The Era -- Day By Day

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Worker...

So Leo uses up most of his starting staff after Branca gets chased. Whatever became of Hugh Casey??

 

[Fading Fast]

He's gonna be t' hunnet'n sixteen't on line whenna windehs open.

God bless him, he should get some tickets. I assume they limit how many each can buy: do you know if its 2 or 4 or more? I know he's not the guy to do this, but he should buy as many as he can as he'd only make more money reselling them.

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

"Boot at least we c'n fitchee in ye coffin!"

This time channelling my Grandmother.

BTW, what do you put the butter on at lunch or do you just eat the pat straight. I love butter, but that sound unappetizing to me. Could I squeeze a single slice of toast in there for the butter?

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

I'm suprised he didn't THROW THE RADIO OUT THE WINDOW!!!!!!

I was thinking something similar and that Sally probably turned the page quickly as she has a highly tuned self-protection psychology.

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

Look, couldn't they just knock over a gas station?

Too many dead bodies in the grease pits.

I know one is here, but like her editor, I don't see the sc*m yet.

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

Something tells me they'll sell a LOT of these today.

I think you are spot on, but two things: one, they look like pieces of junk and, two, adjusted for inflation that is about $411—$428 (depending on the color) today - which is a lot of money for an impulse purchase.

"Can they be bolted down?"
"Sir?"
"I want to buy one for my wife, but it would be good if we could bolt it to something solid."
"Hey, aren't you Big Joe from Big Joe's?"
"What? Oh, yes."
"Well, I can get you a discount then."
"What about the bolting?"
"I have to tell you, Big Joe, most people like that they can move it from room to room, it's pretty light and it's a nice convenience."
"Sigh."

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

"The way she holds her nose in the air..."

Killer line: the best we've had in a while.

 

[LizzieMaine]

I haven't seen any announcement of an "X to a customer" limit for this game, and if MacPhail was still in charge I'm sure there'd be one. But I suspect Mr. Rickey isn't too concerned as long as they all get sold.

Sometimes I think Doc Brady is trolling us when he prints stuff like this diet. I suppose you could put the butter on the sad puddle of canned spinach you'll probably end up with as one of your vegetables, which will at least give it some flavor...

I hope Mr. Branca gets his wallet back.

 

[Harp]

The rope is noosed Nuremberg docket. Killing a man with a slip off the gibbet isn't simple-
Simon routine since condemned height and weight factors drop, which incurs a broken neck
strangle end. The US Army executioner, a master sergeant was an amateur who botched so
often that John Pierpoint, Britain's Top *** was summarily requisitioned rope master.
I once played poker at a table that included a cook who remarked a CBS 60 Minutes
episode feature about Nuremberg alumnus Rudolph Hess. While serving American rotation
at Spandau prison he once prepared Hess' evening meal. The returned used tray was checked
consumption diet record, and a sensory emitted ''evil presence'' felt.

The Darly Alcibades runs Keeneland ninth today with Summer Starlet easily locked.
Use Oh She Said for exacta, and Emphatic, Forever Carmina, and Elewene underneath.
I doubled a sawbuck yesterday in the rescheduled Flower Bowl filled British and Irish, so tossed
dice for American Kathynmarissa. Nor'easter really kicked over the apple cart.
Checked Bloodhorse's stakes schedule and found the Flower stuck still on a Thursday.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Whooo," whoos Mike O'Donnell, stepping off the Bushwick Avenue trolley at the corner of Seigel Street. "You got y'self some odor in this town!" "T'at's awla breweries 'roun' 'eeh," chuckles Solly Pincus, as Mike surveys the neighborhood. "Y'got Rheingold, Trommeh's, Piel's, Ehret's -- an'nen right on t' riveh, y'got Schaefeh's." "Mm," mms Mike. "Makes a man think." "Wec'n getta drink someplace," nods Solly, "afteh I show y' t' waehhouse. I wanna tawk t'ya a bit 'bout t' set up wit' Frank 'n awlat." "Man's a bit of a fo'-flushuh," observes Mike as they stroll down Seigel Street, a bleak neighborhood of low, dull buildings of grimy brick, concrete, and repurposed signboards, interspersed with the occasional sagging, unpainted wood-frame tenement. "Yeh," agrees Solly. "Y'gotta watch 'im ev'ry minute. One'a t'ese smawltime hustlehs don' realize he's smawltime. But -- he's gotta quawrteh-int'rest in th' company. Long stawry t'eh. An', he owns t' waehhouse. I keep t' stuff in heeh we sell local, y'see -- saves awn stawrage." "Yeh," nods Mike. "Lowrey kinda gimme th' straight." "An' I figyeh it's bes' t' keep'im wheh'r I c'n keep'n eye awn'im," sighs Solly. "Know what I mean?" "Oh yeh," agrees Mike. "Heeh'za place," indicates Solly, pointing to a sprawling, low structure somewhat more dismal than its neighbors. A large, rusty padlock secures its swinging door, and Solly produces a key. A quick twist, and the door yawns open, followed instantly by a sharp, chemical reek. "What," gapes Mike, "is THAT?" "T'at," snickers Solly, "is *Frank's* brewery...")

("I wish I hadda way t' fin' out if Siddy's awright," sighs Alice. "I put a note in 'is coat pawcket sayin' if anyt'ing happ'ns t' cawl Schreibstien's, but I nevveh hoid nut'n ovehnight." "If 'ee made it t'ru t' night," shrugs Sally, "he'll be okay. Awlem bums is prob'ly too hung oveh t' make trouble." "I give Willie a note, too," admits Alice, "tellin' 'is teacheh t' please let William out'a school at noon so he can spen' time wit' a sick frien' on Bedf'd Aveneh." "Ah," ahs Sally. "An' it ain't lyin'," insists Alice. "No," acknowledges Sally. "T' way t'ey played in St. Louis, t'ey oughta be in quarantine...")

("Another war? But we haven't finished paying off the last one!")

("Hey!" yelps Willie, bursting into Lieb's Luncheonette at exactly twelve-thirty. "Hay's f' hawrses," replies Ma, sliding a closely-guarded can of Reid's Vanilla into the fountain freezer compartment. "Did my pap come in heeh," pants WIllie, "an' leemee a ticket?" "Hmmm," hmms Ma, assuming a stern expression as she glances at the clock. "A ticket from th' truant officer!" "No, no," blanches Willie. "To -- um --" "Um," nods Ma in her gravest tone, as she reaches into her apron pocket to retrieve the prized pasteboard. "Oh BOY!" gapes Willie. "Gran'stan' again! T'anks!!" He wheels about, knocking over the figure of the Philip Morris bellhop in his haste. "WILLIAM!" commands Ma, and the boy twirls to face her stern glare. "Aaaaaren'chee f'argett'n soomthin'?" Willie freezes. "Yaaar goin' t' roon six blocks," declares Ma, "ye'll need yarr innergy." She tosses him a Milky Way. "Be off with ye an'--- dooon't let th' door slam!!")

("I'll want a report in triplicate in the morning.")

(No, you may NOT presume.)

(Hmph, I never would have expected Paul Whiteman to turn to crime.)

(I can't say I care much for his taste in office art.)

(Aw, she wants to play!)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

Well, you could always start your own correspondence school. I hear those make money.

Nothing lasts forever...

You're already over your bag limit for the season.

Hurry up and wait.

"The sacrificial fires to Molech already burn hot! All has been prepared! Come, Annie, there is someone you must meet...."

CANE HIM! CANE HIM! CANE EVERYONE!

You'll be back.

These co-operative bands never work out.

Life is full of changing circumstances.

 

[LizzieMaine]

All right, let's go...

 

[Fading Fast]

"Heeh'za place," indicates Solly, pointing to a sprawling, low structure somewhat more dismal than its neighbors.

Of course. God forbid Frank actually took care of something he owned.

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

JFC, what vile people. Well, the good news is we don't have any growing political parties today that traffic in antisemitism.

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

Hmph, I never would have expected Paul Whiteman to turn to crime.

I don't see a jeweler falling for this scheme.

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

Well, you could always start your own correspondence school. I hear those make money.

This guy could easily have made an honest living. Also, he will not do well in jail.

Separately, the Prager divorce story is confusing.

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

Nothing lasts forever...

If I were the insurance company, I'd send my best fraud investigator. Where's Edward G. Robinson when you need him?

 

[LizzieMaine]

The warehouse...

Be sure to lock up!

 

[Farace]

(I can't say I care much for his taste in office art.)

I have to wonder if it reflects Stamm’s actual studio.

 

[Harp]

Irving Praeger doesn't have cause against his sooner said than done former dad in law
Al Goodman over spouse mouse Rita in Reno. Employment eternal offer as regards nupital
realignment is loose talk not legally enforceable. Contractual beyond one year must be writ
plain as day, and attendant underlying subject is not qualified promissory estoppel.
Irv is probably a nice guy who retained a jackleg limousine chaser.

Anthony Masurkewicz wasn't a penitentiary trained burglar and has only stolen from himself.

Mary Worth's Brick is a rather nicely drawn 1940s Jessica Rabbit.

Men don't feint. Sure, mope and ***** and kick ourselves in the keister. But the fall down
roll over play dead stuff is strictly limited pass out drunk stuff. Terry is definitely off the rail.
A luscious Dragon Gal should be herewith Milty.

Emphatic rode rail first yesterday in the Darly; leading my presumed winner Summer Starlet.
And Oh She Said who I favored place took show. Emphatic had bested her last twice and my
ticket structure lousy play. The track jigsaw poker puzzle always leaves a seat open for chance.
So ****ed at myself, I cut loss and stuffed roll for today. Jack O' Lantern Breeders Cup nears
and amateurish play is inexcusable.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("It'll be nex' yeeh befoeh y'know it," consoles Alice, as Sally broods. "Robinson's comin'! T'em Montreals is gonna win t' Lit'l Woil Series, an' awlem kids is comin'! An' Reiseh's leg's gonna get betteh! Nex' yeeh!" "Buncha bums," growls Sally. "Get'n people's hopes up, an' f' nut'n. T'at Durocheh's a bum. A crooked bum. I betcha he had MONEY awna game. I betcha awlem hoods 'e runs wit' put t'AWRM awn'im t' T'ROW it!" "T'ey'd neveh daeh t'do t'at," denies Alice. "Durocheh knows too many impoeht'n people." "Who?" demands Sally. "Danny Kaye!" submits Alice. "Fred Allen! Jack Benny! I bet he even knows Jinx Finkelstein!" "Faulkenboig," growls Sally. "Her too!" nods Alice, as the train rolls on toward home...)

("It's all YAWR fault," crows Lottie Schreibstein. "No it AIN"T," snaps Willie, stalking up 18th Avenue toward PS 48. "You put a COISE awn'm," accuses Lottie. "You CUT SCHOOL t' go t' t'game, an' when you done'at, YOU put a coise awn'm." "Ahhhhh," growls WIllie. "Go jump at a duck!" "Boy, I wouln' wanna be you," snips Lottie. "Miss Ring is makin' a list a' awla kids t'at was cut'n school yestehday, an' she's gonna get'm." "How'd YOU know?" blurts Willie. "Cause she ast me did I know wheh you was," sniffs Lottie. "An' I said I din't." "Wait," gasps Willie, stopping in his tracks in front of Moskowitz's Deli. "You -- LIED t' t' PRINCIPAL? F' ME??" "I neveh lied," asserts Lottie. "I tol' 'eh I din' know wheh you was." "But you jus'..." stammers Willie. "An' I din'!" affirms Lottie. "Was you inna gran'stan, was you inna bleachehs, wheh'reveh you was, I din' know! An' my ma tol' me, an' my pop tol' me, an' Sergean' Solly tol' me, awrways tell t' trut'!" She flounces on toward school, as Willie gapes dumbstruck from behind....)

("Nora," ventures Uncle Frank, "did thaaat Moike O'Donnell coom by here yet?" "Oi nivvar seen'im," declares Ma, not looking up from her ledger. "Have YOU seen Hector?" "Not since -- uh -- " stammers Uncle Frank. "Ah -- not recently." "Well, Oi toold 'im Oi needed 'im aaaaarly t'day," frowns Ma. "Oi got a LOTTA bets fr'm yistarrday that need collectin'." "Ye payin' ooot mooch?" questions Uncle Frank. "Oh, Francis," snorts Ma. "Yarrr a foony, foony man...")

("Quick, check the refrigerator. There was still meat on that ham!")

("No, sir," sighs Mr. Parrott. "We can't keep any of it for service fees. League rules say it all has to go back." "Very well," sighs Mr. Rickey. "Now if you'll excuse me, I must go down to the business office -- and say goodbye....")

(Aim high, kid.)

(Voted by his class "Most Likely To Be Found Dead In A Grease Pit.")

(Can we get a diagram or something to explain how this is supposed to work?)

(Well, I suppose that's a reasonable reaction.)

(AMERICA'S NUMBER ONE HERO DOG FOILS ANOTHER CRIME!)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

I have friends who are actual card-carrying IATSEs, and they'd put these AFL guys in their place pretty quick. And they'd take care of Frankieeeeeeeeeee too. Never tick off the guy who runs your microphone.

It's gonna be a hot winter.

"We never should have seen 'The Killers.'"

Most private eyes in 1946 spend their time on marriage cases because, after all, that's where the action is.

"I know this guy eight feet tall who has a magic blanket..." "I was right, you ARE crazy."

Has to go to Mexico? Wow, those Pasquels are persuasive.

These days everybody's got some kind of trick window box.

Introducing the They Could Do Better Sisters!

Don't smirk yet, kid...

There's nothing more romantic than a moonlight drive.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Worker...

So we root for the Red Sox.

 

[Fading Fast]

How little is really new.

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

"...I bet he even knows Jinx Finkelstein!" "Faulkenboig," growls Sally. "Her too!"

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

"I din'!" affirms Lottie. "Was you inna gran'stan, was you inna bleachehs, wheh'reveh you was, I din' know!"

I see a bright future in politics for this young lady.

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

Aim high, kid.

One assumes "dance" is open to interpretation.

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

Can we get a diagram or something to explain how this is supposed to work?

I agree. Unless the jeweler is a complete idiot, I don't see how this works. We need one of those crazy-good Daily News diagrams, as you noted.

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

"Cherchez la femme."

The French have their share of great expressions.

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

So we root for the Red Sox.

Playoffs in sports really test your mettle as it goes from 100 mph to zero if your team is eliminated. It's not just in 1946 as, after a quick run through the wild card series, reality is catching up quickly to the Yankees this year.

 

[Harp]

Noted paucity of cutthroat legal embroglio today but read the CSU strike article
with Sinatra mouthing off at picket lines with his usual all bark no bite bravado.
The Voice supposedly once struck a woman so hard she crashed through a glass door so
violently her right arm was nearly severed. Supposedly.

Terry should resolve all this raft business and come home.

 

[LizzieMaine]

(Silence hangs like a cloud as Leonora fixes a relentless gaze on her mother. Sally, on the other hand, flicks her glance to the book concealed in her lap as she reaches for a certain pawn. "Scawtch game," scoffs Leonora. "I neveh took my han' awff," retorts Sally. She glances down again and reaches for a different pawn. "Hah!" hahs Leonora. "English op'nin'!" "I NEVEH TOOK MY HAN' AWFF!" snaps Sally. "English op'nin'! Ma would k ill me." She frowns a deep frown and tries to silently flip the page. She flicks down another glance and reaches out yet again. "Sicilian D'fense," snickers Leonora, as Stella the Cat enters the kitchen, regards the proceedings, and sinks her claws into Sally's shin. "HEY!" bellows Sally, jumping up as the book thuds down, its corner striking hard on her toe, as her hand sends a pawn careening across the board. "Awright," nods Leonora. "T'at's a new one...")

("T'is," gags Bink Scanlan, "is disgustin'." She regards the wedge of lettuce on her plate, wilting in a pool of Miracle Whip, with extreme distaste. "Eh," ehs Rosa Capiello, sipping an egg cream. "It's good fawr ya. Anyways, like I was sayin', I got t'is ideeh, an' I was t'inkin' you might be jus' t' one t' help me out wit' it. You know t'at stuff I do awn television wit' Eddie Mayehoff, right?" "T'at," bleahs Bink, "is as bad as t'is lunch." "Well, I'm t'inkin' 'bout try'na get an act t'get'eh awn my own, see? Shoiley Blick t'inks I might have p'tential in nightclubs. But I need a stoo -- uh -- somebody t' kin'a woik wit' me, t'kin'a set up t' material, see? An' I mean, since you'n me awr ol' friends..." Bink pushes her plate of lettuce away, and stares at her old friend's glass. With a sigh, Rosa pushes it across the counter, acknowledging the formal opening of negotiations...)

(All together now -- WAIT TILL...)

(Marriage is a partnership, except when it comes to comparative lit.)

(If you want to get your bets down, call INgersoll 2-6077 and ask for Ma.)

("Have a fling, honey!" That'll come up later on Page Four.)

(She takes bets too, but we can't vouch for her.)

(All right, if that's how it is, we'll just have to wait and see.)

(Besides, you'd never get back your damage deposit on the office.)

(AMERICA'S NUMBER ONE HERO DOG HAS NO TIME FOR SCHMALTZ)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

"A handsome edition of Errol Flynn." ZING!

Far be it for us to criticize a player who doesn't know how to give less than 200 percent in any game he plays, but this is the second time Reiser's recklessness has cost us the pennant. Something's got to be done.

Hence the expression "forever in your debt."

"Um, it's big enough for four. Just thought I'd mention that."

Lee Wiley? Somebody has much better musical taste than we've been led to believe.

Eventually, Tracy, we'll all be nothing but STIFFS. Think about it.

"AWK!"

"It ain't braggin' if you can do it." -- Dizzy Dean.

Opportunity is fleeting...

What a great setup for a movie.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Worker...

And then there's the fact that Musial DIDN'T GO AND GET HIMSELF HURT PLAYING IN A STUPID EXHIBITION GAME THE WEEK BEFORE THE WORLD SERIES.

 

[Fading Fast]

Big Joe's problem has made it to the President's desk.

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

"...and stares at her old friend's glass. With a sigh, Rosa pushes it across the counter, acknowledging the formal opening of negotiations..."

Nicely written.

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

If you want to get your bets down, call INgersoll 2-6077 and ask for Ma.

Does she just use the odds in the paper, or does she try to balance her book with her own odds?

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

She takes bets too, but we can't vouch for her.

Of course they turn to Brick, she's the only one who gets anything done at that station.

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

"A handsome edition of Errol Flynn." ZING!

I caught that, too, but his looks wouldn't really go for another five or so years. It's an odd comment.

Staying with the same couple, Eleanor could be Greta Garbo's younger sister.

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

Far be it for us to criticize a player who doesn't know how to give less than 200 percent in any game he plays, but this is the second time Reiser's recklessness has cost us the pennant. Something's got to be done.

"Damn right!"
"Mickey, what are you grumbling about?"
"Oh, just something I read in the paper."
"Well, it's time to go milk the cows. And don't drop the bucket this time."
"Yes, dear."

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

And then there's the fact that Musial DIDN'T GO AND GET HIMSELF HURT PLAYING IN A STUPID EXHIBITION GAME THE WEEK BEFORE THE WORLD SERIES.

Good to see you're letting it go, Sally.