The Era -- Day By Day

[Fading Fast]

"Wha'see say?" queries Alice. "Gimmie a minute t'gettit open," exhales Sally, clutching the V-Mail envelope just extracted from the mailbox in the foyer of 1720 63rd Street. "Lemme read it!" insists Leonora. "Lemme!" "A letter is it?" queries Mr. Ginsburg, stepping out of his apartment door in a cloud of Half-and-Half to fetch his own mail. "A letter from Yussel maybe?" "Yeh," nods Sally. "Lemme get it open." "Letteh fr'm Joe," nods Alice, as Krause ascends from the basement apartment. "Yeh?" grins Krause, shifting his cigar to the other side of his mouth. "Lemme get it open foist," insists Sally. "Hawrd t'gett'it open wit' cold fingehs!" "Lemme do it!" demands Leonora. "Mendel!" comes the voice of Mrs. Ginsburg from the half-open apartment door. "What is?" "Letter from Yussel!" Mr. Ginsburg declares. "A letter!" enthuses Mrs. G, "How is he, what does he say?" "Lemme get it open foist!" exhales Sally. "Whas' goin' awn, Pap?" pipes Willie, pushing his way into the group. "C'mon, ya missin' Tom Mix!" "Letteh f'rm y' Uncle Joe," replies Alice."I'm gonna read it!" delcares Leonora. "Hey!" calls out Alice, as a small, wizened woman with curly gray hair enters the foyer from outside. "Missis Nucci! Sal gotta letteh fr'm Joe!" "Chi se ne frega," mutters Mrs. Nucci, grumbling up the stairs to the third floor. "Awright," announces Sally. "I got it open." "Decembeh T'oity Fois'. Deeh Sal..." she begins. "I wanna read it, I wanna!" squirms Leonora. "Sh," shushes Sally. "He stawrts awf heeh wit' a -- um -- a lotta poissonal stuff..." And five pairs of eyes roll, as Sally flushes and Leonora grabs at the letter. "Whassat woid, Ma? Whassat?" queries Leonora. "Sh," shushes her mother as six pairs of ears listen intently....

Really well done, Lizzie. I can see it happening.

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Ladies, I know you are sincere, but this battle was lost - lost for generations - with the end of Prohibition. But God bless your little hearts if you want to try to push that rock up the hill again in 1945.

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When you have no savings, acquiring savings is the big goal. It isn't until you have some savings that you realize there is a whole new problem now: how to invest that savings so that it maintains or (ideally) increases its purchasing power.

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You're an idiot, Link, and nobody likes you.

You're an idiot, Link, everyone in this storyline, and nobody likes any one of you.

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"The Fall of Paaris." You've been saving that for years.

That is a good line. I am loving this Puk Paaris story; it's just so over the top but harmless.

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"I dunno, we don't have any openings for 'oversexed little moocher' right now."

So, you're saying you're not hiring college interns this summer.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Awrya SUEH ya gonna be awright?" demands Alice. "Cause if y'need help, I c'n absentee an' stay home an help ya." "Neh," sighs Krause, filthy with soot and sweat as he swallows another cup of black coffee. "Don't 'NEH,' Siddy," insists Alice. "Y'been up awl night noice'in' 'at boileh t' keep t' heat up. I'll stay home an' as soon's Schreibstein's is open I'll run oveh t'eh an' cawl Frank Leary an' he c'n send 'is boys oveh heeh t'fix it. An'nen YOU go inneh an' get some SLEEP." "Neh," exhales Krause, placing his cup in the sink and making again for the boiler room. "I c'n stay home fr'm school, Ma," offers Willie. "I c'n stay home 'n help." "Neh," declares Alice. "You, t'school -- now." "Yeh," sighs Willie, pulling on his coat. "HEY ALICE," comes a call echoing down the dumbwaiter shaft. Alice steps over to the wall and slides up the door. "WHAT?" she yells back. "YOU G'WAN AHEAD," returns Sally's voice from the second floor. "I GOTTA ABSENTEE. LEONOREH'S EEH. I GOTTA TAKE 'EH T' DOCTEH." "AWRIGHT," replies Alice. "I c'n go upstehs 'n help," offers WIllie. "Pooeh Leonoreh." "GO," commands Alice, rubbing her forehead. "Yeh," assents Willie, hustling for the door...)

Tokyo radio today reported two more B-29 nuisance raids on the Japanese industrial center of Osaka, a naval bombardment of Iwo in the Volcanoes, and a 120-plane carrier-based raid on Palembang in the Dutch East Indies in the quickening Pacific war today. A Japanese domestic broadcast said lone Superfortresses bombed the Osaka area 250 miles west of Tokyo at 8 o'clock last night and again at 1 this morning, but caused no damage. Superfortresses from the Marianas hit Iwo yesterday with "good results" on Wednesday according to a War Department communique.

("Hmph," hmphs Mr. Rickey, flopping the paper onto his bed as he continues to recuperate from his recent surgery. "He never talked like that a day in his life." "No sir," agrees Mr. Parrott. "HE TALKS LIKE THIS!" "Indeed," snickers Mr. Rickey. "A most inarticulate man." "LIKE THIS!" snorts Mr. Parrott. "That will be all, boy," dismisses Mr. Rickey, scratching at his ear. "Yes sir," mumbles Mr. Parrott...)

("Whoot's this now?" mutters Uncle Frank, poking at the red mass on his plate. "Ravioli," declares Ma. "Oi knoo what ravioli is," declares Uncle Frank. "Boot what's THIS?" "Coom oot'va can," shrugs Ma. "Oi sent Barbara doon t'Boohack's t'get soomthin' with meat in it, an' she coom back with this." "Ye say tharr's meat in it?" frowns Uncle Frank. "Soo Oi'm toold," sighs Ma. "Bloody waaaar," exhales Uncle Frank, picking up his fork...)

(Well, they did throw Reles out a hotel window when they were done with him, so that's an idea...)

(A 150,000 seat Ebbets Field? Magerkurth would need a security detail. Oh, and would YOU buy a car from Leland Stanford MacPhail?)

(But what about the goose?)

("All night? But I'll miss Bing Crosby!")

(WHAT A DEAL)

(Gee, I wish I'd gone to a school with its own soda fountain.)

("Ehhh, I was never too invested in the idea in the first place...")

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

You don't get much more Page Four than this.

POINT OF ORDER -- 10-63 64th Street, with its hyphenated address, must be in Queens, not Brooklyn, because house numbers are only hyphenated in Queens. Besides, if it was in Brooklyn, it'd be seven blocks from Sally's neighborhood, and you KNOW she wouldn't put up with this.

"It ain't so bad, of course. Three squares, a warm bed, lots of handicrafts..."

"And I didn't even get a lollipop. Damn war."

You gotta go along to get along.

"Hmph, a circular from a diaper service. WHO TALKED?"

Well, it certainly isn't Uncle Bim...

Need an asssistant, do you?

If The Master turns out to be, oh, Captain Judas, I'll scream.

Must be a very high bed.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

Eight different grades of enlisted, the Free French, the Army Nurse Corps, and what appears to be the Chicago White Sox. Where does she find the time?

 

[Fading Fast]

"Ehhh, I was never too invested in the idea in the first place..."

He really wasn't. In his heart, Trix likes his vagabond lifestyle.

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You don't get much more Page Four than this.

Shame, too, as the stripper story got ugly and undid the fun of today's Puk entry.

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Need an asssistant, do you?

The war really has thinned the civilian ranks if Goofy rates an assistant.

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If The Master turns out to be, oh, Captain Judas, I'll scream.

I didn't think of that. As Dylan says, "Things should start to get interesting right about now."

 

[LizzieMaine]

("I KNEW IT!" roars Sally, as heads twist all along the H&M Railroad platform, until the onlookers recognize who's doing the yelling and sigh a collective sigh. "T'at RAT MacPHAIL! He HADDIT PLANNED AWLALAWNG!" "Y'tink?" shrugs Alice, fidgeting uncomfortably as they wait for the train home. "I DO T'INK!" exclaims Sally. "It awl makes SENSE now! Lookit awlem t'ings MacPhail done! He brung innat ol' man Billy Hoiman an' got ridda Petey!" "T'ey won'na pennant in '41," observes Alice. "Oh yeh, t'at was t'GENIUS of it!" sneers Sally. "He t'rows us a BONE, see? ONE PENNANT! Wit'a team fulla OLD MEN. KNOWIN' he was gonna buy t'YANKEEES, f'crissake, t' YANKEES! An' afteh t'wawr, awla old men'd be gawn an'ned be nut'n left but kids an' bums! An'na YANKEES take oveh t'whole city!" "Hmm," hmms Alice, looking for a flaw in the reasoning. "But whatabout Rickey?" she finally replies. "I read inna papeh oncet, he's a genius a' sump'n." "He's in awnit too," fumes Sally, as the train rolls into the station. "Why ya t'ink he got ridda Camilli? Cause Camilli ain' no dope, see? He was gonna expose t'whole t'ing, see? He knew too much, see? An' whehzee now? OAKLAND! T'at MacPhail, he t'oughta evryt'ing. We gotta do sump'n, Alice. We can't lett'im gettaway wit'tit." "I gotta help Willie wit' 'is homewoik t'night," sighs Alice. "What homewoik?" frowns Sally as they head toward the train. "He's in 1-B." "Um," ums Alice, "he needs help in 'rit'matic. He don' awrways know howta add t'ings up." "He ain' t' on'y one." "What?" "Nut'n...")

In the Phillipines, the 40th "California" Division, with Clark Field's dozen airstrips and adjacent Fort Stotsenburg secured, rushed on southward today to within 40 miles or less of Manila, and within 20 miles of Manila Bay. The division was expected to make rapid progress without a major battle at least as far as Calumpit on the Pampagna River, 24 miles southeast of Clark Field, and 26 miles northwest of Manila. A broadcast from Tokyo radio monitored and recorded by the FCC observed today that that the American command "appeared to be planning new developments in the Luzon situation with the massing of fresh troops."

The controversy surrounding Colonel Elliot Roosevelt's use of an "A" priority military plan to ship his dog may have some bearing on whether the President's son receives congressional approval for promotion to the rank of Brigadier General. The President nominated his 34-year-old son for the one-star rank yesterday, creating an immediate disagreement among some members of the Senate Military Affairs Committee as to how the matter should be handled. Certain members of that panel, who declined to be identified publicly, believe that hearings on the promotion should be delayed until a special subcommittee completes a review of how air priorities are determined and enforced in the wake of the affair involving the shipment of Col. Roosevelt's dog.

("Lookit!" insists Miss Kaplan. "It SEZ RIGHT T"EH! Engine lathe opehratehs, a dolleh t'oity seven 'n oueh! T''at's JOE's jawb! Fois' t'ey cut MY pay f'doin'at SAME WOIK, an'nen t'ey givin' away JOE's jawb while he's oveh t'eh fightin'! Wait'll I see t'at Gillmoeh, I'll tell'im what!" "T'at ain' Joe's jawb," comments Mozelewski, not looking up from the current Harper's Bazaar. "Look again. T'at's out'n Great Neck, not heeh. An' foit'ehmoeh, what makes you t'ink Joe's even gonna WANNA come back 'eeh?" "Whatchamean?" blurts Miss Kaplan. "O'couese 'e will. O'couse 'e's gonna wanna come back 'eeh, woik wit' us again." "Maybe 'ee's got sump'n else in mind. I mean, I ain' plannin' t'stick aroun'neeh once t'wawr's oveh," shrugs Mozelewski. "T'at guy Leary, y'know? Joe's fawr'teh'r'in'lawr? Said 'ed set me up in me own shop cause I done'im t'at faveh. Even shook me han'. You know what t'at means?" "Ahhhhhh," scoffs Miss Kaplan. "You'll neveh heeh fr'm t'at guy again. I can't b'lieve t'ey'd do t'at t'Joe, oveh t'eh gett'n shawt it!" Mozelewski shakes his head. "Who," he challenges, "shoots at a cook?")

Sponsors of the Lux Radio Theatre program are seeking a replacement for longtime host Cecil B. DeMille for next Monday's broadcast, after the American Federation of Radio Artists suspended the noted film director for refusing to pay a $1 union assessment made on members to oppose a California referendum on banning the closed shop. A California Superior Court ruling yesterday denied DeMille an injunction blocking the suspension, on the grounds of a valid closed-shop contract between AFRA and the Columbia Broadcasting System. DeMille indicated that he would appeal the ruling to the United States Supreme Court, but with Monday's broadcast fast approaching, executives of Lever Brothers Company of Boston and the J. Walter Thompson Advertising Agency of New York were said to be in conference with Broadway showman Earl Carroll over the possibility of Carroll taking over the hosting duties. DeMille has hosted the program from Hollywood since June 1, 1936. The referendum at the center of the dispute, which DeMille endorsed, was defeated by voters in November.

("Nooo," insists Uncle Frank. "That's nooo cloient a'moine. Oi got an agreement with thim boys fr'm Brownsville -- Oi stay oota tharr territory, an' they don' booomp me aaahf." "See that'chee keep to it," frowns Ma. "That Thoomp Scanlan, Barbara's faaather, tha'chee was tallin' me aboot -- ain't that what happened t'him?" "Well," sighs Uncle Frank, "how I harrrd th' story is that Thoomp Scanlan slipped an' fell aaahf that dock." "Psssssh!" scoffs Ma. "Whoot business did he have hangin' 'roond any dock?" "Well," shrugs Uncle Frank, "they toold me he was fishin'." "In th' Gowanus?" snorts Ma. "Farrr whoot? Coompliments?" "Now, Nora," sighs Uncle Frank. "Leave th' dead t'rest in peace." "Laaang as YOU," frowns Ma, "doon't JOIN 'em...")

("Don't worry, sir, as long as there's college basketball, we've got a job.")

(By all means watch this kid Furillo. Not only does he have a cannon for an arm, he was also the best-looking player in the International League.)

(Hey Count, why's it say PULLMAN on the back of your turban?)

(If Link gave half his chin to Andy Gump they'd both look pretty good.)

(Eighty years later there'll be an app for this.)

("Hi sugar, are you rationed?" Strictly off the cob, kid.)

("I'm pragmatic, not dogmatic!")

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

"Awright," roars the mess sergeant. "Get them crates -- PETRAUSKAS!" "Yeh," scowls Joe. "GET TH' LEAD OUT!" commands the sergeant. "MOVE!" "Yeh," acknowledges Joe, his head throbbing....

All's well that ends, or something...

Some letters do get thru quicker than others.

Ahhhhh, THAT kind of Master!

On the bed?? At least put down some newspaper!!!

Ew, that's gonna ruin the tone.

An amnesiac? HEY THAT'S SOMETHING NEW!

"Ho-Ho!" Yeah, I could go for a creme-filled chocolate cake roll too.

In times like these, you've got to be rigorous.

"Oh? And how did things go for you at the barber shop?"

 

[Fading Fast]

...until the onlookers recognize who's doing the yelling and sigh a collective sigh....

I've commuted on this exact line (back in the '80s) and have sighed that collective sigh. You know the regulars after a time.

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The controversy surrounding Colonel Elliot Roosevelt's use of an "A" priority military plan to ship his dog may have some bearing on whether the President's son receives congressional approval for promotion to the rank of Brigadier General. The President nominated his 34-year-old son for the one-star rank yesterday, creating an immediate disagreement among some members of the Senate Military Affairs Committee as to how the matter should be handled. Certain members of that panel, who declined to be identified publicly, believe that hearings on the promotion should be delayed until a special subcommittee completes a review of how air priorities are determined and enforced in the wake of the affair involving the shipment of Col. Roosevelt's dog.

It's 1945's version of elite politicians partying in large groups indoors during Covid lockdown while the rest of us follow the rules.

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Puk Paris, the nifty bit of danish pastry from Copenhagen...

That writer deserves a little extra in his pay envelope this week.

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Even just in silhouette from behind, she's intimidating.

 

[LizzieMaine]

(A single light burns in the office of F. Leary & Sons Plumbing and Heating as a single voice pleads. "Y'gotta do sump'n, Frank," demands Alice. "Siddy tells me we got maybe two days' coal lef'. T'ree if weeh lucky. We got eight people innat buildin', Frank! Ya daughteh -- don' look at me like t'at, you know t'at's how it is -- an' ya gran'kids too! An'na Ginsboigs! An' pooehr ol' Missis Nucci, lawst 'eh boy inna wawr, y'want she should freeze t'deat'? Y'gotta get us some coal!" Uncle Frank sighs. "We barely gaaaht enoof coal, me an' Nora," he replies, "t'heat th' stoor. An' Oi don'wanna tell ye what Oi had t'do t'get THAAAAAT!" "I done you favehs, Frank," glares Alice. "I done you lotsa favehs." Uncle Frank's fingers drum nervously on the edge of his scarred rolltop desk. "Thaar is," he begins, "wooon paaahsibility." "I knew y'd come t'rough," grins Alice. "Oi will, howevaaar," Uncle Frank continues, "need yaaar help. As ye may have haaaard, me boys have had to take jaaaahbs in a shipyarrrd. An' Oi can't, at moi age, handle th' troock alone. Therefarrrr..." "Ah," sighs Alice. "It'll be joost loike ooold toimes," nods Uncle Frank....)

("Hey buddy," rasps Sgt. Blau, hoisting his Speed Graphic toward a shivering T-5 hauling a sledge loaded with ration crates across the snow from a parked truck. "Look oveh heeh! Pitcheh f't'folks back home!" "Go t' hell," growls Joe, the pain in his shoulder hammering a spike into his head...)

Five stores, including one in Brooklyn, have been summoned by the Office of Price Administration for hearings to determine whether their privilege of selling rationed shoes will be revoked after inventories by OPA agents revealed unexplained discrepancies between the number of pairs of shoes in stock and the number indicated by invoices. The Abraham & Straus department store on Fulton Street was found to have 10,043 fewer pairs of shoes in stock than records indicated that it should have, while the Bloomingdale's store in Manhattan was found to be short 15,719 pairs. Meanwhile, a small children's shoe store in the Bronx was found to have 324 pairs in excess of its listed inventory.

("Are you sure it's off, Mistarr Krause?" trembles Mrs. Ginsburg. "Remembarr last time, that pilot light, that valve you call, it leaked, all that gas it leaked, remember, and terrible things, that night, terrible things? It's off? "Yeh," nods Krause, placing his cold cigar stump in his overall pocket as he smiles reassuringly. "Yeh," affirms Zippy the Parakeet...)

(Shangri La.)

("MY MOOSEHEAD!" roars the voice on the other end of the line, as John McDonald allows his head to slump back on the pillow. "HANG IT FACING THE DOOR! HAVE MY DESK FACING THE DOOR TOO! IT CONFUSES PEOPLE! IT THROWS THEM OFF GUARD! THAT'S HOW I STOLE THE KAISER'S ASHTRAY YOU KNOW, I THREW THEM OFF GUARD!" "Yes sir," sighs Mr. McDonald. "AND YOUR OWN DESK! HAVE THAT FACING ME! HAVE YOUR DESK FACING ME BUT NOT YOUR CHAIR! YOU WON'T NEED A CHAIR! WE'RE YANKEES NOW, THERE'S NO SITTING AROUND WITH THE YANKEES!" "Yes sir," sobs Mr. McDonald, accepting his fate...)

From Philadelphia comes word that Freddie Fitzsimmons, long beloved in Brooklyn, is ready to return to the mound for the Phillies next season should manpower shortages demand it. Fitz, who will be 44 in July, last pitched for the Dodgers during the 1943 season, but spent all of 1944 managing the Phils from the coaching lines. Fat Freddie is somewhat less so these days, having just returned from a USO tour of the Middle East fourteen pounds lighter. He attributes that weight loss to pitching six exhibition games before GI crowds in Persia, against a team led by 42-year-old Giant great Carl Hubbell. Temperature on the field for those games reached a high of 110 degrees. The Flatbush bowling entrepreneur notes that the heat seems to have boiled all the soreness of out of his pitching arm, and suggests perhaps his old teammate Whit Wyatt might also give it a try.

("Hey, why didn't *I* think of this!" -- Chester Gould.)

("I would like to be transferred at once to 'Invisible Scarlet O'Neil.')

(MAKE MONEY AT HOME THIS EASY METHOD!)

("Yeh, but lesseeya pick a pocket!" -- Bink Scanlan.)

(Always have your story straight before you need to use it.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

"The Carbarn Casanova." There's got to be a movie in this.

Sixteen weeks? That ought to be just about right.

Get it all out of your system now, boys. The DL assesses a harsh penalty for griping.

Your little boy is all grown up.

There's got to be some kind of WMC regulation that applies here.

Where's John H. Amen now that we need him?

("Yeah, yeah, watch where you're cutting, he just had the stitches out of his ear.")

Yeah, well, just to be sure, hit him over the head.

"Yeah, yeah, during the commercial!"

Ahhh, don't forget the "nose like a banana."

 

[LizzieMaine]

And also...

"Against an appropriate background of Scotch and soda..."

 

[Fading Fast]

"Ah," sighs Alice. "It'll be joost loike ooold toimes," nods Uncle Frank....

Oh dear God. I love the insanity of their relationship. It has so much history – much neither wants to acknowledge – that it just rambles on.

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The Abraham & Straus department store on Fulton Street was found to have 10,043 fewer pairs of shoes in stock than records indicated that it should have, while the Bloomingdale's store in Manhattan was found to be short 15,719 pairs. Meanwhile, a small children's shoe store in the Bronx was found to have 324 pairs in excess of its listed inventory.

This is odd. I get that A&S, etc., are selling to people without ration tickets, but why? If there aren't enough ration tickets to match supply, then the gov't should either issue more tickets or stop rationing altogether since it doesn't seem needed. Something isn't right.

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...YOU WON'T NEED A CHAIR! WE'RE YANKEES NOW, THERE'S NO SITTING AROUND WITH THE YANKEES!" "Yes sir," sobs Mr. McDonald, accepting his fate...)

Once again, we turn to Bob Dylan: "Gotta Serve Somebody."

And I love "THERE'S NO SITTING AROUND WITH THE YANKEES!"

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Always have your story straight before you need to use it.

Even when you're telling the truth.

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Walt is like WTF, but Iooking at Nina, I think she is a bit turned on by it.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("What izzis place?" wonders Alice, as she jerks the emergency brake handle and prepares to dismount from the truck. "Why we gotta come awla way out t' Long Guylan'?" "Th' less ye know," warns Uncle Frank, "th' bettar ye'll sleep." Creeping thru the pre-dawn chill toward a padlocked cyclone fence, Uncle Frank produces a key, which snicks quietly as the lock opens. They step into the yard, and the beam from a pencil flashlight sweeps ahead of them, picking out bulging burlap bags piled in forbidding stacks. "Coal inna BAG?" whispers Alice. "T'at's gonna take us f'reveh!:" "Ye gaaaht a doomp troock," snaps Uncle Frank. "OI don't have a doomp trook. So shoot oop an' start liftin'." The work is slow and backbreaking as the two grunt under the burden of each 100-pound sack, and the load grows in the back of the sagging old truck. The grey dawn is just beginning to shift from can't see to can, as Uncle Frank swabs his forehead with the sleeve of his dark overcoat. "Oi think thaaat's aaahl she'll hoold," he pants, feeling every minute of his age. "Let's get outa heeh," mutters Alice. "Place gives me t'willies. Gimme t' keys." "Oi doon't have th' keeys," insists Uncle Frank. "Oi seen ye draaahpm doon'ya -- ah -- froontward tharr." "Oh yeh," nods Alice, reaching for the keys. "AWRIGHT!" rasps a sudden voice as a flashlight beam snaps directly into their eyes. "GET 'M UP!" "Bloody hell," murmurs Uncle Frank. "Gawdawmighty," gapes Alice...)

A total of 1,055,735 voters will be eligible to cast ballots in the 1945 primary elections in Brooklyn. Enrollment figures released yesterday showed the Democratic Party with a total of 715,787 registered voters, including a large contingent of "independent Democrats." The Republican Party lists 256,795 voters, while the American Labor Party lists 83,243. For the first time, all three parties showed more women registered as members than men.

("FIRST THING WE DO IS PAINT THIS DUMP OF A STADIUM! WE DON'T JUST PAINT IT, WE PAINT IT -- TURQUOISE! WAIT, WHAT ARE YOU ALL LOOKING AT!")

("Kalighan!" snorts Ma. "That's a mighty foony way t'spell 'Callahan.'" She looks around the store and glances at the clock. "Barbara!" she snaps. "Have ye seen Mistar Learry? He lit oota here in th' midla th' noight an' he ain't back yet." "I aint s'prised," snickers Bink. "THAT'S ENOOF OOTA YOU!" fires Ma. "THAT BROOM AIN'T POOSHIN' 'ARRSELF!" She steps over to the phone, dings in a nickel and dials a BUckminster number. "Hello -- Doyle? Yes, this is me! Whar izze? Don' tell ME ye doon't knoo -- FOIND OUT!")

(Enjoying your visit to 1942, Phil? Don't bet on the Dodgers!)

("Ah, there's his chin coming down the hall now. He should be here in five minutes.")

("Ah, you like Kipling?" "Oh yes, I kipple whenever I can!")

(Sure it's odd casting, but you gotta admit Astaire's doing a nice job with the role.)

(And if you look down the bottom of the river, there it is!)

(Of course you're not doing much business. Everyone shops at the BIG chain stores!)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

Hey Manville, don;t even THINK of it.

"Ah, indeed!" gleams Inky Quinlan as he considers which alias to write on the coupon...

Painting panel borders? I'd think you'd want a much finer brush for that.

"BENZEDRINE!" roars Sally. "STAY AWAYF"M IT!"

"Little big ears? Where, we never see them!"

Mamie is way off model in Panel Seven. In fact, I think that's Walt Wallet in drag. Interesting idea, let's see where it goes.

Talking legs? How about grumbling ankles?

"Bundle Bunny?" You're making that up.

Corky has a future in show business. And poor Gogo is about to discover the meaning of "honor among thieves."

Well, it isn't Eleanor Roosevelt either...

 

[Fading Fast]

So shoot oop an' start liftin'

Frank channelling my dad if my dad had had an Irish accent.

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Hey Manville, don;t even THINK of it.

Dear God, she couldn't be that stupid.

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

Oooooooh!!!!!!!!!

And who thought it was a good idea to cast Sylvia Sidney to play The fake Dragon Lady?