The Era -- Day By Day

[Fading Fast]

If my girlfriend's 91-year-old mother left her cat $40,000, nothing would change for the cat as she believes everything is hers anyway. What say you Aria?

"You're lucky I still let you visit 'my' house."

 

[LizzieMaine]

FINE cat. My regards to her, and Marjorie's regards as well.

She could be Buster's descendant, she likes the radio too.

 

[LizzieMaine]

Clearly Buster made his wishes known. A search of the databases representing Pathe, Movietone, Universal, Paramount, and Hearst Metrotone reveal no footage available of this outstanding feline. Clearly he made his wishes known, and saw to it that no footage was taken and if any was snuck it was never shown. GOOD KITTY.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Takin' awf ya shoit in Prospec' Pawrk," sniffs Sally. "Whassa woil' comin' to? Nobody needs t'see t'at. An' a lawyeh yet -- I mean, a guy like Joe, right, woiks inna fact'ry, he takes HIS shoit awff, why, t'at ain' so, you know, bad t'look at. But some lawyeh? C'nyou IMAGINE, wit'tis shoit awf? What'sa woil' COMIN' to?" "Siddy looks pretty good wit'tis shoit awff," observes Alice. "You know how he's bawlheaded on tawp t'eh? Y'know wheh t'haieh WENT?" "If Joe was heeh right now," sighs Sally, "he'da spent t'las' week sitt'n onna fieh 'scape afteh woik wit'tis shoit awff. I miss t'at. Kinda livened up t'place, y'know?" "You still ain' hoid fr'm 'im?" queries Alice. "Neh," exhales Sally. "I guess I won't till 'e gets set up wheheveh t'Awrmy's gonna send 'im. An' even woise, I mean, I don' even know wheh t'write HIM. I send t'tis APO New Yawrk still, I sen'na letteh every night, but I dunno wheh t'ey end up, prob'ly inna bag someplace an' 'ee'l get'm awlat once. Solly Pincus hadda whole buncha diff'rn't APO numbehs t'eh, weh we'd write t'wim, when'ee was in Nawrt Africa, an' It'ly an' awlat, so I guess when I do heeh fr'm Joe it'll have t'right address." "Maybe you'll getta whole bagga lettehs fr'm HIM awlat once," suggests Alice. "Hey, t'at remin's me, you know who *I* got a letteh fr'm? Y' neveh gonna b'lieve it." "Who?" replies Sally. "Koiby Higbe," snickers Alice. "G'WAN!" gapes Sally. "T'at bum writin' you, afteh what he done? Don' he know yawr married?" "I dunno," shrugs Alice. "Siddy seen it an' t'ought it was funny. 'Heh,' he says. But y'know what's REALLY funny?" "What?" responds Sally. "T'is letteh from Hig," laughs Alice, "it was run awff on one a t'em machines t'eh, a whatchacawl, mimeo--" "A mimeograph?" chortles Sally. "Right?" giggles Alice. "He musta sent it t'awla gals he -- uh -- knows. Ain'nat a SCREAM?" "I wouldn'a t'ought t'at meathead would know how t'woik sump'n like t'at!" snickers Sally. "Yeh," nods Alice. "Hig's got a lotta t'ings, but brains ain't one'v 'm. An' t't'ink I wasted a good pot roast onnat guy!" The laughter trails off, and Sally exhales another sigh. "I wish," she ruminates, "I'd heeh fr'm Joe." "Yeh," nods Alice, as the train pulls into Hudson Terminal...)

American bombers and fighters, attacking from the west and south, struck thru southern Germany and central Europe today, it was reported by the German DNB news agency, shortly after waves of Allied warplanes roared across the Channel in the biggest aerial operation since the period driectly before the invasion. The Nazis said the bombers, which apparently flew from British bases with strong fighter escort, were engaged in air battles over southern Germany.

President Roosevelt is expected today to take fast action to end the nation's second major transportation strike in two weeks -- the Midwestern truckers tieup that has halted operations of 112 firms in eight states. The facts in the case were sent to the President by War Mobilization Director James F. Byrnes. Mr. Roosevelt, who is presently away from the capital, either may issue a seizure order or appeal to the companies and workers to comply with directives issued in the case by the War Labor Board. The critical stage in the matter was apparently reached as a result of the failure of a July 12th WLB request for White House intervention to reach the White House until yesterday. The WLB indicated today that it thought the President already had those papers, but an intensive search found the documents in the files of the Department of Justice. Upon discovery, the papers were sent immediately to the President.

("Th' strangest thing joost happen't," relates Ma, as Uncle Frank gazes into the bubbles rising in his two-cents-plain. "A fellar coom in here lookin' far Hops Gaffney, an' says t'tell'im his maaaaarchandoise is ready." "Mmm," replies Uncle Frank, taking a satisfying sip. "That's WOON thing that happn't," continues Ma. "An' YESTARRRDAY, this wooman cooms in, this flashy toype woooman, an' asks if I know whar th' Hoppar is. An' whin Oi tell'ar he's oota town, she flares roit oop an' says t'me 'well, you tell HIM that Oi'm down t'me laaaahst pair! An', she says, 'Oi DON'T do no business in RAYONS!'" "Ah," ahhs Uncle Frank. "Seems loike th' Hoppar's been doin' his oon business aaahn th' soide!" growls Ma. "Ah," glowers Uncle Frank. "A man could get harrrt doin' business loike that." "Indeed," nods Ma. "An' Oi feel a duty'a care farr th' poor friendless fellar." "Oi'll have a warrd with'im when he gets hoom," nods Uncle Frank, draning his glass. "He IS," squints Uncle Frank, "COOMIN' hoom?" "He BETTAR," scowls Ma. "Floooooozie," drawls Leonora, not looking up from her coloring book, as Ma and Uncle Frank exchange frowns.)

Three thousand Brooklyn orphans frolicked at Long Beach yesterday at David F. Soden's annual orphan's jamboree. Joining Mr. Soden in hosting children from the borough's orphanages was former heavyweight champion Jack Dempsey, a clown and a group of Hopi Indians in full regalia, who entertained the children on the beach and joined in distributing hot dogs, candy, soda, and ice cream.

(A connection? YA THINK?)

("That's it, I'm joining the WACs.")

("We've got a few holes to fill." They're called 'graves,' Mr. Rickey.)

(Music shifts to a minor key...)

(Check the cellar sump hole. After all, he was a plumber.)

(Off to the patent office!)

("Fifty fifty? Gee, I can understand that.")

(Well, he had to settle SOMEWHERE after Walt Wallet kicked him out.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

Hawks don't sing, though -- they squawk and screech. Isn't that right, Vito?

Of course, all that can change fast if you pick up Frank Costello.

It's times like this I wish we still had Kay from "Dan Dunn" around. She'd grab the bolt cutter and solve the problem quick.

Be a kid while you can, because once it's over, it's over...

Rhode Island? You're more likely to run into Senga.

"Tell me, have you found the secret room yet?"

"And your uncle over there? Pretend he's Tommy Manville."

"Yeah, you said that already."

A bit like NIgel Bruce, if that's your idea of a good time.

Burma is Hilda Chester's long lost daughter CONFIRMED.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And finally..

I see the gals are spending the summer at Valley Stream.

 

[Fading Fast]

I beg of Alice to please keep any details of her sex life with Sidney, even just her random carnal thoughts, private as sometimes I read this while trying to eat my breakfast.

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Hops should change his name and go live in Cleveland or any midsized city as any of them would have opportunity for a low-level hood and I don't think going back to Brooklyn is a good idea for him.

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

Gray's going to get into trouble again with this 1940s-version putdown of the Nanny State.

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

Sorry Kay and Mae, but you come in second and third behind Burma's washing up scene this week.

 

[Farace]

I asked my partner, who lived in Rhode Island for forty years, about Melville, and she might have heard of it but couldn’t place it, so she looked it up. Not far from Newport, where she lived for several years, so she was even more surprised she wasn’t aware of it (though she figured out that she knew people who worked there). Turns out there are only about 1600 residents (no doubt more during the war), the Navy uses it for housing and recreation, but it was indeed a PT boat training facility during the war; JFK trained there.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("I can't take too much moehr'a t'is," exhales Sally, removing the kerchief from her head long enough to use it to swab the sweat from her forehead." "T'ese trains," groans Alice. "Now I know what a pot roas' feels like." "An' if it ain't t'heat," adds Sally, "it's t'smell. T'at guy oveh t'eh is cookin' in his own gravy." Alice stifles a snicker, as the overheated gentleman in question flicks an accusatory gaze. "Huh," huhs Alice, turning her attention to her wilted copy of the Eagle. "Look heeh. We'eh s'posta be t'inkin'a Chris'mas packages, an'nits 90 degrees out." "I seen'at," sighs Sally. "How'm I s'posta send Joe a Chris'mas package when I don' even know wheh he's gonna be?" "I heeh it gets cold oveh t'eh inna winteh," observes Alice. "You know, in Europe. France, It'ly, Belgium, enny'a t'em places." "I remembeh when Solly Pincus was home," nods Sally, "said 'e woulda give 'is lef' -- uh -- foot las' winteh f'ra good paiehra wool socks." "You awrways give Joe socks f'Chris'mas," notes Alice. "Yeh," acknowledges Sally, "but I do'wanna send 'im no Davega socks. Bust out in holes'a fois' time 'e weahs'm." "You oughta knit 'im some socks," suggests Alice. "Dunno howta knit," counters Sally. "I'll teach ya," offers Alice. "Since when'da YOU," snickers Sally, "know howta knit?" "Oh," replies Alice, "I loint it when I was in -- uh -- upstate, when I was livin' upstate. One'a t'gals t'eh loint me. Said it'd help pass t' time." "Ah," ahs Sally. "Yeh," nods Alice, "five yeehs wen' by like T'AT. I'll teach yeh -- we c'n do it onna train heeh. I'll bring me knittin' bag. I jus' made a sweateh f' Willie." "Zat so?" repsonds Sally, with a note of skepticism. "Yeh," continues Alice, "it was s'posta be one f'Siddy, but -- um -- I kinda miscalculated onna hole f't'neck." "Oh," sighs Sally, swabbing her forehead again. "Siddy's got a biggeh head t'an y'd t'ink," explains Alice. "Guess he needs it t'hold awlem brains. He tried t' put awna sweateh an' it wouldn' go past 'is nose. He looked like t'at guy Kilroy somebody drawred onna wall t'eh." "Ah," chuckles Sally. "'Cept," shrugs Alice, "Kilroy's got moeh haieh.")

The Germans withdrew their main forces from their bridgehead on the southern bank of the Arno River east of Florence today, leaving only patrols to harass British 8th Army troops who now control all high ground in the area. The retreat left the enemy with only one bridgehead south of Arno, a pocket of about five square miles 11 miles west of Florence where British troops continued to battle stubbornly-resisting Germans.

Frontier reports stated today that Nazi execution squads have put to death the wives, children, parents, other relatives, and even intimate friends of the eight German Army officers hanged in Berlin on Tuesday for complicity in the failed plot last month to assassinate Adolf Hitler. The execution of the relatives, in some cases extending as far as cousins, were also carried out on Tuesday, it was stated, presumably simultaneously with, or within a few hours of, the death on the gallows of Marshal Erwin von Witzelbren and the seven other officers charged with attempting to set up a "peace government" following the bombing of Hitler's field headquarters on July 20th.

Pork and canned fish will return to the ration list effective Sunday, with the Office of Price Administration citing heavy demand as the reason for resuming the rationing of those items. The OPA has also ruled that "utility grade" beef and lamb will be made point-free.

("As laaang as we stay east'a Prospect Paaaark," reassures Uncle Frank, "we gaaaht noothin' ta woory aboot." "They ain't th' OONLY woons t'warry aboot," notes Ma. "Ahhhl roit, Nora," insists Uncle Frank, "as loong as we stay east'a Prospect Paaark an' west'a Utica Avenaaar, we'll be all roit." He takes a sip of his two-cents-plain and reflects for a momet. "An'," he adds, "joosta be safe, as laaang as we stay east'a Prospect Paaaark an' west'a Utica Avenarr, an' naaarth'a Linden Boolevard, we'll be foine." "If you say so," shrugs Ma, glancing across the counter at Leonora, immersed in the current issue of Sensation Comics. Uncle Frank takes another sip, and bites his lower lip in contemplation. "Aaaaand," he exhales, Oi'd recommend caaaaartailin' any ooperations naartha Eastern Parkway." "Joosta be safe," nods Ma. "Joosta be safe," acknowledges Uncle Frank.)

(Never mind Dewey Vs. FDR, the political battle I can't wait to see is Senator Robert A. Taft vs. Fibber McGee!)

The Eagle Editorialist again reminds readers of Brooklyn Postmaster Frank Quayle's warning that all Christmas packages bound for troops overseas must be in the mail no later than October 15th. Each packaged must be clearly marked "Christmas Parcel." Packages containing Chanukah gifts must likewise be marked "For Jewish Holiday."

(Only five pages today, Senator? You're slipping.)

(GO BROWNS!!!!! And incidentially, few things are more illustrative of the racial complexities of the mid-1940s than the existence of a baseball team called the "Atlanta Black Crackers.")

("An' who might *hic* YOU be?" "I am -- the night." "No *hic* you ain't!" "Look, don't argue!")

("Of COURSE he did it on the floor! He's a HORSE!")

("Now -- if you don't mind -- I'll finish my spaghetti!")

(And please welcome our special guest today, former President Herbert Hoover. Uh, Mr. President, that's not how you smoke a cigar.)

(Well, if I had to guess which of our strips would be the one to feature a grief-crazed mass shooter, this would not be my first choice...)

 

[LizzieMaine]

"The Sentimental Gentleman of Swing."

And if they don't taste good, two quarts of beer will at least make them go down easier.

Walking up Surf Avenue in a bathing suit? LaGuardia won't stand for that!

Look, we're getting some mixed messages here.

"Or maybe he said he VISITED two bars. I don't know. What's a Technician Fifth Grade again?"

"Uh, that's great, but we didn't come here for school."

"Even better! SHORE PATROL!"

"But don't worry, I hear they had all the rugs cleaned."

And just then, Private Frank Germano rushed out of the crowd...

I don't know, don't you think this kind of direct trolling is unworthy of your skill?

 

[Fading Fast]

Me trying to explain the consistent underlying philosophy of Harold Gray.

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

"And just then, Private Frank Germano rushed out of the crowd..."

Good one, Lizzie.

 

[LizzieMaine]

Point of Order: did "Daddy" legally adopt Annie or not? Or is he just her "Daddy" when it's convenient for him?

Punj should have let the baldheaded bozo drown in that cave.

 

[Fading Fast]

Point of Order: did "Daddy" legally adopt Annie or not? Or is he just her "Daddy" when it's convenient for him?

Punj should have let the baldheaded bozo drown in that cave.

Whatever the legal status, he is a horrible surrogate father to her.

 

[Farace]

I didn’t understand, back when he left Annie with his friends, why he didn’t leave any financial support. They lost their house and Annie had to find and arrange for alternate housing. If you were a millionaire and you were relying on friends to watch your ward while you were away, and you don’t leave a fund for that purpose, there’s something seriously wrong with your parenting. (It wasn’t explained how they found her; she hopped a train and could have been anywhere at all.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Hey Sal," says Alice, nudging her seatmate and rousing her from a fitful nap, "lookeh t'is!" She hands over the Eagle, and points to a prominent item on page one. "See t'eh," she continues, "t'is guy comes home afteh livin' inna cave in It'ly f'nine mont's! Nine mont's, Sal! Ain'at sump'n!" "Yeh," sighs Sally. "An'now he's home. H'ray f'r'im." "Aw, c'mon, Sal," admonishes Alice. "Don' be like t'at. It's a good story. Be happy f't'felleh an'nis fam'ly, huh?" "Look what it says heeh," retorts Sally. "Nobody hoid fr'm 'im f'ra yeeh! You t'ink I wanna t'inka T'AT?" "Well, OK," acknowledges Alice, "but lookit'is pawrt, right? Guy was inna prison camp, right? Jus' like y'brot'eh, right? What if right now Mickey's inna cave someplace t'eh wit' I-talians an'awlat, an' awlova sudden one day y'oveh t'eh wit'cha Ma an' Uncle Frank, an' awlova sudd'n heeh comes Mickey wawkin' right inna dooeh? I mean, it wouldn' be t'same as Joe bein' back, but it'd be sump'n." "Yeh," sighs Sally, "I guess." "Heh," hehs Alice, "if Mickey's livin' in a cave wit' I-talians, he's t'on'y one gonna wawk outta t'at cave wit' money innis pocket." "What?" squints Sally. "Nut'n," dismisses Alice. There is an interval of silence. "Y'know," Sally finally resumes, "if I don' heeh fr'm Joe f'ra yeeh, I'm jus' about likely t'get onna boat an' go oveh t'eh an' look fawr'im myself." Alice absorbs this statement. "Sal," she replies. "Yeh?" "Sal, awr you takin'nem pills Docteh Levine give ya?" "I run out," shrugs Sally. "I gotta get s'moeh, but I neveh got oveh t't' drug stoeh." "Drug stoeh's right nexta ya ma's place," notes Alice. "Huh," huhs Sally. "Y'don't say...")

President Roosevelt in his promised report to the American people may reveal the broad strokes of his beat-Japan strategy, drafted last week in conferences with General Douglas MacArthur and Admiral Chester W. Nimitz, it was believed today. Dispatches released yesterday telling of the President's trip to Hawaii to inspect the fighting men and confer with military chieftains said that he plans to deliver a public report soon, most likely in the form of a radio speech. No indication was given, however, as to when or from where this speech might occur. No details of any new strategy in the Pacific theatre will be released, of course, until that strategy has already been implemented. It was recalled, however, that Admiral Nimitz has previously spoken of driving thru the Pacific clear thru to the China coast and establishing a beachhead there, while MacArthur's oft-stated objective is to lead conquering Allied forces back into the Philippines.

("All right, soldier, hand over that comic magazine!" "But sir..." "But nothing! Captain America conferring with That MAN? PROPAGANDA! And that other one, too, that one with -- uh -- Bat Man! See here -- that's a drawing of THAT MAN!" "Sir, that's The Penguin." "CLOSE ENOUGH!")

(Family Values.)

The Eagle Editorialist admonishes the War Department to review and reverse its recent decision banning on political grounds the exhibition to the troops of the film "Wilson." "A younger generation of fighters who never too fully realized what the last war was about," the EE suggests, "could be inspired by the film. They could learn more of this country's policies to preserve peace as long as possible, but when the limit has been reached, to fight with everything at our command."

(RESPECT to the janitor who shows up for work in ankle-strap pumps.)

Mrs. Edward Clarke writes in to demand that something be done about the packs of unmuzzled dogs that roam the streets of Flatbush, menacing small children with their barking and their fighting. She notes that she has complained to the ASPCA, the Health Department, and the police but has received no satisfaction. "A police car came during the unbelievable fight between the dogs while mothers were scrambling for their children," she fumes, "but the police car just drove away!"

(Well all REET now! A two game winning streak. And also, need I repeat -- GO BROWNS!)

("Beat it, rum blossom!" I wish I could get away with saying things like that.)

("Anti freeze!" erupts Uncle Frank. "Gaaahdallmoity, lad! Ye'll go BLOIND!")

("NOW can I PLEASE finish my spaghetti???")

(The laundry cart, son. That's how they all do it.)

(AMERICA'S NUMBER ONE HERO DOG is not so sure about this sudden turn to brutal psychological terror.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

"ALL RIGHT SOLDIERS! DROP THAT PAPER!" "Cheezit, fellas -- it's Senator Robert A. Taft!"

I dunno, I've always seen Butch as more the bull mastiff type.

No ears? Little Face laughs and laughs.

"Are you all right, Pop? Is this place getting to you? Can we go home now?"

That's all it takes to get out of sea duty? Wow, I didn't know the Navy was like this.

"They're sacrificing a goat! I didn't even know we HAD goats!"

"Plus these non-rationed wedgies are killing my feet!"

"He hasn't broken the law, ever." No, he has the Asp do that for him.

Coming Events Cast Their Shadows Before...

"How dare you flirt with that -- child!"

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Can't sleep, Ma!" fusses Leonora, her voice cutting thru the thick, humid air. Sally exhales, flicks a glance at the alarm clock, its hands glowing at 12:30, and flings back the sheet. She stumbles into the kitchen, fumbles open the top of the icebox and chops off several chunks of the dwindling ice cake with the back end of a claw hammer. She wraps those chips in a washcloth and returns to the bedroom, where she daubs the cooling bundle over her daughter's forehead. "Stinks in'eeh," sniffles Leonora. "Yeh," sighs Sally, glancing at the open window. "Smells like sump'n's boinin' someweh, prob'ly a fieh somewehs, do'worry 'bout it. "Gett'n me wet," protests Leonora, pushing away the dripping washcloth. "Sawry," sighs Sally, pressing the cloth to her own forehead. "Make it stop," commands Leonora, wiping the moisture from her face with edge of her sheet. "Don' like it." "What can *I* do?" shrugs Sally, rhetorically. "Holleh," suggests Leonora. "Holleh'rattit." "T'ezza lotta hollehrin' I'd like to do," shrugs Sally, smoothing her daughter's hair, "but Docteh Levine says 'at ain' pr'ductive." "YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!" screams Leonora. "You holleh too, Ma. You holleh too." Sally considers the suggestion, and nods at her daughter. She steps to the window, flings the sash all the way up, leans out and unleashes a full-throated ululating scream of frustration, exhaustion, rage, and fear into the muggy Bensonhurst night...)

(What, no scene with that girl who was beating people up on the subway?)

("Will ye staaahp frettin', Nora!" admonishes Uncle Frank. "Oi told ye before, ye gaaht noothin' t'warrry aboot. Doyle tells me everything's jake." "Look here thoough," insists Ma. "Too many questions gett'n asked! Whaaat if they foind oot what we doone with Alice Dooley that toime?" "Alice Dooley?" dismisses Uncle Frank. "Ye mean that toime she took the rap farr Mickey? Thaaat was seven years agoo! Noobaddy's gonna ask questions aboot things that happened seven yearrrs ago." "She could still taaaalk," warns Ma. "Did ye know -- Sally toold me this -- did ye know Magistrate Solomon PERFARRMED HER WEDDIN' t' Mistarr Krause?" "Alice ain't goona say noothin' t'Solomon aaahr nooboody else," assures Uncle Frank. "She ain't said noothin' t'Sally, has she?" "Well, no," acknowledges Ma. "Noothin' that we KNOW of." "Aaaand she ain't gooin' to," maintains Uncle Frank. "She tol' me to me face whin she coom back to town here two yarrs ago, she ain't intaressted in doin' no jobs faaar oos. She says she's gooin' straight, an' she means t'stick to it." "What if soombody else foinds oot?" challenges Ma. "Whoos'gonna know?" argues Uncle Frank. "Mickey ain't gonna say noothin'. Jimmy an' Danny ain' gonna say noothin'. Th' Hoppar ain'...." "Th' Hoppar," frowns Ma. "Th' Hoppar.")

(Enjoy that fast metabolism while you can!)

(THREE GAME WINNING STREAK! THREE GAME WINNING STREAK! THREE GAME WINNING STREAK!)

(A few months at the bank? Yeah, the lines do move slow, but they just can't get the help.)

(YOU'LL ALL GO BLIND!!!!!)

("Just this one little pill in a gallon of water, huh? HERE'S MY LIFE SAVINGS! YOU DON'T HAVE TO COUNT IT THERE'S TEN WHOLE DOLLARS THERE!")

(Didn't Flattop try this? C'mon, Stamm -- be original!)

(AMERICA'S NUMBER ONE HERO DOG always defends property rights!)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

New York's Picture Newspaper.

"The movies' sarong man."

This is how a boy ends up when his father figure is Pat Ryan.

You can take the kids out of the neighborhood, but...

Won't Shadow be jealous.

"Just half a dozen workers from the mill in town -- I mean, the housing shortage 'n all.."

Oliver Warbucks, opium addict.

I had this same disguise kit when I was nine! Do the pirate next!

Attention Social Services!

13 miles to a gallon? Should stolen a Willys.

 

[Fading Fast]

Can't say I'm comfortable with 1940s lithium prescriptions, but Sally might need to get back on those pills before she does something worse than what happened with the train conductor.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Awrful," sighs Sally, gazing from the front stoop as Leonora scrawls a cryptic manifesto on the sidewalk. "A terrible thing," nods Mrs. Ginsburg, glancing at the paper in Sally's lap. "Y'know," Sally continues, "Ma useta take me'n Mickey down'eah ev'ry summeh, downta Luna Pawrk. We'd go onna Teaseh, anna V'ginieh Reel, anna Tickleh, anna Tawp, awlem rides. Eat cott'n canny n' hot dawgs, drink lemonade till we got sick. An'en, y'know, lateh'rawn, me'n Joe'd go dancin'neh, t'at pavilion t'ey had. You eveh go t'eh?" "Mm," nods Mrs. Ginsburg. "Mendel, he has dyspepsia. Rides, he does not like. But when the children were young, we would go. Who didn't go to Luna Park?" "One time," recalls Sally, "one time we wazzeh, Ma an' Mickey an' me, we was jus' lit'l kids, y'know. An'ney was makin' a movie t'eh, a movie wit' Fatty Awrbuckle, r'membeh him? An' lateh awn, we seenat movie t'ey was makin', an' Ma said she seen us inna crowd. I wish I could see t'at pitcheh again. An' now -- it's awl gawn. Seems like t' whole woil's on fieh now, y'know?" "On fire," nods Mrs. Ginsburg. "You put it well." They sit silently for a time, watching Leonora as her attention is diverted by a column of ants marching across her writings. "We heard you scream," ventures Mrs. Ginsburg. "The other morning, we heard you scream." "Yeh," flushes Sally. "Sawry 'bout t'at. I guess I musta woke ya up." "I thought it was Mrs. Nucci," continues Mrs. Ginsburg. "Every day, you know, when I go to market, I look up her window, I look, and see the gold star. I wonder, why she doesn't scream? I wonder how can she not scream?" "She ain' really said much t'anybody since it happ'nt," nods Sally, absently folding and unfolding the paper. "I see 'eh inna hawlway, I say 'g'mawrnin' Mrs Nucci, an' she says 'ehh.' I dunno what I'd do if -- you know, if I was -- like 'eh." "Sometimes," continues Mrs. Ginsburg, watching an elderly man walking a dog in front of the Beth Israel synagogue across the street, "sometimes I think this war is the world screaming, screaming for all the crimes, all the dead, all the terrible things that have happened. Sometimes you MUST scream. Sometimes we must ALL scream." "Yeh," agrees Sally. "And perhaps," Mrs. Ginsburg concludes, "if we all scream loud enough and long enough, the nations will finally hear. And your daughter, when she is grown -- she perhaps will not have to scream." Sally considers this point. "Yeh," she sighs...)

The waterfront fire in Hoboken that swept a 1100 foot pier loaded with war supplies has resulted in damage totaling $2,000,000 to $4,000,000, it was estimated last night. Destroyed in the fire were two lighters, two barges, and a derrick. Weary firemen continued to work at the site of the fire all day yesterday, laboring under the threat of collapsing timbers to pour tons of water and chemicals on the smouldering, blackened ruins. Authorities stated that there was no indication of sabotage, concluding that the fire began when a drum of coxaline, an ingredient used in paint, ignited aboard a lighter being unloaded at the pier. That explosion, in turn, detonated other drums which were hurled in all directions by the blast.

("Don' get too close," warns Alice, gripping Willie's hand as they stand on Surf Avenue gazing with awe upon the smoldering ruins. "Ain'nis awrful?" she whispers. "Yeh," exhales Krause. "Awright, get back, buddy!" growls a gruff patrolman. "You tawkin' t'ME?' snaps Alice. "Oh," fumbles the cop. "Sawry lady." "Jus' b'cause I got slacks on," fumes Alice to her husband, "he drawrs t' conclusions." "I said I was sawry," snaps the cop. "G'wan," growls Krause. "Push awff." "Butt out, bawldy," returns the cop, brandishing his stick. "WHO YA CAWLIN' BAWLDY?" roars Alice. "Go get'tim, Ma," laughs Willie. Alice stops short, her eyes wide. "What'joo cawl me?" she asks. "I mean," stammers Willie, "uh, Aunt Alice..?" "No," grins Alice. "No, kid, you was right t'fois' time." She nods firmly at the patrolman. "See t'eh, wise guy?" See 'teh?" She turns to Krause and grabs his arm. "C'mon, Pap -- let's take oueh boy away fr'm t'is riff raff...")

(Sigh.)

("Loco weed." I guess that's why they call it "doping.")

(There are no bad dogs, only bad rabbits.)

(I bet Mrs. Bushmiller has a lot of interesting stories.)

(Best Presidential Beard poll is now underway!)

("Minnie Mist?" You've had all week to think it over, and this is the best you can do??)

(BASEBALL. August 13, 1944. My Dear Mr. J. Howard Bluett. No. Sincerely, K. M. Landis, Commissioner.)

(If evrybody you meet is a boor, maybe you're the boor.)