The Era -- Day By Day

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

"Fell" is such a gentle word.

Do you get the feeling Butch isn't as popular as he used to be?

"They'll be fine as soon as they realize I'm a colonel in the Junior Commandos."

"A knave; a rascal; an eater of broken meats; a base, proud, shallow, beggarly, three-suited, hundred-pound, filthy, worsted-stocking knave; a lily-livered, action-taking knave, a whoreson, glass-gazing, super-serviceable finical rogue; one-trunk-inheriting slave; one that wouldst be a bawd, in way of good service, and art nothing but the composition of a knave!" "Oh! THAT guy!"

Get over yourself, Walt.

"Snafuuuuu," pronounces Leonora. "Snafuuuuuuuuu."

"Don'cha know there's a war on??"

Johnny Jingo learned everything he knows from old Douglas Fairbanks movies.

Shadow Smart, The Boy From Marketing!

Well, at least he sewed on a patch.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And also...

They've had this picture set aside for years.

"Summon my scouts," commands Mr. Rickey. "The Brooklyn Brown Dodgers will need players."

 

[Fading Fast]

"It's about time," nods Alice. "What?" "Nut'n..."

Alice is the best.

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"...Wharr that boy is now, he's gaaht a CHANCE."

A darn good chance and better than many.

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Concetta – a full-blown, plump, brown-eyed girl...

When Page 4 wants to tell you where its sympathies lie without telling you where its sympathies lie.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("The food, it will be here," announces Mr. Ginsburg. "I said to Moskowitz, I said 'not just for anyone is this, Maxl. This pastrami is for Yussel! And Moskowitz says 'for him, there is always pastrami.'" "At's swell," grins Alice. "Ain'at swell, Sal?" "Yeh," nods Sally, with a small smile. "And this is not all," continues Mr. Ginsburg. "There is a man, a good friend, Felix Edelman. In misses' better dresses. He does well. I made him a suit, a good suit, for his daughter's wedding. He wants to return the favor. A car, he has. A fine automobile. But no coupons. So he doesn't use. A fine car, a Pierce-Arrow. Old, but well-maintained. A touring car. Seven people can ride. WIth the top down, maybe eight. And Edelman says if you can get the coupons, you can use on Saturday. In style can Yussel ride home." "I c'n get t'coopons," assures Alice. "It's settled," nods Mr. Ginsburg. "Felix Edelman, Sweet Sue Dress Company. The car, it is in a garage around the back. His card, with the telephone." "T'is is great," enthuses Alice. "A Peehce-Arrow! Y'eveh see one'a t'em, Sal? T'ey'll t'ink Joe's a Vandehbilt. Awr Leopold Stickoutski a'sump'n!" "Yeh," sigh Sally...)

("Hah!" roars Uncle Frank, slapping the counter in his glee. "Thaaaat'll fix Shaughnessy! Block Waaaarden Shaughnessy! No maaaar strootin' aroond in a helmet! Noo maaar haaaalerin t' 'POOT OOT THAT LOIT!" Nooo maaar rappin' ahn ye door an' yellin' t' pool doon ye blackoot bloind!" "An' 'ee'l be in a baaaad moood faaaar it," sighs Ma, "an' we'll nivvar see noothin' boot mooton fr'm now till paaaardition." "Hm," hms Uncle Frank. "Ye gaaaht a point. Heere now, t'night, doon't pool th' bloinds. Farrr poor ool' Shaughnessy's sake." "It's mooton stew again t'noit," adds Ma. "Maybe," ponders Uncle Frank, "ye could get Bink to goo oop aaahn th' roof an' wave a flashloit...")

("Foibred Caaahdfish?" queries Unce Frank. "It's loike Spam," exhales Ma. "Boot with fish." Uncle Frank ponders. "Well," he shrugs. "It's bettar'n mooton." Ma gazes at her husband blankly. "That's a joook," points out Uncle Frank. "Yes," nods Ma. "It is.")

(Careful, kids, someday those books could pay for your own kids' college.)

(Mickey Owen is the Sisyphus of baseball.)

(Just how carefully regulated are dancing schools in this state?)

("What's that smell? Do they serve limburger sandwiches here?")

(Those rubber legs will sweat the weight off!)

("They're on the way! Release the cockroaches!")

(AMERICA'S NUMBER ONE HERO DOG AWARDED PURPLE HEART)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...


If it keeps up at this rate, the News will have to become a broadsheet...

"Well," sighs Leopold, "at least they're leaving us alone."

Yeah, but will he be coming in a Pierce-Arrow?

Hey, at least there's no bees.

EASE UP BLEACHIE

"I heard Bo got shot. Poor Bo. OH LOOK AN ICE CREAM STAND CAN WE STOP HUH CAN WE?"

It's a hug AND a headlock.

"You two-timing little pantywaist!" -- Rita. "Three-timing!" -- Chili.

"He hates when I quote Justice Holmes at him!"

That's nothing! Now watch Johnny Jingo ride down sail on point of dagger!

 

[LizzieMaine]

And also...

"Whattaya read?" I love newsstands.

 

[Fading Fast]

You mean you think that the guy whom you reneged on might try to cheat you - you think?

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Yeah, but will he be coming in a Pierce-Arrow?

Cute. I lost the thread of this, how did / why is Skeezix in the states? Are they going to ship him to the Pacific?

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"Whattaya read?" I love newsstands.

The racket story read like a 1930s Warner Bros. script. Allen Jenkins would have been the guy showing up with the "license."

One of the great things about pre-internet NYC was not only the sheer number of newsstands (often, more than one on a corner), but the incredible variety of papers, magazines, and other assorted periodicals they carried. And the super huge stands (every neighborhood had at least one) were insane, almost like mini libraries (all gone now).

 

[LizzieMaine]

Skeez's sudden return home has not been explained. I expect he's getting one last furlough before the invasion of Japan...

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Roit aaahn toime," sighs Uncle Frank, unlatching the door of F. Leary & Sons Plumbing & Heating to admit an expected visitor. "Yeh," replies Alice, shaking her head like a five-foot-ten cocker spaniel to rid herself of accumulated rain. "Ye know," continues Uncle Frank, "we gaaahta staahp meet'n loike this. Th' neighbaaaars are beginnin' t'talk. Mavis Doyle coom oopta Nora at th' Bohack's t'day an' patted her oon th' arm an' said 'thaar, thaaar, aaahl men soo thar woild oats." "Ewww," ews Alice. "Soo," nods Uncle Frank, settling into his swivel chair. "Wot's it this toime?" "Gas coopons," indicates Alice. "An' b'foeh we go any foit'eh, I got no cigawrs. T'is one ain' f'me, it's f' Joe. Misteh Ginsboig 'ranged we could borreh'ra cawr t'go pick'im up at t' bus station, but we gotta have coopons." "Say noo marr," replies Uncle Frank, flicking open his desk drawer. He tosses Alice a ration book. "Take theese," he directs. "Ye know th' Socony station doon harr on Bedfard, th' woon 'crost fr'm Ebbets Field? Goo in tharr, ask for Lou. He'll see yaar taken care oov. He oos me a favarr, Oi fixed his tarrrlet aaahf th' books laaast wintarr." "Yeh," nods Alice. "I know t'at place. T'anks a lawt, t'is is gonna be -- I mean, y'don' wanna come home fr'm t'wawr an'na fois' t'ing y'do is get stuck onna BMT wit' awlem bums." "Nora 'n Oi will be at th' parrty," acknowledges Uncle Frank. "Oi'd goo t'waar meself roit now farr pastrami." "Um," ums Alice, shifting her weight uncomfortably, "t'ez one ot'eh t'ing. Um, you hoid anyt'ing yet about Mickey? I mean, 'ney musta hit t'at Moosboig by now, took oveh t'at camp he's in. I been wawtchin'a papehs but I ain' seen nut'n." "Not a warrrd," replies Uncle Frank. "Not a bloody waaard." Alice gnaws her lower lip, searching for her next question. "Frank," she resumes. "Awr you sueh you didn't leave no -- loopholes -- in -- you know, what'cheh done? Wit'tem papehs, Willie's papehs? I mean, Mickey can't..." "As far as th' City an' State'a New Yarrk is consarrned," reminds Uncle Frank, "Baby Boy Dooley b'longs t'you, an' Mickey ain't even in th' pitcharr." "Yeah," contends Alice, "but you know Mickey. He could make trouble." "He could, at thaat," agrees Uncle Frank. "Boot'ee won't." Alice regards him for a long moment. "Thanks, Frank," she nods, reaching for the door. "F'r'evr'yt'ing." Uncle Frank watches her disappear into the rainy Flatbush night, exhales, and snaps off the light....)

(And Moses stood atop the mountain and looked down into the promised land...)

(Dr. Trunz, on behalf of all women everywhere who have ever processed pork and manufactured sausage, I salute you. And now I really want a hot dog.)

("I don't get it." -- Helen Worth.)

("I would request," huffs Mr. Rickey, "that before the next homestand, you have a word with Miss Goodding." "Ah," ahs Mr. Parrott, as he ponders what possible word there might be. "Her ebulliuent good humor," Mr. Rickey, "is all very well. But I would request that, when she sees me taking my box to view the day's game, she cease forthwith to play 'In The Hall of the Mountain King.' I find it distressing." "Ah," repeats Mr. Parrott. "At least that's better than what she played when she saw ME in the dugout." "Oh?" ohs Mr. Rickey, his curiousity piqued. "The March of the Dwarves," fumes Mr. Parrott. "Indeed," chuckles Mr. Rickey. "Perhaps I have been hasty...")

(Hep? And you hang out with these bums? I don't THINK so.)

("And here I hoped I could pull this off without killing anybody. Oh well...")

(Jane needs to pause and have a big-sisterly talk with Idiot-I mean Honey Chile.)

(Such salesmanship!)

(Wait, this can't be Dad! It's ANOTHER SPY!!!!)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

Private Bailey really should consider the advantages of a lifetime career in the Army.

Keep it, don't keep it, whatever, but stop being so defensive!

No we aren't! **KICK**

*snif*

"I thought I was safe from that bunch in here!"

IS THAT FOOD OVER THERE WHEN DO WE EAT

Hair ribbons??? It's APRIL!

"See if you can get some name acts. You know, Fink's Mules, Captain Sorcho and his Seal, Swain's Cats and Rats, the Cherry Sisters..."

And then there's Angry Walrus Plushie...

KIDS TODAY

 

[Fading Fast]

"Awr you sueh you didn't leave no -- loopholes -- in -- you know, what'cheh done? Wit'tem papehs, Willie's papehs? I mean, Mickey can't..." "As far as th' City an' State'a New Yarrk is consarrned," reminds Uncle Frank, "Baby Boy Dooley b'longs t'you, an' Mickey ain't even in th' pitcharr." "Yeah," contends Alice, "but you know Mickey. He could make trouble." "He could, at thaat," agrees Uncle Frank. "Boot'ee won't."

Mickey's gonna be asking questions. The only hope I see is if Mickey susses out the truth, but after what he's been through, he's a changed person who understands that this is a lie for the best, so he continues to play ignorant for his son's sake.

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

"Indeed," chuckles Mr. Rickey. "Perhaps I have been hasty..."



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Wait, this can't be Dad! It's ANOTHER SPY!!!!

In 1945, even this chucklehead has to be a good citizen when it comes to catching escaped Germans. These writers and editors know the game.

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I believe we have just had a sighting of the elusive unwritten law in the wild (and I'm good with that).

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Hair ribbons??? It's APRIL!

It certainly is hard to picture Burma with hair ribbons...or wearing that much clothing.

 

[LizzieMaine]

When April meets Hu Shee, Terry will WISH it was Burms.

Incidentally, doesn't it look like Fitz has lost a bunch of weight? Getting ready for a comeback?

 

[Fading Fast]

When April meets Hu Shee, Terry will WISH it was Burms.

Incidentally, doesn't it look like Fitz has lost a bunch of weight? Getting ready for a comeback?

In the real world, Terry would have slept with both Burma and Hu Shee, which would really make that an awkward meeting.

Fitz looks thinner even in his face.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("I dunno," says Sally, "maybe it'll stawp drizzlin' so we c'n put t'tawp down onna drive home." "We betteh not," argues Alice. "I do'wanna mess up Misteh Edelman's cawr. I was noivous enough drivin' it crawsta bridge." "We c'n wawsh awff 'at stuff fr'm t'sea gulls b'foeh ya take it back," replies Sally. "Whezzat bus, anyway? An' who puts a bus toimenal inna hotel? "I gotta urinate," pipes up Leonora. "T'at's 'eh new woid," sighs Sally. "She come up wit' it at t' clinic. At NYU t'ey don't pee." "Yeh," snickers Krause. "Jus' hold it," sighs Sally. "Ya Pa's gonna be heeh, an'.." "Heeh comes t' bus!" yells Willie, waving his arms to catch attention. "Weh, weh?" yelps Sally. "Yeh," declares Alice, "at's it. Big green bus! Oveh t'eh!" Our friends race across the terminal to join the knot of people gathering beside the wheezy old vehicle. The doors clank open and one by one the newly-dischaged passengers climb down the steps, to be engulfed by their eager families. "ONE SIDE!" bellows Sally, pushing her way forward. "COMIN' T"RU!" She arrives at bus-side just as the driver pulls the handle flapping shut the doors. "HEY!" she screams, her face florid. "WHAT ABOUT JOE? WHEZ JOE!" "Oveh heeh!" shouts Alice. Sally jerks around to see Alice, Krause, the children -- and Joe, in a baggy uniform, tossing his duffel bag onto a bench. She starts to run toward them -- and trips over a suitcase, tumbling gracelessly to the dirty concrete floor....)

("We gawt some feed wait'n fawr ya, Joe," declares Alice, shouting over her shoulder to be heard over the rumble of the Pierce-Arrow's mighty engine. "Awl set up inna Ginsboig's pawrleh. San'wiches, wit' real meat in'm. Pickles, beeh, t'woiks!" "Y'sueh y'don' wanna sit so y'c'n see out?" asks Sally, tightly gripping her husband's hand. "Neh," mutters Joe. "T'middle's fine." "Siddown, Leonoreh," commands Sally, pulling her daughter by the hem of her dress. "Don' make faces at'tem people behin'." "I'm 'spressin myse'f," protests Leonora. "Docteh Minkoff says.." "Ack yeh age," counters Willie, imagining himself to be a captain of industry in his chauffeured limousine. "T'is is some cawr, huh Joe?" yells Alice, putting all her weight on the wheel as she turns the massive vehicle onto New Utrecht Avenue. "Nineteen twenny-seven! T'ey built'm t'last!" "Howcome ya scrunchin' down?" queries Sally. "We'eh awrmos' home, doncha wanna see t'ol' neighbehood?" "Yeah, Joe," yells Alice, "show awlem bums downa corneh what a..." "Neh," interrupts Krause, giving Alice a meaningful look. "Oh," she gulps. "Neveh mine...")

("Yes, but you aren't considering the explosion in real estate valuation that will follow the postwar expansion of suburbia...")

("Yeh, Sukefawrt' is hitt'n like a house'a'fieh," chatters Alice, pulling into 63rd Street. "Who says t'ez no place inna mawrd'n woil' f'ran ol' man, huh?" Neighbors gape as the hulking vehicle pulls to a stop in front of number 1762, and as Alice jerks the brake handle and shuts off the engine, there is a slamming sound from above as Mrs. Nucci on the third floor bangs her window closed. "Well," exhales Sally, "ya home." "I'm home," nods Joe. "T"eh wait'n fawrya inside," Sally continues. "Ma an' Uncle Frank an'na Ginsboigs. An' awlat food, huh? Ai'nnat gonna be sum'pn'?" I'll getcha bag, Joe," calls Alice, as she unstraps the trunk. "Bef'oeh we go down'eh," sighs Joe, "lemme -- I wanna get t'is -- I gotta change me cloe's, OK? I gotta get t'is unifawrm awff." "Sueh, Joe," nods Sally. "Any'ting ya wawnt." As they emerge from the car, Joe flinches at the sound of applause from the stoop, where the Learys and the Ginsburgs stand beaming. "C'mon, Joe," urges Sally, taking his arm. "T'ey awl wanna see ya. "Yeh," sighs Joe...)

("An' I t'ought maybe t'marra," continues Sally, "we could take t'kids an' go t't' coicus. Y'know? T'ey got monkeys, an' I know how you like..." "Maybe," sighs Joe. tossing his tunic, with its freshly-sewn discharge patch over the pocket, over the back of the bedroom chair. "Huh," he huhs, glancing at the chair. "Whassis?" "At's -- um -- ya ovehrawls," explains Sally. "R'membeh? Y'left 'm t'eh t'las' night ya woiked at Sperry's, b'foeh y' -- went. I left'm t'eh because -- uh -- Stella likes to sleep on 'm." As if by cue, Stella herself wanders into the bedroom, alerted by the voices, and stops short at the sight of Joe. "Hey," says Joe, pausing in the unbuttoning of his shirt to pick up the cat. "Hey, I ain't seen a cat in...a while." Stella stares inscrutably into Joe's eyes, and not recognizing what she sees there, indicates her desire to be returned forthwith to the floor. "Lemme unpack ya bag, huh?" offers Sally, as Joe tosses the heavy brown pants on the bed and rummages in the dresser for something to wear. She unclips the duffel bag, and peers inside. "Ain't much in'eeh," she observes. "T'ey make ya toin it awl in," shrugs Joe. "I had t'is ovehcoat. A -- guy I knew won it in a crap game an' give it to me las' winteh. Neveh fit. Itchy as hell. T'ey made me toin it in." "Hey," continue Sally. "Ain'nis t'at fruit cake I sen'cha from Abraham 'n Strauss? F'Chrismas?" "Yeh," nods Joe, pulling on a shapeless pair of work pants now two size too big. "It froze. We tried chippin' awn it wit' a bayonet, but it was too hawrd. Probly thawed by now, I dunno." "What's awlis stuff?" asks Sally. "Wrappehs from -- Tucks Plug T'bacceh?" "Ehh," ehs Joe. "Ya ma sent t'at. Awrful dry." Letting this pass, Sally reaches into the bag again and withdraws a small, flat, leather-bound case, stamped in gold. "Poiple Hawrt," she reads. "Oh, Joe --" "Neveh min'at," Joe snaps, snatching the case away. "T'at's a mistake," he adds as he shoves the case into a drawer. "I tol'm not t'gimme t'at, but t'ey done it anyways." "But..." injects Sally. "T'em 'eh f'people'at oined 'm," Joe continues. "Not cooks'at got inna wrawng seat inna back'va truck." He trails off as he buttons his shirt and jerks up his suspenders. "I'm sawry, Sal," he murmurs. "I din' meanta..." "S'awright," exhales Sally. "Hey, t'eh wait'n fawr ya downstaiehs. Let's go eat some pastrami, huh?" "Yeh," nods Joe, taking a deep breath...)

(You know, they have flash bulbs now.)

(OF COURSE YOU REALIZE THIS MEANS WAR)

(You know, inspector, you could stand to drop a few.)

(Just how do you have such pull in the highly-charged rental industry?)

(A picture of Hitler?? Hasn't he heard??)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

The lion says "next time, throw me the black marketer!"

I'm glad somebody brought up Barrymore. Page Four hasn't been the same without him.

We haven't seen April since just after Pearl Harbor, when she fled Hong Kong just ahead of the invasion. What she has to have seen in the three and a half years since then does not bear consideration...

Skeez must've done a very important favor for a very important colonel to swing this.

Anybody know how to reach Olsen and Johnson?

"Such pretty auburn locks. And I bet she's a little chatter box! Come, child, we have Ovaltine."

Maybe if you work in the laundry you can get a prison uniform that isn't too small.

"What this boob doesn't know is that I'm an undercover police horse!"

And if you've ever wondered whatever became of popular early-talkie flapper Alice White, well, things aren't going so well...

Who needs pinball?

 

[LizzieMaine]

And also...

Put up or shut up, Happy.

And finally --

Since we last checked in on Pinky, he has been shot and left for dead, recovered enough to clean out a nest of Nazis preparing to flee to Argentina, and had a tearful parting with Dutch resistance fighter Liesbeth. Still aching from his wounds, he has made his way back to the United States, and...

Them's the breaks, kid.

 

[Fading Fast]

...yells Alice, putting all her weight on the wheel as she turns the massive vehicle onto New Utrecht Avenue.

Nice detail, Lizzie. If you haven't driven a large car - or a truck - without power steering, or power brakes, or an automatic transmission, it's hard to appreciate how much more physically demanding driving was then.

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Stella stares inscrutably into Joe's eyes, and not recognizing what she sees there, indicates her desire to be returned forthwith to the floor.

Another good detail, Lizzie, but also a chilling and demoralizing one.

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You know, inspector, you could stand to drop a few.

And he ain't hiding it with that insanely loud pattern.

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The lion says "next time, throw me the black marketer!"

LaGuardia can spin it anyway he wants, this looks like a big flop for him.

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Anybody know how to reach Olsen and Johnson?

One of my least favorite movie plots is the "Hey, kids, let's put on a show" one, which now looks like it's coming to comicstrip land.