The Era -- Day By Day

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

Hey, she probably just got tired of the polka dots.

The Eagle advertising Durocher in the Daily News is itself the most Durocher move possible.

Oh, please tell us he works for Cheery Blaze.

Deathbed repentance? We see that a lot.

You have no idea, no idea at all, who you're dealing with...

"Sigh. We did eat in the last town..."

"NEVER HEARD OF HIM."

Here's your big opportunity, Betsy. Make the best of it.

Well, at least she doesn't smoke a corncob pipe.

Cops always go for the blackjack first.

 

[Fading Fast]

"from Mickey. You know, t' fawrt'eh a' my kid."

Bink has some Alice in her, but of course, with Bink spiciness.

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Two hats that pass in the night...

Depending on when you were born, it's hard to believe how big "the man must pay" cultural norm (with a thousand exceptions) was prior to the massive societal shift in the 1960s.

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Um.

Does he not have an editor who can see what's happening here?

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

Hey, she probably just got tired of the polka dots.

It all sounds innocent.

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

The Eagle advertising Durocher in the Daily News is itself the most Durocher move possible.

And the most Daily News thing, too: "Sure we'll accept the ad. What's going to happen: people will stop reading the Daily News to read the Eagle, bahahahahaha.

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

Cops always go for the blackjack first.

Certainly in this strip, but to be fair, the era too, but only sometimes.

 

[Harp]

San Antonio district judge Robert Terrell's ex cathedra admonish denial complainant Guillett's
injunctive relief petition is erroneous and tactless even for Texas.

Little Helen Baker's horrific subway death and her father's anguish serves sufficient scold this poster that there are more important matters in life beyond horse racing.

Neither the Alabama nor Pacific resultant superfecta accorded homer payoffs
though my winner's hunch for Del Mar was correct. Swinging for the fences leaves most
rail track crows crying in their beer.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("T'at's what'ey said," shrugs Sergeant Doyle. "T'ez a buncha Mike O'Donnells in Kansas City, an'ney got nut'n awn any of'm. T'ezza school teacheh, a guy woiks inna drug stoeh, a female impoisonateh..." "Hmmm," ponders Uncle Frank. "Nah, he's too skinny." "T'at's awl I got," sighs Doyle, reaching for another doughnut. "Tough luck." "Solly Pincus an' Lowrey are leavin' t'marra marrnin'," jitters Uncle Frank. "Oi can't take a chance. If it IS Mickey tharrr dealin' with, an' Solly sees 'im thar'll be hell t' pay. Thar's ooonly woon thing faaar it. Oi've got t'get oot tharr befarr they do." "Innat truck?" laughs Doyle. "Yaaar a foony man, Thomas," frowns Uncle Frank. "Tharr due t' arroive oot thar Moonday noit. Lowrey's got to have an address in thim papaars we got in th' office. Now, if Oi catch an airrrraplane..." "You neveh been onna plane inya life," snickers Doyle. "What if ya get seasick?" "It couldn' be no waaaarse than what'll happen," exhales Uncle Frank, "than if Oi stick aroond here....")

("Are you sure this'll work?" questions Shirley Blick, as Sammy Schreibstein buckles a shin guard around her leg. "I borrehed t'ese fr'm a fella I know plays catcheh," he declares. "Y' fawl down onna skates, an'nese'll keep ya from gett'n hoit. "Don' f'get t' helmet," injects Rosa. "Oh yeh," nods Sammy, handing over the hard green-painted leather headpiece. "New Utrick footbawl," he adds. "An' -- um --" he stammers, pulling a bulky rolled object out of a duffle bag. "I got t'is -- um -- well, it's a..." He trails off, his face flushing. "A chest protecteh," snickers Rosa. "Yeh," swallows Sammy. "Lemme -- um -- put it aroun' -- uh..." "Oh, Sammy..." eyerolls Shirley....)

(I hope he washed the poison ivy out of the hat first.)

(Hig takes cold showers now? From what we know of him, that's probably a good idea.)

(Wait, she puts her real name in the paper??? So much for kayfabe.)

(ZZZZZZT)

(Why Women Cry.)

(You know, cataract surgery can fix that.)

(Such language!)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

What is it with all the cutlery?

"A lot of people that ain't sayin' 'ain't,' ain't eatin'." -- Dizzy Dean.

You can't bake a file into a cookie.

Fie!

"A private vacation?? What could we possibly do???"

She prefers Tuck's Plug.

You're getting too old for this, kid.

Ah.

Don't take your personal inadequacies out on the poor kid.

I bet it wouldn't take long at all to lose $75,000 in a poolroom.

 

[Fading Fast]

"...Now, if Oi catch an airrrraplane..."

Flights cost about a billion dollars back then, where in God's name would Frank get that kind of money?

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

"A chest protecteh," snickers Rosa. "Yeh," swallows Sammy. "Lemme -- um -- put it aroun' -- uh..." "Oh, Sammy..." eyerolls Shirley....

Dear Lord.

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

Unless the Eagle left something out, what are the odds of both sets of parents having the same anniversary dates?

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

ZZZZZZT

If he's paying any alimony, he has a rooting interest.

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

Why Women Cry.

At least it's coming out ahead of time; she can just not marry him.

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

What is it with all the cutlery?

Also, "I was carrying the cleaver to 'sock' Joe." That's not how a cleaver works.

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

"A lot of people that ain't sayin' 'ain't,' ain't eatin'." -- Dizzy Dean.

Gilbert Johnson is an idiot .

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Ah.

Good plot twist; did not see it coming.

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I bet it wouldn't take long at all to lose $75,000 in a poolroom.

Maybe, but that is a lot of money (about $1,300,000 today) for one poolroom. The stakes in the 1961 movie "The Hustler" were about a quarter of that and that was a huge deal. It would be much easier to lose it at the track (right, @Harp?).

 

[LizzieMaine]

"...Now, if Oi catch an airrrraplane..."

Flights cost about a billion dollars back then, where in God's name would Frank get that kind of money?

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

"Ooopen oop!" demands Uncle Frank, pounding at the hall-room door in a particularly seedy rooming house. "Oi knoo yarr in there!" He fidgets impatiently as a scraping sound alerts him to the approach of the occupant. "Yes?" comes a sleep-blurred voice, as an eye peers out from the cracked door. "Ooopen oop!" repeats Uncle Frank. "Oi need yarrr help!" "Ahhhh," sighs Ignatius J. Quinlan. "Of course you do....."

 

[Fading Fast]

"Ooopen oop!" demands Uncle Frank, pounding at the hall-room door in a particularly seedy rooming house. "Oi knoo yarr in there!" He fidgets impatiently as a scraping sound alerts him to the approach of the occupant. "Yes?" comes a sleep-blurred voice, as an eye peers out from the cracked door. "Ooopen oop!" repeats Uncle Frank. "Oi need yarrr help!" "Ahhhh," sighs Ignatius J. Quinlan. "Of course you do....."

There are a lot of moving part to this puzzle as it's not just the airline and the flight, it has to be an empty seat. That, or "just crank out a bunch of twenties for me. "

 

[LizzieMaine]

And of course we know Uncle Frank has long been charmed with "the luck of the Irish..."

 

[Harp]

Anastasio v Martin; and Sigerson-Graff v Taxi cabbie.
In the terrible knife/hatchet fight, I conject Ms Anastasio defended herself against assault.
Siegerson, the one shoe knife-armed bandito is going Sing Sing, where he'll likely be *****ized.
Cell marriages aren't one-night stands either.

Terrence is liable to catch a ****** over that babe.

 

[LizzieMaine]

(The back stairs creak as Uncle Frank creeps down into the store, and that creak is enough. "Whozeh?" calls a certain insistent voice from the fountain counter. "Shhhh!" hisses Uncle Frank. "Whatta YOU doin' down heeeere at this hooour?" "Baby was fussin'," shrugs Bink Scanlan, with the unmistakable clink of a spoon against a little tin dish, "an'nen'ee wenta sleep, an' I couldn' sleep. So I come down'eeh t'have a banana split." "At three-tharrrty in th' marrnin'?" whispers Uncle Frank. "Neveh min'nat," squints Bink, her eyes straining in the dim yellow light of the Reid's Ice Cream clock. "Whatt'a YOU doin' down'eeh? An' what's wit' t' grip?" "Ahhhh," stammers Uncle Frank. "Th' truth'ooov th' mattar," he embroiders, "is that Oi've gaaaht t' leave toon on business." "She fin'ly got wise to ya, huh?" snickers Bink, licking her spoon. "Now it's noothin' t'do with..." attempts Uncle Frank. "It's about Mickey," ventures Bink. "Ain' it? I caught awnta ya t'ot'eh night." "Loook," exhales Uncle Frank. "Ask me noo questions an' Oi'll tell ye noo lies. I've gaaaht t' check oop aahn soomthin', that's all. If aaaahl goos well, Oi should be hoom again in a coopla days. Do me a favarrr, an' doon't say noothin'." "Y'nawt even gonna tell'eh?" frowns Bink. "Oi left'arr a noot," insists Uncle Frank, "wharr she -- ah -- should foind it." "Yeh," snorts Bink. "Awright, Fatty, I'm in. You go do whatcha gotta do." "I appreciate yarrr soilence," nods Uncle Frank. "Oh," adds Bink. "If ya see Mickey? Kick'im inna as ss f' me." "Ah," acknowledges Uncle Frank, reaching for the door....)

("Cacramental?" questions Sally, leaning back against the stoop. "Whassat? You know moehr'a'bout't'at choich stuff'n I do." "Hmmm," hmms Alice. "I don' r'membeh t' sistehs bringin'at up. I'll have t' ask Fawrt'eh Kelleheh nex' time I see 'im." "T' dignity'a womanhood," sighs Sally. "Yeh," nods Alice. "T'at I r'membeh. Seems like t'eh was a lotta scrubbin' flooehs involved." "I'll tell ya one t'ing," declares Sally. "It's pretty hawrd t' maintain'a dignity a' womanhood when y'got a kid like Leonoreh aroun'." "Y'got t' bill yet f'rawlat stuff she knocked oveh at Namm's?" chuckles Alice. "We come t'wan undehstandin' awnat," declares Sally. "I paid'a bill, an' Leonoreh's gonna pay it awff out'veh allowance. Joe gives'eh a quawrteh ev'ry Sunday f' candy an' magazines an' junk." "T'at's gonna take a while t' pay awff, ain'it?" gapes Alice. "It'll be 1956 befoeh ya know it," shrugs Sally. "She'll be, what, fifteen?" calculates Alice. "Yeh," realizes Sally. "Huh.' "Good luck," sympathizes Alice, "wit'tat...")

(Stealing signals??? Perish fabbid!)

(Little Bea ver shows all the comedy-relief goofs how a real sidekick works.)

(Wait'll ya get your light bill.)

(Didn't we have a story a year or two back about a party just like this?)

("So THERE!" -- Jane Arden)

("Squirmed her way to win? Worked for me!" -- Gyps.)

(Let's see him tap and type at the same time.)

(I think we finally have a new King Of The Comic Page Trolls.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

"Middle aged Prince Wolfgang." Was that really necessary?

Stirring the pot.

Mr. Hill has had just about enough of "Cement Mixer, Putty Putty."

"Oh, well, that's different then."

"Oh, is that all?"

"You beach blonde comber!" Say that five times fast. And a little exercise never hurt anybody.

Small town life ain't so hot now, is it?

Hey Kids! Try this trick on Dad!

What does this guy have against seals?

Daisy still resents that break her sister Elsie got at the World's Fair.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Worker...

Welcome home.

 

[Fading Fast]

I'm guessing this is innocent, but the police should be investigating it hard anyway, something could be amiss.

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

"Good luck," sympathizes Alice, "wit'tat..."

Once again, she's spot on. Leonora is going to be one difficult child to raise.

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

Let's see him tap and type at the same time.

There's more to the James J. Reynolds, Jr., story than written.

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

Stirring the pot.

He did not successfully sell his tale of woe.

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"Oh, is that all?"

Real relief work in war-torn areas is very hard and takes a lot of time, resources, and effort – not just daddy's money and desire to get a boyfriend.

 

[Harp]

The Durant defense team in Hesse haven't valid counter, and are probable US Army JAG
staff second-rate jacklegs. Exigency hardly constitutes abandonment; all the more so when
fame attaches evidentiary notice pursuant thievery. Analogous to Hesse is the Shanghai gold
bullion story and an unnamed US Army/Marine colonel who pocketed half tonnage; or what today
would be around $5,250,000 pesoes. This individual bit too large a chew off the stick. A few crumbs would have been less discerned and in the long run and far more practical. A ten percent skim was key limit. A nice $525,000 poker pot civie grub stake. Now he has Sam after his azz.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Shoiley Blick is a smawrt kid," declares Joe, thru a mouthful of toast, "but she ain' no rolleh skateh. Rosa an' Sammy was practicin' wit'eh awl weekend, an'ney got'eh so she could roll ten feet wit'out tippin' oveh, but as soon as'ey give'eh a tray, down she goes." "Y'otta have Lottie do it," injects Leonora. "She ain't no good at rolleh skatin'," scoffs Sally. "No," admits Leonora, "but she ain' got so fawr t' fawl." "T'at ain' nice," snickers Sally. "Izzat any way t' tawk?" admonishes Joe. "Ehhh?" ehhs Leonora, tipping her good ear as she pokes at her corn flakes. "Anyways, Sal," continues Joe, "Rosa wants t' c'moveh heeh some night so we c'n show 'eh some dancin' tricks. I t'ought we could take t' Victrola out'na couehtyawrd, do it wheh we got some room." "Don' trip on awlat broken glass," warns Leonora. "Oh, an' I got sump'n fawr ya." She reaches into her overall pocket and hands a small envelope across the table. "Ohhhh," ohhs Sally, extracting the contents. "'Happy 9nt' Annehvoisery, to Pa and Ma." "T'at'sa pitcher'a t' two'a yez dancin'" explains Leonora. "Missis Ginsboig helped me drawr it." Sally and Joe exchange astonished looks. "Migawd, Joe," exhales Sally. "I sweahtagawd, I f'got..." "I did too," murmurs Joe. "Jeez, kid, I'm sawry..." "Wheh would'ja be," hmphs Leonora, "wit'out me...?")

("Brooklyn Avenarrr," notes Uncle Frank, looking up at the street sign, and down again at the Kansas City address jotted on the back of a wrinkled F. Leary & Sons Plumbing and Heating envelope. "Hmph," he mutters, as he glances at the rows of wood-frame houses tightly lining the street. "Brooklyn Avenarrr. Sorry Mickey," he snorts to himself. "Ye caaan't goo hoom again." He continues for several blocks, avoiding the wary glances of passers-by as he scans the house numbers before stopping in front of a low concrete stairway. He reaches into his vest pocket to check his watch. He looks up at the small, well-kept house at the top of the stairway, and with a final check of the house number, he huffs up the stairs. The porch betrays nothing of the house's occupant, save a single straight-backed chair and a milk box next to the door. Somewhere down the block, a truck backfires, and Uncle Frank twists in momentary panic. Finally, with no further delay possible, he raps sharply on the door. There is no reply. He feels in his suit coat pocket for its contents, just in case. He knocks again. "JUST A MINUTE, I'M COMIN'," rumbles a muffled bass voice from inside. Uncle Frank twitches, not recognizing the tone. The door opens, and Uncle Frank ***** in an involuntary gasp. "Yes?" questions the householder, his eyes flicking as he quickly sizes up his visitor. "Uhhhh," stammers Uncle Frank, "Oi'm -- ahh -- lookin' farr a Mistarr Mike O'Donnell...?" "I'm Mike O'Donnell," replies the householder, in a tone of cautious courtesy, but with one hand gripping the door. "B-b-ut," stutters Uncle Frank. "Yarrrr not Mi--Mi--that is t' say, yarr naaat --- ah --" "Y'said y' want Mike O'Donnell," repeats the householder. "That's me." "Oi'm sarrry," jitters Uncle Frank, completely flustered. "It's joost that Oi was expectin' -- ahhh -- boot yarr not -- that is, Oi mean -- yarrr a -- um -- colorrred man." "So," acknowledges Mike O'Donnell of Brooklyn Avenue, Kansas City, "they keep tellin' me...."

("I'll give him two, and he can put them on Grandma's Boy in the fifth at Saratoga.")

(A dead tie, with four weeks to go. Are you doing this on purpose???)

(Wrestling managers make real good money. Just sayin'.)

(Scalpers have offices now? I thought they just stood at the top of the subway exit.)

("Carter McFist?" Not even 'Kid Twist McFist?')

(We'd all like to know.)

("When we return the thieves' car." Because HONESTY IS THE ONLY WAY. Also, it's a lousy car.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

Some things were simply never meant to be...

Lack of booster spirit? Don't get around much to Brooklyn do ya?

"We?"

"You're brutal, kid. You know that?"

The Bride of Molech.

Now this is real romance.

Off he goes to the mutton auction.

Check those invoices!

"'Cause I remember Senga, that's why!"

The one true Troll King reclaims his crown.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Worker...

Hey, maybe we could promise to trade Mickey Owen to the Browns!

 

[Fading Fast]

Somewhere down the block, a truck backfires, and Uncle Frank twists in momentary panic.

Perfect.

...that is, Oi mean -- yarrr a -- um -- colorrred man." "So," acknowledges Mike O'Donnell of Brooklyn Avenue, Kansas City, "they keep tellin' me...."

Even more perfect.

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

A dead tie, with four weeks to go. Are you doing this on purpose???

I get that a bigger league argues for more teams in the playoffs and of course the economics drive it, but how wonderful was it when the season really meant something.

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Lack of booster spirit?

As a present-day New Yorker, I'd say, meh.

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"I wonder what she looks like?"

So timeless. From the Bible era to a farm in the 1940s to the digital age to AI, if the guy you want chooses another woman, the first thought is always, "I wonder what she looks like?"

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

"'Cause I remember Senga, that's why!"

"Even though it doesn't itch (much) anymore."

 

[Harp]

The Scimeca-Tychsen annulment was predicated upon Ms Tychsen's fraudulent claim of
being seventeen years old prior to matrimony. However, left unsaid was whether their marriage was consumated; also, Mr Scimeca may pursue financial compense germane the cost inherent,
and former spouse possible pregnancy with future monetary obligation related same.
But Scimeca really needs distance away from Mama Lion-in law.