The Era -- Day By Day

[Fading Fast]

"T'ey'll go swell witcha Woil's Faeih tie, Pap," adds Willie. "Yeh," agrees Krause, dropping his brogans on the floor to try them on....

I really like this family.

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Nice coat, Janie. Cashmere?

"This little thing? Yes, thank you, it is. I picked it up on season-ending sale when I was in Bonwits in Manhattan last week." — JA

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"Saaaargeant Pincus will nivvar miss a sack arr two...."

He is uneducable.

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Parties are for the parents, not the kid.

Wait till he gets to the stage where he's playing with the box and not the toy that came in it.

 

[Harp]

The Costalano homicide is a sordid case of uncertain motive reason, though envy is given as likely root cause.
Seems prosecution and defense couldn't find common ground pleading, which, when Mrs Pisanti's situation
is seen from a lawyer's perspective, a plea arrangement was her best option. The trial judge should ask for
reconsideration before voir dire commence since this case needn't be submitted trial before a jury.

Father Dergan's death and two inconclusive autopsies extend far beyond a tort of misadventure to
a rather inconclusive prima facie likely murder case if his assailant is ever found. A law school case centered on a bar pickup who couldn't be revived by her two Air Force suitors after their Robin Hood tryst in an
Alabama Sherwood Forest. The two servicemen drove to a nearby hospital ER where she was pronounced dead. The two were charged with murder; however, post mortem subsequent found natural death,
which occurred shortly after the trio left bar for sylvan setting. The men had had relations with a corpse
whom had been presumed past out, not simply passed away. And the Code of Alabama hadn't necrophilia
proviso, so the locals dropped all charges. The Air Force restated and convicted court martial, conduct unbecoming a soldier; appealed and reversed.

Jockey Joe Licosi's pix reminds Saturday's Wood Memorial at Aqueduct. Last run there before its return
to Belmont next year. Wonder how long either track will stick around.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Wait a minute," injects Sally, as she slides her card into the time clock and punches the handle. "Oveh t'eh." "Huh?" huhs Alice, reaching for her own time card. "Oveh t'eh by t' dooeh," whispers Sally. "It's her. Edit' Bibbehman. I was lookin' fawr'eh yesteh'day an' I neveh seen'eh, but t'eh she is." "Aw, Sal," jitters Alice. "Leave it be, don' stawrt no fight." "I ain' gonna stawrt no..." begins Sally as they head toward the factory floor. "Well!" she exclaims with great heartiness as her quarry comes within range. "Edit' Bibbehman!" "What?" snorts Edith Bibberman, curling her lip and shooting Alice a poisonous squint. "Hey, Red," she snorts. "How's t' little guy?" "Willie?" flusters Alice. "He's..." "Nawt ya kid," snickers Edith. "Ya husban'. Hey, ya know, t'ey gott'em shoes now, t'em elevated shoes..." "Edit'," interrupts Sally, gently pushing Alice to the side. "Hey, I'm glad t' run inta ya. I was real sawrry t'heah 'bout, you know..." "Huh?" frowns Edith. "I mean," shrugs Sally, "when'ney cawl't you inta t' awffice, I figyehed..." "T'ey din' cawl me inna awffice," retorts Edith. "Whatcha tawkin' bout." "Ohhhh," gasps Sally. "T'en you DON'T know yet?" "Dunno?" sputters Edith. "Dunno what?" "Ohhh, Edit'," comforts Sally. "I am soooooooo sawwwwwwry. I can't b'lieve t'em rats would do t'is t'somebody's woiked'eeh as lawng as you. It's jus -- look, don' let awn I told'ja nut'n. Jus' sit tight. You know me an'na shawp stewehd's like t'is. I'll do t'bes' I can, t'em bums won' get away wit't'is. Jus' preten' like y' don' know nut'n, an' maybe, y'know, kinda lay low tilla heat's awff. An' f'gawdsakes, don' WORRY." "Ummmm," stammers Edith, "ummm, yeh, geez, t'anks, um...." She shuffles away, weighed down by the weight of a sudden terror. "Sal," stammers Alice, watching her enemy's sudden withdrawal. "Whad'joo jus' do?" "Heh," hehs Sally, patting her friend on the back. "Y'be s'prized whatcha c'n loin in collitch....")

("No, no," insists Uncle Frank. "Ye botched oop these labels AGAIN!" "I beg your pardon," wilts Inky Quinlan. "I believe you'll find them indistinguishable from the genuine article. Note the fine engraving of the filigree work along the border. I really do believe that I've done some of my finest..." "Y'spelt th' name wraaaaang!" snaps Uncle Frank. "Look thar. R-H-E-I-N-G-O-L-D. That's wraaang!" "Far be it from me to contradict a man of such experience," wheedles Inky, "but nevertheless, I must insist that this is, in fact, the correct spelling." "It is NAAAAAHT!" insists Uncle Frank. "Oye befaaar E except aaaaftar C!" "I beg your pardon?" questions Inky. "It's a rhoyme Sally usetarr sing whin she was doin'arr homewaark," explains Uncle Frank. "Oye befaaar E except aftarrr C. An' if ye look at th' name tharr, ye'll see ye gotchar oye an' yarr E aaaahl confligrated!" "Ah," nods Inky. "But I must call your attention to the fact that the word is derived from the German. And therefore...' "Oi doon't carrrr boot noo blooody Garrrrmans!" erupts Uncle Frank. "Ye spelt it wraaaang an' ye woon't admit it!" "Well," grimaces Inky, "I certainly don't wish to belabor the matter, but if I might offer a suggestion. Sergeant Pincus -- ah -- did he not spend much of the recent conflict in -- ah -- Germany? Perhaps if we were to lay the matter before him ---" "Ah," hesitates Uncle Frank. "Oi -- ah -- doon't think that's a good -- ah -- oidearr....")

("Don't make me take this to arbitration!")

(Vaya con Dios, Miguelito. Hey Branch, how about that Campanella kid?)

("Look, kid," admonishes Rosa. "Y'gotta stop worryin'. It ain' nut'n unusual 'bout 'bein' late. My ma had foeh kids, an' none'v us was on time. It'll come when it comes, an'nez no pernt'n worryin'! C'mon, getcha coat. We'll got'wa show. We'll get a cab. My treat." "I downanna see no show," mutters Bink. "B'sides'ez nut'n playin' woit' seein'." "Oh c'mon," insists Rosa. "Lookit, gimme t' papeh t'eh. I'll see what's showin' at t' Patio. Lemme see...yeh, right'eeh. 'She Wouldn'' Say Yes.'" "I don' t'ink," growls Bink, "I wanna see t'at....")

(Ever have a day in your life where you feel like you lost track of the plot...?)

(Well, then I guess that takes care of Flame's drippy husband.)

(Guess the Inspector finally hired some help.)

(No new cases coming in, huh? Better lay off the staff.)

(I dunno, these team acts never work out.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

I dunno, a lot of things can happen to an office clerk...

"Certainly there has been some mistake. Mrs. Langford will vouch for me."

You two will work for years to come in television.

Of such touches are great romances made.

"We learn, you see, that the ultimate purpose of all life is merely its steady procession toward the cold and lonely embrace of the grave. Now -- who's for pie?"

Hey Skeez, here's your new partner.


Yes, don't forget the passports. One must be careful to observe the niceties of the law.

Well, already he sings better than Vaughn Monroe.

"They'll want to know at the unemployment office."

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Worker...

So far Stephens is the only genuine star to go south. So far.

 

[Fading Fast]

'She Wouldn'' Say Yes.'" "I don' t'ink," growls Bink, "I wanna see t'at...."

At least she still has a sense of humor.

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

Ever have a day in your life where you feel like you lost track of the plot...?

No kidding, what the heck is this about? And to be honest, half the time I forget who is who in "Invisible Scarlett."

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"Certainly there has been some mistake. Mrs. Langford will vouch for me."

More evidence that jewel thief was a respectable profession back then, even princess wanted in on it.

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So far Stephens is the only genuine star to go south. So far.

Nothing works like competition.

 

[Harp]

Slimpickenz law front today; except for the fool who stole a leather satchel out of Gloria Vanderbilt's ride
parked public access and witnessed two NYPD detectives. Prolly public defender defense and fast plea cop
paperwork hassle. If no priors, this is workable however a break in is a break in, so there's that added to the
basic bag job. Impulsive avarice is tenuous but available absence any past shenanigans.

Congressional wheat certification agrarian issuance is interesting. While law school, I worked the overnite trade desk for a Chicago commodity discount brokerage; wherein market advice was strictly verboten unless client
paid applicable advisory premium. A Canadian dentist wanted to buy Chicago wheat for a fast scalp one night, I answered the phone, and since Chitown grain had entered a Fibonacci retrace, I recommended holding
off trade trigger squeeze until the dip could be discerned. Wheat fell, floored with soybeans. I normally arrived
around 21.00, an hour before my shift to scour day's markets. The floor boss asked to see me in his office for
a chat. The dentist had called that afternoon to thank me for my free recommendz, which, had cost the firm
a brokerage commission. I argued inherent fiduciary obligation superseded account churn long term. When
the client made money, we made money. Went over like a lead balloon. My *** chewed up one side and down
the other, but he knew I was right.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Slawt m'chine," reads Leonora, pantomiming the dropping of a nickel, the pulling of a lever. "ChunkchunkachunkaCHUNK CHUNK CHUNK!" she continues, cupping her hands to receive the imaginary jackpot. "Whatta you babb'lin'about," frowns Sally, looking up from her sociology textbook. "Um," ums Joe, helping himself to a glass of milk from the icebox. "Musta been'at movie we seen..." "What movie'd you go see?" questions Sally, pushing her glasses up her nose. "Uhhhhhh," exhales Joe. "T'at one'eh t'at has -- um -- t' slawt machine in it." His eyes dart toward his daughter as he tries to indicate that she should go along with this explanation, but she remains oblivious, having heard none of the conversation. "I neveh get t'go t' no movie," mutters Sally. "Um," jitters Joe. "Less go right now, huh? Downa Colony! Leonoreh, you go downstaiehs 'n go see t' Ginsboigs till we get back. Sal, c'mon, grab ya coat. We'eh gonna go see a movie, got nut'nt'a do with slawt machines..." "What?" gapes Sally. "CHUNK CHUNK CHUNK!" repeats Leonora....)

("Fawrsit'ia," pronounces Bink. "I kin'a like t'at." "It's aaahl roit," shrugs Ma. "Too yaallar far me oown taste." "I mean," explains Bink, "f'ra name. F'ra lit'l goil. Fawrsit'ia Scanlan." "Ah," sighs Ma. "That woon't wark noon if it's a boy." "Oh," shrugs Bink. "How about Fawrsyte? I seen a guy inna movie, name'a Fawrsyte. T' pitcheh stunk, but I din' mine t' guy's name." "Th' oothar kids would pick aaahn'im," warns Ma. "Oh," acknowledges Bink. "I neveh figyehed none'a t'is would be so compl'cated. Maybe I'll just cawl it 'Kid.'" "A baaaaarn moothar," sighs Ma...)

(Coming events...)

(That was very unkind of you, Mr. Parrott.)

(You notice how Ella's poor husband just stands there with his mouth open. You'd think he'd be used to it by now.)

(Careful, Flame -- you're looking at your own future there.)

(She learned to do that from "D i c k Tracy.")

(This is why companies frown on staff members dating the boss.)

(Ahhh, they'd never let you in the union anyway.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

Scarsdale. I bet they don't act like that in Tuckahoe.

At Flynn's Cabaret in East Flatbush, a patron hoists his bottle, takes a deep swig, blinks, and then carefully examines the label....

This plot wore out its welcome two weeks ago, but you can't fault the art. I don't think we've ever seen Mr. Gray doing experimental camera angles like this before.

Living off the fat of the head...

I can't believe Pat never told Terry about this clown.

Meet Cute!

Amnesia takes many forms. Here we see that Jon has forgotten how to hold a telephone.

Hazing works both ways, yardbird.

Never stopped Ray Eberle.

Blame it on biology.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Worker...

To be fair to poor Mr. Stoneham, the price of Scotch has gone way up this year...

 

[Fading Fast]

Growing up in the NY Metro Region (or New Jersey as we called it) in the '70s/'80s, Bess Myerson was in the news frequently as a candidate and then in some sort of scandal (she could have been innocent, I don't remember). It's just funny to see her here as she had a full public life decades later.

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This plot wore out its welcome two weeks ago, but you can't fault the art. I don't think we've ever seen Mr. Gray doing experimental camera angles like this before.

Both "two weeks" and "plot" were generous of you.

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There's an honesty about this that I actually like, in its completely corrupt way.

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If this keeps up, the good comrades at The Daily Worker will be quoting von Mises, Hayek, and Bastiat pretty soon.

 

[LizzieMaine]

Bess Myerson had a radio show I used to listen to in the 70s talking about consumer-protection topics, and she was very very good at it. I also remember that scandal from the 80s -- the Post, as I recall, jumped all over it since Ms. Myerson was a columnist for the News...

Earl Browder used to take pragmatic positions such as those laid out by Mr. Mardo, and got laid out for it by the Fosterite faction. Bill better watch his tail.

 

[Harp]

Straitjacket Mrs Pisanti; whom I suspect is sane and the probable reason prosecution's plea offer
wasn't accepted by defense counsel. The learned trial judge should call lawyers inside chamber to
attempt some reasonable accord; however, life imprison in lieu the chair had probably been the tender,
which defendant had declined. Hence, the histronics.

And Gordon's interview commentary plea for a psychiatric reveals another conniver. A cold blooded killer
who shot a woman in the back isn't likely to be offered any deal other than a jury trial conviction ticket
to death by electrical current or rope.

Economic inflationary full employment necessarily recommends interest rate raise. The postwar reconversion
makes interesting speculation. Keynes and White at Bretton Woods is a fascinating and still relevant occurrence, wonderfully told in Steil's narrative, The Battle of Bretton Woods.

Tomorrow's Wood Memorial is poker faced equine talent with hardscrabble everything's wild cards.
However, Talk to Me Jimmy is the best of the lot followed Iron Honor, who breaks far outside while a lesser
Napoleon Solo rides the rail and can wire the race. However, past performance read shows Solo in a mild
decline against evident peak contenders. A most notable parity has fingerprints all over the race form page.
Might use a simple exacta twist n' turn instead of a superfecta swing for the fence play.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Pinbawll's fun!" declares Leonora. "Spppppppping! Shooooooooooz! DING DING DING DINGDINGDING! Choonk!" "What?" frowns Sally. "Um," ums Joe. "I dowanna see no movie," dismisses Sally. "Wha'sshe know 'bout pinbawll?" "Um," repeats Joe, a bead of sweat manifesting on his forehead. "Sppppppping!" continues Leonora. "Shhoooooooooooz! DINGDINGDINGDING! CLONK!" "What?" repeats Sally, leaning into her daughter's good ear. "Ya made me tilt!" scowls Leonora. "You sueh," sighs Joe, plaintively gazing at his wife, "y'dowanna go see a movie...?")

("Oi think," declares Ma, "that these City Coooncilmin aare doin' a greaaaat pooblic saaarvice. Thim parrimutuels aaare a vaaaaary baaaad influence aaahn th' yoong people oov aaaar coomunity. Noooo whar d'ye s'poose Hector is with me takin's?" "He said'ee was gonna go t' t' coicus," shrugs Bink. "Not with MY mooney he ain't," vows Ma. "I wondeh," sighs Bink, "if ya have a two-headed baby y'can get inna' coicus f' free...?")

(KIDS TODAY)

(AND STAY OUT OF SOUTH MIDWOOD)

("It AIN'T!" -- Hilda.)

(I've known soldiers, and I've known sailors, but I've actually had very little interaction with Marines. Is this -- ah -- that is to say -- uh...)


(Rent free, don't have to do anything but sit around reading the paper and interfering in romances -- what's NOT to love?)

(You really need to fumigate this office.)

(Stop padding your part!)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

TROUSSEAU FILCHER! TROUSSEAU FILCHER! TROUSSEAU FILCHER!

Great, one more thing to worry about.

What, no lecture on natural fertilizer?

The path of romance seldom runs true...

Awful confident, aren't you?

"Patent infringer!" -- the Vick Chemical Company.

The burned cat fears the stove.

"Yeah? Well, you ain't that much without your cap and leather jacket!"

Service with a smile.

They used to do this act five-a-day on the Orpheum time.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And also...

Nice work if you can cash it.

And in the Worker...

You tell 'em, Sukey!

 

[Fading Fast]

"Oi think," declares Ma, "that these City Coooncilmin aare doin' a greaaaat pooblic saaarvice. Thim parrimutuels aaare a vaaaaary baaaad influence aaahn th' yoong people oov aaaar coomunity.

In my next life, I want to come back as either a slot machine or parimutuel system as both are just ways of taking in a dollar and handing someone back less than a dollar. They are absolutely brilliant in their simplicity.

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I've known soldiers, and I've known sailors, but I've actually had very little interaction with Marines.

I know how I first read that sentence, but I doubt it's what you meant.

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You really need to fumigate this office.

I've lost most of the thread of this storyline, which would usually have me going back a week or two and rereading, but I just don't care enough. At some point, it will change and I'll be up-to-date on the new one.

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

Great, one more thing to worry about.

You're spot on, there is always one more thing to worry about. NYC went through a big bed-bug scare about twenty years ago. We were renting at the time and the landlord paid to have every apartment inspected and landlords don't part with money easily.

 

[Harp]

Dotson lost the ballistic **** shoot. His counsel should motion for a directed verdict to convince
his client to allow an approach across aisle to save a one-way jury ride to see Sparky at Sing Sang.
Doubtful the Duck's A-ses will be willing to plea with their bloodlust elevated courtroom display.
I know Dotson's yokel heard that female juror's scream when weapon was fired. Another couldawouldashoulda
best adjudicated far away from a jury box.

Further consideration of the Wood and short prices crowned lousy post draws, more in depth sifting
past performance results, jettisoned first impression its lineup, kit&kaboodle-do. I took railbird Napoleon Solo
with #9 Bravaro for ticket top and redo exacta billing. And #4 Steel; #7 Albus; #8 Courting to round a two turn
mile n eigth trifecta. Might go back and touch an all brawl dime whiskey tango foxtrot Superfecta.
Thinking California dreamin Santa Anita Derby too. Baffert saddles Cherokee Nation on rail next deuce
Potente; So Happy at #5 post rides Mike Smith, my favorite jockey in this whole wide world. And Intrepido
breaks off seventh for a reasonable Santa Anita Superfecta.

 

[Harp]

^ Lightning thunderstorm outside right now, and, coincidentally earlier this afternoon at Aqueduct
where lightning struck twice again in the Wood Memorial. Albus won against better horses faltered
speed and distance run; resulting in monster payouts, shown a dime superfecta netting over $4,000
return. Other lesser runs with demonstrably third tier stuff who nevertheless got the job done and hit
the board for a check.

I strayed over to Santa Anita this morning to lay down twelve bucks spread like manure across the
Santa Anita Derby, where I hit an exacta and dime superfecta, pocketing $164 total. Nothing like what
Appletrack dished out after the surprise finish but the big D is coming up and my roll has gotten burned
this season. Like Paul Newman said in The Color of Money, ''The balls roll funny for everyone.''

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Izzis Docteh Minkoff?" queries Sally, leaning into the Schreibstein's phone. "HEY YOU BUMS!" she snaps to a gaggle of hangers-on around the magazine rack. "SHUTCHA YAPS, I"M AWNA PHONE! No, not you, Docteh. Yeh. Sally Petrauskas. Howja guess? --- Oh. -- Well, anyways, I'm cawlin' 'bout Leonoreh. Yeh. -- Well, she's been actin' funny lately. Sayin' stuff. An' I wawned t' tawk t' you an' see'f you'c'n make sense of it, maybe it's sump'n she's pickin' up at t' clinic. Yeh. Well, how 'bout t'marra night. Yeh. -- Me'n Joe'll bot'be home, yeh. "Bout seven t'oity. Awright, t'anks. Yeh. We'll be lookin' fawr ya. Awright. -- Uh huh. ---G'bye." She hangs up and glares at the magazine-stand loafers. "Awright, g'wan 'boutcha business." She steps to the counter, where Lil Schreibstein is serving a Big Joe's Special to a gangling youth. "I like t'see t'at," she grins. "T'eh sellin' OK?" "Longs' we c'n get t' meat," shrugs Lil, wiping her hands on her apron. "HEY MA," interrupts Lottie, rushing behind the counter. "C'n I have a nick'l?" "Whatta you wanna nick'l fawr?" frowns Lil. "Y't'ink we'eh made'a nick'ls?" "Jus' one, Ma," assures Lottie. "F't pinbawll!" With a sigh, Lil opens the cash register and fishes out a coin. "Kids t'day," she shrugs, as Sally gapes...)

("I don' get it," sighs Bink. "T'is lady heeh, teachin'eh kids how t' stick up a stoeh. I ain' gonna do t'at wit' my kid." "Soometimes," warns Ma, "a choild will larrrn whativvar she waaants t' larrn whither ye waaant 'arr to arr naat." "My ma neveh loint me nut'n like t'at,"denies Bink. "Laaarned it aaahn yar oon, didjee?" snorts Ma. "S'really t' on'y way," shrugs Bink....)_

("Can we, Ma???" pleads Willie. "T'marra? Can we??" "Th' coicus?" frowns Alice. "T'at cawsts a lotta money, an' y'went las' yeeh." "Aw," scowls Willie. "It's gonna diff'nt t'is yeeh! T'eh gonna have tigehs an' elephants an' monkeys!" "They had'em las' yeeh," squints Alice, hands on hips. "Well, yeh," acknowledges Willie. "but t'eh gonna be DIFF'NT tigehs an' elephants an' monkeys! Ain' ney, Pap??" "Yeh!" grins Krause....)

("Do they know yet if they're going to have a place to live?")

("That was -- um -- a brilliant idea," declares Mr. Parrott. "Signing Campanella." "All in a day's work, my boy," chortles Mr. Rickey, lighting a fresh cigar. "How DID you ever think of it?" gushes Mr. Parrott, his eyes just a bit too wide and eager. "Tread carefully, boy," hmphs Mr. Rickey, accidentally setting his wastebasket on fire...)

(There's a reason they never got married.)

(Two bows, maximum, and no curtain speech.)

(KICK HIM HARD)

(The moon? What conceivable reason could there be to go there?)

(Yeah, but what can you do for an encore?)