The Era -- Day By Day

[Harp]

^ Terry and The Pirates has a quite evident factual life foundation, which makes the strip's editorial
proctor so incongruous; all the more so since it's Second World War shelved, book ended by the
Great Depression, and the Atomic Age postwar Soviet Union eastern Europe invasion.
Dude Hennick read like a flesh and blood actual character and not some insipid cartoon freak drawn
to simply amuse casual glance readership. Caniff penned a highly literate comic strip filled with real people
whom personified the era and significance of the times they struggled through. I frankly admired Dude for his
heroic nature and his heartfelt devotion to Raven; whose tragic death cost him dearly. A modern penciled
Heathcliff, pinning for his beloved Catherine lost amidst trial and turbulence. Adios amigo.

 

[Fading Fast]

⇧ All that (I think), plus, let's not forget the nighttime nookie call from Raven via the window ledge. That says a lot about the guy.

 

[LizzieMaine]

We never saw Dude again after he lost Raven, and I don't think we could have. There were a couple of mentions of him over the four years between then and the announcement of his death, but we never saw him again in the flesh. I hope he found some kind of, if not happiness, than at least something akin to peace.

Two events are burned together for me over all the years we've been doing this: I'll never be able to think of Mickey Owen or Raven Sherman without thinking one of the other, because the very same day that Owen dropped that ball was the day Judas threw Raven off that truck.

 

[Fading Fast]

We never saw Dude again after he lost Raven, and I don't think we could have. There were a couple of mentions of him over the four years between then and the announcement of his death, but we never saw him again in the flesh. I hope he found some kind of, if not happiness, than at least something akin to peace.

Two events are burned together for me over all the years we've been doing this: I'll never be able to think of Mickey Owen or Raven Sherman without thinking one of the other, because the very same day that Owen dropped that ball was the day Judas threw Raven off that truck.

Those were two defining events. Poor Owen, I, of course, thought of that moment when he was in the news again today.

 

[Harp]

because the very same day that Owen dropped that balls was the day Judas threw Raven off that truck.

''The best revenge is not to be like your enemy.''---Marcus Aurelius, Meditations

Marcus is correct, however, I hope Burma finished that louse off with a Luger trigger squeeze.

...and speaking of Burms, after that Caucasus romp with Terry, their DC3 ride out should have naturally
led ''Mile High Club'' membership. I mean, Terry had already grounded out to First and was quite literally
standing on the bag looking to steal Home plate. In like Flynn....

 

[Harp]

The Dodgers should never have left Brooklyn, nor the team fans so cruelly treated.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Are ye goin' t'say noothin'??" pleads Uncle Frank, throwing out his arms and knocking over Bink's glass of tomato juice. "I wasn'done wit'tat," she protests, as the liquid drips off the edge of the table. "Oi've said," declares Ma, "aaaahl thar is t'BE said." She throws Bink a kitchen towel. "Woipe that oop," she commands. "I din' spill it," she grumbles. "An' it ain' zackly easy t'bend oveh." "Ye goo out tharr an' spend ahhl that toime with Izzie -- ah -- Isabel," sputters Uncle Frank, "an' ye gaaht NOOTHIN' t'say." "Oi do not," reaffirms Ma. "Oi said me piece, she said harr piece, an' we'll leave it at that." "Well, what'd JIMMY say?" protests Uncle Frank. "He HAS noo say," declares Ma. "Tharr married, an' may it be ahhn thar oon heads." She glares at Bink. "An' whattar YOU lookin' at?" "C'n I have s'moeh t'mateh juice?" Bink requests. "An' poehr it slow, I don' like when it gets awl frawthy inna glass." "Yaaaar loocky," growls Ma, "yarrr with choild." "No I ain't," disagrees Bink. "An' ye can tell yaaar soon," snaps Ma, returning her attention to her husband, "that he can shave aaahf that fool moostache any toime. He looks like a blooody gigolo, arr yarr friend Quinlan, an' Oi can't tell which is waaarse." "Ahhhh," ahs Uncle Frank....)

("Don't he look good, Siddy?" exclaims Alice, parading her son before the breakfast table. "Nice new shoit, an'nat suit a' cloes Misteh Ginsboig give 'im f'ris boit'day." "Yeh," nods Krause, chuckling at the life-size cutout of Lord Plushbottom's face printed on the back of the Wheaties box. "An' ain'is a swell necktie he's got awn!" continues Alice. "It's jus' like t' kin' Ray Millan' weahs innat pitcheh 'bout t' Las' Weekend. Leas' I t'ink so, I neveh acks'hly seen'at pitcheh. But I seen in a magazine. Show'im ya tie, Willie." "Ain' it swell, Pap?" agrees Willie, in full compliance with his mother's plan. "Yeh," nods Krause, fishing in a drawer for a pair of scissors. "Wouln' YOU," closes in Alice, "like t'have a tie like t'at??" Krause carefully considers his options. "Neh," he shrugs, as he meticulolusly applies the scissors to the box...)

("Ah say! Ah thought lobbyists was s'postuh REGISTUH! REGISTUH, that is!")

("Ahem, sir," ahemsirs Mr. Parrott. "Yes?" glowers Mr. Rickey. "Out with it boy, I am a whirlwind of activity." "I see by the papers, sir," continues Mr. Parrott, "that the club has just received a windfall. And I was wondering if --" "Nonsense, boy," dismisses Mr. Rickey. "The funds have already been spent. Do you not realize the cost of handling and transporting such amounts of cash, in small bills and change? Why, if ticket sales continue at such a pace, the franchise may well end the season in the hands of the receivers." "I had no idea, sir," sighs Mr. Parrott...)

(Commit to the bit.)

("'Smilin', ma'am? I'm just a happy person, that's all." -- Zetta)


(C'mon, what kind of payroll robbery is this? START SHOOTIN G!)

(Hey Sandy, do those feathers tickle?)

(Show business will always break your heart, gut your soul, and drain your bankbook.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

"Well," sighs Gloria. "Back to the grind."

"A selfish heart and a glib tongue." Guess who's about to get cut off from the Dodgers' press room.

"The more we can burn on the altar to Molech, the more favored we shall be!"

That certainly sounds like a clever plan.

Arch? Well, maybe a little sarcastic sometimes, but I wouldn't say "arch."

Peace Is Hell.

"Did you bring the photographs?"

Point of order: Didn't Nina meet the Sarge when he was home on furlough a couple of years back?

Don't swing it around like that, you'll stretch the ribbon.

How much do you suppose it costs to have a giant novelty custom postcard printed like that?

 

[Fading Fast]

"C'n I have s'moeh t'mateh juice?" Bink requests.

Dinner theater can make you thirsty.

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

"...as he meticulolusly applies the scissors to the box..."

Why in God's name does Krause want a picture of Lord Plushbottom?

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

"The funds have already been spent. Do you not realize the cost of handling and transporting such amounts of cash, in small bills and change? Why, if ticket sales continue at such a pace, the franchise may well end the season in the hands of the receivers."

What a great heist opportunity; the film noir practically writes itself yet not one self-respecting Brooklyn criminal gave it a shot yesterday. Brooklyn isn't what it used to be.

And if I was writing it, a cabbie or Hilda would be the hero who thwarts the getaway.

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

C'mon, what kind of payroll robbery is this? START SHOOTIN G!

That's how you rob a payroll.

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

"Well," sighs Gloria. "Back to the grind."

I always have to remind myself that she played Norma Desmond but isn't Norma Desmond and didn't live like Norma Desomond.

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

Point of order: Didn't Nina meet the Sarge when he was home on furlough a couple of years back?

Good for you if you're right. These comicstrip writers need showrunners.

 

[LizzieMaine]

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

"...as he meticulolusly applies the scissors to the box..."

Why in God's name does Krause want a picture of Lord Plushbottom?

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

He must be collecting the whole set. Everyone's got to have a hobby.

********************************************************
"The funds have already been spent. Do you not realize the cost of handling and transporting such amounts of cash, in small bills and change? Why, if ticket sales continue at such a pace, the franchise may well end the season in the hands of the receivers."

What a great heist opportunity; the film noir practically writes itself yet not one self-respecting Brooklyn criminal gave it a shot yesterday. Brooklyn isn't what it used to be.

And if I was writing it, a cabbie or Hilda would be the hero who thwarts the getaway.

********************************************************
If I were Mr. Rickey I'd pay a lot closer attention to Ticket Manager Jack Collins. Coming events, shadows before, etc.

As for Norma Desmond, I once played that role myself in a radio version. It wasn't quite typecasting. Yet.

 

[Harp]

Couldn't quite discern full print read of either Lustig federal tax evasion or Swanson alimony case;
although the former seems to have promissory estoppel, while Gloria nothing but gender jaded cause.

Terry and the lamb chops calls long time past professor; whom once had been a Hungarian Army intelligence
officer. He remarked at lecture that every morning a brief would detail what the American ambassador had
for breakfast. The Soviet invasion threw him into prison, where he retreated inside poetry. The Russians were
somewhat surprised by his relatively fresh acumen. The body imprisoned but the mind free, just as Boethius
showed in his prison memoir, The Consolation of Philosophy. He came to America, worked as a car mechanic,
and earned his PhD in History. He advised me not to write my class paper on Germany's WWII-era leader's Mein Kampf.

Mulling Saturday's Florida Derby. Pace and past performance analysis handicapping to derive probable
resultant profit is an altogether different technical approach, unlike defined Andrew's Pitchfork lay across
probable Elliot Wave chart with Fibonacci mathematical certitude, constant subjective variables remain
ineluctable. However, chalk talk speaks rather eloquent rational assumption. The Florida has eight runners
still listed after a solitaire scratch, and of this group four joker discards reasonably removed legitimate
contention, halve the deck to an impressive four top killers. Any of these guys can kick over the apple cart.
A pro handicapper at top of the game caliber normally hits .400 in Ted Williams land. But heavy chalk outlines
a strictly pro variables murder possibility.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("You give t' t' Red Crawss yet?" demands Sally. "We gotta shell out, t'em bums crawsta riveh's gonna say Brooklyn ain' got it." "Awready done it," affirms Alice. I was downtown las' night an' drawpped it awf. I was downeh shoppin' f' Siddy's boit'day." "Izzat comin' up?" queries Sally. "Din'ee jus' have one?" "T'at was Willie," corrects Alice. "Siddy's boit'day is April fois'." "He was bawrn," snickers Sally, "awn April Fools? Ya kidd'n, right?" "Sueh'ras I'm tawkin' to ya," declares Alice. "But we neveh have no pawrty because he's worried 'bout wiseguys an' jokehs." "He don' know no wiseguys an' jokehs," challenges Sally. "Well," sighs Alice. "Maybe nawt. But now t'at Solly Pincus is livin' in t' buildin', we gotta be caehful. DIn'choo say he pushed Joe inna brine vat t'at time?" "He ain' like t'at no moeh," dismisses Sally. "He got messed up inna wawr. He's awl serious now." "He might," observes Alice, "push ya Uncle Frank inna brine vat. If 'ee had one, I mean. Nawt t'at he does, I mean, what would he wawnt wit' a brine vat? But jus' sayin'..." "You spen' a lotta time t'inkin' 'bout t'is stuff," nods Sally. "Don'cha?" "Nawt really," shrugs Alice. "On'y in case it comes up.")

("It's awrmos' t' enda t' mont'," grouses Bink. "T'at docteh said I was due by t'enda t' mont'." "You got foeh days lef'," shrugs Rosa, chewing a Big Joe's Special. "I s'pose," continues Bink, "it's like wit' a bill. Y' wait tilla las' minute 'foeh ya pay it." "When did you," snorts Rosa, "eveh pay a bill?" "I paid t'em ambulance people two dollehs," retorts Bink. "In advance, yet!" "Who loaned YOU two dollehs," gapes Rosa. "Ya brot'eh," frowns Bink. "An' a hunnet p'cent intres'!" "T'at's a bill," warns Rosa, dabbing her mouth with a napkin, "you betteh not wait'lla las' minute t' pay." "Yeh," sighs Bink. "Hey, c'n you loan me foeh dollehs?")

("Oh, to be sure. They're planning to sink my ship!")

(Good for you, Cookie. "Laaaaaaa Gaaaaaaaaleta!" just doesn't sound right.)

(That's not the worst thing you could find in a grease pit...)

(Mary Worth, inventor of four-dimensional chess.)

(Finally, some action!)

(I suppose it's better than lying awake nights worrying about money.)

(These two could do a great act, actually. The Wheeler and Woolsey of dogdom.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

"For his edification." Is that what they're calling it now?

There's a New World Coming...

"He thinks he's a chef because he scrambles them with a fork!"

Just happened to have that lying around, huh?

"It'll be your job to pick out the hive beetles."

You're going to explain the glasses at some point, right?

Three and a half months? Why, that's time enough for a whole new story!

Once a yardbird...

Well, have you taken a good look at Sinatra?

"The Bold Look."

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Worker...

Casey will need to lose about twenty pounds to "regain his prewar form." Hey, why not bring in Hemingway and have them spar a few rounds?

 

[Fading Fast]

"Nawt really," shrugs Alice. "On'y in case it comes up."

I love her.

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

Great pic from a non-digital photography era.

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

That's not the worst thing you could find in a grease pit...



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

"For his edification." Is that what they're calling it now?

Usually it's the men who do evil things for s*x, but no one gender has an exclusive on it.

*********************************************************.

There's a New World Coming...

I know he means well, but this approach will lead to no end of bad ideas.

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

Once a yardbird...

Two people congenitally unfit to be partners.

 

[Harp]

I suspect prosecution made strong case at the Ferguson murder trial, leaving nineteen defense chairs uneasy;
and, in lieu of motion for directed verdict, requested trial judge acquiescence collated second degree
manslaughter in lieu valid defense all charges. This matter should have been adjudicated earlier, but any
tender submitted DA office probably met with ridiculous counter. Were I trial judge, I would have denied motion
to address and forced counsel to present defense.

The Worm murder prosecution obvious extramarital affair trial severence, with Worm's defense ploy, is in my opinion invalid. However, Schmitt's threat against Worm and his deliberate intent to banish decedent corpse
allows light within prosecution case against Worm. I don't blame her counsel, which course I would take
were I Mrs Worm's lawyer. She engaged ''criminal converse'' with Schmitt; consequenting a theft of marital
obligatory debt, which allows theoretical Felony Murder Doctrine first degree murder application. This is most likely a jury trial scenario that her defense counsel plays to.

Audrey Rightmeir and her sister Goldie Lowell aren't exactly Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society,
but really threaded their sewing circle needle with several statutory adolescent male ****s. Apparently, trial
severance hasn't occurred, the sibling defendants holding hands together etc.... This is a defense error,
however indicative untenable defendants' case. In such instance female predators are accorded legal latitude seldom, if ever, granted males. This is also probably jury ridden, so defense angles leniency verdict occurrence. I would surmise defense cognizance juror psychological hold adolescent boys voluntary emancipation wherein females offer themselves gratis. Hardly germane factual female somatic avarice,
but a lawyer will grab whatever straws available to set fire prosecution evidentiary cause.

The Florida Derby four: Nearly; Chief Wallaby; Commandment; and The Puma share certain relative
parity with Nearly undefeated last several starts. However, Chief Wallaby can defeat him; and while
Commandment has bested the Chief in the recent past, the mile and eigth distance may be a bit
too close Commandment's hard ceiling length. Also, a discard horse, Wayne's Law can beat The Puma
with the right track set up. Inside post positions factor at Gulfstream with a sudden fast turn off the start,
another facet to factor this million dollar purse payday. I'm leaning the Chief to win, Nearly place,
Commandment show, and Wayne's Law edge out The Puma. I've made money at Gulfstream, notably
with its Pegasus but though the track there has been good to me, that tight turn is deadly dead reconing
handicapper confidence.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Whot's this, noo?" queries Ma, stepping into Bink's bedroom. "I'm packin' f' t' hawspit'l," sighs Bink, tossing thisses and thats into a cheap cardboard suitcase. "Ye ain't goin' t'have noo use farr sooch things as that," chuckles Ma, indicating certain articles of apparel. "Naaaht f'ra whoile yet." "Oh," frowns Bink. "Haaaaspitals," exhales Ma, leaning against the dresser. "Ye yoong people t'day doon't knoo how loocky ye got it. Oi nivvar had me children in noo haaaspital. Michael an' Sally coom inta th' waarld in a shanty in Pigtown. An' Oi had noo doctarr at me soide, Oi had oold Mrs. Geary, th' midwoife." "Whassat?" wonders Bink. "She's half married?" "All th' whoile Oi'm croyin' oot in me baarth pangs," continues Ma, "ahhl Oi can hear is McCullough's goots oot th' windarr, brayin' allonng." "Huh," huhs Bink. "I neveh knew you lived on no fawrm." "Faaarm indeed," exhales Ma. "It was a darrrty lot foola rocks an' bricks an' roosty metal. Ye couldn't raise noothin' aahn it BUT goots." She chuckles at a memory. "Ye moit'a harrd that me daughtarr," she continues, "loikes t' heave bricks. Well, she larrned in that lot. She'd pick oop choonks'a bricks an' throo 'em at th' goots." Bink regards Ma with a mix of disbelief and awe. "Ahhhh," ahhs Ma, "boot'che wanna talk aboot a faaarm. Back hoom in Oireland, noo THAT was a farrm. Fields as green as green ivvar was..." "'F' it was so nice," ponders Bink, "why'dja leave?" Ma's reverie skids to a fast halt. "Moin'jee oon business, choild," she snaps. "Finish whatchee doin', an' coom doon'stairs f'ye soopar. An' don' be stickin' yar noos whar it doon't b'long." "Oh," ohs Bink.....)

("Whatcha t'ink," ventures Alice, "'bout a bow tie?" "Eh," ehs Sally, "d'pends on who's wearin' it. Misteh Roosevelt, he looked good in a bow tie. Truman, y'see him wit' one awn, he looks like he's one'a t'ese guys gonna sell ya used foinitcheh. Sinatra, he weahs one, he looks like somebody tied a ribbon aroun'a drinkin' strawr." "How 'bout if Siddy weahs one?" propounds Alice. "Ah," ahs Sally. "I t'ink he'd look -- um -- like somebody else. I dunno who, but not him. Maybe if Winston Choichill was skinny an' din' have so much haieh..." "Oh," ohs Alice. "He wouln' look whatcha cawl distinguished?" "Look," injects Sally. "I t'ink ya worryin' too much about t'is tie t'ing. How off'n's he even weah'ra tie? Coupl'a times a yeeh? Half't' time he don' even have awn a shoit colleh." "I jus' don' wawn'im t'look like no bum," protests Alice. "Cause'ee ain' no bum. Ev'n if t'at loud'mout' Edit' Bibbehman out'a plant said'ee looked like one." "What?" snaps Sally. "Y'know t'at pitche'ra me'n Siddy 'n Willie we had took las' yeeh?" frowns Alice. "T'at one I got hangin' oveh me bench? Edit' Bibbehman come by an' looked at t'at, an' says t'me, she says, 'whozat bum?'" "Oh yeh??" flares Sally. "Wait'll I see 'eh, she's gotta noive wit'tat big salami SHE's married to. You jus' WAIT"ll I see 'eh!" "You ain' gonna hit'eh wit' no brick," cautions Alice, "awr ya?" "T'ez woise t'ings," growls Sally, "t'en bricks." "Ummmm," jitters Alice...)

(Coming events...)

(WHY WASNT SLAUGHTER IN THE ARMY)

(This might be the most heartbreaking thing I've seen all week. GIVE THE MAN A BASEBALL JOB!)

(This whole storyline is an excuse for Mr. Plumb to use that gag. Got it out of your system?)

(She'll be writing serials for the Woman's Home Companion in no time...)

(Aim carefully before you fire.)

("A sort of understanding?" You only started dating two weeks ago.)

(All right, if you can write better, START WRITING.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

A banker, an Urquhart, a Quebec Indian guide, a chorine, a mystery woman, and a Fifi? Well, it's a start.

Butch is having a hard time with not being Mayor anymore.

"Still no photographs? You're fired!"

Ahhhh, romance....

I wouldn't worry too much, he'll probably have amnesia.

"MOLECH'S WRATH IS UPON US! DELIVER UNTO HIM THE UNBELIEVER!"

The difference is, you never did what you were told.

The music major who lived to regret.

Or just stand there with your mouth wide open like Vaughn Monroe...

Another long-lost relative?

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Worker...

If this turns out to Hamilton C. Rickoby's only brush with history, it serves him right.

 

[Fading Fast]

"You ain' gonna hit'eh wit' no brick," cautions Alice, "awr ya?" "T'ez woise t'ings," growls Sally, "t'en bricks." "Ummmm," jitters Alice...

She's not going to throw a radio at her, is she?

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

This might be the most heartbreaking thing I've seen all week. GIVE THE MAN A BASEBALL JOB!

As you've noted before, sic transit gloria mundi, which also stalks the Graziano article.

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

Butch is having a hard time with not being Mayor anymore.

I kept waiting for the punch line. It's kinda sad. If only there was a Latin phrase that captured that feeling.

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

"Still no photographs? You're fired!"

I hope she has a closet full of those dresses as, otherwise, that one's gotta be pretty ripe by now.

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

The difference is, you never did what you were told.

The mentally sickest people I have ever known are always big grudge carriers.