The Era -- Day By Day

[LizzieMaine]

("C'MAWN, KRAUSE!" bellows Sally, clanging a pipe wrench against the bedroom radiator. "GIVE OUT!" "Don' holleh," admonishes Leonora, her palm clutched to her right ear. "It hoits, Ma. It hoits." "Lemme see, " sighs Sally, tossing the wrench onto the bed, where Stella the Cat looks up just long enough to regard the entire situation with distaste. Sally examines her daughter's aching ear and notices the anticipated swelling of another infection. "S'awright, honey," she exhales, making for the bathroom for a warm washcloth. "Every damn yeeh," she growls under her breath as a knock sounds at the door. "Heeh now," she instructs Leonora, pressing the compress to the side of her head. "You jus' hold it t'eh now, an' I'll be right back." She rushes into the kitchen to answer the door, to find Alice looming in the hallway, in a boudoir cap, chenille bathrobe, and carpet slippers. "We hoid ya awready," she growls, as Sally beckons her inside. "Siddy's doin'a best 'e can wit't'at berleh, but..." "Well tell 'im t' cawl Uncle Frank," snaps Sally. "Y't'ink he ain' tried?" retorts Alice. "He was inta Schreibstein's till'ey closed up f't'night, try'n'ta cawl oveh teh. Phone jus' rung an' rung." "You try Ma's place?" challenges Sally. "Maybe he was oveh t'eh f'dinneh'ra sump'n." "No answeh t'eh neit'eh," shrugs Alice. "T'at ain' like him," ponders Sally. "He's gotta lawt awn'is min' t'ese days," exhales Alice. "He's whatchacawl distracted." "Ma ain' distract'ed t'ough," rejoinds Sally. "I dunno why SHE don' ans'eh t'phone." "No," replies Alice, thru narrowed eyes, "t'at ain' like 'eh." She flicks a glance at the electric clock buzzing on the kitchen wall. "It's two a'clock inna mawrnin'. Look, you stay 'eeh. I'm gonna -- well, you stay 'eeh. I'm gonna --" "Jus' tell ya husban' I need heat," hastens Sally. "I gotta lit'l goil inn'eh wit'eh eeh swelled out t'heeh." "Sit tight," admonishes Alice. "I'll be back.")

Canadian Prime Minister Mackenzie King called today for a full debate in Parliament on all angles of his order-in-council to conscript Canadian youth for overseas military service. Rejecting a suggestion that the House of Commons debate on the issue be curtailed to hasten a vote of confidence in his government, King stated that he will not attempt to "infringe" the parliamentary rights of members. Dozens of French-speaking liberals were expected to go on record today in opposition to the conscription order, but are also expected to endorse King's leadership even though a formal vote of confidence may be delayed.

The first-ever revolt of a major motion picture studio against the so-called "Hays Office" has broken out in Hollywood, with Warner Bros. Pictures, Inc. announcing its withdrawal from the Motion Picture Producers and Distributors Association of America. The decision to pull out of the MPPDA follows months of dispute between the studio and the association over matters of labor negotiation, and what the studio deemed disagreement over what constitutes "good taste" when it comes to Warners' roster of "sweater girls." A studio spokesman indicated that Warners' will now handle both labor issues and questions of taste on its own.


("These books?" wonders Mrs. Ginsburg, indicating a small stack of volumes on her parlor table. "For Leonora," nods Mr. Ginsburg. "Hmm," hmms Mrs G. "'The Story of Philosophy by Will Durant.' A bit advanced." "Dr. Minkoff tells me," enthuses Mr. G., "he found her off in a corner at the clinic. Reading 'Psychology of the Child." "Dr. Minkoff, the comedian," chuckles Mrs. G. "Three years old she is." "She is," nods Mr. G. "And so I thought perhaps, a book for beginners." "Don't you think," suggests Mrs. G., "perhaps a toy instead? A doll?" "A toy you break and it's forgotten," observes Mr. G. "An idea," he continues, tapping the side of his head, "you have with you forever." "Mmm," concedes Mrs. G. "But perhaps, a few things you NEED to forget, to have room for all the others." "Ah," nods Mr. G, lighting his pipe and taking a contemplative puff. "Perhaps, then, also, a doll.")

("Noel Cowehd?" sputters Joe, looking up from a wrinkled copy of "Stars and Stripes." "Who caehs what Noel Cowehd says about anyt'ing." "Nevuh huhd'v 'im," scoffs the Corporal firing a jet of tobacco juice into a snowbank. "Ain' missin' nut'n," adds Joe, expertly crossing the Corporal's brown streak with one of his own. "Gimme Olsen 'n Johnson." "Nevuh huhda them neithuh," shrugs the Corporal. "Ahhhh," sighs Joe, relishing the memory. "Hellzapoppin'. Me'n Sal went t'see t'at up at t' Winteh Gawrden one time. Te'zzis guy wawkin' back'n foet' wit' a plant. An' ev'ry time y'see 'im t'plant's biggeh till afteh t'show he's sittin' inna tree out'na lawbby." The Corporal cocks a skeptical eye. "New Yo'k," he sighs, shaking his head...)

(Peace on earth, eventually.)

(Beans Reardon is right up there with Jocko Conlan and Ziggy Sears for the title of Best Umpire Name of 1944. Sorry, George "Meathead" Magerkurth.)

(Also, no fair doing aerials with a bird.)

(Hey, you made your bed -- now lie about it.)

("Chere Tingle?" Somebody's having too much fun with this story.)

(Yeahhhhh, pretty sure she'll never see any of them again.)

(Yes, by all means, and then we can move on to something else.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

I don't know what he's so worked up about, it wasn't much of a nose to begin with.

I dunno, but it *would* make a hell of a storyline.

"What nerve!" fumes Lionel Barrymore. "You know, he really was like that," sighs Ethel.

"Hmph!" -- Stella the Cat.

"Zat so? I got four of 'em. But you never asked me, did you?"

"But now I won't do it. Instead, I'm running for Congress!"

"Really? Gee, I wish the Asp was here."

Regulations state that it should be worn precisely one finger's width above the eyebrow. Better start plucking, son.

Anyway, they'd be more likely to steal the pig.

"Dracula's doll!!"

 

[Fading Fast]

"She is," nods Mr. G. "And so I thought perhaps, a book for beginners." "Don't you think," suggests Mrs. G., "perhaps a toy instead? A doll?" "A toy you break and it's forgotten," observes Mr. G. "An idea," he continues, tapping the side of his head, "you have with you forever." "Mmm," concedes Mrs. G. "But perhaps, a few things you NEED to forget, to have room for all the others." "Ah," nods Mr. G, lighting his pipe and taking a contemplative puff. "Perhaps, then, also, a doll.")

The Aristotelian balance in child rearing.

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

Yes, by all means, and then we can move on to something else.

I'll say it again, Bo deserves a better comicstrip around him. I'll also deny I ever said it, but Sandy wouldn't be Sandy without the Orphan Annie world around him.

"What's that?"
"Nothing, buddy."

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

 

[LizzieMaine]

("You betteh tell me what's goin' awn," threatens Sally. "Ma was s'posta take Leonoreh t'is mawrnin', an' she neveh showed up, an' I hadda leave 'eh wit' t' neighbehs. An'nen t'night I come oveh'r'eeh an' fin' YOU." "I dunno," shrugs Bink Scanlan, arrayed in Ma's apron, and looking up from the confession magazine spread before her on the counter. "She tol' me she was goin' away f'ra coupl'a days. She gimme ten bucks an' says t' wawtch t'stoeh till she gets back. Ten bucks she gimme. T'at's money. Ten bucks." "She musta tol'ya we'h she went," demands Sally. "She did'n," insists Bink. She was in'eeh woikin' an' she gawt a phone cawl, an' got awl woiked up 'bout sump'n, wrote sump'n down onna coveh'ra t'phone book t'eh, an'nen runs upstaiehs, runs back down carryin' a grip, t'rows t'en bucks at me, an'nat'sa last I seen'v'eh." "Gimme t'at phone book," commands Sally. "Shove it 'eeh." She squints at the stained cover, scrawled with assorted doodles, and her gazes fixes on a single word. "Peekskill," she reads. "Did she go t' PEEKSKILL?" "I dunno," shrugs Bink, with a definitive crack of her gum. "Why," soliloquizes Sally, "would Ma go t'Peekskill. Why would ANYBODY go to Peekskill?" "Change 'a scenery?" offers Bink. Sally's eyes narrow as she turns over the matter in her mind...)

("Hmph!" hmphs Alice. "T'ey neveh carry awn like t'at at t' Ol' Reliable!" "Heh," hehs Krause,recalling occasions when they did.)

Barring a Congressional investigation, years may elapse before the public learns all the names of those responsible for the disaster at Pearl Harbor, and the reason why Admiral James O. Richardson had, prior to the Japanese attack three years ago, been summarily relieved of command. The War and Navy Departments have practically closed the book on the matter by announcing that the results of service investigations and the conclusions of theSecretaries of War and Navy showed that no further action should be taken against either Maj. Gen. Walter C. Short or Rear Admiral Husband E. Kimmel. From Dallas, Short issued a statement declaring that when the full story is made known, he is certain of "complete vindiction before the American people. An attorney representing Admiral Kimmel stated that the government findings mean that his client "has been cleared."

("I don't know, but either way they'd better have their ration book!")

(And the winner takes on Germany.)

("Jivin' With His Goose" sounds much dirtier than it probably is.)

("Well, wear a coat at least, it's December.")

(Wait, didn't we see this once in a Charlie Chan picture?)

("Good thing I keep the Sears catalog right here next to the bed!")

(AMERICA'S NUMBER ONE HERO DOG hopes this isn't another racetrack story.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

"Pat Teased Him With Her Hula -- Then Dorsey Raged, Hall Claims." Hey, it scans!

"I t'ought we was stayin' put f'ra while," fumes Joe. "An'now we'eh movin' out again? AWREADY?" "Fahn bah me," shrugs the Corporal. "Ah nevuh did lahk t'stay in one place ennuh too lawng. B'sides, yo' th' one complainin' how it's cold. Keepin' movin'll keep yuh wawrm." "Ya complainin' too," growls Joe. "Ah'm allowed to complain," scowls the Corporal, pointing to the lack of a "T" under the chevrons on his overcoat sleeve. "But'chew, yo' jus' heeuh t'wuhk." Joe ejects a stream of brown juice in response. "Ah'll ovuhlook that breach uh discipline," huffs the Corporal, "if yuh gimme anothuh chaw offuh that plug." Joe scowls and hands over the tobacco. "Rank," nods the Corporal, tearing off a chunk, "has its priv'lujj'es."

WAC regulations also state that the cap is to be worn centered on the head. Whattayou think, you're in the RAF?

Skeez doesn't want a girl because he's still upset Trixie beat him at wrestling when they were twelve.

Nah, it's just a really big fly.

The ritual continues.

Oh, lets!

She'll have him sworn into the Junior Commandos in no time.

"Of course, I did it on a mule."

Good move, DICK.

 

[Fading Fast]

"Well, wear a coat at least, it's December."

Kudos to her for making the architecture of that dress even work.

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

Wait, didn't we see this once in a Charlie Chan picture?

"Jane Arden" and B movies have a lot in common.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Oh, ah," smiles Inky Quinlan, closing the door gently behind him as he steps into the store, and notices the crowd already gathered around the counter. "I anticipated that this would be a -- how shall I say -- private conference..." "So did I," frowns Police Sgt. Tommy Doyle, holding up a folded yellow sheet. "Got t'is wieh an' I come right oveh, but.." "Yeh," nods Alice, glancing over at Krause and Willie eyeing the magazine rack. "An' I guess we awl got t'same wieh." "Indeed?" queries Inky, holding up his own telegram. "BE AT STORE SUNDAY NOON. WILL EXPLAIN ALL. FXL." "Hey!" interrupts Bink Scanlan, as Inky's fingers close around a Milky Way. "T'at's a nickel t'you, slick!" "Awright," comes a sharp voice from the doorway as Sally enters, leading Leonora by the hand, closely followed by the Ginsburgs. "Whassisawalabout?" "We all seem to have been summoned here," smiles Inky. "I don't believe we've met. Ignatius Quinlan, at your service." "Yeh," ignores Sally. "Whateveh. Alice! What's goin' awn, whassawlese people doin' in'eeh? I get t'is wieh f'rm Uncle Frank -- sent from PEEKSKILL, yet -- an' come t'fine out Mr. an' Mrs. G got t'same wieh!" "We all came together," nods Mr. Ginsburg. "Anything we can do, we do," adds Mrs. G. "We awl gawttit," puzzles Alice. "'Cep' f't'goil at t'coun'eh t'eh, I dunno what'eh game is." "I tol' ye befaaaar," comes a bellow at the door, "Ye caaan't get nooo roasts when tharrr's noo roasts t'be gaaht, an' sindin me a wire..." Shaughnessy the butcher trails off as he sees all eyes flick in his direction. "Outta t'way, bud," comes a rough voice in the doorway. "Comin' t'ru," adds another, as the Leary twins push into the looming crowd. "AWRIGHT!" bellows Sally. "Shaddup awlayez! Does ANYBODY heeh know what's goin' awn? We'hs my mot'eh?? What'sis awlabout???" Heads shake, shoulders shrug, as suddenly a rattling from the backroom announces that someone else has entered the store thru the rear. The murmur of anxious voices fades to silence, as the back room door unlatches and swings open. "Thank ye aaahl far coomin'" grins Uncle Frank, a fresh carnation blooming from his lapel. He doffs his derby, and nods at Ma, whose face bears an unaccustomed glow behind a light skim of powder. Uncle Frank inhales dramatically. "Family, friends, an' neighbarrrs -- we staaand befarrr ye this aftarnoon -- as Mr. and Mrs. Francis X. Leary." There is a collective gulp as though the entire room has inhaled simultaneously. The cigarette drops from Jimmy Leary's lips and into the cuff of his trousers. The room is completely silent save the buzz of the ice cream freezer. Outside, the red bulk of the Crown Heights trolley rumbles northward up Rogers Avenue. A blush deepens across Ma's cheeks. Sally is the first to find her voice. "W-w-w-what????" she stammers. Ma begins to speak, but she is cut off by a sudden clamor at the back of the crowd. "OW!" yelps Jimmy as smoke rises from his smoldering pants...)

Heavy tropical rains have forced another halt in the American drive down the Ormoc Corridor of Leyte but U. S. warplanes sank or damaged three enemy ships and destroyed at least five other planes in widespread attacks over the Philippines and Netherlands East Indies. Dispatches from the front indicated that troops of the US 32nd Division, fighting thru knee-deep mud, had pressed to within one mile of a junction in a two-pronged drive down both sides of the Upper Ormoc Corridor road about 17 2/3 miles north of Ormoc.

(Yeah, I'm sure. "For fun.")

In Moscow, General Charles deGaulle has arrived aboard a special train flying the French and Soviet flags for an historic conference with Marshal Stalin and other high-ranking Soviet officials. The General was greeted by representatives of the Soviet High Command, the diplomatic corps, and the Russian press as he stepped off the train at the Kursky railroad station. The occasion marked the first time that all chiefs of missions and diplomatic corps turned out to greet the visiting head of an Allied government. Speaking thru a microphone set up on the rail platform, Gen. de Gaulle greeted the Soviet people on behalf of France, and delivered "the homage of France to her Soviet ally for the victory and peace which must be a blessing upon mankind."

("Future Major is still a MInor." Well, if he lives long enough.)

(It's nice to see Chester Conklin still getting work, even if it IS in a second-rate cowboy comic.)

(VICTORY THRU HARE POWER.)

(Fitz's kneecap should have gotten an assist too.)

(There's nothing quite like the durability of cast iron.)

(Most anticlimactic ending ever.)

(I never realized Doug Jr. looked so much like his old man. And Mr. J. Howard Bluett can expect a wire from the Society For The Prevention of Disparaging Remarks About Brooklyn in the morning.)

(You know, for a worldly cafe-society type, you really have no idea how to do any of this at all, do you?)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

"D'you," queries Joe, as he and the Corporal wrestle the gasoline stove off the back of the truck, "believe in whatcacawl premonitions?" "Whussat?" replies the Corporal, negotiating a lumpy path thru the snow. "Y'know," Joe continues. "Like y'gawtta feelin'. Like -- well, I tol' ya 'bout how me'n Sal wenta t'Woil' Series one time, right? An' you know how Mickey Owen drawpt'at bawl, right?" "Seems ah huh'd some 'bout that," shrugs the Corporal, easing the stove into position. "Ah seen in thuh Movietone News. Ball done rolled raht away'fum'im. Ah was glad thuh Caw'dnuls got ridd'v'im." "Neveh min'at," interrupts Joe. "T' pernt is, we was sitt'n'eh, an' Casey was windin' up, right? An' awluvva sudd'n I got t'is -- I dunno, a chill onna back'a me neck. An' I haddis feelin' sump'n was gonna happn. An' nen -- it did!" "Well, yo' don' gottuh worry none 'bout t'at," snickers the Corporal, firing a jet of tobacco juice into the snow as they head back to the truck for another load. "Dod'guhs ain' gettin' in no Wuld Series annuh tahm soon." "I don' mean'nat," argues Joe. "I gawt'tat feelin' again right now, t'at col' feelin' upta back'a me neck. Like sump'ns gonna happ'n. Jeez, I hope ev'ryt'ings awright back home." "Ah'll tell yuh what's gon' happ'n," admonishes the Corporal. "Yo' don' pull down them eeuhflaps on yo' cap theeyuh, yo' gon' freeze yo' eehs awff." "Hmph," hmphs Joe, ejecting a stream of his own...

Huh, I thought Al Smith died. No, wait...

Careful, soldier. Seconds at a church supper may not make a frontal attack, but they can certainly assault from the rear.

Well, in a minute he'll be under the table.

I may be wrong, but I get the sense that Mr. Gray is about to go off on another filibuster. And sorry Shadow, no pantywaists allowed.

So much for the cute little pig. And it's nice to see Burma getting a role she can really sink her teeth into.

"Judy Snubnose?" Yeah, a regular .38 Special.

"Oh don't throw me into the volcano! Not in these shoes!"

Hotshot Charlie, man of action? That's something new.

 

[Fading Fast]

"I don't believe we've met. Ignatius Quinlan, at your service." "Yeh," ignores Sally.



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

You know, for a worldly cafe-society type, you really have no idea how to do any of this at all, do you?

He's an idiot. You don't walk away from this woman, you run.

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

Hotshot Charlie, man of action? That's something new.

I loathe him ever so slightly less right now.

 

[Farace]

I felt compelled by the article on the Foxhole Surgeon to search and try to find if he actually did go to medical school.

https://encyclopedia.adventist.org/article?id=BJMJ

An Arkie’s Faith: The Foxhole Surgeon | My Pulse News

By Richie Lawry It was a cold, murky, November day, and nineteen-year-old Duane was knee-deep in the mud of a French beet field. He was bandaging men and dodging bullets as the only medic with a machine-gun platoon of Patton’s Third Army. Machine-gun rounds and intense mortar fire filled the...

mypulsenews.com

And there’s more out there.