The Era -- Day By Day

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Worker...

It's easy when you know how.

 

[Fading Fast]

An'ney t'rew'eh in Bellevue one time f' kil lin' 'na presiden' of t' Pennsylvania Railroad wit'eh baeh hands. Twisted 'is head right awff like a chicken."

Wonderful to see the story "evolve."

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I didn't know dogs come with an owner's manual. Cats come with an employee's handbook.

That's very funny because it's very true. I dread my quarterly reviews with Aria; she's a brutal boss.

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"The man most likely to succeed with the ladies." Not this time.

So they had a separation agreement in place since 1940, but he's charging her with adultery now. What exactly did he think she was going to do during their separation agreement? I don't understand this story.

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Your move.

Caniff can meander now and then, but he still knows how to build to a heck of a climax with, as you say, Lizzie, wheels within wheels.

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That's all, folks...

30 pounds is a lot in a boxing ring.

 

[Harp]

Lustig's heavy handed foolishness should cost him a stretch.

Constance Bennett is obviously a woman ill suited for whatever reason to matrimony.

Alexis Thompson's 1940 pre war marital separation and spousal trust evidently entered mutual consent,
now faces post war revision; albeit its implied terminal state seems ridiculously overlooked. A redrafted trust
within set accord duration would be best however the two principals remain wed. Were Thompson my client,
I would advise marital divorce without specified cause under attendant wartime occupance trust, and a generous but reasonable settlement.

Terry might be nearing check within his Sicilian Defense against Slits' attempt for center board control,
which seems rather tenuous at moment. Meanwhile, Selene appears to have crossed Rubicon with Binnie,
such a splendid young lady. Selene is odd Gal out here in more ways than one.

 

[LizzieMaine]

(It is just before 10 AM as we find Solomon J. Pincus pacing nervously at the downtown corner of Fulton and Montague Streets. He glances at his watch, lights a Camel, takes several nervous puffs and flicks it away. "One side!" honks an unmistakable voice, pushing thru the midmorning pedestrians. "Comin' t'ru!" "Well," exhales Solly. "Tookya lawnganough." "Go tell t' BMT," growls Sally pulling irritably at her city suit jacket. "Say whatchawanna 'bout LaGuardieh, but t' trains run awn time. Anyways, I'm 'eeh. Wheh we goin'?" "In'neh," gestures Solly, indicating the hulking ten-story stone bulk of the Mechanics Bank Building. "Um," ums Sally, her face going white under the skim of powder. "Y'nevveh said Gelman's awffice was inneh." "What izzit wit' you people," growls Solly, leading her into the lobby. "I come'eeh wit' Joe t'at time, an'ee was t'same way." He rings for the elevator. "Matteh'rafack, we got awnis elehvateh an' ya know who we run inta? Branch Rickey, y'know? Big cheese a' t' Dodgehs. Joe got awl funny, covehed up 'is face. The chime rings, and the elevator doors open. A trim curly-haired gentleman with a bow tie steps out, and locks eyes with Sally. "YOU!" she growls. "YOU!" yelps Harold Parrott. "YOU TELL 'AT BOSS A' YEZ," roars Sally, "T'AT ITS HIS FAWLT PETEY'S IN SAN DIEGEH!" "Uhhhhhh," jitters Mr. Parrott, racing for the stairs. Solly gapes at this spectacle. "Well, c'mon," shrugs Sally, stepping into the elevator. "Ain'cha comin'?" "What IS it," exhales Solly, as the doors close, "wit'choo people...")

("Oi did try t' taaalk t' th' boy," nods Uncle Frank, "when we was roidin' th' train oop t' th' Stadium. Boot ye know how thim IND caaars c'n be. Foola bums." "Sally's been avoooidin' me," scowls Ma. "She ain't set foot in'eer in a week. Oi could aaaahlways tell, when she was a gaaaarl, whin she was oopta soomthin'. An' Oi'm tillin' ye, Francis, she's oopta soomthin'. An' if Oi haft'arr goo ovarr t' Bensonhaaaarst meself an' settle 'arr hash faaar all an' gone, that's ixactly what Oi'm goin' tarr do." "Oi wish," sighs Uncle Frank, "ye wouldn't." "Wishin'," glowers Ma, "wooon't make it so...")

("Who d'ya think stepped on me???")

(So you traded Herman to the Braves for a third-string catcher who refused to show up. If Sally doesn't get you, I bet Jimmy Powers will.)

(The O'Monkey's Paw.)

("In fact, I haven't so much as mentioned my own son in five years!!")

(Now that's style.)

(It's just like that movie, "The Blue Spittoon.")

(Our Vines Have Sour Grapes.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

Hey Milt, there's another plot for you.

Yeah, yeah, boxing is corrupt. Hey, what about El Cheapo?

"At least he doesn't bite his own toenails in bed." "What?" "Nothing."

And he doesn't even get a window seat.

It's not as much fun as blowing up submarines, but...

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

And of course it was all strictly voluntary....

How's a kid gonna make a living?

Well, fiddle dee dee.

Are we to infer that Hedy Lamarr is NOT one of Moon's favorite movie stars? I'm sure she'd be relieved.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Worker...

The post-fight analysis is more exciting than the fight itself.

 

[Fading Fast]

"YOU TELL 'AT BOSS A' YEZ," roars Sally, "T'AT ITS HIS FAWLT PETEY'S IN SAN DIEGEH!" "Uhhhhhh," jitters Mr. Parrott, racing for the stairs. Solly gapes at this spectacle. "Well, c'mon," shrugs Sally, stepping into the elevator. "Ain'cha comin'?" "What IS it," exhales Solly, as the doors close, "wit'choo people..."

I absolutely love that Sally can go from zero to sixty in anger in a second flat and back to zero the same way – she has a very compartmentalized way of seeing the world.

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It's always been a dirty game, which ultimately was its undoing.

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Hey Milt, there's another plot for you.

Someone always talks. That's how most film noir heist movies end.

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"At least he doesn't bite his own toenails in bed." "What?" "Nothing."

What?!