The Era -- Day By Day

[Fading Fast]

"Who's Miss Wong?" wonders Danny. "Soombody oowes me a favarr," nods Uncle Frank. "She joost doon't know it yet."

The man can see an opportunity between the cracks.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("I jus' don' get it, is awl," sighs Sally. "Well," ventures Dr. Levine, "have you considered talking to her about it?" "I ast," replies Sally. "I says to 'eh, 'Ma, whassit awla 'bout? Whass got inta you?" An' awl she does is change t'subjec'. I tell ya, Docteh, she ain' 'ehself. She's weahrin' poifume. I ast 'eh howcum, an' she says it's Fly-Ded. In Novembeh! She's worried 'bout killin' flies in Novembeh?" "How old is your mother?" queries Dr. Levine. "I dunno f'sueh," acknowledges Sally. "I dunno if she does neit'eh. She ain' gawt no boit' ce'tificate. I guess t'ezza whatcacawl baptismal rec'kid, but t'at'd be back in Ieh'lan'. Awl I know is she come'ta t'is country when she was about fifteen, an' she's been 'eeh'ra'bout foehty yeehs. She come awl by 'ehself, fifteen yeeh ol' goil comin' oveh heeh steehrage, some ship caw'lta 'Celtic' a' sump'n. C'n you 'magine'at? Awl by 'ehself wit' a coupla t'ousan' ot'eh people crammed down'eh inna bott'm'va boat. An' what's funny, she neveh tol' me why she done'at. She jus' said she done it. An'nen she gets a jawb in Pigt-- Eas' Flatbush -- doin' lawndry, 'till she met Pa, an'nen Mickey come alawng, an'nen me. But she neveh tawks much 'bout none'a t'at neit'eh. You ask 'eh, an' she clams right up. An' I dunno why. An'now awlis stuff, I mean, she's known Uncle Frank f', what, twenny-five yeehs, an'n'ot'eh night we'eh hangin' aroun'a stoeh, an' sweah t'gawd, it's like t'eh floitin'. He's lookin' at 'eh, an' she's lookin' back, an' sweah't'gawd I t'ink I hoid'eh -- giggle." "Ah," nods Dr. Levine. "Ma don't giggle," insists Sally. "Whassat mean?" Dr. Levine leans back in her chair, and searches carefully for a reply...)

Berlin said last night that Red Army assault forces have captured the great Hungarian rail hub of Hatvan, keystone of enemy offenses northeast of Budapest, and also reported 30,000 Soviet troops have landed on Cspel Island in the Danube, immediately south of the capital city. The German reports were not confirmed by Moscow, but the Soviet High Command reported that Russian tank and infantry forces had cut the vital Budapest-Hatvan railroad and highway, capturing Kerekhargzt, 21 miles northeast of capital and two miles west of Hatvan, in a four mile thrust thru enemy fortifications.

("Oi don't know," frowns Ma, regarding the cigarette pack just handed her. "That still doon't look mooch loike a camel t'me. Looks moor loike soom'koinda elk with 'is aaaarns cut oof." "Inky is still warrkin aaahn that," shrugs Uncle Frank. "It's bettar thin th' last woon. Besoides, thim that's disparrate f'ra smook ain' goona be lookin' too laaang at the packet." His eyes flick down to the sparsely-populated cigar display, where a lone White Owl sits forlornly in an otherwise empty box. "Daaan't even think ooov it," warns Ma. "Now -- what aboot matches? Garrity said he couldn't get me noo matches t'save 'is loife." "Ah," grins Uncle Frank. He fishes in his pocket and produces a handful of matchbooks. "Th' Dragon Den?" queries Ma. "Ye helped ye'self, did'jee? Well, these few ain't goin' t' do me no..." "Th' boys will be ovarr with th' troock this aftarnoon," promises Uncle Frank. "Ye woon't be waaaryin' noon aboot matches." "Is that so?" squints Ma. "An' hoo'd ye swing that?" "I merely," chuckles Uncle Frank, immensely pleased with himself, "aaasked farr Miss Wong.")

Snooky the City Hall Cat received a welcome befitting his status as a local celebrity yesterday when he reappeared following an unexplained four-week absence. Snooky, who has been a City Hall hanger-on for the past six years, loitering in Mayor LaGuardia's office, and attending meetings of the Board of Estimate, hadn't been seen since Halloween night, and after an organized search failed to locate him, the worst was feared. But around noon yesterday, Patrolman William Mahoney of the Oak Street station spotted the virile tom at the corner of Oak and Roosevelt, and brought him home. Even City Council President Newbold Morris, a man of immense dignity, joined in to welcome Snooky back with a hearty "good to see you back, old boy!" Snooky purred in acknowledgement, and immediately began wandering around City Hall to renew his many old friendships.

(In his living room at Forest Hills, Mr. Rickey sits silently in a vast leather armchair, a heavy blue cloud floating motiionlessly over head, and considers the future...)

(There's a big market out west for real estate lawyers.)

(Screwy? It's his personal brand!)

(Followers of the Wampanoag sachem Metacomet eventually burned Mr. Blackstone's house to the ground, so I suspect his sentiments were not mutual.)

(There is nothing that can save this relationship and they should probably stop trying.)

(Don't worry about the leg, they'll just put you out of your misery.)

(Don't worry, Master DeMille, one day you'll be an old bald guy in puttees.)

(Pssst, I bet he isn't even French at all.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

"I wish to state that I am very happy for Paulette, and I had nothing to do with it." -- Chas. Chaplin.

It's easy -- when you know how!

The medium really is the message.

Ehh. They already did this stunt in "Hellzapoppin'."

Job 21:7.

"Oh, and you're a sap for not going for the double indemnity."

Hey, at least she isn't Ursula Parrott.

"But why does it smell like a gas station in here?"

You know, you don't HAVE TO answer the door. And "Toggle-Switch?" "Eager-Beaver?" Zack-Mosley does love his hyphens.

Talk? Haven't we had quite enough of that already?

 

[Fading Fast]

"I wish to state that I am very happy for Paulette, and I had nothing to do with it." -- Chas. Chaplin.

"Ditto, plus the headline a touch over my picture is for another story, just so that there's no confusion." -- P. Goddard

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Oi'm joost naaaht sure," sighs Uncle Frank, leaning back in his creaky swivel chair. "Oi doon aaahlem things ye toold me, boot Oi'm joost naaaht sure." "Ya wawn'ed advice," shrugs Alice. "I give ya advice. I mean, maybe I don't know t' ol' lady 's'wellas you do, but I know Sal, an' if t'eh's one t'ing y'can say 'bout Sal, it's t'at she's 'eh mot'eh's daughteh. You try t'make'h do sump'n, she's gonna do jus' t'opposite, jus' t'prove t'pernt." "Soo what'charr sayin' is, if Oi'm gonna pr'pose marriage to Nora," ponders Uncle Frank, "An' maaark me, Oi'm naaaht sayin' that Oi am, this is whatchee caaahl purely theeeeoretical -- boot if I waas goin' to, what Oi should really do is NAAAHT pr'pose maarriage an' joos' suggest that we keep gooin' alaaang loike we have been." "Well," exhales Alice. "Lemme tell ya a stawry, K? One time me'n Sal was tawkin' bout basebawl, right? An' you know how she is about t'at guy t'ey traded, t'at Pete Coscawrawrt, right?" "Oi've haaard her mention," eyerolls Uncle Frank. "Oi gaaaht woona them poostcards she mailed oot when 'ee got traded." "Well," continues Alice, "when MacPhail quit an'nney brung in Rickey, Sal figyehed we could go aftehr'im an' make 'im get Petey back. She foun' out weh'ree lived, right? Foun' out weh'ree liked t'eat lunch, weh'ree went'a choich, awlat'at. So we stawrted dawggin'im aroun'. Awl oveh town, ev'ry weeken'. An' I got t' t'inkin' it wasn' a good idea, we was gonna get in trouble, an' I wawn'ed 'eh t'stawp. So I says to 'eh, I says, 'Great ideeh, Sal, an' y'know what we oughta do? We oughta go in disguise an' sneak up on'nim." "Ah," nods Uncle Frank. "An' whin she haaaard that, she had second thaaats, did she? Changed 'arr moind?" "No," acknowledges Alice, "we wen'na head'n done it. She, she figyehed I was tryin' to use ya psychology, an' so she wen'na head done'a 'zact opposite of what I wawn'ed 'eh t'do. Had us out t'eh crawlin' aroun' Fawres' Hills wit' fake moustaches awn. Y'see?" It jus' proves me pernt." "Ah," nods Uncle Frank. "Tell me, do ye play chess?" "'Zat t'one wit' t lit'l hawrses?" shrugs Alice. "Yeh. Misteh G loint me. We played a coupl'a games, an' I jumped so many of his men he said I was 'toyt'n bankes.' I t'ink t'at means I was jus' too good at it an'nee din' wanna play no moeh." "Ah," sighs Uncle Frank..)

Russian mountain troops stabbed to within about 25 miles of the twin Slovak strongholds of Presov and Kassa today, rolling back fierce German resistance on a 60 mile front extending across the eastern half of the Nazi protectorate from the Polish to the Hungarian borders. The Soviet drive threatened to cut one of the main railway lines linking the German armies in southern Poland, with the wavering defenders of Budapest, whose formidable strong points northeast of the Hungarian capital were already beginning to cave in under a succession of Red Army hammer blows.

("Hmph!" -- Ann Sheridan.)

("Well it worked in Algiers!")

("Ye gaaaht t'be bloody kiddin' me," scowls Ma, glaring across the counter at Shaughnessy the butcher. ""Dooon' be soo hasty," admonishes the meat man. "It's joost loike a big roond sassage, Oi'm toold." "What'chee mean yarrr toold," Ma frowns. "Ye troyin' t'sell it t'ME, an' ye ain't even troyed it yeself?" "Oi put me coostomars farrst," insists Shaughnessy. "The man supploys me says it's th' hoyest quaaality, an' Oi've noo reason to doobt 'is waard." "Hoo moocha that is meat?" challenges Ma, "an' hoo moocha that is saaaahrdoost?" "Nooo saaardooost in it," affirms Shaughnessy, "aaaahr Oi'm a Scotsman." Ma pokes suspiciously at the object proffered before her and sighs. "Wraaaapt it oop," she concedes. "Boot if Oi boite into it an' taste wooodwaaaark.." "Oondarstood," hustles Shaughnessy. "An'jee thoomb aaahf th' scale!" roars Ma. "Yes'm," sighs Shaughnessy..)

(A loss where the victor jitters is still, alas, a loss.)

The body of Commissioner of Baseball Judge Kenesaw Mountain Landis was cremated yesterday in Chicago with no ceremony and no funeral service was held in keeping with the Commissioner's stated request. A request that there be no flowers was also observed. The Commissioner's assistant Leslie O'Connor indicated that Baseball will observe no period of mourning, and the business of the major leagues will continue without interruption. No action is expected to be taken concerning the administration of the game until the Winter Meetings next month, and in the meantime, O'Connor will continue to run the affairs at the Commissioner's Office.

(Pappy Wackey will take over next year as coach of the Brooklyn Tigers.)

(Yes, Mary, Monica sleeps wearing nothing but a full face of makeup. They do things different in Chicago.)

("Business? I'm not that kind of cop, yet.")

("Aw gee, Ma, I though they were calling for Junior Tracy!")

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

There are pages you wish you hadn't read.

("Hmph. I had Metropolitan Opera stars ON MY PROGRAM." -- R. Vallee.)

Violating the confidence of the ticket booth? You'll be drummed out of the profession for this!

Hey, wasn't that in a Nancy Drew book?

OK, so some stereotypes DO have a basis in truth.

I do admire Mr. and Mrs. Stardust for framing a 6th War Loan poster for their living room. Keep 'em flying, kids!

Ew, she reproduced?

"Sure, whatever." -- Jinx.

Yeh, kid, definitely be sure you read these in sequence.

ANd not only that, he forgot the pint of cottage cheese.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And also...

Just out of curiosity, Mr. Zaccarella, how tall are you?

 

[Fading Fast]

Frank and Alice need an adult to supervise their conversations. Kidding aside, in their own way, they are becoming friends and that's not easy with their history.

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

"You're welcome." -- Jinx and Pat

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Shaughnessy didn't haaave noo chickens, ehh?" sighs Uncle Frank. "Naaaht a woon," shrugs Ma. "Thanksgivin' cheaaaaneed 'im oot," "Didn't haaave noo roasts," exhales Uncle Frank." "Nooo roasts.," nods Ma, bustling about the stove. "Nooo briskets?" suggests Uncle Frank. "Naaaht e'vn froom a dray harrse." declares Ma. "If 'eed had any woona thim things, ye'd be gett'n it instidda this." Ma places the platter on the table, and pulls out her own chair. "Well?" she beckons, taking her seat and reaching for cultery. "Ain'chee goin' t' eat it?" "Whaat'jee say it was agin?" queries Uncle Frank, regarding the object before him with a sour gaze. "Faaar the doozn'th toime," fumes Ma, "it's a haggis, sooch as th' Albanach eat. Shaughnessy says it's joost loike a big roond saasage." "Oi've had Shaughnessy's saassage," mutters Uncle Frank. "Ye gaaht t'be a beaver t'git thru 'em." "Well, it's ye dinnar, loike as naaaht," shrugs Ma, "an' it maattars naaht a bean t'me if ye eat it arr ye doon't." With great reluctance, and a touch of primitive terror, Uncle Frank pokes at the brown lump with the tip of his knife, and a thin, steaming juice trickles out at the point of puncture. WIth a sigh, he spears the object with his fork, slashes open the casing, scrapes out a portion of the mealy interior, and places it upon Ma's extended plate. He repeats the process with his own plate, and then adds clumps of mashed potatoes and turnips. With a deep breath, he forks up a mouthful and considers the situation. His expression shifts from uncertainty to surprise. As Ma observes with a near-clinical detachment, he chews and swallows. "Thaat ain't haaalf bad," nods Uncle Frank. "It'll do," sighs Ma. "Hoot mon!" chuckles Uncle Frank, with a playful wink as he hoists another forkful...)

The Senate is expected to grant swift approval to Edward J. Stettinius, 44-year-old "freshman in international politics" as President Roosevelt's choice to replace Cordell Hull as Secretary of State. Senate Foreign Relations Committee Chairman Sen. Tom Connolly (D-Texas) said that the nomination will be taken up tomorro, and Republican leaders in the Senate concur that approval should come promptly. Stettinius came to national notice last summer as Secretary Hull's assistant at the Dumbarton Oaks conference, during which plans were negotiated for a postwar United Nations organization to be charged with preserving world peace. Stettinus will also inherit from Hull the unsolved question of the United States' diplomatic relationship with the Latin American nations, principally Argentina, and the task of winning Senate support for the various economic issues that will arise as the Allies consider postwar cooperation.

The ongoing shortages of cigarettes, small-arms ammunition, and automobile parts will be taken up by the Senate War Investigation Committee, based on Senator Homer Ferguson's (R-Michigan) assertion that these shortages exist as a result of a combination of civilian hoarding and black-market operations as well as civilian manpower shortages.

("Yeh," enthuses Alice, "Siddy was read'n me an awrticle 'bout t'is inna Populeh Mechanics. Afteh t'wawr, why, yeh gonna fly anywhez ya wawnt. Ain'nat sump'n?" "Ehh," ehs Sally. "I wen' up inna plane oncet." "G'wan!" challenges Alice. "Ya neveh did." "I did too," retorts Sally. "I was ten yeehs ol'. T'ey had t'ese planes down'eh Coney Islan', an'ney hadd'is raffle, wheh ya buy a ticket f'ra dime an' ya can win a ride. Uncle Frank took me'n Mickey down'neh an' go figyeh, we bot' had winnin' tickets. Me'n Mickey bot'. ''Magine'at," snickers Alice. "What?" "Nut'n," shrugs Alice. "So what happ'nt?" "Well," recalls Sally, "T'ez two seats inna plane. One inna front an' one inna back, an'na guy flyin'a plane's inna back, so I hadda sit inna front. T"ey put one'a t'em aviateh helmets awn me, y'know, wit' t' goggles'nawl, an'nen'ney strap me inna seat wit' t'ese leat'eh belts. Ann'a guy takes awff, right, right alawng'a beach, an' we get up t'eh, 'n y'can see awla streets an' buildin's 'n houses 'n stuff, eve'ry'ting awl smawll, an'nen I realized sum'pn." "WHassat?" queries Alice. "I realized," sighs Sally, "Y'do'wanna load up awn no hot dawgs an' Coca-Cola 'foeh ya go up in no plane." "Ahhhhhhhhh," nods Alice. "I felt sawry f't'at guy sittin' in back flyin'a plane," Sally adds. "I guess'at's why t'ey got t'em goggles.")

(On the other hand you do have to appreciate the candor.)

("May I help you?" purrs the floorwalker. "Just lookin', t'anks," smiles Bink Scanlan, adjusting her voluminous coat...)

(Yes, game films are a valuable tool for any coach. They work even better with a projector!)

(The Daily News does in fact hold the jitterbug finals of its annual Harvest Moon Ball at the Garden, and it draws better than the Rangers. So there.)

(Look, if you go out like that without a scarf and catch a bad chest cold, don't come running to me...)

(You won't find anything, Chief, if you don't open your eyes.)

(It's been my observation that second-hand booksellers can take just about anything in stride.)

(Nah, make Worst Dad Ever do it.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

Glenn Miller would never slice off anybody's nose.

Or wait till March and get them at Davega.

"I don't mind sharing a cab, but bigawd we're gonna split the fare!"

Meet cute!

Go get 'em, Hortense!

For Those Who Came In Late...

Somebody's been reading adventure pulps.

Josie is a little bit too worked up about about this.

Know Your Enemy.

That's a pretty good -- ugh -- gag.

 

[Fading Fast]

Uncle Frank took me'n Mickey down'neh an' go figyeh, we bot' had winnin' tickets. Me'n Mickey bot'. ''Magine'at," snickers Alice. "What?" "Nut'n," shrugs Alice.



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

Aren't we due a Puk Paaris update?

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Hmmm," hmms Ma. "711 Flabush Avenarr. Whoot's th' address oov th' Dragon Den again?" Ahhh, let me think..." replies Uncle Frank. "Five Six Six," injects Leonora, not looking up from her stacks of nickels. "Thats's roit, darrlin," Uncle Frank agrees. "An' sivin-eleven is -- ah -- let me see noow -- thaat'd be -- foive blooks doon th' oothar d'rection. B'tween Clarksoon n' Parksoide Oi think. No, th' similarity oov names is a mere coincidence, tharr oov noo r'lation. Miss Wong froom th' Dragon Den is a foine oopstandin' citizen who'd haav noo troock with bookmakin'." "A foine oopstandin' citizen?" repeats Ma, glaring over her glasses. "Whoo'd haave noo trooock with bookmakin'." Uncle Frank nods, sipping his two-cents-plain. "Oi s'pose," growls Ma, "that makes me a -- a villain?" "Oh -- ah --" gasps Uncle Frank, flushing red as he realizes his implication. "Oi didn't mean t'soogest..." "Bist moind ye step, Francis," Ma glares, her arms folded and her chest thrust forward, "aaar ye'll be sharin'a bed with a police charactaaaar!" She pauses, fixing him in a cold stare. "Ahhhhr -- maybe ye WOON'T." Flinging her cleaning rag down on the counter, she storms into the back room, slamming the door behind her. Leonora looks up from her nickels, shakes her head, and sighs...)

("Ah nevuh seen th' lahks'a this," whistles the Corporal, as the truck rumbles along a pocked street lined with French civilians, screaming with excitement as the American convoy rolls into the city. "I seen some big p'rades back home," murmurs Joe, recalling a chaotic fall afternoon in 1941. "But not like t'is...")

Fourteen people were injured yesterday when two Flatbush Avenue trolleys crashed head-on near Lafayette Street. About a hundred passengers were shaken up in the collision, and traffic was backed up on the busy thoroughfare for about twenty minutes. Police stated that the crash was the result of a track switch being accidentally left open, causing a southbound 7th Avenue car to swerve onto the wrong track and into the path of the northbound St. John's Place car.

("But nobody knew...")

War correspondent Gault McGowan of the New York Sun made an offer today donate $100 to any war charity Noel Coward might name if the British playwright-actor can produce proof that he ever at any time saw any group of Brooklyn boys in tears from the injuries he claims he saw. "If I know and understand the high spirits of Brooklyn soldiers," comments Mr. McGowan, "they were more likely to be wisecracking than crying."

(Coming Events...)

Women may serve as Santa Claus this year, ringing bells on street corners, or as Mrs. Claus, if they prefer. The Volunteers of America sent out a call this week for any men or women willing to don the white whiskers during the Christmas season. A training course for new Santa recruits, and a refresher for veterans, will be held this week at the Mission Tabernacle in Manhattan.

("Mr. Hoover?" ponders Mr. Rickey. "What nonsense." "Mr. Carpenter thinks he'd do a fine job," shrugs Mr. Parrott. "No, no," dismisses Mr. Rickey, "not at all suitable. Not at all. But just in case," he frowns, "take the contents of that filing cabinet, my boy, and see that they are incinerated at once." )

("Hmph," hmphs Sally. "In nineteen t'oity-six, t'eyd'a laughed t'is monkey right outa Roseland." "Strickly awff t'cawb," snickers Alice. "Whe'd you loin' 'at?" side-eyes Sally. "Oh," nods Alice. "I keep up.")

("I've told you before and I'm telling you again! Lay off the rabbit stuff!")

(I guess Tommy Dorsey really DID get fed up with Jon Hall.)

(Ah, I remember being that age and riding unrestrained in the front seat of a car. And I remember exactly what the unpadded dashboard felt like when my ma hit the brake like that...)

("And a policeman leaped on the horse's neck and singlehandedly wrestled it to the ground. I mean, it said in the paper...")

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

"Bugsy Siegel? George Raft? Gee, those guys have all the fun." -- Leo

But I *really* enjoy opera when Olsen and Johnson are in it!

"Cease and desist!!" -- Elaine Barrie

Hey kid, you left off the "T."

It's been a pretty eventful year, huh?

Wait, you mean his parents weren't married? DO TELL.

Well then, it's a good thing Harold's away.

And here I was afraid Mama was getting just a bit too mellow.

Deal with the present and plan for the future. You'll go far, kid.

"I heard this whole plot last week on 'Captain Midnight.'"

 

[LizzieMaine]

And also...

"Play Candy Store! Slot machine, numbers bank, and tote board sold separately!"

 

[Fading Fast]

"There are no Nazis in Germany" is from the 1961 movie Judgment at Nuremberg. The character Col. Tad Lawson says this line. He continues, "The Eskimos invaded Germany and took over. That's how all those terrible things happened. It wasn't the fault of the Germans. It was the fault of those damn Eskimos!"

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

"What happened to the expensive diamond engagement ring I bought you?"

"I don't know, I misplaced it."

[A couple of days later.] "Here, I just bought you another one."

Said no man ever.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Noo what is THIS aaahn me tooast??" sputters Uncle Frank. "Baacon fat," sighs Ma. "Nooo bootar?" frowns Uncle Frank. "Nooo bootar," nods Ma, eyeing the percolator. "Noooo oleo?" ventures Uncle Frank. "Noooo oleo," shrugs Ma. "An' thaat ye have thaar is th' laaaast bit'a fat Oi got in th' hoose." She flicks him a gaze over the top of her glasses. "Prisn't coomp'ny excepted." Uncle Frank ignores the thrust, and bites gingerly into the toast. "It ain't half baaad," he concedes. Ma reaches for the percolator, pulls out the cord, and pours him a cup. "Moothar 'a marrrrcy" he marvels, "thaaat smills loike -- caaahfeee! Haaanest'a gaaahd caaaahffee!" "Nooo Postum," sighs Ma....)

A rampaging Red Army burst across the Danube in great strength and fanned out thru southern Hungary in a broad front today in a fast-breaking offensive that carried to within 50 miles or less of Lake Balaton, historic invasion gate to Austria. Riddling thru the German and Hungarian defenses at a mile-an-hour clip, the hard-charging Soviets captured the fortress city of Peos, 108 miles south-southwest of Budapest, and overran more than 330 other towns and villages on a wedge-shaped 93-mile front extending down the west bank of the Danube into Yugoslavia. A triumphant Moscow communique revealed that the Russians were pushing out to the west and northwest at top speed, raising the double threat of an invasion drive to the Austrian border, barely 100 miles away, as well as an enveloping thrust around the southern flank of Budapest.

("C'n you 'magine'nat?" marvels Sally. "Two, t'ree hunnet dollehs f'ra coat? An'nen inna summeh, y'gawtta pay t'put it inna col' stawrege. I ain' even gotta 'letric 'frigehrateh, an'nez people pay good money t'put a coat, a lousy COAT awn ice." "I had a fuh coat oncet," shrugs Alice. "You?" scoffs Sally. "You hadda fuh coat?" "Yeh," insists Alice. "Lawng stawry." Sally frowns, awaiting that story, and frowns deeper when it does not follow. "Well?" she prompts. "Skip it," Alice sides. "Awl I'll say is -- it wasn' woit' it. T'is coat heeh, t'ough? Siddy gimme t'is coat f'Chris'mas las' yeeh. Had Misteh G awlteh'rit up t'fit me right, an' it'sa bes' coat I eveh had. Even if it ain't, whatchacawl foist-hand." Sally brushes her palm over her own 1938-vintage tweed. "T'is coat is OK," she sighs. "Ain' no Namm's coat neit'eh, I gawt t'is at Loeseh's. Well, Loseseh's basemen', but t'at's still Loeseh's. No, I do'need no new coat afteh t'wawr." Alice nods in understanding. "But," resumes Sally, "I wouldn' mind'a 'letric 'frigehrateh...")

(And in the book department at Davega, an entire table of "Middle East Diary" by N. Coward collects conspicuous dust...)

("And besides, many people still miss the Literary Digest.")

("Yes," nods Mr. Parrott, always pleased to agree with his benefactor, "If Phelps can still hit, of course he'd be useful. Of course, he can't stand Leo, but.." "His personal feelings on that matter are of no consequence," dismisses Mr. Rickey. "A regular pay envelope does much to overcome personal animosities. Your thoughts, please, on Wasdell." "Good hitter, and MacPhail made a big mistake letting him go in that waiver mix-up." "Mr. MacPhail insisted," recalls Mr. Rickey, "that Mr. MacDonald was responsible for that error." "Right," eyerolls Mr. Parrott. "There is," the eager assistant continues, "one other man we might consider. As you know, that hole at second base..." "No further," blocks Mr. Rickey, holding up a meaty palm. "I shall not consider it." "But he was the best-fielding second baseman in the league when we had him before," pleads Mr. Parrott. "And he can hit, when he puts his mind to it. What'd he do in '39, .274? And he was somewhere around that with Pittsburgh this year!" "I shall countenance no further discussion of this matter," scowls Mr. Rickey, his brows beetling. "I shall do nothing to draw the notice of -- those women." "Ah," shrugs Mr. Parrott, realizing when he is beaten. "As it happens," continues Mr. Rickey, "I have other plans in mind for our infield situation. You shall learn of them at the appropriate time." "Ah," nods Mr. Parrott, pondering the possibilities..)

The name of a former Dodger batboy has come up as a possible successor to the late Judge Kenesaw Mountain Landis as Commissioner of Basbeall. New York Supreme Court Justice Thomas J. Cuff, a resident of Nassau County, was well-known in his youth as an outstanding player on the Brooklyn sandlots, and served as Dodger mascot in the days when the team played at old Washington Park. Friends of the popular jurist say he would rule the game with the same iron hand as the late Judge Landis.

(The problem with a novelty act is that the novelty wears out quick.)

(I mean, you should have told him a month ago.)

("Rex Plato?" Oh yes, made those adventure pictures with a dog and a monkey. Whatever became of that monkey?)

(Considering she nearly died of exposure, this is quite a remarkable recovery.)

("Rash? Well, try my idea first.")

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

"A cawrncawb pipe -- in Woolwoit's?" scoffs Sally. "T'at might go in McLellan's awr Newberry's, but Woolwoit's gawt standehds."

A six-reel film in its shipping cans weighs about 75 pounds. By the time he got it home he'd be too exhausted to do anything about it.

You tell 'im Vite. He's also a BOUNDER and a BLACKGUARD!

"An' if I can't, why, there's that cistern down back. Awful cold an' awful deep!"

Nobody cares about you, Fuzzy. Such is life.

They're just here to mooch cigarettes.

Well, maybe "Jon Darling" is his real name. I mean, it's a bit more realistic than "Stardust."

Just once I'd like to see someone in the comics sitting around in an old cordurouy bathrobe with toothpaste drippings on the lapel.

You know, pigs grow pretty fast.

Maybe they remember the song. "Some bright young Is-rae-lite, blew them some-thing blue!"

 

[Fading Fast]

Emerson's second marriage and Roosevelt's third lasted five years. They ended with eight marriages between them: three for her and five for him.