The Era -- Day By Day

[LizzieMaine]

("Nut house, awright," sighs Sally. "I'll be head'neh myself." "Oh," jitters Alice. "Look, at leas' wait'lla train stawps." Sally glares at her seatmate. "I don' mean f' lit'ral," she growls. "But I was up awl las' night 'cause I f'got my own annehvoisehry. Layin'eh worryin'. Wond'rin' whatsamatteh wit' me." "I know what'at's like," agrees Alice. "You f'got ya annehvoisery?" questions Sally. "No," admits Alice. "Me'n Siddy got married on New Yeeh's Eve, r'membeh? Y'can't f'get t'at." "T'en whattaya got t'worry about?" returns Sally. "Sometimes I lay awake," confesses Alice, "wond'rin' what'sa matteh wit' you..." "I neveh know," exhales Sally, "when t' take you serious...," as the train rolls on toward home....)

("Nine yeehs I been married," sighs Joe. "An' I neveh f'got befoeh." "T'at's rough, Misteh P.," commisserates Sammy Schreibstein. "Me'n Shoiley ain' been goin' t'get'eh T'AT lawng, but we arways remebeh oueh annehvoisery. It's comin' right up, in fack -- Septembeh 24t'. I'll neveh f'get. Ma sent me oveh t' Ebingeh's t'get a blackout cake. An' Shoiley was ahead'a me, an' she bought t' las' one. So I ast would she sell me half f' foeh bits, an' she said OK. I knew right t'en it was destiny." "When y'know," agrees Joe, "y'know...")

(At the Union Bus Terminal in Kansas City, his mission having come to an unanticipated conclusion, Uncle Frank wends his way thru the crowd. He pauses to select a timetable from a display rack, only to collide with a thin man in a hurry. "Sorry, Mac," apologizes the man as he melts into the throng. Uncle Frank buttons his suit coat, picks up his grip, and steps to the Greyhound counter. "One way t' New Yaaark City," he requests grandly. The ticket agent, a sour-faced woman with hair of metallic orange, reaches for her stamp. "New York by way of St. Louie an' Chicago. Twenty-seventy five." "Ah," smiles Uncle Frank, reaching for his billfold. He freezes as he fails to find his billfold. "Bloooooody hell," he mutters. The agent stares blankly as her customer frisks himself. "Ahhhh," repeats Uncle Frank. "It would appear that..." He trails off, scanning the terminal for the thin man he will never lay eyes on again. "Twenty seventy-five," repeats the agent, her voice free of all emotion. "Ahhhh," reiterates Uncle Frank. "It would seem that Oi have -- ah -- well, at least th' gombeen didn' get me watch. Noow thin, me dear, what moit'chee allow me on this foine Ingersoll..." "Cash only," declares the agent. "Twenty seventy-five." "Ye doon't oondarstand," protests Uncle Frank, his forehead beaded with desperation. "Oi moost get back t' New Yarrk befarr me woife -- ah, that is t'say, Oi have vital business interests that I moost... ye see, Oi'm a man of soobstance..." "So I see," nods the agent...)

(Things are tough all over...)

(You may recall that Leo cost us Game One five years ago because he let Hig sit on the bench with two week's rest and started ol' Grampaw Curt Davis instead. I suggest we monitor his pitching choices down the stretch very, very carefully...)

(Deep down, we're all barbarians.)

(Have you ever seen "Love's Labour Lost?")

(Watch out for pickpockets!)

(Gal's gotta have a hobby...)

(Maybe get out of the road first...)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

Shirley and Sammy in an alternate universe...

Um.

"I'm delegating my authority. You two form a study group and report back to me."

His shirts? Now that's love.

"And I'm not getting much return on the investment!"

Don't look for what you don't want to see.

Bim needs to start taking better security measures. Maybe store all his cash as bags of nickels.

Last time somebody did that...

Thus ever with consultants.

"Club 18," where the drinks contain 1/7th less kick.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Worker...

Anything didn't happen in Brooklyn in '41? Your memory's slipping, Les...

 

[Fading Fast]

"...An' Shoiley was ahead'a me, an' she bought t' las' one. So I ast would she sell me half f' foeh bits, an' she said OK. I knew right t'en it was destiny."

A little romantic at heart.

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"...ye see, Oi'm a man of soobstance..."

Less truer words have never been spoken.

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

You may recall that Leo cost us Game One five years ago because he let Hig sit on the bench with two week's rest and started ol' Grampaw Curt Davis instead. I suggest we monitor his pitching choices down the stretch very, very carefully...

Yupper.

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

Have you ever seen "Love's Labour Lost?"

Brick is still the keeper.

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

Shirley and Sammy in an alternate universe...

Yes, but thankfully, in our universe they are too smart (Shirley, in particular) and too honest for this idiocy. This crooked Shirley is going to (and should) spend some real time in the hoosegow.

Mumbling to herself, "She could end up in my old cell." "What?" asked Sally. "Nothing." replied Alice.

 

[Harp]

The Civil War veterans reunion is a fascinating glimpse at History. When I worked in the
Veterans Administration Regional Counsel Chicago office back in the '90s, I received an email
memo that a half dozen widows were still receiving federal pensions because their husbands
had fought in the Civil War.

The Durant Hesse defense yokels are playing lousy baseball. She signed a confession and those stones were frankly too hot to take to begin with. She needs to sing while the stage and microphone remain available. Were she my client, I'd have advised her that she is cornered, and there is no escape offered by silly courtroom small ball antics.

Terry and Chuckie can easily write off a few days food but Nasty is about to be spanked
across her stomach.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("If ye knoooo whar th' great loomberin' fathead is," glowers Ma, "ye bettarr coo'moot with'it!" "He neveh tol' me nut'n," insists Bink. "A business trip. T'at's awlee said. Woida honeh!" "HMPH," hmphs Ma, and then some. "Th' NARRVE oov th' man," rampages Ma, slapping her palm on the counter. "Gooin' off in th' dead'a noit, an' leavin' me an' INSOLENT noot!" "What'd'ee say?" wonders Bink, picking her teeth with the corner of a matchbook. "Doon't wait oop," seethes Ma. "Back soon." "Well," shrugs Bink. "At's moehr'n ya son left me..." Ma glares, and mumbles a brisk Gaelic curse. "Someday," injects Bink, "I wantcha t'loin me somea't'at lingo...")

("A foine way a' roidin'," mutters Uncle Frank, jostling across the Missouri countryside in the back of a reeking old truck loaded with caged poultry. The truck bounces across a pothole, and the hens gabble their disapproval. "Ye think YOU got troobles," sighs Uncle Frank, as the truck clatters on toward Illinois...)

("That's what he said," reiterates Shirley Blick. "They want you to do a spot on the Thursday night show next week. They want you to do a sketch with that guy Mayehoff." "I ain' no awrtist," insists Rosa. "A scene," explains Shirley. "They want to have a scene with you teaching Eddie Mayehoff how to roller skate." "Oh," exhales Rosa. "Well, no offense, but I din' do too good teachin' YOU." "That's the point," nods Shirley. "The way Sobol explained it, you'll get Mayehoff on the skates and show him your routine and he'll try to follow you and he'll run into things, fall down, stuff like that." "Sounds pretty dumb," sighs Rosa. "But foehteen dollehs is foehteen dollehs." "That's the spirit," grins Shirley. "They're going to send over a messenger with the script, and you and Sammy can work it out." "Me?" gapes Sammy. "You'll be fine," assures Shirley. "And just to be safe, you can wear the chest protector..." "Um...." flushes Sammy...)

(Some run on, and some run from..)

(All right, we have that on the record. Now let's see how many starts Hig gets in September.)

(All right, let's see you do that in St. Nicholas Arena.)

(It's A Living.)

(And you didn't think there was a place for him in journalism...)

(Exactly who is writing this story??)

(So many "heroes" coast on their reputation...)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

"The Hesse crown jewels? It's not like anybody was using them!"

The Butterfly Effect, Baseball Edition...

You can't control a mind if there isn't one.

The Age Of Specialization.

Justice may be blind, but it can still smell.

"And he doesn't even mind that we call him Shorty..."

Well somebody's got to do it.

Smoke rises from the flames of Molech...

She hired them in the first place.

Slipped that one right by the censor, didn't you?

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Worker...

There isn't a whole lot for a 33-year-old track star to do in 1946, even if he IS Jesse Owens...

 

[Fading Fast]

"At's moehr'n ya son left me..."

Perfect.

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

"A foine way a' roidin',"

Swallow your pride and wire your wife for some money.

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

Exactly who is writing this story??

I'm lost.

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

"The Hesse crown jewels? It's not like anybody was using them!"

If we've learned anything all these years, it's that stealing jewelry in the 1940s is just the start of the challenges - fencing it is another massive problem, especially for large and valuable gems like these.

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

There isn't a whole lot for a 33-year-old track star to do in 1946, even if he IS Jesse Owens...

Today, there'd be a thousand ways for him to make a lot of money, but in 1946 he's got to hack out a living like everyone else.

 

[Harp]

The Grand Army of the Republic boys are dug in against the Grim Reaper.
Last Civil War veteran to fall was a Reb buck private who passed sometime in the 1950s.
God bless them all.

Durant's confession was admitted evidentiary purpose as I presumed the court's favor.
Her defense counsel seems rather inexperienced. If he and his crew approach prosecution now,
such tender will amount to a considerably lessened plea arrangement.

The Travers runs tomorrow at lovely Saratoga. Golden Tempo and Renegade are entered
with Napoleon Solo and several quite capable colt shooters such as Emerging Market and
Sea Strike. Both latter mounts are Chad Brown barn stablemates, which is an intriguing handicapper twist; considering Emerging Market carries track baggage aplenty. Excuses abound
of course-several thrown shoes mid race etc-still, this particular race is a strictly varsity premiere
romp. Brown wouldn't have entered Emerging Market without cause. He's an inside strait; whereas
Golden Tempo is a royal flush. And showdown shirtfront stud poker is ice cold percentages mixed
a dollop hot instinct molten lava. Love it but aggravating linear legal thought process.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Stop ye blooody fidgetin', Hector," commands Ma, "an' listen cloose t'what Oi'm tellin' ye!" "I'm lissenin', I'm lissenin'," protests Heckie. "It's jus' y' can't heeh nut'n wit't'at baby cryin'." "Th' baby is oop on th' tharrrd floor," snaps Ma. "An' if ye can hear HIM, ye can hear ME! So hear this. Oi wan'chee t' take this enveloop. An' t'marra marrnin' at precisely five tharrrtty sharrp, y'arr t' goo into Toomey's Doiner oop th' street an' ye'll see that coppar, Saaaargeant Doyle sett'n aaahn'a stool. Yarrr t' take th' stool nixt'a him an' yarr t' give him that enveloop." "What's in it?" questions Heckie, not caring to encounter the police. "Joost soomthin' th' Sarrgeant expects roond th' farrsta th' moonth. And since me loonkhead hoosband ain't here t' give it t'wi'm, an' since OI caaaan't be seen aroond'im, th' task falls t' YOU. And Hector?" "Yeh?" twitches Heckie. "DOOON'T booger it OOP."

("And how have you been feeling since I saw you last?" questions Dr. Katzman, peering down Leonora's throat. "Lousy," gags the patient. "She's fine," declares Joe. "Couln' be betteh." "How's her hearing?" questions the doctor, shining his otoscope into Leonora's right ear. "Docteh Glass says he t'inks it's gotten as betteh as 'e thinks it's gonna," sighs Joe. "Sal t'inks she c'n heeh fine, c'ept when she don' wanna, butcha can see how she tilts 'eh head t' put t' lef' side up." "Hmm," hmms the doctor, making a note on his chart. "Are you excited for school?" queries the doctor in a quiet voice, standing to Leonora's right. She disregards him, and he gives Joe a slight nod. He steps to her left and repeats the question. "No," snaps Leonora. "I ain't. 1-A is f' babies." "Most children your age," observes the doctor, "are starting kindergarten." "Kindehgawrten," huffs Leonora, "is f' infants. Hey! Whassat!" "This, Leonora," explains Dr. Katzman, "is your smallpox vaccination. I'm going to press these little points into your shoulder, and in a day or so, you'll get a little bump there, a little itchy bump." "Yeh, yeh," dismisses Leonora. "I read inna 'cyclopedia bout'tat. I don' caeh'bout t'at. But you ain' stickin' me wit' no pickle fawrk." "You won't feel a thing," promises Dr. Katzman. "T'at's right," agrees Leonora, jumping off the exam table, and lunging for the door....)


("T'is script is stupid," fumes Rosa, flipping the pages. "Have I gotta say t'is junk? Howcome I can't jus' skate?" "It's not THAT bad," cajoles Shirley Blick. "You ain't t' one'at's gotta say it," retorts Rosa. "Look what it says 'eeh. 'Gosh, Misteh Mayehoff, a big, strawng at'lete like YOU oughta have NO trouble loinin' t' rolleh skate!' I mean, you know what t'at Mayehoff looks like! He AIN' NO at'lete!" "I think that's the joke," explains Shirley. "Tell you what. When you say this, look right into the camera and roll your eyes." "Like t'is??" demonstrates Rosa, bugging her eyes and rolling them Eddie Cantor style. "More subtle," directs Shirley. "Hey," offers Sammy. "Try t'is!" He squints one eye, flares the other, and raises his eyebrow. "Like t'is?" attempts Rosa. "Good, good," nods Shirley. "Now tuck in your chin like this and look down a little and to the side." "Like t'is??" mimics Rosa. "Poifeck!" grins Sammy. "See?" concludes Shirley. "Hey," nods Rosa. "T'ez nut'n TO t'is show business!")

("In 1950!")

("A born gambler's instinctive flair..." Oh, Tommy, are you trying to tell us something?)

(Some arguments have no refutation.)

(DOWN IN FRONT!)

(I wish I could have had one of these when *I* was a reporter.)

(You must admit this would make a great movie.)

(YOU'VE RUINED SUMMER)

 

[Fading Fast]

loonkhead hoosband

He's been getting more useless lately.

Also, the corruption is sadly banal after a point. "Let's see: pay the utility bill, done; water, done; protection, tomorrow; and legit insurance, next week.

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

I couldn't read the review as it was too blurry, but this is such an outstanding movie and, my God, Ava Gardner looks insane (this movie turbo booster her career, much more than her idiotic marriage to Mickey Rooney). Joe and Sally or maybe Shirley and Sammy should go see it. My guess, Shirley would appreciate it the most of all of them. Bink would too. On second thought, it might disturb Joe – he should see something else, but honestly, most of the ones in the theater right now could trigger him.

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

"refuses"

He's not refusing now.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

Ew.

I wonder if Pasquel's check cleared.

"And somebody open a window!"

Shoulda brought binoculars, kid.

"It's after the dance that worries me..."

Terry and Charlie wish they could fly for Gump Air.

Here's some Unguentine for that severe BURN.

Nothing better to do...

"I can play the ocarina, a little..."

And there's no bag limit!

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Worker...

As ever.

 

[LizzieMaine]

Oh, and "Elmer 'Violent' Ray" is now the best boxer name ever.

 

[Fading Fast]

I'm thinking the husband's predilections lean in a different direction. Just sayin'.

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

Oh, and "Elmer 'Violent' Ray" is now the best boxer name ever.

Better than "Thomas 'the Hitman' Hearns" or "Smokin' Joe Frazier?"

 

[Harp]

Lovely Ava Gardner and the morning first cup of coffee jolted me wide awake....
She was also married Sinatra and Artie Shaw; Begin the Beguine now playing background
breakfast YouTube musical mixture. Moonlite Serenade is next.

Durant's counsel and prosecution agreed to drop conspiracy against her for her testimony
against the others; although a wife cannot be compelled to speak under oath against husband.
There is no other rational basis for her acquittal on conspiracy. Prosecution apparently see
the boys as primary with her a little laggard lady. I don't agree with this as either principle or
trial tactic.

I'm looking for a score today in the Travers using #9 Golden Tempo; #5 Renegade; #7 Sea Strike;
and #3 Napoleon Solo. I'll alternate a second line with Renegade leading, but unless its a barn burner day this batting lineup works for me. A mile and quarter distance is a bit much for Solo,
who will miss the board after a hot flash pace drive. The other six were tossed for past performance plateau, regress, or like Leading Change for inexperience against maturity.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("It itches!" fumes Leonora, tearing at her shoulder. "Don' pick at it," frowns Sally. She pulls open the collar of her work shirt, exposing the deep round scar on her own shoulder. "See t'at?" she growls. "'At's what happ'ns when ya pick it. Now eatcha breakfas'. You ain' even gotta be up t'is oily, ya oughta be gett'n sleep while ya can." "It itches," glares Leonora. "I couln' sleep. An' bs'ides, Docteh Katzman's a rat. He din' need t' stick me FOEH TIMES wit't'at pickle fawrk." "T'at's t'be sueh it'd take," shrugs Joe. "You hoid what he said." "T'at's why we ain' got no money," glares Leonora. "Awlem extra pokes at t' docteh add up." "Awr you sueh," frowns Joe, "she's ready f' school?" "Is school," sighs Sally, "read f' HER?")

(As the sun rises over East Flatbush, Heckie Capiello takes a deep breath of the thick smoke-and-grease-laden air and scans the early breakfast crowd at Toomey's Diner. He spots a certain set of shoulders, and takes the stool next to their owner. "Cuppa cawfee," he nods to the counterman. He flicks a side glance toward the man next to him, and when the coffee arrives, he takes a sip. He reaches -- with a casualness too studied to be casual -- into his Davega leather jacket and pulls out a thumbprinted envelope, and slides it to his neighbor, who receives it just as casually. "Wheh's t' big boy," Sergeant Doyle queries. "Outta town," replies Heckie, grimacing at the coffee. "She finally got wise t'wim, huh?" Doyle snickers, and reaches for a donut. "No business'a mine," mutters Heckie, staring at the milk dispenser. "He's right," chuckles Doyle, tossing a quarter on the counter as he slides off his stool. "Y' AWR a smawrt kid...")

("It was bad enough I had to PAY them...")

(Next year: 168 games, and all against the Phillies and the Pirates.)

(They've got to have something to do while they wait for the tracks to reopen...)

("Well, as long as we're here, the least you could do is buy me a damn orangeade!")

("Find us under Ace's Cowboy Thugs in your classified telephone directory!")

(Paranoia isn't paranoid if they really ARE out to get you...)

(Well, I'm sure YOU don't taste very good to HER.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

Anywhere in the world you could go, and you go to Jersey City...

A quarter tip? Connie Mack.

I shared a room with my sister till I was eleven, and our arguments were never this civil.

Awwwwwwww....

Checkbook diplomacy.

Well, Warbucks has his private army, why can't Bim have his private bomber group?

"What do you mean you didn't bring binoculars?"

"I'm Looking For A Guy Who Plays Alto And Baritone And Doubles On Clarinet And Wears A Size 37 Suit."

"Who you calling a jack handle??"

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Worker...

A boxing crowd that spontaneously breaks into "Let Me Call You Sweetheart" when they go into a clinch. Yes, once there was such a place, and they called it "Brooklyn..."