The Era -- Day By Day

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News.

And so it begins...

No words.

And remember "Enog" spelled backwards is "Gone."

"And no jokes about Methuselah."

"K-k-k-k-k-k!" It's the same in any language.

Mind on your work, kid.

WELL THAT WAS EASY

Not so fast, Judge. Have a cup of tea.

"From now on you get pablum for breakfast!"

Never mind the gag, just admire how flexible Willie must be to be able to sit like that.

 

[Fading Fast]

With the possible exceptions of Sugar Ray Robinson, Jake LaMotta, and Kingfish Levinsky, Willie Pep is the best 1940s boxer name ever.

And Ezzard Charles being the least likely. That would be a much better name for a band leader in the '40s: "The Ezzard Charles Orchestra."

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

This poor cat deserves a much better situation.

And Bo, too. They should shop themselves around as a team and get away from all of these idiots. Jane Arden could use a couple of pets, just sayin'.

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

Inflation adjusted, Gloria's haul of $4.5 million is worth about $80 million in 2025 - a huge amount of money, but in today's terms, far, far from the very rich.

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

Not so fast, Judge. Have a cup of tea.

It looks like Gray is taking his strip into film noir land for a little bit.

 

[ChiTownScion]

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Robe't Moses," sneers Sally. "He's a fathead." "He built a lotta pawrks," shrugs Alice, sensing a rampage. "Lousy pawrks," Sally scoffs. "Me'n Joe useta take Leonoreh when she was a baby, oveh t't'at Satellite Pawrk t'eh, y'know? Oveh by New Utrick? A pawrk he cawls it. No trees, no pat's, nutt'n but a lousy playrgroun' wit' a rusty slide an' busted swings. We put Leonoreh onnat slide one time, an' she cut 'ehself! She coulda gawt lockjaw fr'm'nat, y'know. Awl caus'a t'at fathead Robe't Moses an'nis lousy, phony 'scuse f'ra pawrk." "T' Woil's Faieh, t'ough," offers Alice. "I bet t'at was sump'n." "Ehh, it was awright," shrugs Sally, 'cep f'me losin'at strawr hat I got at Namms onnat parachute jump. T'at hat is prob'ly still flyin' oveh Flushin', an' awl b'causa t'at fathead Robe't Moses an' 'is lousy Woil's Faieh." "I wisht I coulda seen it, t'ough," sighs Alice. "It was kinda round," recalls Sally. "Wit' a white ribbon aroun'..." "No, I mean'na Woil's Faieh," corrects Alice. "T' Woild a' T'marreh." "You neveh went?" marvels Sally. "Not even once?" "I was livin' upstate t'en," shrugs Alice. "Jus' couldn' -- uh -- get away." "Ahhhh, t'e'll have anot'eh one," predicts Sally. "Ya t'ink?" replies Alice. "Yeh," assures Sally "An'nat fathead Robe't Moses'll roon'at one too." "Oh," ohs Alice. "I really liked'at hat, too," sighs Sally, as the train rolls on toward home...)

("Ye got any marr'a thim Larrrd Calvarrt labels?" asks Uncle Frank, examing a row of unmarked bottles. "Certainly," nods Inky Quinlan, unwrapping a small brown parcel. "I completed these this afternoon. Note the detailed linework, the delicate shading of the portrait. I trust you appreciate the difficulty of such elaborate lithography, particularly with the -- ah -- limited facilities with which I have been provided." "Whassis say?" interrupts Bink Scanlan, peeking around Uncle Frank's bulk. "Fawr Men of Dis-stink-tion. T'at ain' how ya spellit, izzit?" "That's NOT a 'k'," huffs Inky, resenting the impugning of his work. "It appears that a fine hair of some sort found its way onto the plate, and caused the ink to smear." "Musta fell outa ya moustache," snickers Bink. "Y'betteh put s'moeh' t'at slickum onneh, keep it stuck down." "REALLY, Frank," sputters Inky, "MUST I work with this -- person." "Warrr is hell, me boy," chuckles Uncle Frank. "An' check ya pockets befarrr ye goo home." "HEY!" snaps Bink. "So there," sniffs Inky.)

("Oooooooh no ye dooon't," scowls Ma, snatching back a pack of Philip Morris. "Oi recognize ye behoind thim soonglasses, Mavis Doyle. Ye had ye quoota!" "Really, Nora," scoffs Mrs. Doyle. "I haven't been in here all week!" "P'raps so," nods Ma, "boot'chee five sistarrs was!" "Just one pack," begs Mrs. Doyle. "That's all I ask. I haven't had a cigarette all day, and you JUST DON'T KNOW WHAT IT'S LIKE! SIX KIDS, NORA! SIX KIDS!" "Ye shooda thaata that," smirks Ma, "befarrr ye gaaat staarted." "I could make a lot of trouble for you," scowls Mrs. Doyle. "One word to my husband..." "That's a noice coat ye wearin,'" observes Ma. "An' aaaahn a sergeant's salary?" Mrs. Doyle takes a deep breath, knowing she has lost the argument. "I'll give you," she sighs, "fifty cents for that pack." "Thaaat's faaaaar aboov th' ceilin' proice," declares Ma, thru pursed lips. "Ye'd have Mr. Woolley doon me neck. Boot Oi tell ye what. Oi'll give ye that pack a'cigarettes ---aaaand a nice cool glass a' seltzaaar -- farr fifty cents." "Seltzer," glares Mrs. Doyle, "is two cents." "Oi see a ceilin' proice farr cigarettes," replies Ma, glancing at the sign posted behind the counter. Booot Oi dooon't see noo ceilin' proice farr seltzaaar." Mrs. Doyle rolls her eyes, slumps onto a stool, and clinks a half dollar on the counter. "Oi'll give ye," smiles Ma, as the coin vanishes into her apron pocket, "a dooble...")

'
(Well, it beats the WACs.)

(Jimmie Foxx might have been the strongest man to play baseball in his generation, but he was never strong enough to beat the bottle.)

(Well, at least he doesn't wear a tie as a belt.)

(He had half a beer, in a little tiny glass.)

(See, Terry, this is how you do it.)

(All it takes to combat evil is a good heckler in the right place.)

(If ever there was a guy who deserved to be, I dunno, eaten by wild beavers, it's this guy.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

"I hope to see my mother in heaven." Happy to help with that.

Yeah, Drex, all the gals in NY-AFRA voted you most likely to get brained with a mike stand.

"Okay Measles."

It's good to have friends.

Take notes, now.

LITTLE LATE FOR THAT KNOBHEAD

"I mean, now, 'Cohen On The Telephone!' Now THAT was a record!!"

C'mon, Shad, sing the rest of the song. I dare ya.

You know, there are schools where you can send a kid like this.

There's nothing like a good talk.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And also...

Sometimes they don't come home.

 

[Fading Fast]

"I'll give you," she sighs, "fifty cents for that pack." "Thaaat's faaaaar aboov th' ceilin' proice," declares Ma, thru pursed lips. "Ye'd have Mr. Woolley doon me neck. Boot Oi tell ye what. Oi'll give ye that pack a'cigarettes ---aaaand a nice cool glass a' seltzaaar -- farr fifty cents." "Seltzer," glares Mrs. Doyle, "is two cents." "Oi see a ceilin' proice farr cigarettes," replies Ma, glancing at the sign posted behind the counter. Booot Oi dooon't see noo ceilin' proice farr seltzaaar." Mrs. Doyle rolls her eyes, slumps onto a stool, and clinks a half dollar on the counter. "Oi'll give ye," smiles Ma, as the coin vanishes into her apron pocket, "a dooble..."

The reason price ceilings, sanctions, etc., rarely work is there is almost always a "work around." Ma and Mrs. Doyle's "arrangement" is a great example of a market-clearing price finding its way to the surface.

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

"I hope to see my mother in heaven." Happy to help with that.

Brutal freakin' story. And I have my doubts about his report of what his mother said.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Jeezuz," exhales Alice. "Hell awn oit' awright." "Yeh," nods Sally, her voice somber. "Kin'a puts it'n whatchacawl p'spective," notes Alice. "I mean, t'oity six hunnet in one day." "One guy dead," observes Sally, "awr t'oity six hunne't dead, it's awla same t't'em. T'eh awl'v'm dead." "I guess," sighs Alice. "T'ank gawd Joe ain' oveh'rin'at," whispers Sally. "Yeh," nods Alice...)

Police Commissioner Lewis J. Valentine will be called as the chief witness in the basketball bribery investigation before Kings County Judge Samuel J. Liebowitz when it resumes on Friday. Other high police officials not named by the prosecutor, Assistant District Attorney Charles N. Cohen, will also be called to testify in the probe. Meanwhile, Commissioner of Investigation Edgar Bromberger, in a lengthy report to Mayor LaGuardia, disclosed that two instances of "apparent attempted corruption of players" had been uncovered over the course of his own inquiry into intercollegiate basketball irregularities. But, he added, there has been no evidence of "dishonesty or culpable irregularity or corrupt dealings" involving the Madison Square Garden Corporation and the College of the City of New York and Brooklyn College, whether in the conduct of games themselves or in financial transactions resulting therefrom.

("It's aaahl aboot knoowin' th' coomin' trends," declares Uncle Frank. "Ye gahhta keep ye ears t'th' wind." "Thim ears a' yaaars," snickers Ma, "ye need t'keep'm OOTA th' wind." "Now ye take this cigarette business," continues Uncle Frank. "Oi KNEW things was gooin' t'change, so Oi kept ahead've it an' now waaar back in th' bev'rage business. Y'see? It's joost loike shiftin' fr'm waaaar prooduction t' reconvaaaart t'peacetoime." "Mistarr Byrnes aaaht t'be soominin' ye doon t' Waaaashin'toon any day now," chuckles Ma. "Foony ye should say that," nods Uncle Frank. "Soon's things get oopta speed oot at th' warehoose, Oi'm thinkin'oov makin' a trip doon thaar, t'taaalk t'soom people aboot th' waar surploos. Oi'm tellin' ye, Nora, that's wharr th' future is." "Oold Army blankets," nods Ma. "Bettar see if they gaaaht any moth r'pellant." "Oi'm sure they do," agrees Uncle Frank, quaffing his two-cents-plain.)

(And don't forget the first-run movies!)

(I wonder how far ahead Mr. Lichty works.)


(At least it'll look like baseball, maybe.)

(Right out of "Apparel Arts.")

(Just please don't waste any penicillin on this lump.)

(Suddenly, Tubby lunged forward and handcuffed himself to the confused celebrity's wrist...)

(And he was never seen or heard from again...)

(C'mon, Trix, rip his backside off.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

In FEBRUARY???

"Oi doon't know what'chee taaaalkin' aboot." -- Ma.

Ho! Ho!

Guess what Mr. King found in his attic.

Well, there's a first time for everything.

Settle down, George. If this is the worst thing you run into in this
story you'll be lucky.

The next Milton Caniff.

"Do they have a back room? You better go hide in it!"

What you have to do when there's no motels.

"Huh. 'For The Man of Distinktion.'"

 

[Fading Fast]

And don't forget the first-run movies!

Do nothing, wait sixty years, and it will be cooler than Manhattan, for a time.

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

Just please don't waste any penicillin on this lump.

With any luck, it's highly contagious, will take all three of them out, and we can finally move on from this incredibly boring storyline.

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

What a fun Page Four today.
- Most titillating headline in a long time and from a Page whose stock-in-trade is titillating headlines.
- The dog story is fantastic, but needs more details. The odds are incredible.
- Technically, Mrs. Rosenband was a bigamist in her second marriage – not her fault, but still.
- The "Blonde Robin Hood" might be a Robin Hood, but in that picture, even forgiving newsprint, does not look blonde.
- "Bogus Officer Gets Real Jail Time -" Good!

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

Ho! Ho!

I hate her, but she should call his bluff - he rats on her and she takes him down with her. He has much less leverage than he thinks.

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

What you have to do when there's no motels.

Or back seats.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Ain' got no Eagles," mumbles the blue-jawed newsdealer outside the gate of the Western Electric Kearny Works, his hands plunged against the afternoon chill into the pocket of the grimy apron tied over his plaid mackinaw. "You Brooklyns awla same. Always gotta have ya Eagle. Eagle don' publish t'day 'couna Geowrge Wawshin't'n." "Well," sighs Sally, "Gimmie one'a t'em Daily Newses t'en." She holds out two pennies, and the newsdealer makes a wagging gesture. "T'ree cents in Joisey," he notes. "Yaaaaaaa," frowns Sally, fishing for another coin, just as the shuttle bus to the station pulls up to the curb. Sally and Alice jostle their way to seats and as the bus rattles into motion, Sally glances down at the front page...)

"Jeezuz," gasps Sally. "Jeezuz." "Joe ain' noweh neah t'at," asks Alice. "Is he?" "No," sighs Sally. "But t'em guys is."

"Whassat," ponders Sally, running a quick calculation, "Awrmos' t'oiteen mont's? Afteh eight I was ready t'bust." "Dinchoo say," injects Alice, "you wen' inta labeh at Ebbets Feel?" "Yeh," nods Sally. "Big game 'gainst'a Giants. People goin' crazy, Hilda ringin'at bell, an'nen, y'know, my wawrteh broke. I t'ought Joe spilt 'is beeh, 'cept he wasn' havin' no beeh. T'ey took me downa t'at foist aid room t'ey gawt, y'know, down by t' Dodgehs clubhouse, 'till'ey could get'n amb'lance, took me oveh t'hospital. Ended up missin'a game, but Solly Pincus an'nem guys Joe woiked wit' at t'pickle woiks chipped in an' got us tickets t't' Woil' Series t'make up f'rit." "You went t't Woil Series?" marvels Alice. "Whawazzat, t'ree weeks afteh y'had a baby, y'went t' Woil' Series?" "I shouldna' done it," sighs Sally. "Casey t'rowin'at damn spitball t' Henrich. A body c'n on'y take so much.

"We tol' Leonoreh t'at story, y'know," chuckles Sally. "An' she says, 'well, I don' see why Pa couldn't see t'bawgame!" "I bet she misses 'im a lot," ventures Alice. "Yeh," nods Sally. "Las' night, she was mad at me 'bout sump'n, an' y'know what she done? She goes oveh t'we'h we hang t'coats inna kitchen'neh, t'em pegs awna wawl, an' she grabbed onta Joe's jacket t'at's hangin'eh, an' stawrts tawkin' to it like it was him stan'in'neh. An' I go oveh t'see what she's sayin' an' she looks up at t'jacket an' goes like -- y'know -- shoosh, like it's gonna say sump'n back." "T'at kid's gawt some imagination," observes Alice. "I wish I did," sighs Sally."

"Heh," snickers Sally. "Betteh lookin' baby'n I was. Alla pitchehs Ma's got of me, I gawt my mout' wide open." "I can't b'lieve t'at." "What?" "Nut'n."

"Hey," laughs Alice. "Getta loada t'at. Wawlace Beery doin' comics!" "Yeh," agrees Sally. "Hope 'es gett'n paid."


"Y'really t'ink he neveh told a lie?" wonders Alice. "Geowrge Wawshin't'n, I mean? I mean, s'pose he met some baby, right, some baby wit'a big fat head a' sump'n but he's runnin' f'President, right, y't'ink he maybe said 't'at's a beautiful baby, madam, an' vote f'me!" "He'da neveh said t'at," denies Sally. "F'one t'ing, women couldn' vote back t'en." "Really?" wonders Alice. "Women couldn' vcte f'President 'til 1920," points out Sally. "You was, what, t'oiteen yeehs ol' t'en? I mean, awright, I was on'y seven, but I remembeh people tawkin' about it, seein' it inna papeh." "I didn' read too good t;en," demurs Alice. "T'at was right aroun'a time I run away fr'm t'sistehs. I didn' get much time f'readin', but I did read t'at t'ing 'bout Geowrge Wawshin't'n, t'ough, 'bout him neveh tellin' a lie. An' I guess I gotta say t'at can't be true. I mean -- if 'e neveh tol' no lie, how'd 'e eveh get t'BE President??"


"I hate t'at," frowns Alice. "When'ney say stuff like 'jailboid.' Jus' cause a gal's been in stir don' make'm a jailboid." "Don' make 'em Eleaneh Roosevelt neit'eh," shrugs Sally. "Whatta you caeh?" "I jus' do," mumbles Alice. "It ain' right." Sally glances over at her friend, and nods in agreement...

"I don' trust a man got a face like t'at," scowls Alice. "Y'know who got a face like t'at? Koiby Higbe gotta face like t'at, awl good lookin' like ya jus' can't stand it. An' you r'membeh what he done t'me, don'cha? Wit'tat blonde? Looked jus' like t'at blonde t'eh, so fulla p'roxide y'jus' can't stand it!" "Maybe," suggests Sally, "Min'll t'row a pot roast at t'bot''v'm." "Nah," sighs Alice. "Min's too r'fined f't'at. But I bet Mama DeStross might!"

"T'at ain'a real Hu Shee," insists Alice. "T'real Hu Shee woulda slung t'at guy in a haystack a' sump'n, 'steada givin' 'im -- what IZZAT stuff?" "He ain'neh," observes Sally, "t' eat." "Hey," wonders Alice. "Tell me t'is. When ya'r in China, an' ya get Chinese food -- wouldn'ya jus' cawl it 'food?'" Sally shoots a glance, considers a remark, and then ponders the question itself...

"Uncle Frank give up cigawrs," sniffs Sally, "wit' no troub'lat all." "Oh yeh," nods Alice, suppressing a grin as the bus pulls up at the railroad station and two weary war workers head off to their train...

 

[Fading Fast]

"Borrowed?"

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

"T'at kid's gawt some imagination," observes Alice. "I wish I did," sighs Sally."

I guess Alice figured discretion was the better part of valor and didn't bring up Sally's period of "seeing" Joe everywhere.

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

Gray has film noir envy – he's got Annie speaking like Ann Savage in "Detour."