The Era -- Day By Day

[Fading Fast]

"He gets oot," sighs Uncle Frank, "in 1947."

Perfect.

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

"How jejune." -- Ignatius J. Quinlan.

Also perfect.

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

More to the point, though, why are you dressed like a Hollywood agent?

Before business attire morphed into biz-casual/all casual, I believe the expression was "dress for the job you want."

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Aaaahl roit," exhales Ma. "Let's goo oovar this again." "Yes'm," nods Bink Scanlan. "If weee're goin' t'convince these Coca-Coola people t'drop th' chaaarges," Ma continues, "we gaaaht t'get th' story straight. Faaaar th' laaaaaast toime now, yaaar name is Sally Petrauskas." "Riiiiiight," nods Bink. "An' yaaaar marrried t' Joseph, who's a Technician Fifth...oh, nivver moind that, he's a caaaarporal. Caaarporal Joseph Petrauskas." "Riiiight," affirms Bink. "An' he's ovaaarseas foitin' aaahn th' froont loines in Fraaance. Draaaaafted away froom'is woife an' little garrrl. An' yaaaaar waaarkin' t'keep oop hoose an' hoom faaaar th' telephone coomp'ny oot in New Jaaarsey, in a fact'ry makin' radio tubes." "She does'at?" marvels Bink. "Ain'nat sump'n. Radio tubes." "Ahhl roit," nods Ma, "now you give it back t'me. What's ye name?" "Sally," hesitates Bink. "Ummm, Sally Petrovich?" "Petrauskas." "Petrovich is easieh t'say," shrugs Bink. "Joos DOO LOIKE OI TELL YE!" fumes Ma. "Now what's yaar hoosband's name, an' where is he?" "Ummm," searches Bink, her gum parked thoughtfully in her cheek, "Ummmm, Johnny Pestrauski, an' he's a -- um -- technical cawrpr'l..." "Oi give oop," groans Ma, as the door jingles open. "It's aaaahl set, Nora," declares Uncle Frank. "Oi gaaaht soombody t'be yaaar lawyer." "Oi thaat'chee said ye couldn't foind..." begins Ma. "No, no, he's not an ACT'CHAL lawyarrr," admits Uncle Frank. "Boot when we goo in, he'll goo with oos, see, an' 'eel LOOK loike a lawyaaar. He's aaahn 'is way ovaaar now." Ma's scowl deepens. "It bettar naaaht be..." She trails off as the door opens again. "Ahhhhhh there, Mrs. Leary," beams Ignatius J. Quinlan, his teeth gleaming beneath his immaculate and lawyerly moustache. "OI GIVE OOOP!" roars Ma.....)

("An' stawrt by tradin'at Rickey t'Pittsboig," growls Sally. "An' get Petey back!" "Din'choo say Petey's a yeeh oldeh'rn you?" notes Alice. "Yeh," nods Sally. "I read inna Who's Who In Basebawl. So what?" "How ol' you gonna be in 1947," queries Alice. "Um, t'oity foueh," calculates Sally. "So what?" "T'at means Petey'll be t'oity five," observes Alice. "Ain'nat kinda old f'ra secon' baseman?" "He still ain' as old as Billy Hoiman," snaps Sally. "So shuttup!" "What if t'ez somebody come along youngeh?" challenges Alice. "Tommy Brown, f'zample. He's on'y 16. 1947 he's gonna be -- eighteen?" "Too young!" replies Sally. "Can't stay up late f'night games!" "Good pernt," acknowledges Alice, knowing when an argument can't be won...)

(It just isn't the same since Orphan Annie went off the air...)

(Won't somebody think of the horses?)

(The "pick up artist" movement has deep roots...)

("How hideous. Hope you kept the receipt.")

(It's easy if you know how!)

("Don't blame me," shrugs Uncle Frank. "Ye just can't get th' molasses!")

(AND TRY SWIMMING WITH A DISLOCATED CLAVICLE!)

 

[LizzieMaine]

"Hey bud," greets Jimmy Leary, addressing a furtive looking gentleman standing on the corner of Rogers Avenue and Maple Street. "Gotta smoke?" "How many y'need?" smirks the gentleman, reaching into his coat. "Let's us have a tawk," interjects Danny Leary, emerging from a doorway. "Yeh," nods Jimmy, taking the gentleman by the elbow. "Let's have a tawk." "Private like," adds Danny, his hand slipping into his coat pocket....

"I must admit though, I do appreciate the salutes when I come into the bedroom."

War is heck.

And he wandered off into the jungle, never to be seen or heard from again...

I didn't know Pop was religious, but I guess there are no atheists in candy stores.

That explains why the card says "Rest In Peace."

Sea water freezes at a little over 28 degrees, which suggests you won't have too long to worry about it...

There are no shadows so shadowy as Harold Gray's shadows....

"Oh. Well, that changes everything."

KIDS TODAY.

 

[Fading Fast]

"She does'at?" marvels Bink. "Ain'nat sump'n. Radio tubes."

Every now and then, I kinda like Bink.

I also love that even Ma knows putting Sally in front of Coke is not a good idea no matter from what angle you look at it. She's so sure of that, that she's willing to go through this with Binkadoo.

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

"It's aaaahl set, Nora," declares Uncle Frank. "Oi gaaaht soombody t'be yaaar lawyer." "Oi thaat'chee said ye couldn't foind..." begins Ma. "No, no, he's not an ACT'CHAL lawyarrr," admits Uncle Frank. "Boot when we goo in, he'll goo with oos, see, an' 'eel LOOK loike a lawyaaar. He's aaahn 'is way ovaaar now." Ma's scowl deepens. "It bettar naaaht be..." She trails off as the door opens again. "Ahhhhhh there, Mrs. Leary," beams Ignatius J. Quinlan, his teeth gleaming beneath his immaculate and lawyerly moustache. "OI GIVE OOOP!" roars Ma.....

That is so perfect. Coke could so easily steamroll over these people if it wants to.

Also, I can see Allen Jenkins playing Ignatius J. Quinlan; the part is tailor made for him.

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

So what is the offensive thing here? Sounds pretty on target for the times.

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

"I must admit though, I do appreciate the salutes when I come into the bedroom."

"But I thought you said you tie both his hands to the headboard, so how does he salu....ohhhhh."

"That will be all, Sargent."

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

I'm surprised they let "hell" make it through used this way.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("How c'n ya even RUN a fountain wit'out Coke?" frowns Sally, sipping desultorily at an egg cream. "T'ez no -- you know -- zing t't'is stuff." "Don'chee knoo tharr's a waar aaahn?" snaps Ma. "Sawry," shrugs Sally. "I'm just sayin'. Any woid when ya gonna get any in?" "No," declares Ma, struggling to rein in her irritation. "Anyway, Oi'm gonna cloose th' store t'marra. Oi gaaaht some business t'take care oov in th' city." "Can't y'have Bink run t'place?" suggests Sally. "Barbara's gooin with me," replies Ma. "We gaaat things t'do." "Ah," ahs Sally, filing this note away for future suspicion. "Well, anyways, it's Leonoreh's day at t' N Y U clinic inna city too. Maybe you could drawp 'eh awff an' pick 'eh up, give Misteh Ginsboig t'day awff." "We're noot goin' oop that way," jitters Ma. "We're gooin' soomwhar else that's naaath oop that way." "Huh," shrugs Sally. "Hey, speakin' a'which, Docteh Minkoff gimme t'is repoeht on how she's doin'. He says she 'displays remawrkable creativity fawr a child'a heh age.' How 'bout t'at?" "Is that soo," replies Ma, for want of any other observation on the matter. "Oh yeh," enthuses Sally. "He says she was tellin'is whole stawry t't'ot'eh kids, y'know, makin' it up as she goes alawng. Sawrt of a, you know, hard-berled crime stawry. She was goin'awn about how t'is guy, y'know, t'is robbeh tries t'stick up a canny stoeh, y'know? An'nis gal woiks inna stoeh socks 'im onna head wit' a bag'a nickels, puts 'im out col', an'nen'na ol' lady runs'a place, y'know? She wraps 'im up in tape, right? An' sticks some chlorehfawrm in 'is face, an'nen'nese two guys, y'know, hoods, show up an' t'row 'im inna back'va truck an' drive awff wit'tim! Ain'nat a stawry!" "Oh, indeed," sweats Ma. "I wo'neh weh she comes up wit't'at stuff," marvels Sally. "Mus' be t'em d'tective magazines she's awrways lookin'at." "Noo doot," nods Ma. "Well," sighs Sally, sucking up the last of her egg cream, "I s'pose it's betteh'rn True Romances...")

(Good to know.)

(Oh, RUTH Reiser. I wonder if she could play center field?)

(Coyotes, in fact, rarely thieve, but rather sieze their prey in packs after lurking about known gathering places. If you're going to offer nature facts, Mr. Harman, please check them first.)

(Boogie Woogie? 1940 was a long time ago.)

("Besides, Bill has probably burned the house down by now, and I just can't deal with that again.")

(Guess Mr. Hull has plenty of time now for croquet...)

(Come now, be creative. I once broke into my boss's office and shifted everthing on his desk half an inch to the left. Didn't see him that entire day.)

(And now, 45 year later, horses still play a key role in New York dinners...)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

Donna Reed, a Mexican divorce? SHE'LL NEVER LIVE IT DOWN!

Patience.

For years my phone number was one digit off from a pizza joint. You get used to it.

Well, at least Tracy isn't shoving bees down the hole.

"eek!"

In a few years, the TV wrestling craze will make Kayo very very rich. And Shadow will be part of his stable.

Oh, you said that once before and look how THAT ended up!

Careful you don't burn the house down. And clearly the Gump DNA got spread around pretty well in this town, isn't that right Eddie The Brush?

Boys and their toys.

 

[Fading Fast]

Amen. Smoking indoors was always repulsive, but in eating establishments, it was really gross. Shame it took about fifty years for sanity to catch up with culture.

 

[LizzieMaine]

(A portrait of Robert Woodruff glowers down from the waiting room wall outside the legal department at The Coca-Cola Company's executive offices on East 42nd Street, and beneath his gaze, Bink Scanlan mutters in frustration. "Y'd T"INK," she fumes, "inNIS place, y'could get a drink a' Coke!" "Shoot oop," hisses Ma, as Uncle Frank looks up from a two-month-old copy of "The Red Barrel." Inky Quinlan, briefcase in hand, preens his moustache as a secretary beckons the Brooklyn group to the inner office. A no-nonsense man in a featureless suit frowns up from an open folder on his desk and nods them into a series of chairs lined up in perfect alignment with the floor tiles. "Mrs. Leary?" he begins, his eyes fastening on Ma. "Yess sarr," Ma nods, lowering her gaze. "Me hoosband, Mistarr Leary -- ah, me daughter Sally, and... ahhh..." "Ooor counsel," injects Uncle Frank. "Mistarr -- ahh -- J. Q. Ignatius. Esquire." "How do you do," purrs Inky. "Felix Haskell," nods the occupant of the desk, his voice stony. "Director of Investigations." He holds up a densely-typed sheet. "You operate a fountain at 503 Rogers Avenue, Brooklyn." "Yessar," nods Ma. "Since 1924," Mr. Haskell continues, "you have had a contract with The Coca-Cola Company for the exclusive sale of our syrup thru your fountain, a contract assumed by you following the retirement of -- ah -- Mr. Milton Lieb, who had held this contract since 1910." "Yessar," nods Ma. "I call your attention to this clause in your contract, to wit: 'party of the second part does agree and does so warrant that only products of the party of the first part shall be dispensed into glassware bearing trademarks of the party of the first part." "Yes sar," exhales Ma, wringing her hands in contrition. "I have before me, Mrs. Leary," declares Mr. Haskell, holding up another sheet, "a chemical analysis of the sample collected by our agent at your premises on the ninth of January." "Ohhhhh, Mistarrrrrr Haskell, sarrrrr," erupts Ma, breaking into a well-rehearsed sob. "Oi oonly did it faaaaar th' sake 'a me poooor family! We coould't get noo syrup, an' me pooor hoosband thar, he can noo laaaanger waaark his trade becaaause a' th' ploombar's palsy!" Uncle Frank holds up his hands, trembling mightily. "An' me poor daaaaaaughter, waaaaarkin' haaar fingaaaaaars t'the boon in New Jaaaaarsey whoile haaar brave hoosband risks his loife in Fraaaance." "Pooeh Johnny," sighs Bink. "Joe, uh, Joe," she corrects. "Annnn' me ooonly son," wails Ma, "a boy who looooved a coold glass a'Coca-Coola loike loife itself, waaaaaaastin' away a prisonaaar a' waaar, dreamin' oov th' moment when he can woonce maaaaar lift that froosty glasssss to his lips..." "I'm sure that is all very true," frowns Mr. Haskell, "but the trademark laws of this country require us to rigorously prosecute all cases of substitution. There is also the matter of certain -- alkaloids -- our analysis found present in your sample, which..." His voice trails off, as he notices J. Q. Ignatius, Esquire, tapping a cigarette against a sleek silver case. "Oh," smiles Inky. "My manners." He flicks open the case, and holds it out, revealing a tidy row of neat white cylinders. "Cigarette?" Mr. Haskell's eyes widen. Ma shoots him a glance. Uncle Frank offers only an enigmatic smile....)

Mayor LaGuardia travels to Washington today to confer with Federal authorities concerning the city's meat situation, and is expected to return on Wednesday with plans to impose meatless Tuesdays and Fridays along with a "leftover Monday." Proposed enforcement measures to back up these edicts have not been mentioned, but it is expected the Mayor will seek Government authority to make these meatless days compulsory, including the likely closure of butcher shops several days a week. In his Sunday broadcast over WNYC, the Mayor warned that the meat shortage is likely to continue in the city for several months. Operators of restaurants and hotels have indicated their support for the Mayor's plan, noting that many establishments have already instituted Meatless Tuesdays and Fridays on a voluntary basis.

("Hey Sal," queries Alice. "What's a 'de walkueeh?" "One'a t'ese gals wit' wings, see," explains Sally. "An'ney got speehs, right, an' helmets awn. An'ney come in awn a flyin' hawrse." "T'ey got wings?" marvels Alice. "Howcome t'ey need a flyin' hawrse?" "I dunno," shrugs Sally. "Savin' ene'gy, I guess. See, it's ya my'tology. T'ese Vikin's, y'see -- t'eh like pirates wit' big beehds an'nese helmets wit' hawrns awn'm -- they uset'a b'lieve t'at when ya die, t'ese gals wit' t' wings take ya soul awf t' Valhalla." "'At's up in Wes'chesteh, ain' it?" frowns Alice. "Who'd wanna go t'eh?" "An'nen when'ney getcha t'eh," concludes Sally, "I dunno, t'ey feed ya beeh." "AH!" declares Alice. "T'at makes SENSE! T'ey wrote a whole opera about t'at, din'ney?" "Yeh," nods Sally. "I hoida t'at one," nods Alice. "Dass Rheingold!")

(Coming events....)

("Taxes and Bonds, Bonds and Taxes, that's the way to Beat The Axis!")

(Can't argue with any of Mr. Holmes's choices, but I do hope, in a few years' time, he'll speak up on behalf of Frederick Landis Fitzsimmons...)

(I had no idea that Al Smith was so driven by emotion...)

("Hey, don't I look like Betty Hutton when I squint llike this? Huh?")

(Good, you just keep thinking that.)

(RIPPED FROM THE HEADLINES)

(The Edge Of A Dilemma.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

"A Hollywood Technique," all right.

"Futurity Stakes winner?" They're betting on dog shows now?

"So she blew up a submarine. Who woudn't?"

Ah, winter.

Wait, Andy has friends?

That's what you get for parking in a rough neighborhood.

It's about time you went back to work!

Shut up and play!

Sure, but try and get you out!

Now add a target on the cockpit glass.

 

[Fading Fast]

"Pooeh Johnny," sighs Bink. "Joe, uh, Joe," she corrects.

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

...they uset'a b'lieve t'at when ya die, t'ese gals wit' t' wings take ya soul awf t' Valhalla." "'At's up in Wes'chesteh, ain' it?" frowns Alice. "Who'd wanna go t'eh?"

North of the City means one thing to Alice.

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

Good, you just keep thinking that.

Monte Barrett is assuming a lot about his readership asking them to go along with the minutia of a payroll fraud story. I like this kind of stuff and even I'm thinking he needs to speed things up. Just sayin'.

 

[Fading Fast]

I'm not a collector of anything - so I have no idea of value - but I know some here are, so if we have any "Smilin' Jack" fans, I thought this might interest you:

https://www.ebth.com/items/14005243-smilin-jack-featured-in-pair-of-comics-and-pep-pin-1938-1941

 

[LizzieMaine]

He sure does get around, doesn't he? Isn't quite so debonair without the moustache.

And not only that, Skeezix and Tops as teenagers. THEY GROW UP SO FAST.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Ye can staaaap smaaaarkin' now, Francis," chuckles Ma. "Yee've made ye point." "Ahhhhh," ahhs Uncle Frank, "it's joost th' satisfaction oova jaaahb well doon. But let it be a lesson t'ye -- ivvry man has 'is proice. It's joosta matter'a negootiation. Two caaaartons a' Philip Maaaariss, an' ye back in good graces with Coca-Cola." "That's foine," acknowledges Ma, "boot ye still ain't said how ye can hand oot cigarettes by th' carton, yet here OI am still with noo smooks t'sell! Oi swear t'ye, Francis Leary, if ye been hooldin' oot, if ye be playin' ye foony little games, Oi'll..." "Oi nevarr had a thing t'do with that," swears Uncle Frank, crossing his heart. "Thim cigarettes coom from Inky Quinlan's -- ah -- resaaaarch c'lecction. See, when 'ee's makin' oop th' printin' plates, he's gaaaahtta have soom originals t'waaark by. An' you know, ye can't joost d'pend aaahn woon, ye gotta have a few diff'rent specimens, y'see, t'caaaaapture what they caaaahl th' fool range'a vaaariation. An' if them caaaartons happened t'have th' cigarettes still insoide, why..." "An' he give'm oop willin'ly, faaar me?" marvels Ma. "Well, ah..." twiddles Uncle Frank, "'p'raps'ee did need a bitt'a convincin'. T'see th' joostice in th' argument, ye oondarstand." "Ah," chuckles Ma. "Paaaar Inky nivver did loike th' cloimate oopstate," concludes Uncle Frank, quaffing his two-cents-plain. "Here now, Nora," he requests, shoving his glass across the counter. "Fill me oop again. An' this toime, hey, let's have a Coke!" "Ah," ahs Ma, reaching for the glass. "An' whoile yarr at it," adds Uncle Frank, "Oi'm feelin' sporrrty. Mix woon up farr yeself!")

The New York City "brownout" will grow even browner effective February 1st, in line with the new coal conservation order issued by War Production Board Chairman Julius A. Krug, an order cutting drastically the allowed use of electricity for store display windows, theatre and hotel marquees, and signboards. The WPB order followed by only a few days the call from War Mobilization Director James F. Byrnes calling for a nationwide reduction in the use of electricity in an effort to conserve fuel. The Krug order, which promises to leave the city streets even darker than they were last winter, brought a mixed reaction. Movie theatre operators, whose marquees have only been lit about four hours a night since the dimout was lifted last year generally agreed that all they'll need to do is leave them off again. Legitimate theatre operators, however, expressed dissatisfaction at the order limiting marquee illumination to no more than 60 watts, arguing that it is impossible to illuminate the name of a play and its stars with just a single 60 watt bulb.

("I'm glad I neveh took up smokin'," declares Sally. "Waste a' money, an' now y'can't gett'm anyways." "I give it up when I was -- um -- livin' upstate," shrugs Alice. "I still wisht I had one sometimes. Siddy smokes'em cigawrs, an' I tried one'a t'em once, an' it tasted like an old sawk." "I tried smokin' oncet," admits Sally. "At Erasmus. Mildred McCullough gimme one. Says t'suck it in. So I done it. I sucked it in. An' I got t'cawffin' so hawrd t'fieh fawled awff t'enda t'cigarette an' set my dress awn fieh. I didn' like t'at none." "No," acknowledges Alice. "I see weh y'might nawt like t'at." "My fav'rite dress too," sighs Sally. "An' you just KNOW Mildred McCullough knew t'at was gonna happen an' done it on poipose. An' y'know what else? Awf t't'side, I seen Kilgallen oveh t'eh, lookin' oveh an' shakin' 'eh head an' laughin'. Y'jus' know t'two'a t'em set it awl up." "Y'know what I like," replies Alice. "T'at pipe Misteh Ginsboig's gawt. Sometime I'm gonna give t'at a try." "Heh," snickers Sally. "Nex' t'ing y'stawrt CHEWIN' it....")

"Walkie Talkie" devices, the portable one-man broadcasting stations carried to good effect for short-range communications between military units, will be available for civilian use after the war. The Federal Communications Commission yesterday authorized the use of ultra short-wave frequencies between 480 and 470 megacycles for a new "Citizens' Personal Communications Service." It is expected that the devices will find good use in automobiles and in stores and other businesses for communication with delivery vehicles. The combined transmitter-receiver units will have a range of several miles, and with batteries included, weigh about 35 pounds each.

(And I can't wait to hear what he has to say next Sunday!)

(YA THINK?)

(That's not the worst of it! Leo's got a guest shot coming up with Danny Kaye, and needs to work on his routine!)

("Try chloroform, it works faster!" -- Ma.)

(Careful Mary, you scowl too much and your face will freeze like that!)

(Some people just don't know what it's all about.)

("Hi Bryan, What's Fryin'!" "Hi Clarice, just the grease!")

(AMERICA'S NUMBER TWO HERO DOG!)

 

[LizzieMaine]

Who do you think you are, dog -- Errol Flynn?

Heart murmur? Well, at least he doesn't have flat feet.

"Friends of Helen?" Is that what they're calling it now?

If a voice cries out and no one hears it, is there a sound?

Depends on whether you've kept up the payments.

Remember when you used to go walking in the woods with Uncle Walt?

YOU WORKED THERE LAST YEAR, REMEMBER?

"Now help me with my massive contusions!"

"Besides, by the time it gets there I'll already be graduated!"

Point of order: Whatever happened to LITTLE Jane?

 

[Fading Fast]

[Phone rings.] "J. Q. Ignatius speaking."
"Oh for God's sake, Iggy, cut that out. I got a new job for you."
"Yes, Frank."

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Nooow let's see," mutters Uncle Frank, uncapping his fountain pen and scanning the form on the counter before him. "Me full, true aaaand caaaarect name is -- Fraaaancis Xaaaavier Leary. Me present place of residence is -- 503 Raaagers Avenue, Brooklyn, Kings Coonty, New Yaaaark. Me occupation is -- ahhh -- ploombar." "Wot's this now," queries Ma, glugging a fresh jug of Coca-Cola syrup into the dispenser. "This, Nora," explains Uncle Frank, is me Declaration oov Intention to Naturalize. Me faaarst papers." "Hmph," hmphs Ma. "Ye detaaarmined t'go thru with it, are ye?" "Oi am," nods Uncle Frank. "Oi shook th' doost'a Oireland aaahf me feet when I was ten yaaars oold, an' Oi gaaht no desoire t'get sent back. Me loife, sooch as ye caaahl it, is here." "Ah," nods Ma. "An' it'll help when ye bid aaahn aaal thim warr surploos contracts aftarr th' warr is ovarr." "It will," nods Uncle Frank. "And Oi got a blank farr you too," he adds, sliding a sheet across the counter. "Hm," hms Ma. "Whoot's this doon th' bottom. 'Oi am not an anarchist narr a believarr in th' unlaaawful damage a' praparrty narr oppoosed t'aaarganized goover'ment.'" "Oi am not," affirms Uncle Frank. "Oi'm vaaary mooch a believaaar in th' rule'a laaaawr." "Hey Pop," interrupts Jimmy Leary, pounding snow off his galoshes as he jingles in the door. "''T'at m'lasses finally come in. Got it out onna truck." "Ah now, very foine," grins Uncle Frank. "Get roit ovarr t'th warehoose an' start makin' cigarettes." "Rule 'a laaawr," smirks Ma. "Well," shrugs Uncle Frank. "Within reason...")

The idea of "pack-a-punch" ration cards to regulate the distribution of cigarettes was ridiculed today by local retailers, who pointed out many possible flaws in the plan. The foremost concern is the fact that approximately fifteen percent of all cigarette sales are currently made thru vending machines, a circumstance where it would be impossible for the purchaser to be declared "a regular customer. Other issues raised by the group of trade officials led by
Vincent T. Connor of the United Cigar-Whelan Stores Corporation included the question of exactly who would determine whether a cardholder was a "regular customer," and exactly how would a purchaser be prevented from holding more than one ration card. Connor called the plan "fanciful," while an official of Union News Company dismissed it as "ridiculous and unfair." Meanwhile, the cigarette shortage has become so acute that members of the New York Retail Tobacco Council are considering endorsing the increasingly common practice of selling loose cigarettes at one cent each.

("Ev'ry yeeh," sighs Sally. "Ev'ry yeeh it's t'same t'ing. Ev'ry time she gets a feveh I wondeh if it's just ano'teh eehr infection, awr..." "Polio season ain' till summeh t'ough," observes Alice. "Nobody gets it inna mid'la winteh, leas' t'at's what ev'rybody says." "Lotta t'ings ev'rybody says," warns Sally, "t'at ain' so. Lotta people don' know nut'n about nut'n'll tell ya awl kindsa stuff t'ey jus' hoid onna street, 'special about diseases an' stuff." "I loint a lotta t'ings awna street," agrees Alice. "Some of 'm I wisht I didn'...")

("My dear Mrs. Mulvey," beams Mr. O'Malley, his face gleaming with assumed sincerity. "So kind of you to agree to see me today." "What's on your mind?" frowns Mrs. Mulvey. "As you know, Mrs. Mulvey," Mr. O'Malley wheedles, "there has been much conversation in the public press concerning certain stock holdings within our organization, and it occurs to me that if you and I were to pool our shares, that..." "Be sure the door is latched on your way out," smiles Mrs. Mulvey. "And don't let the snow blow onto my rug.")

("For the last time, sir, YOUR apartment is across the hall!")

(Well, we saw plenty of minor leaguers in 1944...)

Six of the ten clubs of the National Football League lost money over the past ten seasons, with total losses reaching $3.500,000 over that time. The league's shaky finances are giving hope, at least, to team owners that they have little to fear from any rival pro football leagues, since, they figure, those leagues would stand to lose even more.

(Walkie Talkie? Wait'll the batteries run out!)

("Shut up and pour me some more of that muscatel.")

("Hmph!" hmphs Mozelewski. "Yeh!" agrees Miss Kaplan. "We don' need t'likes'a heh woikin' 'eeh." Mozelewski frowns. "S'pecially," he snorts, "wit' t'at coat!")

("Shove in your clutch!")

(HERO DOGS ARE MADE NOT BORN)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

"Let's go, Brooklyn," commands the Corporal. "Stawrt breakin' that stove down, we'eh movin' out agin'." "I tell ya," grouses Joe, his numbed fingers fumbling with the wrench, "when I get home it'll be a col' day in hell befoeh I eveh pack up t'move again!" "Alredduh IS," observes the Corporal, "a col' day in hell."

"Oh isn't that nice. Margie found a job!" -- Gyps.

"Yeah? Who cares."

One of these men will not live to see the end of this story.

KEEP YOUR HEAD DOWN

Andy's head is mounted on a ball joint.

"Young" Doctor Malone.

TIME TO SHOW YOU KIDDIES HOW IT'S DONE

"You worked here before and you quit without notice, and Mr. Byrnes has a bulletin out on you. On the other hand, I like your tie."

"Ten Exciting Poses, 10 Cents."

 

[LizzieMaine]

And also...

Guess we missed the inauguration.

 

[Fading Fast]

"Oi'm vaaary mooch a believaaar in th' rule'a laaaawr." "Hey Pop," interrupts Jimmy Leary, pounding snow off his galoshes as he jingles in the door. "''T'at m'lasses finally come in. Got it out onna truck." "Ah now, very foine," grins Uncle Frank. "Get roit ovarr t'th warehoose an' start makin' cigarettes." "Rule 'a laaawr," smirks Ma. "Well," shrugs Uncle Frank. "Within reason..."

Having grown up around a few Frank Leary types, the thing is, they, in their own minds and own ways, do believe in the rule of law (with a few carveouts for the type of law breaking they do, "which don't hurt no one") – and they definitely love America and, again in their own minds, not in a cynical way. I don't think this type of man or woman exists anymore today.

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"Oh my." – Gypsy Rose Lee.

(Search as I did, I could find no pictures of the six-foot-tall Gizella Varga, with or without clothes on.)

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Guess we missed the inauguration.

It appears that we did.