The Era -- Day By Day

[Fading Fast]

"I can't understand why a star of Bugs' caliber is slumming in this strip, but it's very obvious why Porky is."

"I signed with the wrong management team early in my career and am locked into this embarrassment of a strip for another few years. Live and learn; live and learn." - BB

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Whassat ya lookin' at now?" queries Alice, glancing at the small magazine held by her seatmate. "Ya s'pscription t' Madam Oisle run out?" "Neh," nehs Sally, looking up from her reading matter. "'S a new t'ing t'at's just out, I guess. 'S cawlt 'She.' It's like t' Readehs Digest, 'cept it's awlabout women, y'know? Look'eeh onna coveh, see t'eh? Eleaneh Roosevelt." "She putt'n out magazines now?" snickers Alice. "What'll she t'ink of nex'!" "No, no," dismisses Sally. "T'ez just'n awrticle in'eeh about 'eh, t'at's awl. Tells 'eh life stawry'nawlat. T'ezza lotta good stuff in'ehh, 's'a pretty good book." "Lemme see," demands Alice, grabbing the magazine away. "Huh. 'We Filmed Baby's Boit'.' Huh. T'at don' soun' like much'va pitcheh. An'nen , 'How T' Look Yeehs Youngeh.' Y'know what I hoid? Rub a lit'l chicken fat undeh yeh eyes at night, makes t' bags go right away. I do t'at, it drives Siddy..." "AWRIGHT," snaps Sally, "none'a t'at, it ain' tawkin' 'bout t'at kin'a stuff." "What else t'ey got in'neeh?" continues Alice, riffling the pages. "Says heeh 'Soldiehs Awr Very Moral.' Says 't'in-ten-sit-y of a soldieh's i-deal-ism 'bout sex in-creases peh-cep-tib-ly t'closeh he gets t'cawmbat.' Huh. Y'don't say." "Y'c'n gimme t'at back now," mutters Sally, her face beginning to flush. "WhasSIS now," gapes Alice. 'Women Wit'out Men. Chapteh Two -- Sex Stawr-va-tion!!" "AWRIGHT!" roars Sally, as heads turn thruout the car. "I SAID GIMMIE T'AT BACK!" "Y'wanna be caehful," warns Alice, handing the magazine back. "Bringin' a book like t'at inna city. Y'don' wan'no trouble wit' LaGuardieh.")

Pope Pius yesterday discussed with Archbishop Francis J. Spellman a program which the Pontiff hopes might bring the war in Europe to an end soon, it was disclosed today. Authoritative sources in Vatican City also revealed yesterday that two high-level Vatican officials held a long conference on Saturday with the German ambassador, Baron Ernst von Weirsacker, a discussion said to revolve around what kind of government might be established in Germany should Adolf Hitler be overthrown, and what that government's attitude toward peace might be. Reports out of Rome suggested that the Pope himself sent out peace feelers over the weekend. The audience with Archbishop Spellman was the second granted the New York prelate since his arrival at the Vatican last week, and lasted for over three hours -- said to be one of the longest private audiences ever granted by the Pope.

("Hmph!" hmphs Ma. "Who evarr harrrrd oov a PRESIDENT playin' gaaaahlf!" "Oi don't know," agrees Uncle Frank, draining his glass, "whaat this waarld is coomin' to.")

Approximately 8000 Brooklyn men can expect to be drafted into the Navy within the next year, under a plan by the Navy to take in approximately 383,000 new sailors by the end of June 1945. The call will be made despite the fact that the Navy as it now stands has already passed its maximum authorized strength of 3,000,000 men. It is explained that the Navy will need even greater strength for the approaching strikes at the heart of Japan, and Naval authorities do not believe that even the early capitulation of Hitler will reduce the need for additional manpower.

("I'm tellin'ya, Sal," grins Alice. "Chicken fat. Look 'eeh, you see any wrinkles onneh?" "You say one moeh woid," warns Sally, "'n I'm gonna go sit oveh t'eh." "Hmph," mutters Alice. "Y'evveh see a CHICKEN wit' wrinkles?")

"Forty percent of Brooklynites who sign up at the Red Cross to give blood fail to keep their pledges," frowns the Eagle Editorialist. "When the wounded come back from France, will a single one of that forty percent dare to make an explanation to one of those veterans?"

(Shows what you know, toots. Thin pencil lines are so 1936.)

("Coscarart's having a pretty good year," acknowledges Mr. Parrott. "Sure, he's not hitting for average, but he never did. But look at the runs he's scoring, look at the bases he's stealing, look what he's doing in the field, making those double plays. I always knew MacPhail made a mistake letting him go. What've we even got left from that trade, anyway?" Mr. Rickey glares across the desk, his mighty brows beetling. He takes a deep puff on his cigar, leans back in his swivel chair, and pulls back the window blinds to peek down into Borough Hall Plaza. "Are you sure," he demands, "they aren't out there?")

("Huh! I never knew Ben Franklin had a moustache. Wait, no, it's just that guy from a pack of razor blades. Look here, peels right off. They sure print money cheap now.")

(Bellevue gets really crowded in the summer.)

(Maybe he's got a grudge against the insurance company!)

("Vinson Sneedle, middle aged ham-actor???" snorts Vitamin Flintheart. "I'll SUE!")

(AMERICA'S NUMBER ONE HERO DOG doesn't believe in coincidences.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

"Forgetful Frank Costello."

"Anyone for tennis? No?"

Come now, boys, she's old enough to be your -- uh -- older sister.

Don't "lose your heads" now. Heh.

"Pantywaist!" ET TU GRAMPS?

It's rare to find such a well-managed town.

Plan for the marriage you'll have, not the one you want.

"Oh, and we WILL need to pick up a few things. Mousetraps, rat poison, Flit..."

You'd think she'd know by now.

Wait, does he have six ridges or five? Has anybody been keeping track?

 

[LizzieMaine]

And also...

Yeah, we'll get right on that.

 

[Trenchfriend]

@LizzieMaine
Thank you again for all your uploads!!

 

[Fading Fast]

I was taught the metric system in grammar school in the 1970s and was told with great confidence that it is all we'd be using when I grew up.

 

[Farace]

I was taught the metric system in grammar school in the 1970s and was told with great confidence that it is all we'd be using when I grew up.

Halfway through my high school years Carter took office, and I remember well how he pushed for the adoption of the metric system and the resistance he encountered. (It’s also amusing that in my sophomore year, we weren’t allowed to use those newfangled pocket calculators, but rather a slide rule, which you could find in any pharmacy. The very next year we were allowed to use calculators, which were still not a small purchase.)

And now it alarms me to suddenly realize that this September will be fifty years since I started high school. It cert doesn’t feel that way.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("A cow in Brownsville!" marvels Ma. "An' still aaaahn th' hoof!" marvels Uncle Frank. "If Shaughnessy knew aboot that, it wooodn' aaaahn th' hoof farr long!" "Oi dunno aboot Brownsville, but Oi remember a toime," continues Ma, "when ye'd see cowwws an' gooats, an' pigs arooon this neighborhood aaahll th' toime. Why, whin we was livin' on Kingston Avenarr, back when Sally was a baby, whyyy, ye c'd scarcely hear yeself think with aahl th' mooin' an' baaaaahrin', an' oinkin' gooin' ahhn. Truth be toold, Oi miss thim days, it was loike Oi'd nevarr left th' farrm." "Maybe ye otta take a trip ovarr t' Brownsville," chuckles Uncle Frank. "Take in a bittar'that counnntry air. Oi hear Pitkin Avenarr's beautiful this toim'a year." "Oi knooow enoof," frowns Ma, "t'stay ooota Brownsville. That coow'll loikely end oop at th' baaaht'm oova lake, chained t'wa slaaht machine!" "Pity," shrugs Uncle Frank. "Oi'd looov a good steak." He chuckles again and sips his two-cents-plain. "If ye evarr have a coow coom in here," he continues with a belch, patting the small bulge in his breast pocket, "yoo let me knoww.")

American armored forces tightened their grip on Southern Pisa today despite heavy gunfire from German long-range guns emplaced on the north side of the Arno River, and smashed two strong enemy counterattacks along the Pisa-Florence Highway to the east. Official reports said that the Americans were firmly in control of the south bank of the Arno along a 22 mile front extending inland from the Tyrrhenian seacoast to within 13 miles west of Florence. American patrols overrunning all the modern section of Pisa found that retreating Nazis had blown up every bridge linking the new city to the old.

Starving soldiers of the Japanese 18th Army trapped in Northern New Guinea attempted to break thru American lines in the Driniumor River valley over the past weekend, but were thrown back with thousands of casualties, it was announced today in a communique from the headquarters of Gen. Douglas MacArthur. American artillery fire broke up the assaults made at scattered points along the lines by companies of the 45,000 man army which now appears unable to mount a combined attack. The communique stated that footholds gained by isolated Japanese units were being liquidated, and piecemeal attacks continue to dissipate enemy strength.

("Night clubs!" sneers Alice. "Nut'n but clip jernts. I useta get shawrtchanged allatime at t' Ol' Reliable when me'n Hig w'd go t'eh." "He made YOU pay?" snickers Sally. "Big bawlplayeh like him, ten grand a yeeh, makin' YOU pay?" "Yeh," frowns Alice. "Ev'ry time, he said he'd lost his paycheck payin' gin rummy wit' Durocheh. Ev'ry time." "Maybe," snorts Sally, "y'shoulda gawn out wit' Durocheh." "He ain' my type," sniffs Alice. "Whatchamean?" grins Sally. "He's skinny an'neese bawl-headed." "Yeah," acknowledges Alice. "But," she continues proudly, "*Siddy* don't play gin rummy!")

(Good to see that Mr. Krupa is out of jail, but if he wants to play symphonic music he'd better keep away from the reefers. I hear Toscanini doesn't go for that kind of stuff.)

(Mr Lichty has been waiting years to use this joke.)

The Sixth War Loan Drive will open on Armistice Day, and will run until the anniversary of the attack on Pearl Harbor, it was announced today by the Treasury Department. The campaign will officially be known as the "Victory Loan," with the quota likely to be higher than the Fifth War Loan goal of $16,000,000,000, a goal exceeded by several billions.

(Owen got picked off third???? Don't threaten to steal home unless you mean it!)

The fad for dietetic foods has created a new breakthru -- low calorie spaghetti. Prepared from durum and gluten flour, and enriched with Vitamin B-1, these thin threads are of a unique design, coming bunched together in the box in tight curls, which bloom in a hot kettle like so many blooming petals. They feature lower carbohydrates and a calorie count of just 74 per ounce. And since most people do not care to eat plain spaghetti, each 30-cent package includes a recipe for a low-calorie sauce to dress the dish.

("But we don't HAVE a cat!" "SEE WHAT I MEAN?")

("There, there, Kelly. You'll love Staten Island.")

(If you like that suit, you should see the matching slipcovers.)

(You know, the Barrymore estate has just about enough of these cartoonists.)

(AMERICA'S NUMBER ONE HERO DOG eventually figures it out.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

Of course he did! THAT'S WHAT COUNTS DO!

Jeezuz.

I never figured Walt for a troll, but...

He isn't all that strong either.

"Oh that? Probably just a raccoon in the chimney."

Betcha wish you'd let him slice your heads off now!

See, Walt, THIS is how you troll!

"What should we do with it?" "Oh, put it in the interrogation room for now. We'll figure out something."

"Aw, gee, and all those good things out there to step in!"

You children are all out of your league here.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And also...

Hmph, he should get a plain arrow like everybody else.

 

[Trenchfriend]

YANKS, DODGERS, GIANTS and the WOLFSSCHANZE...

 

[LizzieMaine]

You can see where Americans put our priorities.

 

[Fading Fast]

"Owen got picked off third???? Don't threaten to steal home unless you mean it!"

Why not, the guy can do anything stupid he wants and not worry as all anyone will ever remember about him is the dropped third strike. Heck, he could run around the bases backwards and naked and history would yawn. (And Valley Stream applaud.)

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

"Miss Hutton's [married twice and current married, why 'Miss?') revealed...she had already given her husband $2,000,000..."

"The first generation makes it, the second generation spends it, and the third generation blows it."

You don't hear much about wealthy Woolworth heirs today.

 

[Fading Fast]

You can see where Americans put our priorities.

To be fair, we all knew by this point who would win the war, but baseball in '44 was still up for grabs.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Dooblin maybe!" roars Ma, her face red with rage, "boot they'd string th' baaaahstard oop boi his ankles in Donegal!" "Settle down, Nora," admonishes Uncle Frank, as a sailor eliminating the final blots of a hot fudge sundae looks up from the opposite end of the counter. "Ye scarrrin' th' pooblic." "Th' naaaaarva this man Shaaaw," spits Ma. "He ain't got his ooonly son locked up in a Nazi prison cammmp! Soombody oughta take him roit by them chin whiskarrs a'his an' sling 'im in th' naaaaarest shell hole!" "Pay him no moind," insists Uncle Frank. "He's noothin' boot an ol' blaaaatherskite. He roons 'is mooth an' fools with pencils coom'a roonin'." "Nevarrrrth'less," declares Ma. "Oi'm gonna send th' bloody gobflappar a red hot lettar. Oi'll ploock 'is apples farrr 'im an' Oi'll roast 'm crisp! Oi WILL!" The sailor, his eyes wide, puts down his spoon, slides a dime and a nickel across the counter, and backs slowly toward the door...)

Competent military observers said today the rapid advance of Russian forces thru Poland increases the likelihood that it will be the Red Army that administers the coup de grace to Nazi Germany by being the first to surge into Berlin. Not only are the Soviets much closer to the German capital than the western Allies -- only about 370 miles compared to 600 -- but their rate of advance is many times faster than that of the forces approaching from the west. There is no indication that the Russians will not be able to maintain their terrific rate of progress, with about 250 miles gained over just the past month. The Germans have committed so much of their forces to the war in the east that the collapse of those defenses would be a mortal blow to the Nazis.

A 2000-pound German robot bomb, fired blindly from some point on the French coast, crashed into a London hospital at dawn today, killing at least two patients and trapping a number of others beneath tons of flaming wreckage. Hundreds of other patients miraculously escaped death only because the bomb struck an anaesthetics dispensary, which was empty at the time.

(Yes, the world knew.)

A 67-year-old widow, evicted from her cold water flat in Grenpoint for non-payment of of five months' rent totalling $115, attempted to kill herself on the sidewalk in front of the building at 125 Guernsey Street as the city marshal's men were heaping her books and furniture on the pavement. Mrs. Julia Huzney, wearing a faded, shabby dress and broken shoes, raised a rusty 30-year-old pistol to her head as the eviction continued, but the gun failed to fire. City welfare officials, notified of Mrs. Huzney's plight by Magistrate Charles Solomon, have recommended she receive assistance from the city. Mrs. Huzney came to America in 1893 with her husband Constantine, a musician and silk weaver, but since his death in 1928, she has subsisted on what she could earn thru temporary employment in the needle trades and the proceeds of an insurance policy, but her application for an old-age pension was disallowed due to a technical discrepancy. She had applied at the welfare department for work, but never returned after she was given a referral, and it was presumed the case was closed. She will appear in Felony Court on Monday on charges that she violated the Sullivan Law by the illegal posession of a loaded gun. She and her dog Rin Tin Tiney are presently staying with Mrs. Theresa Poltz, who occupies a ground-floor apartment in the same building.

(Is *that* the stereotype? Where's his smelly black cigarette?)

(THE LOSSES CONTINUE. But hey, the Browns are three up on the Yankees, and at least that's something!)

("Jello is fine for quiet sequences." Things I Never Knew Till Now.)

(A home face lift? It'll never catch on.)

(A "doormat burglar" is a petty housebreaker who has the courtesy to knock first to see if anyone is home. Which, you know, is actually a pretty sensible thing to do.)

(Pretty hard NOT to notice when you're talking out loud from two feet away.)

(Pretty loose security in this theatre if they let just any seedy has-been hang around in the wings.)

("Uh, he was shipped collect." "Sigh. THAT FIGURES.")

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

There's an awful shift in tone on this page.

Sunburn cream sold separately.

I bet that chlorine really stings.

Haw! Haw! Oh, raaaaahther!

If it turns out that he actually IS miserable, I will laugh and laugh.

He's whittling a STAKE. For the VAMPIRES. LEAVE WHILE YOU STILL CAN!

"Y'know," says Sally, "I neveh posed f'no awrtist befoeh, but I gotta say t'at'sa pretty good likeness. Glad I took my glasses awff foist, t'ey make me look like 'n owl." "I dunno Sal," disagrees Alice. "I mean, I'm whole head tawlehr'n you, an' look how'ee drew me." "Ya slumpin'," notes Sally. "Y'awrways do t'at when y'wawk." "I do not," disputes Alice. "Y'do too," retorts Sally. "Somebody awta take a moom pitche'ra you shufflin' awlong. Y'otta stan' up tawl, wawk proud!" "I dunno," shrugs Alice. "People make funnayeh when ya tawl. 'Hey stretch, howza aieh up t'eh.' Y'get sick of it." "T'at's ya face, t'ough," continues Sally. "Looks jus' like yeh." "I wish t'is was in coleh," sighs Alice. "Y'can't see me red haieh." "Oh," chuckles Sally, "I t'ink y'can tell."

Bad enough they confiscated the rug.

Sometimes I really wonder about Shad.

"Off to West Egg, old sport?"

 

[LizzieMaine]

And also...

THERE. ARE. NO. FAIR-WEATHER. FANS. IN. BROOKLYN.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("I wisht I coulda gone t't'is t'ing at Borra Hawl t'day," lament Sally. "I wanna make soiten Joe gets t'vote. Not t'at he caiehs awlat much 'bout politics, it's t'principle'a t't'ing." "He don' caieh 'bout politics?" replies Alice. "I t'ought you said he awrways votes f'Roosevelt." "Yeh," shrugs Sally, "but we tawk it oveh foist, an'nen he votes f'Roosevelt. I hope he ain' tawkin' onna boat oveh t'eh wit' no Deweys. I love Joe, but he's awrful suggestible." "Tawrks t'too many Deweys," chuckles Alice, "he's li'ble t'come home witta moustache." "Weh you s'pose he is right now?" sighs Sally. "Dewey?" replice Alice. "Playin' gawlf." "I don' mean Dewey," returns Sally, "I mean Joe. How lawng'sit take a boat t'crawsa ocean, anyways?" "I dunno," shrugs Alice. "Inna movies, t'ey get awna boat an'nen y'see a pitcheh a' t'boat sailin', an'nen t'ey get awff t'boat. 'Cept f'tat pitcheh t'eh, 'One Way Passage.' You eveh see t'at one, oh, ten, twelve yeehs ago? William Powell in it, an'nat dame t'eh wit'tem big eyes, whassehname?" "Kay Francis," exhales Sally. "Yeh," replies Alice. "T'assit. An'neh bot' onna boat an' Kay Francis is dyin' of a disease an' William Powell's a crook onna lam, s'posta get hung? An'ney fawl in love. Jeez, I hope t'at don't hap'n t' Joe." "You got a way," frowns Sally, "a' putt'n ev'ryt'ing inna p'spective. Y'know t'at?" "Yeh," grins Alice. "Siddy says it's one'a me best feachehs.")

American invasion forces on Guam battled today for the 4700-foot airfield on Orote Peninsula, within B-29 bomber range of Tokyo, following a two mile advance aimed at driving the trapped enemy troops into the sea. With Marines and Army troops in control of most of Guam's west coast, South and Fourth Marines on Tinian, 120 miles north, completed the occupation of the island's northern tip, and the small but vital Utah Point airstrip before preparing to drive southward.

A German woman pilot rode inside a flying robot bomb during experiments in 1942, it was reported today by Radio Berlin. The report stated that the robots tended to lose their wings in the early experimental flights, and it was decided to clear the explosives compartment in one of the bombs and launch it with a test pilot aboard. That pilot was Frau Anna Reisch, who was selected for the assignment because of her "unique physiological characteristics," with the report asserting that Frau Reisch is "immune to pressure," and is "a biological phenomenon" who has logged over 500 hours testing gliders. The report claims that she made the flight "in a horizontal position, gazing thru a periscope." Frau Reisch was reported to have been seriously injured when the bomb landed, using an improvised landing gear, but after studying her report for four days, Nazi scientists found and corrected the problem. The pilot was reported to have been decorated with the Iron Cross First Class.

(Nice catch. Wonder if he can play second base?)

("Wot's this nowww?" frowns Uncle Frank. "Spaaaam again?" "It's naaaht Spam," corrects Ma. "It's Redi-Meat. Saaaame thing as Spam, diff'rent can. Eitharrr way ye cahhl it, it's aaahf th' ration." "Oi thought we was havin' a roast," laments Uncle Frank. "That roast ye brung me?" scoffs Ma. "Oi thought ye warrr bringin' me beef. Thaaat roast usetarr be poolin' a milk wagon." "Th' divvil ye say!" blusters Uncle Frank. "Shaughnessy tol' me he knew th' cow paaaaarsonnally. Looked harr roit in th' oye an' thanked her farrr givin' her aaahl farr her coontry." "Shaughnessy needs his spectacles changed," growls Ma. "Well," argues Uncle Frank, "clooose ye oyes, an' ye won't know th' diffrence." "Ahh, it ain't joost me oyes," responds Ma. "Whin Oi ooonrapped that rooast, it give off a smell -- well, ye see Oi still got th' windarr open." "Ye caaan't be too particular these days," shrugs Uncle Frank. "Remembarrr th' last roast ye got fr'm Shaughnessy?" recalls Ma. "Remembarr th' laaaaaaahng noit ye had aftaaar?" "Oh yes," acknowledges Uncle Frank. "It was a troial at that. Well, what'd ye do with th' roast?" "Buried it oot back," declares Ma. "Oi don't waaant these cats aroond here t'get sick. They ain' got as stroong a constitution as you." "Redi-Meat, ye say?" sighs Uncle Frank, poking morosely at his plate. "Close ye oyes," repeats Ma, "an' ye woon't know th' diff'rence.")

(Mr. Gallup guards his sources carefully.)

(Nobody's going to care that you were born with a tail.)

(Oh, by all means.)

(I wonder how much Allen Jenkins is getting for this?)

(Does LaGuardia know you stole his hat?)

(AMERICA'S NUMBER ONE HERO DOG never shirks his duty.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

"He said he had none in mind." CONCENTRATE.

Sure they will.

"So let's get going, before I die of massive sepsis."

There's something about a man in a doughboy hat, a horsecollar, and puttees.

Five-time winner in the senior lightweight division, Golden Gloves.

"So yeah -- good luck with the mosquitoes."

Hey Trish -- fresh meat!

An electric boat? Punj has all the latest gadgets!

And that's why rumble seats went out of style.

Oh Burms. He's young enough to be your -- ah -- kid brother.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("How farrr," queries Ma, "is Flaaarence fr'm Moosbaaarg, Gaaaarmany?" "Oi dunno," shrugs Uncle Frank, as he thumbs thru the afternoon mail. "Wroite to th' Ansaaar Man. Prob'ly hoondreds'a moiles yet." "We ain't had a lettarr fr'm Michael farr moonths," laments Ma. "Maybe he broke oota that camp," offers Uncle Frank, scanning a circular offering low prices on recapped tires. "R'membarr th' toime he troied t'sneak oota th' Raymond Street Jail inna laundry troock? Too baaad for him it was deliverin', not pickin' oop!" "Noobody's laughin' at ye, Francis Leary," frowns Ma. "That's me son yarr tahhlkin' aboot." Uncle Frank's reply is cut off abruptly as he reads a gaudy postcard. "Nora!" he interjects. "Get this. 'Mrs. Nora Sweeney 503 Raaagers Avenue, Brooklyn N. Y. Please send my son at once by bus or rail to this address -- 326 Naaarth Bixel Street, Los Ang-lees, Califaaarnia. Signed, Marie Belasco." Ma stares dumbfounded as Uncle Frank hands the card across the counter. "Marie Belasco," she spits. "Th' naaaaarv'a that wooman. Abandons th' boy with oos, disappears far -- how long now, aahlmoost a whole yearrr -- an' now, when William's paaarfectly happy livin' with th' Krauses, she waant's'im back. Th' NAAAAARVE'a th' wooman!" "Th' Krauses woon't give 'im oop," predicts Uncle Frank. "As well they SHOODN'T," roars Ma. "Th' boy's faaaar bettar aaahf with th' Krauses than he IVVER was with that wooman, ev'n if she IS his maaather." "He is that," nods Uncle Frank. "Mistarr Krause fairly dotes ahhn th' lad, an' soo does Alice." Ma scowls at the postcard and with sharp twists of her wrists tears it into small pieces. "Ye know, Francis," she declares as the pieces flutter into the wastebasket behind the counter, "it's a damn shame what's haaappn'd t'th' Post Aaahfice since th' waaar. Mail gettin' laaahst aaahl th' toime, mail nevarr gett'n d'livered at'all. That's proob'ly why we havnt harrrd fr'm Michael." "Terrible," agrees Uncle Frank, beginning a careful review of the telephone bill. "Soomthin' atta be doon.")

The US 8th Air Force today hurled more than 2000 heavy bombers and fighters into a smashing daylight blow at the heart of Germany. The Berlin radio stated that the great armada skirted the Nazi capital to strike the great aircraft and chemical centers of Dessau-Halle and Merseburg. The raid followed a night attack on Stuttgart, key industiral and rail center, which was hit with 4000-pound blockbusters. The Stuttgart raid was the fourth to strike that city in the past five days, and was timed to coincide with an RAF raid on Polesti, in the heart of the Balkan oil field.

The possibility of an early German collapse today prompted Congressional leaders to put demobilization and reconversion problems at the top of the legislative calendar to be considered by Congress after it reconvenes on Tuesday. Chairman Robert C. Reynolds (D-NC) called a special meeting of the Senate Military Affairs Committee to decide which of two demobilization bills should be approved and sent to the Senate floor for action. Earlier, War Mobilization Director James F. Byrnes and Sen. Arthur H. Vandenburg (R-Mich.) both emphasized the need for quick action on reconversion planning, lest the fall of Germany cause complicated problems of industrial and manpower readjustment for the United States.

("Awwww," aws Sally. "I remembeh when we was kids, Mickey useta keep a pipe wrench unneh t'counteh f'openin' up t'plug up t'street t'eh." "Ain'nat right nexta t'fieh house t'eh?" queries Alice. "Yeh," nods Sally. "But Mickey'd give t'fieh captain sump'n inna papeh bag, an'nee'd awrways look t'ot'eh way. I ast'im once what it was, an'nee said 'fresh strawrberries.' I look't at t'bag an' says 'in a bot'l?' An'nee says 'tat's how t'eh doin' it now.' "Ain' prawgress swell," chuckles Alice.)

The "Ghost Cow" of Brownsville has been revealed as a frisky 6-month-old heifer owned by Mrs. Olga Sadosh, age 35, of 825 Jerome Street. Mrs. Sadosh owns a neighborhood dairy farm, with a herd of 30 cows, but young Bossy has taken to roaming out of her pasture and despoiling nearby Victory Gardens. "What do you feed Bossy that makes her so frisky," inquired Magistrate Charles Solomon in East New York Court. "Just bread and hay," shrugged Mrs. Sadosh. Magistrate Solomon suspended sentence in the case providing Mrs. Sadosh take steps to keep Bossy confined to the pasture. Bartender John Gately, of 458 Vermont Street, who encountered two patrolmen leading Bossy home after a recent rampage in which she startled a housewife by sticking her head in an open kitchen window, was fined $5 for "interfering with police" and punching the cow in the nose.

(A Christmas movie, released in July, from a novel by Somerset Maugham, with Deanna Durbin and Gene Kelly -- and musical numbers??? Something for everyone!)

(Aboard a troop ship en route to an undisclosed port, T/5 Joe Petrauskas sits on his bunk and gazes longingly at a cloth pouch containing pebbles, dried bits of grass, and a small chip of red brick.)

("Barbasol Brown." Well, at least they don't call him "Burma-Shave.")

(Well, that's an incentive!)

(Which way to Aqueduct?)

(YOU GETS NO BREAD WITH ONNNNNNE MEAT BALL!)

(Point of order -- why bother with stockings when your legs are invisible?)

(See there, Mrs. Sadosh? IT'S JUST THAT EASY.)