The Era -- Day By Day

[Harp]

I've never read tale of doping a racehorse newspaper publisher. Quite a track tale.

Terry was pushed into this really because Milt first stepped into it.

 

[LizzieMaine]

(At the sink in the back room of F. Leary & Sons Plumbing and Heating, Uncle Frank hacks hopelessly at his face. "Whooo's been usin' this razaaaar?" he fumes, stanching the flow with a grimy shirtsleeve. "Jimmy useta use it," shrugs Danny. "Jus' t' right size t' chase t' t'reads on'nem flange bolts." "Bloooody hell," mutters Uncle Frank, glowering at his reflection. "I wan'chee t' run doon t' Shaughnessy th' butcharr," he instructs his son. "An' I wan'chee t' borrar a suit a' clothes. Him an' me is aboot th' same size, an' I can't go hoom lookin' like this, Nora would have me neck. Tell'im I'll give'im a case a -- uh -- make thaat two quarrrts'a rye." "We got no rye," replies Danny, not especially concerned with the outcome of the situation. "MAKE soom," commands Uncle Frank. "Do whativvar ye' moost, but get me a suit'a clothes. An' see here -- don't be bringin' me that green plaid 'a his with th' bloodstains aaahn th' vest." "Speakin' a which," observes Danny, pointing the trickle on his father's chin. "Ya drippin'." "Bloooooooody hell," groans Uncle Frank, sagging his head against the mirror....)

("No," corrects Sammy. "T' nex' line is 'I t'ought you said you...'" "'I t'ought you said you knew how to skate!'" recites Rosa. "An'nen Eddie Mayehoff says 'how'm I sp'osta skate wit' no ice!' An'nen I say, 'we don' soive t'em kinda drinks!' Ehhhh, who wrote t'is junk?" "You know," suggests Shirley, "when you're on the air, you might forget that last line, and instead you might say 'you won't have room for any ice after you've had a Big Joe's Special!" "T'at don' make no sense," frowns Rosa. "But it'll get a laugh," declares Shirley. "An' when ya say it," adds Sammy, "do t'at t'ing like ya done last time, an' toin aroun' an' show t' patch on ya back an' toin ya head back like t'is 'eeh an' wink right at t' camereh." "Yehhhh," grins Rosa. "I catch. Sneak in a commoicial." "Don' do nut'n t'at'll getcha t'rown awff t' show," warns Joe. "'Couese, if ya DID f'get ya line...." "HEY JOE!" comes a piercing bellow from the edge of the lot. All heads turn to behold a shortish woman with curly black hair advancing on the stand. "JOE!" she bellows. "Gawdawmighty," mutters Joe, as the kids cast a questioning look. "I come as soon as I hoid," pants Miss Kaplan. "I hoid Moze askin' some dame could she rolleh skate. *I* can rolleh skate. I can rolleh skate fr'm hell t' breakfas'! Hey kid, gimme t'em skates. Wawtch me, Joe! Wawtch me skate!" "Gawdawmighty," exhales Joe, his head sinking into his palm....)

(Coming Events...)

(There's No Place Like Home...)

(No, no, you throw a chair first!)

(Otherwise, we'd have no story!)

(C'mon, you can't tell me Sheffield Farms doesn't need milk drivers.)

(You know, you really should pencil your brows along the contour of the bone. Otherwise it just looks trashy.)

(Before this is over with, Worst Dad Ever is going to get chased by a bear.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

"I just wanted to embarrass my parents." You know, if you read Page Four every day, you'll know there's much easier ways to do this.

I mean, just ask Helen.

Sammy and Shirley, in the beginning...

"Another letter from Halloween Martin's lawyers, Mr. Gould..."

Game's over.

Where do we sign up?

And then your headaches really begin...

"Ahhhhh -- a little to the left. Ahhhhhhhhhh....."

A Yankee? No need to be insulting.

Y'know, if you had a Nash, that seat would fold right down to make a bed.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Worker...

"You think that's bad?" growls Pete Coscarart. "In the Pacific Coast League we play 186 games a year!"

 

[Fading Fast]

"Bloooooooody hell," groans Uncle Frank, sagging his head against the mirror....

Maybe he's too old to change, but this event might be the one that gets him to step back, take a look at his life, and see that he's got a real opportunity to do better: improve his legitimate plumbing business and let Solly drive things forward (help him and follow his lead). How many fifty-ish year olds have the levers to improve their life just sitting there waiting to be pulled?

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

"I come as soon as I hoid," pants Miss Kaplan. "I hoid Moze askin' some dame could she rolleh skate. *I* can rolleh skate.

Oh my God!

Excellent storytelling, Lizzie, just excellent.

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

Otherwise it just looks trashy.

You say that like it's a bad thing.

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

"I just wanted to embarrass my parents." You know, if you read Page Four every day, you'll know there's much easier ways to do this.

"She's no pyromaniac."

I don't now that I'd be so bold in making that statement. She certainly checks several of the boxes.

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

I mean, just ask Helen.

No kidding. Also, that is a very sad ad.

 

[Harp]

Like Smith's Meredith Stiles, I enrolled at a predominantly womens college after the war,
thinking I had made the smartest move any guy could make. Nicknamed Peyton Place, I escaped
after freshman year. A lovely Tudor Gothic campus idyllically set in leafy River Forest,
and ruled gossip, rumor, and innuendo.

Looks as though the hyphenated one is a true solitaire.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("She was born on September 7th, 1941," argues the P. S. 48 registrar. "Yeh," agrees Sally. "It's right onneh boit' c'tificate. But..." "And she won't be six years old," continues the registrar, "until September 7, 1947. The law is that a child has to be six years old by August 31 of the following year to enter the first grade." "I tol'ya t'ey'd make trouble," growls Leonora, glaring at the official. "An' I tol' ya," retorts Sally. "We got a waiveh. It's awl innem papehs. T'ez 'eh recommendation from Docteh Simon Minkoff of t' New Yawrk Unehvoisity Clinc F' T' Social A'jusment a' Gifted Children." "I'm gifted," affirms Leonora. "An'nez awlem tests she took at t' clinic," continues Sally. "T'ezz'eh waiveh f'm t' Boehd a' Education t'at says she's sposta stawrt in 1-A *t'is yeeh,* goin' heeh foeh days a week an'nen one day at t' clinic. Right t'eh. I hadda absentee awffa woik t'day t' come in'eeh t' do t'is, so jus' gimme t' papehs t' sign an' let's get awn wit'it!" "Hmmm," frowns the registrar, peering over the edge of the desk at Leonora, who fidgets uncomfortably with the lopsided ribbon hanging off the side of her head. "What do you think about all this," the registrar asks. "1-A," scowls Leonora, "is f' babies...")

("I had Moze run up t'is outfit f'me," preens Miss Kaplan. "It din' take lawng," she adds, with a dainty twirl on her skates. "T'eh ain' much clawth to it." "Um," mumbles Joe. "Look, I dunno if..." "Customeh," calls Sammy. "I got it," declares Miss Kaplan, whizzing smoothly across the lot. "Misteh P," questions Sammy, "howcome she looks at you like t'at?" "We useta woik t'get'eh at Sperry's," sighs Joe. "Oh," ohs Sammy. "I'll tell you later," whispers Shirley, as Miss Kaplan glides flamboyantly back to the window...)

("C'mon, Blinky," urges Heckie. "Make t' pitcheh stop flippin' like t'at." "Be patient," snaps Blinky, adjusting a row of esoteric knobs to clear the problem. "Thaaat man Mayehoff's a blooody fool," snorts Ma, squinting at the tiny image. "He caaan't stay aaahn 'is feet." "T'at's s'posta be t' joke," sniffs Bink. "It's stupid. An' Rosa's fat." "Oi doon't see th' point'v 'it," dismisses Uncle Frank. "A man makin' a fool of 'imself far mooney. Sooch a waste'a time." "Especially," glowers Ma, "whin tharr's soo many men doin' it far free...")

(You ain't seen nothin' yet...)

(If you want a vision of the future, imaging being two games out, forever...)

(Lack of communication is at the root of most marital woes.)

("And me allergic to carnations....")

(Aren't there any nice boarding house landladies?)

(I hate to think of what I might be doing with my life if I hadn't dropped calculus.)

(Sure, ignore the gas station guy, what could HE know?)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

"Sal's awrways tawkin' 'bout how she was inna Hawrves' Moon Bawl," sighs Alice. "I wisht I knew how t' dance." "Huh," huh Krause, looking up from his copy of Popular Mechanics. He exchanges a glance with Willie, who gets up off the floor and steps to the radio. A quick twist of the wrist to WNEW, and a Charlie Barnet record blares forth. "Yeh?" questions Krause, his eyes on his wife. He rises from his chair and extends an arm in invitation. "Yeh!" blushes Alice, as Willie drags a coffee table out of the way and they step to the center of the floor....

F. H. LaGuardia, Foreign Correspondent.

"Hey, I don't mind the monkey getting a guest shot, but tell her to stop hamming..." -- Sandy.

"You're the one told me to stop eating it out of the can..."

Hotshot may be a jerk, but he's no dope...

It's a hard job being a Radio Personality Girl.

"Stubborn as a bunion, and stupid as a wart."

Oh, you sad delusional fool...

Bud Freeman has nothing to worry about.

And it was ever thus...

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Worker...

"Wait till next year!"

 

[Fading Fast]

"T'eh ain' much clawth to it." "Um," mumbles Joe. "Look, I dunno if..."

I forget, is Miss Kaplan on the large size or is that something I made up in my head? I'm hoping I made it up, as otherwise, the picture of a, how shall we say this, more-than-full-figured Miss Kaplan in a skimpy skater's outfit twirling around as a carhop at this roadside shack is not an inspiring image.

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

"Especially," glowers Ma, "whin tharr's soo many men doin' it far free..."

I see Frank's homecoming, not unexpectedly, has had a few rough edges to it.

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

Aren't there any nice boarding house landladies?

It's probably one of those jobs that is hard to stay nice in, even if you start out that way.

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

F. H. LaGuardia, Foreign Correspondent.

How he sees himself:

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

Hotshot may be a jerk, but he's no dope...

Life, as it does for all of us, is wisening him up.

 

[LizzieMaine]

Miss K does tend, shall we say, to land just a bit on the zaftig side, and this has been a constant point of conflict when Mozelewski is fitting her to model his latest offerings. "I'm HEALT'Y," she snaps. "Nawt like'at wife'a Joe's!"

 

[Harp]

Nautical arrested deserter John J Hand seems Regular Army with his Parisian over-the-hill
romp avec une jeune fille, and I would offer a pro bono defense-some stockade but essentially
honorable discharge intact combat veteran status.

Claire Trevor in Crack Up; and Evelyn Keyes in Renegades look sufficiently enticing poster girls
for box office blush patronage.

Speaking of starlets, today's Spinaway, eleventh Saratoga features #2 Summer Starlet with
#4 Stress Relief; and #7 Angel of Kirk.

The Nashville Derby, eighth Kentucky Downs has #5 Versailles Road; #3 Glacius; #2 Royal Guard;
and #4 Caroline Street. Nashville has a $2,000,000 purse which the Europeans stab at with the
finest grass runners on the planet. After a barn burner season, I'm looking infield dirt grounders and will probably keep superfecta homer fence swings for another day. ...and mebbe not.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Yeh," sighs Sally. "I fin'ly got'eh signed up f' school. T'ey tried t' gimme t' business 'bout 'eh not bein' old'nough, but I had awlem papehs Docteh Minkoff gimme. I'm glad it's oveh wit'." "She gonna be awright?" questions Alice. "Awlem kids'eh gonna be oldeh'r'n she is." "She'll have'm eat'n out'eh'ra hand," assures Sally. "Oh," ohs Alice. "I jus' wish *I* coulda got skipped when I was a kid," Sally continues. "But Ma wouldn' let me. I coulda got outa school a yeeh oilieh." "Maybe t'at's why she woul'n letcha," snickers Alice. "What?" "Nut'n...")

("Yeh," nods Rosa. "I done t' bit like we tawked about, an' it come off slick. Got t' plug in, an' got a good laugh. Even Mayehoff laughed. An'nen he says 'watch it kid, don' upstage me,' an' HE got a good laugh." "Wonders never cease," snorts Shirley. "I bet it was the only one he got." "Y'know what I hoid?" continues Rosa. "Coupl'a mont's, t'eh gonna have Charlie McCawrt'y on." "Really?" gapes Sammy. "Yeh," nods Rosa. "An' Boigen too. T'eh try'na get some big names onnis show, try'na get some attention. I hoid'ey was try'na get Eddie Canteh. An' Rudy Vallee. Lotta old timehs, y'know? An' Sobol says he might want me on ev'ry week, so I might be right inna mid'la t'at." "Can't they get any, you know, NEW stars?" wonders Shirley. "Well," ponders Rosa, "who says'at ain't gonna be ME?")

("Y'know, Murray..." begins Eddie Mayehoff. "Who?" injects Mr. Sobol. "You know my name's 'Ed.'" "Yeah," acknowledges Mr. Mayehoff, "but it gets confusin'. Anyway, Murray, I been thinking. That Italian girl with the skates might be just the thing for my nightclub act." "You do imitations in your nightclub act," reminds Mr. Sobol. "So I'll imitate somebody," counters Mr. Mayehoff, "with an Italian girl with skates in his act." "We've been thinking," continues Mr. Sobol, "about using her more. Helen's thinking about going out to the coast to do a picture, so what would you think about Rose being the co-host?" "Now wait a minute Murray," backpedals Mr. Mayehoff. "She's good, but she's not THAT good. Besides, she works full time for that hamburger guy." "I can buy that schlemiel off," shrugs Mr. Sobol, "for a can of coffee." "Hey," perks Mr. Mayehoff. "That's an angle. The commercials on the show, I've always said they're punk. Who wants to see some guy and his wife sittin' at a table. What if 'steada that, we have, every week -- a big can a' coffee on roller skates!" Mr. Sobol blinks as he visualizes the concept. "Hey," he muses. "Y'know, Dave -- you might be onto something! Let's run it by the agency." "Who's Dave?" frowns Mr. Mayehoff. "My name's Eddie." "It gets confusing," snickers Mr. Sobol, clapping his comedian on the back and heading off to make a phone call...)

(What's that they say opinions are like...?)

(Well, at least he didn't run into a wall with his stomach. Um, did he?)

(Mamie Mullins is available, but you couldn't afford her...)

(Is this really what men do when there's no women in the room?)

("It takes more to get by than a big hat..." What's LaGuardia got to do with this?)

(Well, it's clearly not a quadrilateral equation.)

(And it'll be a smooth and uneventful trip, won't it?)

 

[Fading Fast]

An' Rudy Vallee.

Across town and not knowing why, Sally suddenly had an urge to tug at her step-ins' waistband.

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

"I can buy that schlemiel off," shrugs Mr. Sobol, "for a can of coffee."

Putting the rudeness aside, the irony is Joe would let Rosa do whatever she prefers; nobody would have to pay him off.

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

Is this really what men do when there's no women in the room?

Not that I've ever seen and I work in a male-dominated business. And today, everyone is afraid to say anything about anything that could get him in trouble.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

There seems to be a lot of "ducking of marital duties" going around.

Coming events....

"Anyway, Jimmy Byrnes is strictly a drip."

OBEY THE MONKEY

I did a show once on no sleep. Complete incoherence can be entertaining.


Speaking of which...

Someday there'll be a machine you can just tell to write something and it will write it. And I'd still rather read any book written at 2 AM by Andy Gump.

Nice Guys Finish Last.

I dunno, Bud Freeman's OK, but I always preferred Hymie Schertzer.

I'm all in for Mamie's new career as a gut-bucket blues singer.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Worker...

Sometimes there's justice...

 

[Fading Fast]

There seems to be a lot of "ducking of marital duties" going around.

Indeed, and it works both ways.

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

Coming events....

Good for Sachs.

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

Sometimes there's justice...

karma.

 

[Harp]

M&M...Morton and Millicent. Waiting the coffeepot to finish, so took a sleepy glance
at the ERA headlines and just wondering if Morton has sufficient ***ual slander defamation
grounds against Millicent. Her counsel should have advised a more taciturn bridal stance.

Some computer screen freeze interrupted laying down Saturday bets with TVG; however,
I did manage a superfecta swing at Saratoga for the Spinaway, which paid $124 per buck bet.
Took the battery nineteen hours to burn down, so I spent most of yesterday with Marcus Aurelius,
my favorite Roman emperor. This Hewlett Packard laptop doesn't feature a keyboard shutdown
option, so it's a long ice melt.

 

[Harp]

P.S. Too bad Burms ain't herewith to slap sensical that nasty little shrew.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Five years, yet," smiles Mr. Ginsburg, handing Leonora a package strongly suggestive of a thick and substantial book. "T'anks," the recipent nods. "Seems like f'reveh." "To you, mine lameleh," agrees Mr. Ginsburg, "it is." "Hey!" blurts Willie, putting down his noisemaker. "Harrrrr coooms t' cake!" shouts Uncle Frank, as Sally and Ma enter the store from the back stairs, carrying an Ebinger's blackout cake festooned with the prescribed number of candles. "A stoor cake," disapproves Ma. "What koinda baaarthday..." "It's what she likes," mutters Sally, smiling thru clenched teeth. "An' I'm too tiehed t' fight." "Wait'll ye've haaad thaaarty years oov it," smirks Ma, resting the cake on the counter. "Blow'm good!" encourages Alice. "Yeh!" seconds Krause, as the guest of honor carries out the ritual. As Sally begins handing out the thick, chocolate-on-chocolate-on-chocolate slices, and Bink grabs the largest for herself, Joe looks, regretfully, at the clock behind the counter, and wonders if he should leave the party early to be at the stand for the pre-race rush...)

("Don' worry!" blares Miss Kaplan, shoving Rosa aside to accept a tray from Sammy. "I got it!" "Why's she even heeh," grumbles Rosa. "She just showed up," shrugs Shirley. "She thought Joe was going to be here this morning. I told her it was his daughter's birthday, and she made a face." "Hmph," hmphs Rosa. "How can ya tell?")

("So what? Nobody likes horse.")

(Facing Mecca? Funny, he doesn't look it.)

(If it's Ella in a padded suit, well, all right, let's see how it goes.)

(Stir the pot, Brickie!)

(Who's this guy Red Ryder?)

(Hmph, real detectives use graphite powder.)

(We haven't seen Kitty all summer, so it's good to see she's been keeping up.)