The Era -- Day By Day

[LizzieMaine]

("Las' time I'm gonna eat lunch wit'ta two'a yez," sighs Joe. "Las' night I'm gonna be woikin' heeh. Hawrd't'b'lieve it's been oveh two yeehs." "You really been heeh t'at lawng?" replies Mozelewski, pushing aside a copy of Women's Wear Daily. "It don' seem like." "I been heeh longeh'r'n you," shrugs Joe. "Oh yeh," nods Mozelewski. "I guess t'at IS right, ain'it." "Ain' gonna be t'same wit'outcha," adds Miss Kaplan, taking a deep swig of tepid coffee. "Gillmoeh give ya ya c'tificate yet?" "Nah," dismisses Joe. "T'ey tol' me inna awfice t'ey was gonna mail it out 'na coupla weeks. Maybe I'll hang it up inna barracks a'sump'n, nexta t'is pitcheh Sal gimme." "One'a t'em kinda pitchehs, huh" winks Miss Kaplan. "No, no," flushes Joe. "Ahhhh, ya'ra lousy lieh," smirks Miss Kaplan. "She got it took at Loeseh's," retorts Joe. "Look heeh, I'll show yez." Joe produces his wallet, and flashes it open. "Whassat she got awn?" puzzles Miss Kaplan. "She a waitress 'a sump'n?" "At's 'eh weddin' dress," declares Joe. "Darin'," comments Mozelewski. "Dunno 'bout t'at colleh t'ough." "Shut up t'bot'ayez," growls Joe. "It's sennamental." "Yeh," proclaims Miss Kaplan, "it ain' gonna be t'same wit'outcha.")

One thousand men were lost recently in the sinking of an American troop ship in the North Atlantic, a loss described as the worst maritime disaster of its type in U. S. military history. Authorities declined to reveal the exact date of the sinking, or the specific location, but have confirmed that the sinking took place "due to enemy action" in a heavy sea. The report also confirms that "about as many men as were lost" were saved from the sinking transport ship. It was further noted that the date of the sinking is being withheld because "there is reason to believe that the enemy does not know of the magnitude of his success on this occasion."

Among the 20,000 rare and unusual dolls on display at the fifth annual American Doll Show, opening today at 5th Avenue and 14th Street in Manhattan are those making up the wistful collection of a tough Army veteran of the Guadalcanal campaign. Sergeant Leonard Young of Brooklyn will display several dolls that accompanied him during his service in that battle, including a "pin up" Betty Grable doll, and a flashy three-incher in full Wild West regalia. The sergeant has named that doll "Pistol Packin' Mama." The exhibition, organized by the American Hobby Federation, will continue thru February 29th.

("Yeh," sighs Sally, "I been tawkin' t'ev'rbody. Ma an' Uncle Frank's gonna be t'eh, Jimmy an' Danny, t' Ginsboigs. An' if Mildred Kelly tries t'gimme any lip about absenteein', she c'n kiss my rosy red..." "Me 'n Siddy'll be t'eh," confirms Alice. "Mildred Kelly c'n kiss mine too." "I still can't b'lieve he's goin'," Sally continues. "I mean, it ain' like he oughta be anybody special, eve'nough he is, but I jus' figyehed it'd awl be oveh bef'oeh t'ey got aroun' to 'im." "I ast Siddy las' night," relates Alice. "He was inna las wawr, y'know. An' I ast 'im what it was like. Y'know, goin' t'camp, 'n 'nen gett'n shipped oveh t' France -- an' awllat. He says it don' seem real when y'get t'eh at fois', like awlofasudd'n ev'ryt'ing don' make no sense. Like one'a ya -- you eveh seem t'em whatchacawl surreal paint'ns? Wit' stuff awl scrambled up like it's awl crazy? He says it's kinda like t'at." "Oh," ohs Sally. She is silent for a long moment. "Joe don' like t'em kinda paint'ns. He likes stuff t'at makes sense." "He's livin' inna wrong woil'," sighs Alice. "Yeh," nods Sally.)

(Reality.)

(He isn't wrong.)

(Wait, Leo's gonna play second base? Every base runner in the National League just started sharpening his spikes.)

(You could go back to New York, you know, the dialogue there couldn't be as bad as all this.)

(The resemblance is, truly, remarkable.)

(I was wondering who was finally going to point that out.)

(Who says there's never a cowboy around when you need one?)

(AMERICA'S NUMBER ONE HERO DOG never shies from a difficult job. HEY JUNIOR, TALK TO HIM.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

"Beer and ketchup?"

"This is hinted at on the West Coast -- Ed. note." WHAT ARE YOU IMPLYING??

Nice honker on him, anyway.

"Marry in haste..."

"Sam Sleazy?" Mr. Gray is just phoning this one in.

"Hut sut rawson in a rillara and a brawla brawla soo-it!"

Smoked to death like a herring. That's a new one.

"Lonesome? Is that a dig? You know I can't dance, I have sciatica!"

Mr. Willard needs to get with the times.

Well, the Navy's certainly done wonders for his posture.

 

[FOXTROT LAMONT]

Terrence needs to round up a squad and get back to that veiled pub tart.

Mountbatten would lose an eye later in the war. And still much later lose his life to Irish Republican Army assassination.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Gawdamighty," shivers Sally, adjusting the hood of Leonora's heavy wool snowsuit against the biting early morning cold. "Figyehs it'd be t' coldest mawrnin'a t' yeeh." "You bank t' fieh befoeh we lef'?" queries Alice, glancing down at Krause, who is slapping his sides and bouncing up and down on the sidewalk in an attempt to keep the blood circulating and young Willie gazes wide-eyed into the crowd. "Yeh," he replies thru chattering teeth. "Over there!" interrupts Mr. Ginsburg. "Yussel!" he shouts at a figure pushing his way thru the crowd, just as a large olive-drab bus pulls to the curb. The brakes hiss, the door snaps open, and a bulky grey-haired corporal steps to the sidewalk, officiously scanning his clipboard. "Joseph!" shouts Ma, waving her arm. "Ovarr here!" "No need to joomp oop an' down, Nora," admonishes Uncle Frank. "He sees ye." Jimmy and Danny Leary clear a path thru the anxious crowd as Joe approaches, his face a mask of determination. "Well," he sighs, embracing Sally, "I'm awl swoeh in. Private Joe Petrauskas, USA." "Congratulations, me boy," offers Uncle Frank, pumping Joe's hand. Now remember what I taught ye!" "Don' squeeze ya eyes," recalls Joe, "when ya close t'triggeh." "Close enough," chuckles Uncle Frank. "We're proud, Joseph," adds Mrs. Ginsburg. "Come home safe." "For me too, Yussel, it goes," adds Mr. Ginsburg. "Lomir hern gutte b'soiros. Only good news." "G'luck t'ya, Joe," adds Krause, with a firm handshake. "R'membeh -- keep ya head down, ya eyes open..." "An' ya mout' shut," finishes Joe. "Yeh," grins Krause. "Oh, Joe, Joe, Joe," moans Alice, wiping her eyes with the volumnious sleeve of her coat and moving in for a hug. "Yeh," nods Joe. "Joseph," interrupts Ma, as Alice makes her sniffling retreat. "Hold out ye hand," she whispers, slipping two white cubes into his palm. "These b'ong t'me Michael," she continues, her voice a low rasp. "Ye moit foind'm useful in camp. Gaahd bless ye' -- son." Joe silently pockets the cubes, and embraces his mother-in-law. "Um," he says, his voice quiet against the rumble of the bus engine and the roiling of the crowd. "C'n ya gimme a minute heeh." He swallows, collecting his thoughts, and takes Leonora from Sally's arms. His remarks go unheard except by his daughter as he whispers in her ear. She nods seriously, as he passes her back to Sally. "Well, I guess..." he resumes, but is abruptly interrupted by a piercing yell. "COMIN' T'RU!" blasts the vocal siren announcing the arrival of Miss Kaplan, pushing her way thru the crowd, with Mozelewski lumbering closely in her wake. "Aw, swell," she pants, "we made it. We wouldn' miss t'is f't'woil'." "Good luck, kid," says Mozelewski, extending his hand. "Keep 'm flyin' an' remembeh good ol' Bush Toimenal." "Look heeh," continues Miss Kaplan, "I know I been ridin' ya hawrd, Joe, but..." She pauses, looking up at Joe, and considers what she had planned to do. She puts out her hand, pulls it back, and before Joe can react, she reaches up to place a quick peck on his cheek. "Go get'm, pal," she winks. Joe can merely nod in bewildered acknowledgement. "PETRAUSKAS!" rasps the voice of the corporal. "Um," hastens Joe, "T'anks allayez f'comin' down heeh, but - um -- c'n ya give us a -- um..." Taking the hint, the group steps back a respectful distance as Joe and Sally exchange farewells. "Jus' like a movie," sniffles Miss Kaplan, as Alice breaks into a full-on shoulder-shaking sob...)

With the return of icy weather, the Department of Health now has a backlog of more than 4000 no-heat complaints yet to be investigated in the city, as Solid Fuels Administrator Edwin Salmon warned today that the coal situation is approaching the catastrophic stage. The regional office of the SFA is reported to be dipping into its reserve emergency stockpile of 6000 to 8000 tons of anthracite to supply emergency cases certified by the Health Department, and to keep the city's cash-and-carry fuel dumps in operation. Much of the extra demand for coal this month is coming from consumers who were only able to order half their allotted supply last fall, and who have now exhausted that fuel.

With Mayor LaGuardia having lifted the city-wide ban on the serving of butter for lunch, restaurants and cafeterias are considering whether they should continue on their own with the present policy of butterless noon meals. Restaurant operators have indicated that they would have preferred the Mayor to keep the ban in place, as it has helped to save them precious ration points. It is expected that operators of eating establishments will be closely watching what their neighbors do, and if butter is reinstated anywhere along the street, they will be forced to follow along.

("Hmph! Let ME worry about that!" -- Parks Commissioner Rob't Moses.)

(Will Joe fit in at camp? After all, he has a full head of hair...)

(And there aren't many tubby radio comedians either!)

(It'll be a while yet before this backlog of films made during the North Africa campaign clears out...)

("Are you sure there'll be ROOM???")

(In all the infinity of the multiple Bungleverses, surely there's room for Evil George. I mean, he's even got the beard!)

(LIke a cat with a mouse.)

(Well gaaaaawrsh!)

(You can't argue with his priorities.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

Closing the barn door after the horses escaped.

My great-grandparents lived here for over fifty years without ever becoming citizens. No political reason, they just never got around to it. I wonder if they have an FBI file?

They better play it in her key, or else!

If Phyllis has an affair with this guy, I'll scream.

"What?? I'm working sixteen hours a day! You just can't get the help!"

Worse than no wedding at all is a wedding planned by Andy Gump -- old proverb.

AAAAAAckshully, wouldn't an octupus leave sucker marks? Which in this case would be even MORE appropriate?

Main Character Syndrome.

Bees? BEES?? BEEEEEEES??????!!!!!!! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

"Tough luck, chubby -- don'cha know there's a war on??"

 

[LizzieMaine]

ANd also...

Fascinating.

 

[Fading Fast]

Well-written parting scene, Lizzie, very touching. I love that Miss Kaplan and Mozelewski showed up.

"Action in Arabia" is, as Corby said, not dissimilar to Sanders' Falcon movies. It's kind of like a B-movie mashup of the Falcon and "Casablanca."

Did anybody have bees on his/her bingo card?

 

[FOXTROT LAMONT]

Clare Boothe Luce. I've heard of her but as with John Updike I haven't a clue about her.
Dreadful tragedy losing a daughter amidst those times.

Our lad has showered and shaved for his safari. Objectives are name, address, and telephone number.
Cleanly shaved, decisive, immaculate. The picture of a soldier.

 

[LizzieMaine]

If 1942 hadn't already been the Year of G. R. Lee, it would've been the Year of Claire Boothe Luce, Page Four favorite for coining the word "globaloney." Playwright, Congresswoman, provocateur. I wish she agreed with me more, but even if she doesn't she's a fascinating personality of the Era.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("I wondeh what he's doin' right now," sighs Sally, stirring the ice in her glass of Coke with a wilting wax-paper straw as Leonora studiously regards a stack of nickels. "I wondeh if t'ey give him one'a t'em convic' haircuts yet. Y'know, I useta hate when he'd get 'is haeih cut shawrt inna summeh. Made 'is eehs stick out awrf'l. But he said it got hot inna pickle woiks an'ne couldn' stan' havin'em coils floppin' down innis face. I hope t'ey don' cut it too shawrt." "Ye look, daughter," comments Ma, "like ye didn' sleep aahl noit." "I didn'," affirms Sally. "Y'know, eveh since Joe's been on shif' woik, I neveh slep' t'ru a whole night. Ev'ry night right aroun'a time he'd come home I'd wake up, an' I'd lay t'eh waitin'. An'need come in tryin' t'be real quiet like, tryin' not to make t'flooeh squeak, tryin' not t'trip oveh Stella, he'd get undressed an' real quiet like, fol' 'is ovehrawls up innat chaieh t'eh, an' get in bed. An' I'd make like I was sleepin'a whole time, y'know, din' wan'nim t't'ink he'd woke me up. But t'is mawrnin' I woke up same as awlways, right at t'at time, an' I jus' laid t'eh till t'sun come up. Y'know, his ovehrawls is still t'eh onna chaieh right w'eh'e left'm when he come home t'las' time. I was gonna, y'know, wash'm out an' putt'm away -- but I couldn'. T'eh still layin' onnat chaieh, right we'h he left'm. When I got up t'is mawrnin, Stella was sleepin' on'm. So I guess I'll leave'm t'eh a while longeh." Ma sighs, polishing the fountain spouts in silence. "We'hs Willie t'day?" queries Sally. "Oh, he's spendin' ev'ry weekend now ovarr with th' Krauses," replies Ma. "They coom'n gottim faarst thing this marrnin'. S"proised ye didn't run into 'em. Woondarful how they've taken to th' boy, don't ye think?" "Yeh, sighs Sally. "Lissen," she continues. "T'ank's f'greein' t'take Leonoreh again while I'm woikin'. She kinda liked t'at noissery oveh t' Sperry's, but I guess t'at's out now. But awr you sueh you c'n come oveh t'get'teh evr'y mawrnin'? Ain't t'stoeh gotta open at five-t'oity?" "Ahhh," dismisses Ma. "Francis haas agreed t'oop'n oop farr me, it'll be foine." "Good ol' Uncle Frank," muses Sally. "Awrways right t'eh when y'need 'im. I guess he's gotta get up pretty oily t'be down'eeh by five t'oity." "Ohhhhh," exhales Ma, "it's naaaht thaaat far...")

Soviet troops, driving west of Staraya, Russia on a 22 mile front stretching south of Lake Ilmen, captured more than 100 towns yesterday in pushing to within 40 miles east of the key railroad junction of Dno, which was being threatened by other Russian forces bearing down from the north. While Moscow's broadcast communiques were reporting Russian triumphs on the northern front, the Soviet Information Bureau announced that a final capitulation showed 73,300 Germans were killed and captured in the 16 day battle of the Cherkassay Pocket in the Ukraine, among them Gen. Wilhelm Stemmerman, commander of the trapped German 8th Air Force. The new casualty figures were 10,300 hire than the statistics announced last week by Premier Stalin.

An abortion mill which netted more than $875,000 in payments from high-society women was operated in Manhattan by an Austrian refugee doctor and his son, charge police, following a raid at a swanky Park Avenue building. The eight-room suite at 993 Park Avenue was leased to 37-year-old Dr. Stephen A. Leslie and his father, 69-year-old Dr. Julius Leslie. Detectives and aides to District Attorney Frank Hogan say that the Leslies performed up to eight abortions a day in the suite, at a charge of $250 each. All of the women observered entering the suite were reported by detectives to be "well dressed," and some were reported to be known members of "cafe society." The raid yesterday took place while an illegal operation was in progress. Also arrested at the scene were 39-year-old Mrs. Elvira Frank, described as "a nurse and midwife," and 58-year-old Elsa Pragen, identified as housekeeper for the suite. While the younger Dr. Leslie has been licensed to practice medicine in New York State since 1939, his father, who arrived here from Vienna in 1940, has never held a New York license.

An "Army-loving mongrel" is reported lost somewhere in the labrynthine streets of Brooklyn, with a reward offered for the dog's return. Patsy, a black-and-white dog belonging to 1st Lt. and Mrs. R. N. Teague of 754 E. 9th Street, slipped out of the house Saturday morning and hasn't returned home. Mrs. Teague says that Patsy is very fond of soldiers, and will follow anyone in an Army uniform. A small boy in the neighborhood reported seeing Patsy in a nearby garage yesterday, with his leg bleeding, and said the dog was driven away by a man in a car. Anyone sighting Patsy should call Lt. Teague at TRiangle 5-8757.

(Oh boy! Unexpected sensations!)

Students at Brooklyn College are 9 to 1 in favor of a fourth term for President Roosevelt. 1038 students surveyed endorsed the President for reelection in an Eagle poll, with only 113 opposed. A majority of those polled also say the European phase of the war will continue into 1945, with only 485 predicting it will end this year. The survey also found that students consider Bob Hope, by a wide margin, to be their favorite radio star, with 663 votes, with Fred Allen a distant second at 130, Jack Benny third with 90 votes, and 66 for Ed "Archie" Gardner. Frank Sinatra earned merely two votes, both cast by women.

If you have a dusty phonograph taking up space in your attic, the Brooklyn Public Library would like to have it. The Library's Art and Music Department has a collection of more than 2000 records, from Wagnerian opera to Negro spirituals, and is looking for additional machines on which to play them. Portables, cabinet models, and radio-phonograph combinations are all needed for use by servicemen and other library patrons, and will be returned after the war. Call STerling 3-2300 to loan yours.

(I dunno, I've lost fifteen pounds this winter without even trying. Living in a state of existential terror will do that.)

The Eagle Editorialist observes the coming of Brotherhood Week by pointing out that all forms of racial and religious prejudice aid only our enemies, especially at a time when white and black, Protestant, Catholic, and Jew are all fighting and dying for the same cause. "The slimy propagandists of hatred had better look to their foul hiding places against the day when the boys come home," declares the EE. "It would not be well to be known as an anti-Semite to the Jewish wearer of a few overseas service stripes."

(In peacetime this week would mark the start of Spring Training. Oh, well, fencing's fun.)

(Too bad Joe never took music lessons.)

(Seems to me if you want to knock somebody out by hitting them with a gun, you use the butt, not the barrel. But who am I, a cowboy?)

(Butch can certainly count on the canine vote.)

(What could POSSIBLY go wrong with this cunning plan!)

(Remember, Phil is Ernie Bushmiller's self-avatar. It explains SO MUCH. And given these interesting sloth facts, it's fascinating that sloths are so popular with the terminally-online creators of memes.)

(A radio program? Kid, you're nothing compared to Helen Trent.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

The Rhinelander case was right up there with Daddy and Peaches, the Hall-Mills case, and the Snyder-Gray case among the most scrofulous Page Four scandals of the Twenties. Given the public humiliation she suffered at the hands of her in-laws I hope she soaks them for every red cent they've got.

And embossed on the sole it says "NO FOURTH TERM."

"Imagine performing every week in front of a crowd of people who only came in to get out of the rain." -- Fred Allen.

Oh, give them a minute to get warmed up....

YOU'RE A FINE SHYSTER! Well, you do get what you pay for. And I bet a lot of people don't know chickens can fly!

We've always known Plushie is an idiot, but I had no idea he was also a BRUTE!

May we introduce Police Commissioner Chester Gump.

I hope Laughton is getting well-paid for this.

Josie understands a fundamental rule of business -- create a need, and fill it.

Before we go on with this, please tell us one thing -- did she kill Judas?

 

[FOXTROT LAMONT]

Terrence is an ahem inexperienced innocent watching a strip tease dance of seven veils and only remarks the music.

Baruch's post war industrial conversion plan snags congressional review because it eliminates government agencies
and trims off fat lard political patronage. China's central plan economy is a real mess and could use that report.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Hey Sal," urges Alice. "Wake up, we'eh awrmos' t'eh." "Mmmrpfh," sighs Sally. "Sawry." "You don' look so good," observes Alice. "I awrways look like t'is," shrugs Sally. "On'y now t'ehs moehr of it." "Ain' sleepin', huh?" nods Alice. "Yeh." sighs Sally. "Joe an' ev'ryt'ing, y'know? I mean, it ain' like we neveh been apawrt, I mean, I was inna hospital t'eh wit' Leonoreh. C'ouese, Joe was right t'eh next'me bed, sleepin' in a chaien t'eh. An'nen'at time, you remembeh, when'nee fell downa steps inna subway 'n cracked 'is head. But t'is is diff'nt." "Nobody's inna hospital," nods Alice solemnly. "It ain'nat," continues Sally. "It's t'wawr. It feels like it's gett'n closehr'n closeh. I mean, at fois' t'on'y poisson we knew t'at was in it was Solly Pincus, right? An'nen he got shot, oveh t'eh in Nawrt' Africa, an'nat made it seem a little closeh. An'nen'ey took Mickey, an' it was closeh yet. An'nen Mickey ended up inna prison camp, an'nen it was gett'n REALLY close. An'now t'ey got Joe. An' I'm layin'eh t'inkin', I mean, fois' Solly went, an'nen it got closeh -- an'nen Mickey went, an'nen it got closeh -- an'now Joe's gawn -- an' how much closeh is it gonna get? Huh? I ask ya." "I dunno," sighs Alice. "Don't nobody know." There is a long silence as the train rattles into Jersey City. "Oh, hey, Sal, I got sump'n fawr ya," recalls Alice. "Remembeh I tol' ya Mame G is teachin' me sewin'? Well -- um -- yestehday I made sump'n fawr ya. T'is heeh." She reaches into her coat and produces a rolled piece of red felt. Sally unrolls it to reveal a white rectangle sewn to the center, bearing a single blue felt star. "See 'teh," points out Alice. "T'es a stick up inna top heeh, an' ya use t'is string heeh, an' hang it in ya windeh. You know, f' Joe..." "T'anks," whispers Sally, her eyes fogging in the early morning light.)

American airmen, following up a daring daytime raid by United States destroyers, pounded airfields of Japanese strongholds at Rabaul, New Britain with 123 tons of bombs, destroying 15 planes in the 16th consecutive day of aerial assaults on that base. It was announced today that Liberators and Mitchell medium bombers from Solomon Island bases blasted huge craters in the airstrips at Vunakanau and Tobera, in what appeared to be a concerted drive to wipe out the enemy's striking power. Two Japanese planes were destroyed on the ground and thirteen in aerial combat, without any Allied losses.

A raid on a Borough Park apartment led to the arrest of a former doctor, caught in the act of performing an abortion on a woman laid out on the kitchen table. Samuel Solomon, who lost his medical license some time ago for performing illegal operations, was in the midst of performing the abortion on a 28-year-old Bay Ridge woman when police burst into the kitchen, and he calmly told the lieutenant in charg of the raid that the woman's life was in danger if he was not allowed to complete the operation. He was allowed to do so, providing detectives with first-hand evidence of the charge. Police went to the apartment of Mrs. Elsie Cohen at 5501 14th Avenue on a complaint from neighbors that an "abortion mill" operated there. Further investigation led to the arrest of 48-year-old second-hand furiture dealer Harry Isaacson of 1836 Fulton Street on the charge that he too allowed Solomon the use of an apartment for abortion purposes. Also charged with aiding and abetting an illegal operation were Mrs. Cohen and 28-year-old drug store clerk John Del Vecchia, who was accused of recommending Solomon's services to potential patients. The four will be arraigned today in Brooklyn Felony Court.

(I pondered hard what "mena-ceto" means, until I realized it was just a tired linotypist.)

("Hmph," hmphs Miss Kaplan. "T'ey ain' put MY name inneh yet. Couese, I ain' doin' it f't'credit a' nut'n, but..." "Scuse me," interrupts a young woman in crisp new overalls and a bright headscarf. "Mind if I sit here?" Mozelewski looks up to regard with distaste the newcomer's loud-patterned blouse, and with a grunt nods to an empty seat. "No no no," interjects Miss Kaplan. "Y'can't sit innis seat. Sit oveh t'eh. T'IS is Joe's seat." "Who's Joe," queries the new employee. "Who's Joe?" sputters Miss Kaplan. "Lissen heeh, kid, lemme tell ya 'bout Joe....")

The Eagle Editorialist observes that the possible withdrawal of Finland from the war would be a major defeat for Germany. It will mean the weakening of Nazi positions in Norway, and will endanger the transportation of mineral supplies essential to the German war machine from Sweden. It will also mean loss of Nazi domination of the Upper Baltic, and will open Germany to the possibility of air attack from the north. "Hitler may be expected to make difficult the retirement of the Finns from his 'New Order,'" predicts the EE. "Unfortunately for Finland, these difficulties must be faced and overcome if she hopes to escape the terrible striking power which Russia is capable of throwing against her."

(Well, all the good glass is going for turret domes.)

("Warners?" You mean, J. L and Harry? Don't they play for Hollywood? Oh, wait, never mind. Just how carefully is the Eagle screening these linotypists??)

(That "Pocket Guide to AAF Slang" is coming in handy.)

(Is it true that if alternate-universe counterparts touch, all reality will implode? Guess we'll find out!)

(Investigative Journalism is Easy!)

(MEET CUTE!)

(AMERICA'S NUMBER ONE HERO DOG REMINDS YOU THAT BEING KIND TO ANIMALS IS EVERYBODY'S BUSINESS.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

"But it won't be Oona!"

Yeah, we all know the type.

It's always nice to run into an old friend.

Better filter that honey first, you don't know who's been sticking their dirty feet in it.

Can't you go join the WAVES or something? Oh wait, they won't give you a gun.

Two dollar special at City Hall, and lunch at Horn & Hardart. That's the way to do it!

"But I do wish you wouldn't make him salute!" "But Ma -- he was a Seaman Second Class and I'm an Ensign!"

"Fenagle?" Proofreader got drafted, huh?

Honestly, I'm surprised the Wallets don't have a tall hedge around their house.

What it was like before Dr. Spock.

 

[Fading Fast]

I didn't think it was possible, but I'm begin to like Miss Kaplan.

If it is Burma, and now having read the first three years of "Terry and the Pirates," the history those two share is incredible.

 

[FOXTROT LAMONT]

Terrence flies into New Delhi and catches an acquaint from back home in St Louis. A barfight looms.
This scene is right out of Somerset Maugham.

''Menaceto'' spins Latin ''mena'' present tense ''threat'' to past tense ''threatened.''

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Howcum t'eh ain' no Eagle t'day?" queries Alice. "Have I gotta pull a papeh out f'm und'ra seat again jus' so I c'n have sump'n t'read onna way home?" "Washin'ton's boit'day," shrugs Sally, opening a small black book. "Whassat?" queries Alice. "You ain' read'na Bible a'nut'n, awrya? You ain' gonna go awl r'ligious jus' because Joe's gawn, awrya? T'at ain' like you, Sal, I hope ya ain' gett'n..." "It ain' no Bible," sighs Sally. "Look heeh." "Why Women Cry -- Wenches Wit' Wrenches," reads Alice. "By Elizabet' Hawes. Whassawlat?" "It's a book 'bout people like us," replies Sally. "You know, women t'at do wawr woik, an'nen have t'take caehra fam'lies an' awlat. I been lucky t'have Joe takin' caeh'ra Leonoreh, an' now Ma again -- butcha know, not evr'ybody's lucky like t'at. I mean, lookitchoo. You woik awl day inna plant, 'nenya come home at night an' y'gotta secon' jawb helpin' out wit'ta Ginsboigs, an'nen ya got a husban' t'cook fawr. Whenya got any time f', y'know, YOU?" Alice ponders. "Me'n Siddy wen' bowlin' Sunday," she shrugs. "We wen'oveh t'ya Ma's t'pick up Willie, 'nen we wen' upta Fitz's t'eh, bowl'd'a few games. Butcha know WHAT? T'ey wouldn' let Willie bowl! T'ey said ya gotta be sixteen! T'at ain' faieh! T'at book say anyt'ing about T'AT?" "I don' t'ink so," dismisses Sally, riffling the pages. "C'ouese, I ain' finished it yet." There is a silence that lasts for several rattling miles. "You heeh f'rom Joe yet?" queries Alice. "He's on'y been in camp f'two days," sighs Sally. "I 'magineh runnin' 'im ragged. I guess I'll get a letteh when he gets a chance t'write one." "Siddy was at Camp Upton too, y'know," continues Alice. "Inna last wawr. You know he lied about his age t'get in. He was on'y sixteen. T'ey neveh foun' out. I mean, how many kids sixteen is bawlheaded? But anyways, he says y'know t'at sawng, 'Oh How I Hate T'Get Up Inna Mawrnin'?' T'at was written about Camp Upton. It's jus' LIKE t'at." "Joe ain' woiked a nawrm'l schedule f'two yeehs," shrugs Sally. "I guess t'is ain' no diffr'nt." "I wondeh if we lied about Willie's age," ponders Alice, "could he bowl?" "Prob'ly not," chuckles Sally, returning to her book. "Yeh," nods Alice. "Too bad he ain' bawlheaded..." And with that, Alice reaches under the seat for a copy of the Daily News, in which she reads...)

"Looka t'at," huffs Alice. "T'ey put a guy onna front page'a t'papeh been shot inna head. Look'eeh, y'c'n see t' bullet hole right t'eh! Who wants t'lookit'at!" "Howmany copies t'ey sell a day?" sighs Sally. "T'eh's ya anseh."

"It's awrf'l!" rages Alice, slapping Page Four with the back of her hand. "T'ey run outa junk t'write about Charwlie Chaplin, so now t'ey drag Abraham Lincoln in onnit! An' he can't do nut'na'bout it 'cause he's dead!" "Y'c'n loin a lotta'bout t'papehs," notes Sally, "by jus' read'n'm."

"I loint sump'n innehrestin' 'bout bees inna magazine oncet," comments Alice. "Didja know it's t' goil bees do awla woik makin'a honey an' takin' cahe'ra stuff 'n awlat?" Sally offers no reply other than to point again to her book.

"Happiness is as shawrt lived as a snowflate t'at fawls inna riveh," repeats Alice. "Jeez, Sal, t'at's somep'nat makes ya t'ink, ain'it. T'at Unca Bim. Whehya spose he comes up wit'tat stuff?" "Helen Woit'," sighs Sally without looking up.

"Heh!" snickers Alice. "T'at's like me'n Siddy, ce'pt Siddy's gotta stan' onna box t'reach t' sink! Oh, an'nat guy's got moeh haieh. 'Less he's weahrin' one'a t'em too-pees. Hey Sal, you t'ink t'is guy's weahrin' a too-pee?" "Nah," replies Sally with a cursory glance at the drawing. "It's a cawrtoon -- if he was weharin' one'a t'em, it woulda fell inna sink." "Oh," ponders Alice. "Geez, Sal, you eveh t'inka writin' gags f't'funnies?"

"You eveh been on a jury, Sal?" queries Alice. "Neh," shrugs Sally, without looking up. "I don' like juries," mutters Alice. "T'ey awl look like t'ey been suckin' on lemons. I hate lemons." "Yeh," replies Sally without hearing a word of it.

"I neveh been out wit' no lieutenants," notes Alice. "Is it true what t'ey say?" "Is what true?" replies Sally with an irritated snap. "T'at tey," continues Alice, her voice dropping to an embarassed whisper, "shave, you know, t'eh tails." Sally's eyes expand to large brown dots. "Ain' you eveh hoid t'at?" puzzles Alice, her whisper growing hoarse. "T'ey even cawll'm 'shaved tails!' Siddy tol' me!" Sally's eyes slowly close as she sinks back against her seat.

"Y'know," says Alice, with a shy grin, "befoeh I met Siddy I kin'a hadda crush awnim." "Who?" puzzles Sally. "Am I missin' sump'n heeh?" "Him," nods Alice, pointing at the page before her. "Right heeh. "You hadda crush," gapes Sally, "on Moon Mullins?" "Yeh," nods Alice, a blush unfurling across her cheeks. "I mean, lookat'im. He's good lookin', nice poissonality. An' he awrways dresses good. Like a gen'leman, I mean." Sally strains to stop an involuntary eyeroll, but can offer no other reply. "I wisht Siddy would stawrt weahrin'nem plaid pants I bought 'im 'f' Chrismas," Alice adds. "An'nat polo shoit."

"You eveh hang aroun' Schreibstein's," queries Alice, "an' liss'n t't'people tawkin' onna phones? It's betteh'n radio." Sally just shakes her head. "T'ey roont it t'ough, putt'n innem boot's wit' doeehs. I useta get a lotta good tips t'eh too!"

"Lemme see t'eh," injects Sally, snatching the paper away. "Jeez, he's stringin'is out! It's Boima, y'know, who else CAN it be?" "Boima?" gapes Alice. "How ya make t'at?" "Who ELSE??" erupts Sally. "Who ELSE would be 'Madame Shoo Shoo' dancin' t' St. Louis Blues? I ASK YA!" "Boima!" marvels Alice. "Well if t'at don' beat AWL..."

 

[Fading Fast]

Page Four is gonna Page Four: "...to exchange a couple of brassieres which she had discovered were too small for her." Intrepid reporting brings you all the pertinent facts. I would not have had Mrs. Miller on my bingo card as a woman whose husband would kill his wife's lover.

How freakin' short is Sidney? The man's got no hair and no height - let's hope God was kind to him in other physical ways. Probably so as Alice does't complain and we know she would to Sally if he didn't umm, er, uhh, make her happy.

I think it's Burma too - fits perfectly, but how cool would it be if it was Hu Shee or, how 'bout, April Kane having been, effectively, Shanghaied - weird stuff happens in wartime.

 

[LizzieMaine]

I figure Siddy's about five four or five five -- which is actually a practical advantage in his line of work, given those low hanging cellar pipes -- but Alice is almost six feet tall, and inhabits every inch of it. A match made in heaven. assuming certain accomodations are made.

We last saw Hu Shee working with Dr. Ping, and if I'm confident of anything it's that they're both survivors. But April -- who hasn't been seen since she fled Hong Kong just ahead of the invasion -- hardly seems the type to be able to survive whatever has happened over the last two years. On the other hand, her brother Dillon was based in India, and that would be a natural place for her to seek refuge, so....

Oh well, maybe we're all wrong and it's actually Cheery Blaze.

 

[FOXTROT LAMONT]

There is a bit of a row over here about recent Middle East remarks voiced the Prince of Wales since his Highness spoke
out of turn, Fleet Street all agog outrage and all. Yet give the man his moment since he's on world stage, like it
or not, and me thoughts turned toward Terrence with all his crew kith and kin. I all too often fall smitten by this strip,
its sensuality like Taffy's silhouette or those fabulous leather jackets. These men and women deserve applause, our
lad Terrence particularly. He is such a fine outstanding youth quite emblematic the Second War Generation.
Our late monarch Queen Elizabeth was a World War II veteran having served as subaltern in the ATS, when she drove ambulances through the Blitz, and Her passage closed History's chronicle of the splendid Second War Generation.
Our lad Terrence opens the book for us, a last look at men and women whom spake Cymbeline, ''Golden lads and girls all must, As chimney-sweepers, come to dust.''