The Era -- Day By Day

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

The war must be almost over if we have phony Barons now...

"Oh, Leopold -- next time maybe less allegro and more fortissimo?"

I bet Gould really wanted to call him "Pimples," but the editor made him stop.

And speaking of editors what do you bet Gus got called in and told "enough with the gruesome."

$96 a day once a month! Beats working for Wumple at $11 a week!

Collar and tie? Sport coat? POCKETS? What do you suppose Mr. Gray is trying to imply here?

Poker al fresco? Don't you know dice are easier to hide when the cops show up?

It's a wonder anybody in this house is still alive.

Wait'll you see the ones he has hidden in his sock drawer.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily Worker...

Clip and mail today to Branch Rickey, Brooklyn National League Baseball Club Inc., 215 Montague Street, Brooklyn 1, New York.

 

[Fading Fast]

"like that watch you have poking out of your handbag.

Like Inky, Bink has skills, but is sloppy in her work in ways. She and he could go much further if they paid attention to every detail of their work.

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A 6X little fool? LOOK WHO'S TALKING!

It's a comicstrip, but still, her character made one of the fastest transitions ever from devoting her life to her brother to seeing him for exactly who he is.

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Having trouble keeping your lens aimed, are you?

How's Jane going to sell herself as in need of weight reduction?

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The war must be almost over if we have phony Barons now...

I had a similar thought – it's nostalgic in a way. All we need is a bank robbery in broad daylight with cops indiscriminately firing at the robbers and hitting a few innocent bystanders, and maybe a jewelry heist from the wall safe of a rich person's home on Long Island and then we'll know the war is really all but over. Oh, oh, and a payroll heist on a Friday from some idiotic company that sent its 112-pound secretary to pick up the company's entire bi-weekly payroll from the bank.

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"Oh, Leopold -- next time maybe less allegro and more fortissimo?"

They keep using the $4,500,000 figure to describe Ms. Vanderbilt's wealth, but if she just paid out $200,000 to get out of her last marriage, shouldn't it be $4,300,000?

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Terry? Hu Shee? Johnny Jingo?

 

[LizzieMaine]

Johnny distracted me with his flashy sideburns...

 

[Fading Fast]

How much funnier would this be if "make love to" meant then what it means now. "Sure, I'll watch you bang the hell out of Hu Shee."

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Y'know what I hoid?" insinuates Miss Kaplan, a crumb of corned beef sandwich exiting her lips along with the words. "No," exhales Mozelewski, absorbed in a Women's Wear Daily article speculating on postwar hemlines. "But t'at neveh stopped ya." Ignoring the riposte, Miss Kaplan lowers her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "I hoid Joe's home." Mozelewski looks up, interested, for a change, in the course of the conversation. "Who sez?" he replies. "I know t'is gal, see," begins Miss Kaplan. "She lives in Bensonhoist, right? 18t' an' 66t', okay? T'at's t'ree blawks fr'm wheh Joe lives, an'nat -- wife -- a his. Well, t'is gal's brot'eh runs t'prawduce d'pawrtmen' at t' Roulston's 18t' an' 64t'. Now, t'at wife a' Joe's, she don' buy t'eh, she's one'a t'ese snawbby dames on'y goes t' Bohack's, so neveh mine'at." Mozelewski rolls his eyes, impressed by the diligence of his co-worker's research. "Now, t'is prawduce guy, see," she continues, "he likes t'go inta Schriebstein's, see, t'at's t'is canny stoeh 18t' an' 63d, right. He goes inneh ev'ry night at quawrteh t' nine t'wait f't' Pink edition a' t' Daily News t'come up, right. Well'is one night he's inneh, jus' hangin' aroun' an' who comes runnin' inna doeh t'eh t' take a phone cawl but Joe's wife. Runs right inta t'is prawduce guy, knocks'im right onna keisteh runnin' f't'phone. Well, see, t'at's got 'is attention, so 'e lissens in, y'know, tr'yna fine out whasso impawrt'n. An' she's tawkin' t' Joe!" Mozelewski puts down his paper and frowns. "So awlis is t'oid han' eavesdrawppin'," he observes. "Well yeh," nods Miss Kaplan. "How else ya gonna fine out anyt'ing! Anyways, I t'ink what happen't, see, is t'ey sen' Joe home f'bein' a reg'leh hero, OK? Kilt fifteen a' twenny Goimans at once." "Joe's a cook," notes Mozelewski. "How'see gonna kill fifteen a'twenny Goimans at once?" Miss Kaplan leans in tight. "I t'ink," she whispers, "he perzenned 'em!" Mozelewski's face sinks into his palm, as Miss Kaplan gazes up at the blue-starred banner commemorating Sperry workers in the service. "I knew," she sighs, "he'd make us proud...")

("Don'chee even THINK'a gooin' t'no pitchar shoo!" scowls Ma. "You was looky laaast noit that man whose waaatch ye dipped used t'do business with Francis in th' oold days, an' Oi coould taallk 'im intarr droopin' th' charges farrr oold toimes sake." "Ahhh," scoffs Bink. "T'at watch wasn' no good anyways. One'a t'em Ingehsawls. Couldn' hawk it f'two dollehs. 'Magine a' bum like t'at blowin' 'is dough sittin' in mezzanines." "An' even waaaarse, ye waaar in there with James when ye KNOW his faaathar doon't want 'im roonin' with ye." "Yeh," shrugs Bink. "I mean. why else would I DO it? Ain' a gal entitled t'some fun?" "Barbara," sighs Ma, in full control of her temper, a little. "Oim sixty yaaars oold. Oi've had woon stroke. Oi doon't plan t'have anoothar. Oi've gaaaht you in heer t'help me with me waaaark. Oi'm givin' ye th' oppartunity t' laaaarn an haaanest trade insteada' fishin' billfolds in pitchar shows. But Oi swaaar t'gaaahd, you craaahss me oop woon maaar toime, an' thaaar goin' t'foind ye face down in the woods oot in Valley Stream." "Heh," snickers Bink. "I been out t'eh. Only in wawrm weat'eh, t'ough..."

(Tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick...)

(You know, I bet the meat ball sundae isn't half bad.)

(That Navy food seems to agree with Mr. Casey.)

"Fountain of Youth." Ok, that's good.

(Is Matt slugging the guy or is he proposing a toast at the Rotary Club dinner?)

(At least it's not the usual cheesecake.)

(Direct line to Butch? Well, he's not the nobody he seems like.)

(AMERICA'S NUMBER TWO HERO DOG!)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

TICK TICK TICK TICK TICK TICK TICK TICK TICK TICK...

"Hmph." -- Artur Rodzinsky.

I wonder where he'll be in 1965.

And stop rocking the boat!

Guess you don't read "Scarlet O'Neil," huh, kid?

FILM HOARDER!

Yeah, somebody told Gus to wrap this story up immediately.

"Now that Edson's out of the way, let's see what Harold Gray is up to..." -- The Editor.

Johnny Jingo is putting you on.

He may a goof, but you've got to admire his fashion sense.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And also...

"What was the name of that fellow in whom Benswanger displayed interest?" queries Mr. Rickey. "Campanella, sir," replies Mr. Parrott. "What do you know of this player," demands Mr. Rickey. "Out with it, boy, I'm a busy man." "A catcher," recalls Mr. Parrott. "Plays for the Baltimore Elite Giants. Seen him play the Bushwicks a few times. Stocky kid, short arms but good wrists. Hits a ton when he makes contact. They say he's half Italian. I guess he'd be, oh, 23, 24 years old by now. " "Ah," nods Mr. Rickey, seizing one of the innumerable scraps of paper atop his desk and scrawling a fast note." Mr. Parrott fidgets, awaiting further instructions. "Ah," ahs Mr. Rickey, remembering why he summoned his minion. "This Mr. Mardo. See that he focuses all of his attention upon Mr. Benswanger. Judas Priest, boy, these Communists are a trial." "Yes sir," shrugs Mr. Parrott. "But they do know their baseball." "What?" "Nothing, sir..."

 

[Fading Fast]

...sighs Ma, in full control of her temper, a little.

"a little."

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"Hmph." -- Artur Rodzinsky.

Right now, in 1945, I would have wagered that Ms. Vanderbilt would have wound up broke eventually, but she proved past-perfect-tense me wrong by later starting her own successful fashion brand. Life really does take a lot of twists and turns.

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"Now that Edson's out of the way, let's see what Harold Gray is up to..." -- The Editor.

The amateur-standing line is a good one, though.

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Johnny Jingo is putting you on.

Or he's insane.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Yeh," nods Sally, sipping her after-work Coke as Leonora peruses the Wednesday magazine delivery and Bink Scanlan pokes randomly in the corners with her broom." "I'm goin' back out t'eh Sunday, t'oins out t' train runs itna Deeh Pawrk, awr Edgewood, awr whehrev'eh t'hell it is. Who builds a hospit'l out'na middla nowheh." "Th' WPA," sighs Ma, glugging a jug of Coca-Cola syrup into the dispenser. She pauses and grabs a straw to flick out the remains of another cockroach, causing Sally to suspiciously regard her own glass. "I'm gonna take Leonoreh t'is time," Sally resumes. "T'thaaaat place?" frowns Ma. "She doon't need t'see noona that." "Joe wants t'see'eh," shrugs Sally. "An' Leonoreh wants t'see 'eh Pa. Doncha, honey?" "Yeh," nods Leonora, looking up from a copy of the New Republic dissecting the future of the Truman cabinet. "She picked'at up from Krause," observes Sally. "Anyways, I don' wanneh t' grow up not knowin' what's goin' awn. I neveh grew up like t'at, an' I toin't out awright." "Ah," ahs Ma, nonchantly replacing the top of the dispenser. "Heh!" snorts Bink. "Less oov'that," commands Ma, "an' maaaar'v'th' sweepin." "I know what it's awl about," declares Sally, "an' I want my lit'l goil t'know what it's awlabout too." "Heh," snickers Leonora, as Sally takes a closer look at a speck floating in her glass....)

(I can't wait to hear what Lum and Abner have to say about postwar spheres of influence.)

("Ye joost wait, ye poirate," fumes Uncle Frank. "When th' waaaar's ovvar thar'll coom a reckonin'. "Ahhhl roit, aaaahl roit," relents Shaughnessy the Butcher. "TWO saausages. Boot Oi want a quart a'ye best rye whiskey! An' noona that stoof Inky Quinlan's been taaaarnin' oot." "What's wroooong with it?" demands Uncle Frank. "Noothin'," frowns Shaughnessy, "if ye lookin' farr soomthin' t'clean th' bone sawwww! Ye poirate!")

(Tick tick tick tick tick tick....)

("Happy, sir?" marvels Mr. Parrott. "The new Commissioner is called 'Happy?" "A happy man," observes Mr. Rickey, "is a man willing to do whatever it is that he must do in order to REMAIN happy." "Ah," nods the receiver of this wisdom. "Ah indeed," smiles its donor.)

(I've kind of lost track of who I'm supposed to dislike here, so I'll play it safe and hate them all.)

(At least she didn't run off and marry Toscanini.)

(You do have to admire the ingenuity of it all.)

(If I could turn invisible at will, this is exactly the kind of junk I'd do.)

(And here I though the world would have to wait till after the war for Wash-n-Wear suits.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

Tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick....

A radio columnist?? You can do better than that.

"And besides, the last time I came home without my watch and wallet!"

"And I'd remember that sweater!"

Mr. Gray and the editor had a long conversation.

"Ooops, the lens cap!"

"Yes, I know. I've been trying since 1941."

Better be careful what drug store you go to...

"Yes I do. Report to St. Nicholas Arena Friday night."

"Bleachie!" Hahahahahaahahahahahahahahahaahahah!!! "BLEACHIE!!"

 

[LizzieMaine]

And also...

"Hey, Mae -- there's something floating in my glass!" "I guess that's why they keep it so dark in here!"

 

[Fading Fast]

"Ye joost wait, ye poirate," fumes Uncle Frank. "When th' waaaar's ovvar thar'll coom a reckonin'. "Ahhhl roit, aaaahl roit," relents Shaughnessy the Butcher. "TWO saausages. Boot Oi want a quart a'ye best rye whiskey! An' noona that stoof Inky Quinlan's been taaaarnin' oot." "What's wroooong with it?" demands Uncle Frank. "Noothin'," frowns Shaughnessy, "if ye lookin' farr soomthin' t'clean th' bone sawwww! Ye poirate!"

If these guys are at all like the friends my father had growing up, they could argue and insult each other like this as part of their regular interaction, yet still be genuine friends who would help each other out in a jam, no questions asked. You had to see it to understand it.

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At least she didn't run off and marry Toscanini.

Good one, Lizzie.

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You do have to admire the ingenuity of it all.

He really needs triplets.

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"And besides, the last time I came home without my watch and wallet!"

Good one, Lizzie.

 

[Jon Crow]

View attachment 698822

How much funnier would this be if "make love to" meant then what it means now. "Sure, I'll watch you bang the hell out of Hu Shee."

Hu Shee, I love you much GI

 

[Jon Crow]

"Ye joost wait, ye poirate," fumes Uncle Frank. "When th' waaaar's ovvar thar'll coom a reckonin'. "Ahhhl roit, aaaahl roit," relents Shaughnessy the Butcher. "TWO saausages. Boot Oi want a quart a'ye best rye whiskey! An' noona that stoof Inky Quinlan's been taaaarnin' oot." "What's wroooong with it?" demands Uncle Frank. "Noothin'," frowns Shaughnessy, "if ye lookin' farr soomthin' t'clean th' bone sawwww! Ye poirate!"

If these guys are at all like the friends my father had growing up, they could argue and insult each other like this as part of their regular interaction, yet still be genuine friends who would help each other out in a jam, no questions asked. You had to see it to understand it.

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At least she didn't run off and marry Toscanini.

Good one, Lizzie.

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You do have to admire the ingenuity of it all.

He really needs triplets.

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"And besides, the last time I came home without my watch and wallet!"

Good one, Lizzie.

Insults to friends in Ireland and North of England no different haha shut up bellend