The Era -- Day By Day

[LizzieMaine]

Yep, disguise is one of Burm's MANY ACCOMPLISHMENTS. I wonder if Madam Shoo Shoo is wearing a wig, or if she actually dyed it?

And Pat-with-a-beard is an idea that just won't go away.

 

[Fading Fast]

Pat had been held captive for a few weeks, but yes, Caniff does love to put on and take off a beard on Pat.

I wonder if Caniff had one of these as a kid.

 

[FOXTROT LAMONT]

This Madame Sho Shoo isn't a British concern in 1944 India and whatever records once held Hong Kong are gone
and done. Mafalda isn't sighted locus for Punjab's tortious battery which she can contest as sexual assault.
As for Captain Sherlock Holmes his prurient notions are personal. So she is clear of all so no need concern, except our gallant lad has been smitten. And as a soldier into the breach, Terrence fine and resplendent wearing his Aero Corp
A2 leather horse sporting an absolutely stunner Flying Tigers crest. Mafalda's nippers will fall, fixed primary object frontal or simultaneous enfilade, conquest all assuredly must be Cupid's intent.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("It's inna bag, kid," grins Alice. "Evr'yt'ing's awl set up. Fois' t'ing Sunday mawrnin' we'll get oveh t'eh to Flatbush, we'll leave off Leonoreh wit'cha Ma, an'nen we'll tell 'eh -- well, we'll tell 'eh we'eh gonna stan' aroun' up by Ebbets Feel wit' a p'tition a'sump'n." "Oh," puzzles Sally. "P'tition f'what?" "Oh, t'ink a sump'n," dismisses Alice. "Ya awrways gett'nup a p'tition. Op'n'in a secon' front, gett'n Petey back, runnin' Rickey outa town, whateveh. Jus' bring a clipboehd so it looks legit, see? An'nen we jus' wawk up t' Leary Plumbin' 'neh, an' Jimmy'll have t' truck awl waitn'frus. We drive out t'eh t' Yaphank, take us 'bout an houeh..." "InNAT truck?" snorts Sally. "Awright, a 'noueh'na half. Don' matteh. We get out t'eh, go oveh t''t camp, see Joe, come back, 'n we'll be back home by two, t'ree inna aftehnoon. Simple's'at." "I dunno," frowns Sally. "I don' even know if Joe's 'LOWED t'have visits." "Aw, whatcha worried 'bout," scoffs Alice. "He's inna Awrmy, he ain' in jail. T'ey GOTTA let'tim have visits, 'special fr'm you. I mean, even when I was upstate I got t'have -- um... t'at is -- um, when Mickey was in -- uh --I went t'visit'im awla time. We'll jus' wawk upta t'gate t'eh, tell'm we come t'see Joe Petrauskas, an' ne'll bring'im inna room t'eh, an' we'll have a real nice visit. Ain' nut'n to it!" "An' we ain' gonna get in no trouble?" queries Sally with a skeptical squint. "Ain' gonna be nooooo trouble at'awl!" reassures Alice. "Wait'n see!")

American troops who landed on Los Negros in a reconaissance penetration of the Admiralty Islands have been reinforced with heavy ground forces to effect complete occupation of the tiny but strategic island, it was announced today. A communique from the headquarters of General Douglas MacArthur revealed that additional forces were landed yesterday. Those reinforcements included troops, artillery, and construction crews who immediately began repairing the 5000-foot Momote airfield, presaging further aerial attacks on New Guinea, 250 miles to the south.

In Washington, D. C., a murder charge will be brought against a 34-year-old groundskeeper who confesses last night to killing a 37-year-old librarian and stuffing her body into a dungeon-like pit beneath the stately gothic edifice of the National Cathedral. Julius Fisher, a Cathedral employee, told police he bludgeoned Miss Catherine Reardon, who worked in the Cathedral's library, with a fireplace log because she had complained that he failed to clean under her desk. Fisher then admitted that he dragged the librarian's body into the cathedral's sub-basement where it was found early yesterday. Police stated that Miss Reardon had not been raped. Fisher failed to report for work yesterday, and detectives found him last night in a restaurant. He drew a .32 caliber revolver, but one of the detectives grabbed his arm and wrested the gun away before any shots were fired. Fisher told police after Miss Reardon criticized him for negligence in his work, he slapped her and struck her once with the log. When she attempted to flee, he choked her and then struck her again. He then dragged her down a 20-foot spiral staircase into the sub-basement where he undressed her and left her with her clothing bunched under her head.

A former butcher now employed at a Long Island aircraft plant was fined $100 after he pleaded guilty to selling black-market meat to his co-workers. Bernard Nenner of 74 Harts Avenue in Roosevelt admitted the charges yesterday in Brooklyn Federal Court, acknowledging that he had sold 75 pounds of ham and bacon to employees at the Liberty Aircraft Corporation at prices above OPA ceilings and without taking ration stamps.

("Look here, William," says Ma, displaying a small buff-colored card with the word 'Kriegsgefangenenpost' emblazoned at the top. "It's a card from ye faather." "Unca Siddy?" queries Willie. "Ah," exhales Ma, carefully pondering her next words.)

(Come now, Mr. Kaye -- no role for your pal Leo? He's a natural!)

Slim hips are the look for spring 1944, according to local buyers. At Martin's, eight silhouettes all emphasizing the trim, narrow-hipped style and an enhanced shoulder line should find at least one of them suitable for women of all shapes.

The Eagle Editorialist notes the passing of an era this Sunday, when the last elevated train passes across the Brooklyn Bridge. Trolleys and autos will continue, but the days of the breezy five-cent elevated ride across the East River, for so long a hallmark of Brooklyn life, will come to an end.

("Isn't that lovely, dear. When do you start?")

(Twenty-four Dodgers in the service. At least somebody's got a good team.)

(Hmph, he'll wipe that moustache right off your face!)

("Hey look, Bill, it's that idiot Bungle again! THIS OUGHTA BE GOOD!")

(Roseland is no place for old folks.)

("Pingggggg!")

(The line between opportunity and opportunism is exceedingly fine.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

Oh, now I want to see This Article In The New York Mirror, whose Page Four is even more so. Of course, the Times, they don't have a Page Four at all, nosirree they don't.

For those who came in late...

Annie has walked thru deeper darkness than you could ever know.

All right, come up with ANOTHER plan. "YOO HOO! TERRY! IT'S ME, BURMA!"

Um, not really.

Once again -- NO MEANS NO!!!

Aren't you cold?

Trapped in a world he cannot understand.

You can get away with a lot when you've got a B card.

"But I warn you, boy, if you so much as touch the tender skin of a single apple, I shall CANE you!"

 

[LizzieMaine]

And also...

Don't worry, toots, as soon as that dinner pail hits the floor she'll wake up!

 

[FOXTROT LAMONT]

Caniff obviously intends an appropriate interlude between Mafalda and Terrence becoming joined at the hip,
so spake, yet I believe aside stretching the week's strip out he's a literary craftsman as well a sharp razor pencil.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("I wan'ed t'make a cake las' night," sighs Sally. "You know, t'take out t'Joe t'marra." "Since when d'you bake?" marvels Alice. "Y'awrways go t' Hawrn 'n Hardart when y'wanna cake. 'Less Woik F' Mutteh!'" "I bake," counters Sally. "Sometimes. Well, nawt a lot, but I know howta do it. I got t'at book t'ey give us at Erasmus, y'know. 'Han'book f' Direction of Home Makin' Activities.' Tells awlabout bakin' an' awlat stuff. Don' worry 'bout me, I know howta bake." "Ah," chuckles Alice. "ANYWAYS," huffs Sally, "I was gonna bake t'is cake, see? An'nen I look oveh at t'stove t'eh, an' I seen Joe. Sittin' in 'is chaieh t'eh, kin'a tipped back, innis undehshoit, right? Wit' t' suspendehs hangin' down? An'nee's read'na papeh wit' his feet inna oven, jus' like he useta do. I sweahtagawd, I seen 'im right t'eh same as I see you right now. I says 'Joe??' An'nen awlofasudden, he ain'neh no moeh. An' I jus' set down'neh an' I stawrted cryin'." "Oh," murmurs Alice, bouncing on her seat as the train hits a jolt. "Lissen, ya gonna see 'im t'marra. Jus' keep t'at in min'. Awright?" "Yeh," sighs Sally. "Anyways, afteh t'at I couldn' bake no cake, so I wen' downstaiehs an' ast Mrs. Ginsboig would she go oveh t' Hawrn n' Hardart t'day an' get me a cake." "Ah," nods Alice. "T'at explains why she..." "'Splains what?" interjects Sally. "Nut'n," dismisses Alice. "Whattaya gonna weah t'marra?" she continues. "Don' weah t'at Woolwoit's unifawrm, y'c'n get in trouble y'know, f'r imposionatin' a Woolwoit' gal. People get arrested." "Ha ha," growls Sally. "I ain' got no spring clo'es yet. Who has time? Maybe I'll weah t'at blue suit, y'know, t' one I had on t'at time we went t't'at choich t'try an' get Rickey." "Oh yeh," nods Alice. "Hey, you eveh get t'em grape juice stains out?" "It's blue," shrugs Sally. "Who's gonna notice." "Ah," nods Alice, as the train pulls into Jersey City.)

The president of a Long Island City oil company and one of his truck drivers were accused of illegally selling more than 50,000 gallons worth of gasoline coupons to the defendant in a case now pending in Brooklyn Federal Court. That defendant, Ted Cotler, the operator of an Oceanside filling station, accused Albert Richel, president of the Joy Oil Corportation, and driver Anthony F. Kendierski, both of Long Island City, of selling him the coupons at a rate of two and a half to four cents per gallon. Another witness, OPA agent Edward Des Verney, testified that he had examined Richel's office safe, and found 50,000 gallons worth of coupons, which Richel explained by claiming to have found them "in an orange-colored bag in the gutter" outside the OPA's Long Island City office. Another witness claimed that he heard Des Verney say that he had planned to turn in the coupons "but he hadn't found the time."

(Well said.)

Reader Alexander Cardin writes in to dismiss those who blame the war for the increase in juvenile delinquency, instead pinning the blame on "movie productions, radio stories, college professors, school nurses, athletic instructors, truant officers, politicians, newspaper columnists, druggists, and barkeepers" who "interfere with parental authority and influence boys and girls of tender age to disobey God's command."

("A kid'll eat ivy too -- wouldn't you?")

(I really miss Parrott. All Holmes wants to do is talk about the Olde Days, and Trost -- well, do you suppose he sharpens that moustache with a hone, or does he use a grinding wheel?)

Two Ton Tony Galento didn't quite live up to his billing when he underwent his Army examination this week -- the roly-poly pug weighed in at 270 pounds, which was good enough to qualify him for "limited service." He was accepted yesterday by Army officials in Newark.

(And no, Sally will not be going to Loew's Met to see "A Guy Named Joe." TOO SOON.)

("WHAT LUCK! Now I can ORDER him to step aside!" "What?" "Nothing.")

(I mean, it's not like it doesn't happen ALL THE TIME.)

(At your age, Miss Arden, that's gonna show an awful bruise.)

(Well this is a new racket.)

(Junior is a DOG POUND LAWYER!)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

"He and the unmarried mother of his babies be left alone to work out their problems." Little late for that, isn't it Sarge?

"HAH!" -- Hannah WIlliams.

No, it COULDN'T be. Do you smell -- spirit gum?

Nina's not here to mince words.

And just like that, Petty Officer Teen decided on his postwar career.

"BUMLEY! But you're -- dead?"

Quit complaining, sonny, everybody's got to do their bit.

Those must be some PRETTY STRONG BOLT CUTTERS.

JEEZUZ Gould! What IS IT WITH YOU?

Hey Plushie -- get a Chrysler next time, it won't moosh down your hat.

 

[Trenchfriend]

@LizzieMaine

I thought the Kirkman Flakes cover to be questionable until I realized, that the downside is just cutted.

 

[Fading Fast]

Less love for the Bambino than I would have thought.

Good for Nina. I'm sick of this guy.

 

[LizzieMaine]

The only thing that separates Ging from WIlmer Bobble is ten cents worth of brass. SEND HIM TO ANZIO.

 

[FOXTROT LAMONT]

Staff Sgt Thompson of the quads, American wife, British girl friend, and the United States Army breathing down his neck in this public relations nightmare.
...and here I am thinking I have problems.

I'm thinking after the war when Terrence is back hone in college winging Harvard with GI Bill and resplendent in his
magnificent Aero horsehide leather A2 jacket adorned Flying Tom Cats crest, he'll out Tomcat all the other tomcats running around campus. What's the girls school nearby, Radcliffe. Yes Radical. Girls Girls Girls. All those kittens.

 

[LizzieMaine]

If he really wants some radical gals, he needs to get down to NYC and hang around Hunter College, where no doubt Leonora Petrauskas will cut a wide swath in 1960 with her guitar and her bongo drum.

 

[Fading Fast]

I live

If he really wants some radical gals, he needs to get down to NYC and hang around Hunter College, where no doubt Leonora Petrauskas will cut a wide swath in 1960 with her guitar and her bongo drum.

I live about a five-minute walk from Hunter. Oddly, despite colleges, in general, being protest central today for several topics, Hunter is not a hotbed of protests. That or they have them, but never when I go by. NYU, which is way downtown from me, seems much more active on that front.

Isn't Leonora going to be a bit old for the '60s radical thing as she'll be in her late twenties by the second half of the '60s when the protests really got going? To be sure, there were early '60s protests, but a smart kid like her will be out of college at 21, I'd bet.

 

[LizzieMaine]

I imagine she'll end up in that whole coffee-house Village scene, hanging around the Limelight and annoying Sally with her no-account beatnik boyfriends. Joe won't care though, he'll think about the young brick-thrower he married and he'll sip his Rheingold and chuckle.

 

[FOXTROT LAMONT]

I believe Terrence will wrap baccalaureate then Harvard Law. I read law at Cambridge before arse I be, man and boy,
eschewed solicitors for the regiment. I can only imagine what Harvard's post war scene must have been.
Terrence I know sat scholar and drank copious lamp smoke thru nocturnal quest for glory as writ. And, no doubts here
wore the American B3 lambs wool jacket over RAF roll jumper Michaelmas and Hilary.
Our lad definitely had his act together.

Manchester had a conflicting student protest betwixt university students/students and older town residents.
Not the typical town and gown incident, nor over war. Ridiculousness took to street.

 

[LizzieMaine]

(On a gray March morning, with snow flitting in the air, an old panel truck rattles eastbound along the Sunrise Highway, rendered conspicuous by the lack of other traffic. And within that truck we find a vigorous conversation in progress. "I still say," declares Sally, glancing down at the box in the center of the seat, "t'at don' look like no Hawrn 'n Hardart cake t'me. I t'ing Mrs. G made it 'ehself, is what I t'ink, an' she didn' wanna tell me." "Ahhhhh, ya t'ink too much," chuckles Alice. "T'at's awrways been ya probl'm. A cake's a cake, 'special when somebody, you know, makes it fawr ya." "Well," acknowledges Sally, "but she didn' hafta..." She is interrupted by a jolt as the truck hits an irregularity in the pavement. "OW!" she yelps, grasping the cake box to keep it from bouncing to the floor. "I hate t'is truck," she growls. "It's wois'n a Fulton Street L. An' what's awlat rattlin' inna back, anyway? What's inneh?" "Oh, nut'n," dismisses Alice, grasping the steering wheel as if to absorb the truck's shimmies into her muscular arms. "Prob'ly coppeh pipes an' faucets an' terlets an' awlat. Ain't nut'n ta..." But her statement is interrupted by a loud report from the rear of the truck, followed by an ominous flopping sound. "Uh oh," she exhales, wrenching the wheel righward to the shoulder of the highway and bringing the truck to a squeaking halt. "T'rew a shoe." Sally scowls, puzzled by this phrase. "Blowout," explains Alice. "Flat tieh." "Well ain'nat jus'..." "Sit tight," directs Alice. "You ain' dressed f'changin' no tieh. I'll go have a look." Alice steps out of the truck and around to the rear, just in time to see an ominious white sedan pull to the side of the road behind. "Uh oh," she mutters. "Goin' a little fasteh'rn toity-five wasn'ya lady," remarks the state trooper, hitching his belt as he approaches. "Blow out, huh? Ain'at awful." "What's goin' on out'teh," yells Sally from the cab of the truck. She shoves open the door, and joins the party, to see Alice handing the trooper her driver's license. "Brooklyn, huh?" he remarks. "Y'ra lawng way fr'm home on a Sunday mawrnin' ain'cha? Pleasheh drivin' fawrty miles'n'oueh on a C cawrd? OPA ain' gonna like t'at!" He glances up at the side of the truck and reads the painted inscription. "Plumbehs, huh? Don' look like no plumbehs I eveh sawr. Well," he continues, nodding at Sally, "at leas' YOU don't." "HEY!" snaps Alice. "Settle down, Lady Gargantueh," snickers the cop. "You got a spaeh tieh inna back a't'truck?" "Uh," stumbles Alice. "I don' t'ink so. No, I'm pretty soiten t'at..." "Whatcha GOT inna backa t'truck?" queries the trooper, his curiosity roused. "Um, nut'n, jus', I dunno, coppeh pipes an', um, faucets, an' terlets, an'..." "Open it up," commands the trooper. "I ain' got t'key," protests Alice. "Ain' no lock on it," observes the trooper. "All ya gotta do is push up onnis handle heeh..." The trooper proceeds to do just that and swings open the doors. "Well now!" he observes. "What's in awlese crates, I wondeh?" "Um," stammers Alice. The trooper reaches in and shakes one of the crates, producing a tinkling rattle. "Soun's like bot'ls t'me!" he declares with a satisfied smirk. "Bot'ls!" exclaims Sally. "Whoooooooo boy," exhales Alice.)

The Japanese Government, in a virtual confession that it faces its most critical phase in the Pacific War, has issued a series of unprecedented decrees ranging from the mobilization of all high school and college students to drastic restrictions on homefront activities, including the suppression of all evening newspapers. Russian and enemy dispatches from Tokio reported yesterday that the decrees reflect the effect of heavy manpower losses in the Central and Southwest Pacific, Japanese fears of Allied raids on the Empire's home islands, and destruction wrought by Allied submarines along the enemy's sea supply lines.

The Emir of Transjordan today cabled a bitter protest to President Roosevelt against the pending Senate resolution endorsing U. S. approval of Palestine as a Jewish national homeland. The cable from Emir Abdullah Ihn Hussein was received at the White House even as a new outbreak of violence erupted in the Holy Land. The Emir declared that the Senate resolution shows a "lack of information on the real Palestinian issue," which has triggered an upsurge in Arab protests, and further called U.S. views on the matter a "violation of the principles for which the Allied nations are fighting." The cable was sent following the shooting in Tel Aviv of a thirty-year-old British constable by Arab militants.

("Brooklyn candy store owner an' petty gaaangstar!" huffs Ma. "Th' vaaary idearr. A man trois t' live an honnnest loife, an' these jackals a' th' noosepapars won't let'tim." "Tarrible," nods Uncle Frank, sipping his two cents plain.)

WIth the end of elevated rail service across the Brooklyn Bridge as of noon today, plans call for the complete removal of the tracks by this summer. Trolley service will continue across the bridge, but the location of the tracks will be shifted to the roadbed formerly used for the elevated structure. The outside roadways will thus be freed entirely for auto traffic between Brooklyn and Manhattan. The entire station structure at Park Row and the elevated structure between the Myrtle and Jay Street station and the bridge will also be demolished.

("Martian Warfare type of weapons." Well, that's one way to put it...)

Reader George Durst says the best solution to the problem of squabbling Dodger ownership is for the people of Brooklyn themselves to buy the team. Ownership of the team by a civic-pride organization selling stock at $5 a share would put the ballclub in the hands of those who most support it.

(A blue jay as the new Phillies logo? With Fitz as manager why not a bowling pin?)

An anniversary mass observing six years since the passing of Dodgers co-owner Stephen McKeever will be held Tuesday morning at St. Ignatius R. C. Church, Carroll Street and Rogers Avenue, at 8 o'clock. McKeever and his brother Ed, prominent Flatbush building contractors, became partners with Charles H. Ebbets in 1912, helping to finance the construction of Ebbets Field. Stephen McKeever was the last of the three partners to pass, and since his death stock in the ballclub has been controlled by various factions of the Ebbets and McKeever families.

(HEY TRIX WHY NOT JOIN THE COAST GUARD?)

(Never mind the dumb cowboy plot, I want to know about the time traveler who put up that war bonds poster.)

(Martha Gellhorn is more than just "an author," she's an active war correspondent, on duty at this moment in 1944 in the midst of the fighting in Italy. Which is probably a lot easier than being married to Ernest Hemingway.)

(Pro tip, Scarlet --- sew a few metal washers in the hem of your dress and it won't blow up like that.)

(And the worst of it is, Fritzi lost her No. 18 stamp on the way to the store. Oh, and I'd love to know exactly WHY Ben F. Roller felt the need to wrestle 191 men in 1910. Was he bored?)

(Nobody in this strip is allowed to be happy. NOBODY.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

And that's that.

"IT'S NOT ME!" -- Chas. Chaplin.

It's openly knowledged that Mr. Hill bases his characters on people he knows in real life, and that being so, I bet if he runs into Miss J. E. R. anytime soon, she's going to break his arm.

The Sunday News is sold with the comic section wrapped around the main part of the paper, so for nearly four million readers, the first thing they see when they glance at their paper on this cold Sunday morning is a loving closeup of a charred corpse. Well done, Mr. Gould, and don't burn the bacon!

And Mr. Gray gives up on a pointless storyline just like that. OH WELL. TAKE THAT MR. EDITOR. And meanwhile, in the basement of 1720 63rd Street, Krause the Super reviews Walt's dilemma and chuckles a hearty "Heh." And young Willie Sweeney, gazing at his mentor with awe, adds his own "Heh."

Wanna try the Army again?

City kids learn quickly how to work with what they've got. And what's this? A GIANT CLAM? IN THE LAND OF PAN? NOW WE"RE TALKIN'!!!!

Ain't that always the way.

"Mountain Big Shot?" CAPTAIN BLAZE????

 

[Fading Fast]

Reader George Durst says the best solution to the problem of squabbling Dodger ownership is for the people of Brooklyn themselves to buy the team. Ownership of the team by a civic-pride organization selling stock at $5 a share would put the ballclub in the hands of those who most support it.

Some version of this has worked for the Green Bay Packers. The Dodgers would still be in Brooklyn.