The Era -- Day By Day

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Worker...

Look, just because Sukey doesn't pronounce his "r's" doesn't make him a Southerner.

 

[Fading Fast]

I love when we run into genuine history in these Day by Days and see it develop in real time.

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What's even worse is that this guy's an opthalmologist.

True, but imagine what this illustration would look like if he was an OB/GYN.

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Did Stamm's editor kill this story? Because I'm getting a real "Harold Gray and the OPA" feeling from this weird abrupt finish.

I'm glad you said that as I felt like I missed something and was about to scroll up to the past few days. TBH, though, I've never really completely followed what was going on in this storyline.

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Flier, thief, forger, and scion of a cereal clan? Even if he ISN'T Sinatra, Sven hasn't got a chance.

Yes, but why does he want her?

 

[Harp]

View attachment 773481

I love when we run into genuine history in these Day by Days and see it develop in real time.

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Churchill had a way with words. The right twist, analogy, and personal touch.
Unlike the present #1O resident who lacks linguistic and literary style or substance.

Miss Callahan embezzled eight or nine grand a year from her institutional employer;
however, she doesn't play the horses. Trackside graft and corruption are constant variables, she'd be a natural handicapper for sure. A track crow's railbird bettor.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Whatd'ye mean ye ain't gahht enoof poipe?" sputters Uncle Frank, leaning into the telephone. "Foind soom! If we ain't gaaat noon in th' shaap, goo out t' th' waaarehoose. Thar's boond t'be soom out tharr. Yeah, Oi knoo we used th' tank t' build that freezaaar farr Joe up aaahn th' roof. But Oi tell ye whaat, Solly got some big aluminoom kettles in, an' tharrr still in th' crates. Goo in tharr, oopen oop woona them crates and take woona thim things oot, an' nail th' crate back oop. He'll nivvar knoo th' diff'rence. Get it rigged oop t'noit, Oi want t' staaart th' brewin' loine goin' --- no, it doon't have t' be GOOD, it joost has t' be BEER. Now get aaahn with ye. Oi got t'goo ovar an' see Inky aboot th' labels. G'bye t'ye!" With a gleeful chuckle, a sparkle in his eye, and a spring in his step, Uncle Frank flips the receiver onto its hook, straightens his tie, and saunters out the door. "Wharrr's he gooin'?" queries Ma, entering from the back room. "He went out f'ra beeh," shrugs Bink, picking her teeth with the corner of a matchbook. "He doon't drink," frowns Ma. She glances down at the paper on the counter. "Ohhhhh" she exhales...)

("I tol' ya t'at guy Sinatra was a big phony," scoffs Sally. "Maybe he was busy," shrugs Alice. "Mus' take up a lott'vi's time. Bein' Sinatra, I mean." "I bet if Rudy Vallee said 'e was gonna be somewhez, he'd be t'eh," mutters Sally. "Vallee?" snickers Alice. "Is he still inna league?")

(Hey, Jane Arden! Better hurry!)

(A pragmatic approach to life makes all the difference.)

(Padgett, IN A SUBMARINE? What was he, ballast?)

(I wish I had a brother like this.)

(Martial arts? That's a twist I wasn't expecting.)

(If I met this guy on the street, "forensic accountant" would absolutely be my first guess.)

("Elmer Judd?" Weawwy?)

(Work Life Balance, 1946 Edition.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

In the Abraham & Straus Basement, Sally picks up a copy of the News a customer left on her cutting table, glances at the folded page, and sighs....

"To further his musical career?"

"Hey, what's that smell?"

"Fred looks after us and provides all of our needs. Someday you, too, will know the ways of Fred."

"Is he just monitoring, or is he taking the course for credit?"

And they say Andy's an idiot.

When Stoop has an old score to settle, it gets settled.


Faaaaith an' begorrah...

"Awww, can'tcha do it in twenty?"

A spring-loaded secret door is its own deterrent.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Worker...

Doby? I wonder if they sell the Worker in Cleveland...

 

[Fading Fast]

Dear God – a meat cleaver – what is wrong with people?

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"I bet if Rudy Vallee said 'e was gonna be somewhez, he'd be t'eh,"

Sure, if you incentivize him with lingerie.

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Padgett, IN A SUBMARINE? What was he, ballast?

You have a good point, those WWII subs were not built for 231 lb. men.

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In the Abraham & Straus Basement, Sally picks up a copy of the News a customer left on her cutting table, glances at the folded page, and sighs....

When Sally first started working out there, I remember wondering why you gave her such a long commute and figured you just wanted to show what a long grueling commute some had to do for a job (I know as I had done one for years), but now methinks you wanted her at the center of a major strike, which makes sense.

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"To further his musical career?"

There is only one "angle" that makes sense, but no newspaper in 1946 is going there without hard (tee-hee) proof and even then it would tiptoe.

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A spring-loaded secret door is its own deterrent.

"Properly operated, this never happens" — Spring-Loaded Secret Doors 'r Us, a wholly owned subsidiary of Basements 'r Us

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Eatcha cereal," sighs Sally, as Leonora holds her spoon down to give Stella a lick. "Anyways," she continues, turning to Joe, standing by the sink to eat his own Wheaties, "Alice says t'eh gonna have t' pawrty t'marra aftehnoon, when Willie gets outa school. I'll get'im a presen' when I'm at t' stoeh t'day, sump'n fr'm upstaiehs. Nut'n inna Basemen' he'd wawnt right now." "Solly said 'e was gonna bring sump'n in t'day," notes Joe. "Him an' Ma been cookin' up some kin'a ideeh f'ra presen'. Jeez. Eight yeehs ol'." "You shoulda seen'im when'nat Marie Belasco showed up wit' 'im. Like a scaeit mouse. He -- " But Sally's recollections are interrupted by a sharp knock. She steps to the door. "Hiya Missis P," pants Sammy Schreibstein, winded from a fast sprint across the street. "Phone cawl jus' come in. It's ya union. T'ey ain' waitin', said t'give ya a message. Strike's oveh, 'ney want awla woikehs out t' Koiney at noon f'ra meet'n." "WHAT?" gapes Sally. "It's oveh??" blurts Joe, not noticing Leonora putting her entire bowl on the floor for Stella. "'Sawl I know," shrugs Sammy. "Look, I'm late f'school, c'n you tell Missis K?" "Yeh," nods Sally, dipping into her handbag on the peg by the door for a quarter. "T'anks!" calls Sammy, as he races down the stairs. "It's oveh!" repeats Sally, closing the door and dashing across the kitchen to the dumbwaiter. She jerks open the door and bellows down the shaft. "HEY ALICE! IT'S OVEH!" "IT'S OVEH???" comes the answering cry. "DID YOU HEAR, MENDEL?" inserts a third voice. "IT IS OVER, SHE IS SAYING!" "YEH!" repeats Sally. "IT'S OVEH!" "YEH!" comes the voice of Krause. "HEY!" comes the voice of Solly Pincus, echoing down from the third floor. "IT'S OVEH!" "Who needs," chuckles Joe, "a telephone....")

("Yeh," yehs Solly Pincus, "t'ey was awl woiked up about it." "It's aboot toime," sighs Ma. "Laaaard knoos they need th' mooney. Do they knoo what koind'a raise?" "If it ain' enough," indicates Solly, "we'll be t' fois' t' know." "Anyway, Searrrrrgeant," resumes Ma. "Will ye have it ready farrr th' paaarty?" "Oh yeh," nods Solly. "I got it out'n Bushwick, at t' waehhouse. I'm goin' out'teh wit' t' truck soon's I finish lunch, an' I'll bring it oveh. We got half a dozen of'm, 'n he's gonna love it. Jus' like t' parehtroopehs had." "Ivvry boy should have woon," nods Ma. "If Michael'd had woon, he woodn'a gone t' stealin' automoobiles whin'ee was twilve." "T'eh great," enthuses Solly. "Right inna original crates." He takes a final sip of his egg cream, and a final bite of his beefwich. "Hey," he questions, as he pays his check. "Weh's Frank? I got some stuff t'goo oveh." "Ah," ahs Ma. "Francis is -- ah....")

(Not everyone is confident in the postwar future...)

(And to think they called Fitz fat.)

(Weren't you millionaires last month? You're worse with money than George B ungle.)

(What's wrong, Janie? Somebody swipe your coat?)

(Elbow length gloves with a knee length dress? What is this, the road company of "Star and Garter?")

(At least she HAS friends.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

If there's an honest lawyer in 1946, his name has to be "Lincoln Epworth."

"These labels woon't do!" fumes Uncle Frank. "Balanchine Beer?" "Ah," ahs Inky. "My error. I have lately been considering the achievements of the prominent choreographer by that name. You are aware, no doubt, of his work with the Ballet Russe de Monte Carlo?" "Oi doon't knoo," frowns Uncle Frank. "Wasn't Lois DeFee in that?"

Just how old ARE you? Is it THAT kind of a cult??

"Patience and fortitude?" Just because Butch isn't mayor anymore doesn't mean you can steal his line.

Movies on paper!

Ahh, Wilmer. Never change.

"And you should see the micrometer she got for a wedding present!"

Don't you have to enroll first???

I'm impressed he got it out of the wall.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Worker...

Flinty Old Rock-Ribbed Republican Owen Brewster, arch-foe of FDR, quoted approvingly in the Worker? 1946 is full of surprises.

There's a New World Coming...

 

[Fading Fast]

"If it ain' enough," indicates Solly, "we'll be t' fois' t' know."

He knows her.

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"T'eh great," enthuses Solly. "Right inna original crates."

Let's hope this isn't one of the crates Frank, umm, had his son "borrow" a part from.

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What's wrong, Janie? Somebody swipe your coat?

Just askin', what are you wearing on this cold March day in Maine?

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"Patience and fortitude?" Just because Butch isn't mayor anymore doesn't mean you can steal his line.

 

[LizzieMaine]

I love that the Lions are still called that.

And like Sally I wear a respectable tweed coat, woven by respectable Scottish islanders from the wild and lonely Outer Hebrides. My cat wears a fur, and on her it looks good.

 

[Harp]

The Johnson divorce custody battle is a maternal slam dunk false imprisonment case.
And Ruth holds all the child cards, which her husband should have known, but his aberrance
indicates a distressed mindset. A sad tale with no happy ending.

Caught the ex-GI boxer murder.
Queens Homicide doesn't have anything solid on the hit, aside speculative assumption.
A pregnant unwed woman in his apartment with whom he led a chaste friendship but
envy unmentioned paternal connection. A single shot to the head by a .38 revolver looks
strictly pro though, so some ringside deliberate intent seems plausible.

 

[Madhouse27]

Are we missing Alice taking Neysa down with a leg sweep?

 

[LizzieMaine]

Even better!

Working over is what got you in this mess, Mr. Nubby Overcoat!

 

[Fading Fast]

Even better!

View attachment 774129
Working over is what got you in this mess, Mr. Nubby Overcoat!

I saw a few interpretation of that line, too. Plus, kudos to the illustrator for taking the time to make a Donegal overcoat, just like when these guys make a herringbone one - there's a devotion to craft involved.

 

[Harp]

Alley cats, paws n' claws. And Jeffrey's sartorial wear lends a tear but Alice evicts Neysa
and her attempted adversarial possession of stunned Jeff, decked out Donegal topper no less.

Don't follow this strip but occasional fast take and quick look set the scene. Terry is a drag stuck boondocks.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("When I fin' who it was made'at phone cawl," fumes Sally, helping to decorate the Krause apartment for Willie's party, "I'm gonna tie t'eh neck in a squaeh knot! T'em comp'ny union joiks won' stawp at nut'n." "T'ey was prob'ly jus' excited,' sighs Alice, surveying the kitchen. "No hawrm done." "'Cept f'rus goin' out t' Koiney an' runnin' inta awlem people wondehrin' wheh t' meet'n was!" snaps Sally, tacking up a streamer with unusual force. "Leas' t'eh was donuts," shrugs Alice. "Anyways, less nawt tawk about it, huh? We gotta go t' t'is t'ing in Joisey City t'night, an' vote, an'at'll be t'at. An'en we c'n go back t'woik 'n f'gett'aboutt'a whole business." "F' five bucks moeh'ra week," grumbles Sally. "Some strike." "Willie's pretty excited bout'tis boit'day," declares Alice. "Misteh G says 'e made 'im a new suit, lawng pants 'n evr'yt'ing. He's growin' up fas'." "You two done a good jawb wit'im, I'll han' ya t'at," observes Sally. "He was a mess when 'e come'eeh, but lookit'im now." "Yeh," grins Alice. "He's a good kid. An' smawrt." "Yeh," agrees Sally. "I bet when'ee grows up, 'e won' get mixed up in no comp'ny union. He's gonna be CIO awla way!")

("T'at's a swell suit'a cloes," beams Alice, as Willie unboxes the sharp blue serge. "A boy of eight," declares Mr. Ginsburg, "is no infant that he should go about in kneekers." "Like Van Johnson he will look," agrees Mrs. Ginsburg, as her husband shoots her a quizzical look. "Van Johnson," he sniffs. "Pfui!" "Awright," declares Solly Pincus, shoving forth a impressive wooden crate. "T'is hammeh's from me, an'na box is from ya gran'ma an' Uncle Frank," he observes, handing the boy a genuine GI tool. "Y'betteh woik awnat," he winks. "T'em nails is pretty stubbehn, I couln' get t'tawp awff." "Wow!" enthuses Willie, as he goes to work on the strategically-loosened nails. With help from Krause, he pulls away the lid to reveal a strange, collapsed mechanism. "Huh," observes Solly. "Usual, t'ese t'ings come packed in whatchacawl cosmoline. Somebody musta cleaned it awff." WIth a shrug, he pulls out the object, and with a few quick movements, unfolds it into a bicycle. "WOW," gasps Willie. "Jus' like t' paratroopehs," nods Solly. "Yeh!" grins Krause, examining the machine. "Ye roide it caaaaarefully now," warns Ma. "Noo hitchin' aaahn trolleys," agrees Uncle Frank. "Ye be veeeery caaaaareful." "I know somebody else," mutters Solly, shooting his partner a sidelong glance, "who otta take t'at advicce....")

(Brewing apparatus not available at this time.)

(Charity begins at home...)

(Coming events....)

(A crusade against the zoning board? That's more Harold Gray's territory, isn't it?)

(Neysa is the daughter of The Brow -- CONFIRMED)

(Just what is your jurisdiction, Inspector?)

(Elmer? About right for two years in the chorus of "Oklahoma!")

(Such language. AMERICA'S NUMBER ONE HERO DOG should uphold a higher standard.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

"Anonymous spokesman," sneers Sally. "He betteh STAY t'at way."

C'mon, Joanie. Give us a smile...

And guess who's the only one in the room who has the same blood type...

Those war-surplus microphones come in ever so handy.

If he went into the Army four years ago he had to be at least 18, which would have made -- no, I don't want to think about this any more.

Some embrace the future, some are dragged into it kicking and screaming, and some go out back and sulk.

CANE HIM! CANE HIM! CANE HIM!

"Well, hang up this instant. I don't want any trouble with Petrillo."

Translation: "Hello, Mr. Sandhurst. Remember me?"

Explains why he keeps getting a busy signal.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Worker...

Participants in history rarely understand its implications...