LizzieMaine
Bartender
- Messages
- 33,715
- Location
- Where The Tourists Meet The Sea
("If any magistrate does not believe in the gambling laws, it is his duty to resign and run for the legislature." Butch does have a way with words.)
The city's air raid wardens are inadequately supplied with equipment, Mayor LaGuardia charged yesterday, in his weekly radio broadcast over WNYC. The Mayor, who formerly headed the Office of Civilian Defense, stated that the city's request for 22,000 regulation steel helmets from the OCD was filled with a mere 80 helmets, and he went on to denounce his successors at the head of the national OCD. "Before I resigned my office as head of the OCD, I had the $100,000,000 bill passed by Congress," he declared, "and since then nothing has been done. You cannot bind up wounds with armbands, and you cannot put out fires with armbands." The Mayor charged that other cities have been placed in a similar position by inadequate supplies of equipment from the OCD, asserting that San Francisco, as one example, is making do with "1000 helmets and a few armbands," while San Diego received "830 helmets and 1650 armbands." The Mayor's successor as head of the OCD, Commissioner James L. Landis, disputed the charge that wardens are inadequately equipped, promising that "pumps, trailers, gas masks, and other equipment will soon be sent to the cities that need them."
German tank battalions, thrusting toward Russia's rich Caucasus oil fields, have been thrown back by the Red Army in twelve consecutive attacks on the southwest front, it was announced today. Dozens of tanks were reported pounded into wreckage by Soviet artillery as the Germans retreated, leaving over 1500 Nazi soldiers dead on the battlefield.
(Poor Gargantua.)
("Hmph," hmphs Joe. "T'em soichlight guys. T'ink t'ey so hot. Gettin' a pitcha inna papeh. Don' see t'em toinin' no lathes. Don' see t'em makin' no..." "Shhhh!" shushes Sally. "Loose lips sink ships." "Don' see us gett'n no pitchehs inna papeh," grumbles Joe. "Hmph.")
The Eagle Editorialist deplores the wasting of lives that result when tankers carrying gasoline so that Americans can enjoy "aimless driving" are torpedoed. "When a tanker is torpedoed it is normally set afire, and the sea around it becomes a blazing hell as the gasoline burns on the surface of the sea. Men die in those flames, die horribly, screaming in agony. Why? So you and I won't have to walk half a mile to the station? So that you and I can take our usual aimless Sunday drive?"
(It suffers in translation.)
Mrs. Billy Conn, wife of Pittsburgh's heavyweight title contender, gave birth yesterday to a son, weighing 6 pounds 4 ounces. Conn, recently enlisted as an Army private, was given a short furlough to be at his wife's bedside.
(No word from grandpa.)
("Double Chin" Medwick? It's gonna be a fun summer!)
Radio's most unusual daytime serial moves to 11:15 AM starting today over WEAF, as Paul Rhymer's whimsical "Vic and Sade" approaches its tenth anniversary on the air. Rhymer is one of the true original wits in America today, and his daily story of Vic and Sade Gook, their adopted son Rush, and their rambling Uncle Fletcher, is unlike anything else on the daytime air. Art Van Harvey, Bernadine Flynn, Billy Idelson, and Clarence Hartzell play those roles, and are the only performers ever to have been heard on the program since its debut in 1932. All other characters populating the odd midwestern town where the stories are set appear only in the conversations of the main cast, in one-sided telephone calls, or in long, disjointed letters from out of town. Mr. Rhymer says he churns out each day's script early in the morning, sometimes taking as little as an hour to turn out ten minutes of dialogue. "It's a tough job," he admits, "but when it isn't a tough job anymore I'll know I'm no good!"
(Well, it's better than a labor camp.)
(Point of order -- the actual, historical Napoleon played the guitar, not the drums. Do your research, Tuthill!)
(Never mind these petty manipulations, I wanna know why Leona's sneaking off.)
("This has ceased to be funny!" And Russell Stamm achieves a level of self-awareness that Norman Marsh can only dream of.)
(Although, to be fair, this has definitely NOT ceased to be funny.)