaded, and drove yellow Volkswagen convertibles christened
***ual proclivity. Nastalthia would have fit right in with the smart set.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("T'anks f' bringin'a meat out 'eeh," says Joe. "I tol' 'em not'ta d'liveh'r'it t' t' stoeh, but go tawk t'wa wawl." "No trooble at'aahl, me boy," nods Uncle Frank. "Danny got th' troock roonin' again, an' Oi was oot this way -- collectin' a few accounts, if ye will. Listen, ye wouldn't have a two-cents-plain...?" "Eh," ehs Joe. "No fountain out'eeh. Jus' bot'l drinks. I got Coke, Owrange Crush, an' root beeh." "Oi'll have a root beer," shrugs Uncle Frank. "Scrape th' foom." "No glass," shrugs Joe, uncapping the bottle and sliding it thru the serving window. Uncle Frank imbibes a deep swig and emits a satisfying belch. "Ye dooin' mooch business?" he queries. "It's pickin' up," nods Joe. "T'ey see Rosa rollin'a'roun' out'eh, figyeh sump'n mus' be goin' awn, an' pull in t' take a look." "Back from lunch," announces Shirley Blick, crowding into the cramped kitchen. "Ye goo oot f'ye loonch?" questions Uncle Frank. "Doon'chee troost th' meat?" "It's bad business," declares Shirley, "to eat up the profits." "Ahhhh," nods Uncle Frank. "Miss Blick, I presume? Joe's toold oos aaaahl abootchee. Francis X. Leary atchee saaarvice." "Oh yes," nods Shirley, narrowing her eyes. "I've heard all about you too....")

("What are ye doin' tharrr?" frowns Ma, as Bink contorts herself. "Try'na see'f I got milk legs," replies Bink, craning her neck backwards and down. "Rosa says I do, but I don' see it." "Moothar'a maaaarcy," sighs Ma. "I dunno zackly what milk legs is," continues Bink, "but whatevveh'rit is, I do'wannit. I ain' no ol' lady wit' fat ankles." "Hmmmm," glares Ma. "Nut'n poissonal," adds Bink. "A goood remedy farrr sooch things," Ma scowls, "is haaaard waaaark. Ye moit staaart with sweepin' th' floooor." "I'm a mot'eh," sniffs Bink. "Would you ask YAWR mot'eh t' sweep t' flooeh?" "Oi didn' haftee," snaps Ma. "That's what OI was farrrr.....")

("You could have TOLD me!")

(If you really want to rile up a Cardinal fan, make fun of their broadcaster. As it happens, St. Louis baseball is broadcast on a non-exclusive basis, so they have Dizzy Dean on one station and some punk named Harry Caray on another. Hasn't got a chance.)

(Junior movie fan vigilantes? Let's see Orphan Annie top that!)

(Hey Mary, your grandkids need you. Remember them?)

(Back to the office grind...)

(Throw him back.)

(That's what you get for not checking references.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

"Pelham St. George Bissell 3rd?"

Rita goes out to see the Bushwicks.

Happily Ever After...

A real aristocrat only stands on his head in the lobby of the Metropolitan Opera.

"Not nearly as easily as you were, dearie." Mama's been saving that line for thirteen years.

Stay on your own side of the lake.

Selling armaments to all sides never works out well in the end.

Good idea, it'll give you time to go buy a new ironing board cover.

"CUT. Wasn't the mutt supposed to be in this scene??"

At least he got to keep the beer.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Worker...