The Era -- Day By Day

[Harp]

One of my law school era jobs was overnite White Hen Pantry attendant and my boss
relayed that Ted Williams had declined his mom's autograph request. Whereupon his mom
chewed his azz up one side down other. And destroyed my boyhood idol's memory.

 

[Harp]

View attachment 814557

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

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My dad was a Chicago Stockyards Hygrade Meat Packing Company cattle buyer,
and my mom always bought Argentine Gaucho Beef cartons every week. Imported beef
undersold American domestic livestock slaughtered less than twenty miles away our house.

 

[LizzieMaine]

Williams didn't become a beloved New England figure until fairly late in life. Well into the 60s an 70s you'd read snarky columns about him in the Boston papers, and it wasn't really until the generation of writers who had the misfortune of covering him during his playing days had retired that he became even remotely cuddly.

I think the tipping point was in the early 80s, when he began doing a series of humorous TV commercials for the J. J. Nissen Baking Company, where he was teamed with an old crony, the Bangor Daily News outdoors columnist Bud Leavitt. Mr. Leavitt, who I kindasorta knew, was a man of rather ample proportions, and we all called the commercials the "Ted and Tub Show."

 

[Harp]

Mike Royko guested the Veterans Club at the University of Illinois-Chicago when I was there,
and recounted his time in Korea at K2 airbase when Williams crashed his plane after a
North Korean .30 caliber truck machinegun caught its fantail during a return ground sweep.
All the guys and everybody had their azzez out on the flightline landing strip because Ted Williams was coming in for a crash landing. Royko, still amazed, talked like a kid about Williams.

 

[Farace]

I remember Ted Williams later in life as the somewhat homey figurehead for Sears hunting and fishing (and, I guess, sports in general) gear.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("So that's th' story," nods Mike O'Donnell, sliding a clipped-together stack of papers across the Manor Cafeteria table. "Hm," hms Solly Pincus, holding in abeyance a forkful of eggs. "Frank give y'any trouble?" "Nah," nahs Mike, taking a deep sip of coffee. "He come in a coupla times, kinda stood there with that 'don' look at ME" look on his face. I din' pay 'im no mind. An' listen, what about that big boy, that his son?" "Danny," snickers Solly. "T'ey useta cawl 'im 'Danny t' Neck.'" "Mmm-mm," chuckles Mike. "All neck 'n no head." "Y'otta see 'is brot'eh," snorts Solly as he pages thru the document. "Hmm," he sighs. "I knew about t' p'tatehs. An' some'a t'is ot'eh stuff, but -- I mean, wha'ssis? Eight dozen paiehs a' WAC rayon stockins?" "Man's ambitious," observes Mike thru another sip of coffee. "What'cha got t'do, Sarge," he continues, "is get this inventory system goin'. Ev'rything that comes in, it goes in th' book. Ev'rything that goes out, it goes in the book. Not one thing goes out that door 'less it goes in the book, an' y'do a count 'least once a month. An' y'change up th' day y'do it, see, so's nobody quite knows when it's comin'." "T'at'sa lotta woik," sighs Solly. "It's yo' money," sums up Mike, as he drains his cup. "What'cha need to do, see, is put somebody on whose whole job that is. Somebody good with numbuhs. Somebody knows how t'keep books. An' somebody gonna keep 'n eye on Frank Leary." "Ahhh," ahhs Solly........")

("So we'eh get'n close t' last'a t'at meat," sighs Joe, "an' business is gett'n slow wit' t' racetrack closed. So I guess I got no cherce but t' close up f' t' season lit'l oilieh t'an I wan'ed. I figyeh we might have anot'eh week a' meat inna freezeh, so t'at means, less sum'pn hap'ns, we'eh gonna wrap it up nex' Satehday, an'nat'll be it till nex' spring." "Oh," ohs Shirley. "I mean, it does make sense, but.." "Look," continues Joe. "I coul'na done any'a t'is out heeh wit'out t' t'ree'a you. So if y'need jawbs, I'll fin' sump'n f'ya t'do at t' stoeh in Flatbush..." "I got plenn'y t'do inna shop wit' Misteh Ginsboig," notes Sammy. "An' I got television," adds Rosa, "an' maybe some ot'eh stuff inna fieh." "What sort of work?" wonders Shirley. "I dunno," admits Joe. "Helpin' out awna grill, makin' sodas, stuff like'at." "I thought you already had someone doing that," questions Shirley. "Well," exhales Joe, "she don' 'zackly DO it...")

(Get your bets down!)

(A sheriff who ISN'T corrupt???? What kind of world IS this???)

("Well, you started at the top -- hat.")

(Well, what changed her mind?)

(Well, I mean, isn't this the plot of every opera?)

(Looks perfectly innocent to me...)

(Mr. Twain's remarks were something along the lines of "he knows everything about war, and nothing about peace." Coming events...)

(It never occured to any of you lackwits to sniff his breath? Disappointed in ya, Brick...)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

Laugh if you want, but if Larry MacPhail and Tom Yawkey ever go out drinking together...

Take a tip from one who knows -- never eat fish and chips from a stand at the fair...

"But you never can tell."

The secret of life? Oh, that old thing.

Always with the rocky valleys. Doesn't anybody ever land in a nice cornfield?

We know that Harold is taking engineering classes, but I'm hard pressed to imagine Shadow's course of study...

Anyone here read Chinese?

And if this doesn't work, she's got other friends...

There's a reason nobody likes house shopping.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Worker...

There's a New World Coming...

 

[Fading Fast]

"...Somebody good with numbuhs. Somebody knows how t'keep books. An' somebody gonna keep 'n eye on Frank Leary."

"Shirley, you around?"

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

"What sort of work?" wonders Shirley. "I dunno," admits Joe.

"Solly, you around?"

She'd be so good at it. She'd drive Frank crazy.

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

Well, I mean, isn't this the plot of every opera?

And half the Fritzi Ritz strips.

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

There's a reason nobody likes house shopping.

My girlfriend and I will probably die in our current coop just so that we don't have to shop for another one in this life. Plus, the thought of moving makes me want to shoot myself.

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

There's a New World Coming...

It's never perfect IRL versus the movies, but for real life, that was a darn good story.

 

[Harp]

Tennessee v Gentry & McKivins looks interesting.

Harper Lee, author of To Kill A Mockingbird was a Chicago Cubs fan.

Charlie needs to see reason's fit and get his azz out of China.
Just reading betwixt lines but Miss Kansas City looks trouble for Terrence.

...Percy Faith's orchestra is playing Whenever We Kiss from Moulin Rouge.

 

[Farace]

Take a tip from one who knows -- never eat fish and chips from a stand at the fair...

Oh, dear, I was planning on a purchase from the fish & chips truck at the Highland Games this coming Saturday. (I will note that the Big Y grocery up the road has pretty decent f&c and they use haddock instead of cod, which I don’t care for.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Excuse me," interrupts an earnest young woman as she approaches the counter, the screen door skeening shut behind her. "Whadja do?" shrugs Bink Scanlan, not looking up from a paperback copy of "The New Way To Eat And Get Slim." "I'm here to see Mrs. Leary," the young woman continues. "Mr. Petrauskas sent me." "Joe sen'cha?" frowns Bink, glancing up from the book. "Whafawr?" "I'm going to be working here," comes the reply. "I'm Shirley Blick." "Oh," ohs Bink, her expression souring. "I hoid aboutchoo. I t'ought you was s'posta be oldeh." "Ah," ahs Shirley. "You must be Bink Scanlan." "Yeh," nods Bink. "Ain' like I got any cherce inna matteh. Heeh, t'row ya coat inna cawrneh t'eh, an' I'll see'f t' ol' lady's busy." As Bink steps to the back room, Shirley steps around the counter, folds her jacket into a neat bundle, and places it next to the Bromo-Seltzer dispenser. She glances at the grill, frowns with disapproval, picks up a spatula, and scrapes at a caking of grease in a corner. "T' ol' lady wants," announces Bink, returning to the scene, "t'at I otta show ya what t'do. Hey, whassat ya doin'?" "Scraping the grill," glares Shirley. "Oh," sniffs Bink. "T'en I guess I ain' gotta show ya t'at....")

("C'n ya imagine'at," marvels Sally. "Twelve yeeh'rol goil runnin' awff 'n checkin' in a hotel wit'eh mot'eh's shoes awn." "Awrfl," agrees Alice. "Y'know what *I* was doin' when *I* was twelve?" "Writin' 'bout Socko an' Vazetti awna choich wawll?" snickers Alice. "I was t'inkin' 'bout SERIOUS t'ings," glares Sally. "T'ings goin' awn inna woil'! Not runnin' awff in my mot'eh's shoes watchin' movies!" "You din' weah ya mot'eh's shoes t' t' Paramount," chortles Alice. "Awr anyt'ing else'a hers!" "Sometimes," grumbles Sally, "I wisht I'd neveh told you 'bout t'at....")

(Hey, thirty cents an hour is thirty cents an hour.)

(Hitting against the shift? It's a matter of principle!)

(Hmph. He's no John Garfield.)

(The Sanctity of Marriage...)

(Aren't there easier ways to rob this guy?)

(Hmph, the real 21 has those plug-in phones they bring right to your table.)

(Rethink your life....)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

Nothing here will end well.

There are no "former" Miss Rheingolds.

Heroes are made, not born.

"Certainly, my dear. Let's talk percentage."

Hey, you'd consider it too, if you were married to Wilmer Bobble.

Everybody needs a spot where they can have a little solitude.

You were expecting maybe Larry Adler?

Melon head? More of a summer squash.

"RISE AND WALK! Hm, didn't work. Oh well. Hey, got any meat?"

How many concussions can one man suffer?

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Worker...

WAIT. TILL. NEXT. YEAR.

 

[Fading Fast]

She glances at the grill, frowns with disapproval, picks up a spatula, and scrapes at a caking of grease in a corner.

I love people like this.

Separately, the women who died at the church on her wedding day is a very sad story. I do hope the Eagle follows up and lets us know what the autopsy reveals.

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

"Sometimes," grumbles Sally, "I wisht I'd neveh told you 'bout t'at...."

It's such a good story. I love that Alice never misses an opportunity to bring it up.

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

Nothing here will end well.

So was it really an accidental shooting? I'm thinking yes, but I hate myself for my gullibility.

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

Heroes are made, not born.

He is lucky he's not dead.

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

"RISE AND WALK! Hm, didn't work. Oh well. Hey, got any meat?"

"Well, our neighbor just dropped off a roast.

 

[Harp]

Second cup of coffee, still waking, and the De Fabrizo and Bressler stories deliver
two left jabs with a right cross to my confirmed Irish bachelor heart.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Lookit t' line!" gapes Willie, strolling homeward along 18th Avenue and pointing toward an accumulation of humanity assembling outside Moskowitz's Delicatessen. "I hate p'strawmi," sniffs Lottie Schreibstein. "It's awl fatty an' greazy, an' y'know what Sergean' Solly tol' me? He says if ya eat too much'v'it, awlat fat'll go right t' ya head an'nen y'll be a fathead!" "T'at's baloney," scoffs Willie. "No," smirks Lottie, "t'at's p'strawmi! An' anyways, yawr Irish. Irish people don' know nut'n 'bout p'strawmi. You on'y eat cawrn beef." "It'sa same t'ing!" retorts Willie. "'Cept wit'out awlat peppeh'r'n stuff awn it. Anyways, Irish people do too eat p'strawmi. My ma eats it awla time, Aun' Sally eats it awla time, an' *I* eat it awla time. So go sit awna tack!" "Lookit awlese bums awn line," glowers Lottie. "T'eh gonna wait awl night t'get p'strawmi. T'at's SO dumb!" "It ain't neit'eh!" growls Willie. "Yeh!" agrees a voice swaddled under a sleeping bag against the afternoon wind....)

("Hector!" commands Ma, as Heckie Capiello saunters in, tossing the canvas bag on the counter. "Get busy with ye, an' take down thaat screen door. Bloooody wind's gonna peeel th' hide roit aaaahff me." "T'at's a two man job," counters Heckie, casting a suspicious eye at Shirley, who is pouring syrup into the dispenser. "Hey," he ventures. "Whas'she doin' 'eeh?" "SHE," glares Ma, "is a new employee." "Ohh yeah?" smirks Heckie, running his tongue across his teeth. "Y'know, I hoid a lot about you. Rosa says ya pretty smawrt. Me? I don' see it." "Ah," ahs Shirley. "Rosa was telling me just the other day, she thinks you're tall for your age. Me? I don't see it...")

("I dunno," frowns Bink, looking over a sheaf of tablet paper covered in close, careful handwriting. "I don' get non'a t'ese jokes." "It's not about jokes," insists Rosa. "It's t' REACTION. Look, when I do some fancy trick f' t' television, y'know what makes people laugh t' most? T' look on Mayehoff's face. He takes it big, see? Op'ns his eyes real wide, his eyebrows go upta heeh..." "Howzat funny?" challenges Bink. "Look, less f'get about t'is stuff. I know some good jokes. Knock knock..." "Awr you SUEH," sighs Rosa, "you wanna go t'ru wit' t'is???")

(You don't appreciate what you've got till it's gone.)

("And while you are in Havana," purrs Mr. Rickey, "I shall trouble you to fill a small order for me." "What's this?" frowns Mr. Parrott, unfolding a sheet. "Cigars? You can get those anywhere." "Ah," nods Mr. Rickey. "But there is a small matter of the -- ah -- taxes..." "Render unto Caesar," quotes Mr. Parrott. "Indeed," acknowledges Mr. Rickey. "But you will note that the scripture says nothing of Mr. Dewey...")

(Do you think there's a sale at Robert Hall on those sport coats?)

(Yeah! Don't forget us notaries public!)

(A man who wants to be conned THIS desperately should be accomodated.)

(Everybody jump up and yell SURPRISE!)

(You know how it is when you've got so much to do, you just CAN'T leave town!)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

Professor Zimmerman can go burn in a hole.

YEAH WHAT HAPPENED WITH THAT KUROWSKI DEAL ANYWAY??????

"I meant, what should I do for DINNER? I skipped lunch today and I"m STARVING!"

Gloating ill becomes you, son.

"Once I found a lost civilization inside a volcano and they worshipped me as a god! You know, that sort of thing."

Hope that suit is pre-shrunk.

Poor Jessica.

Well, form a trio. They make three times the money.

On the other hand, what *could* be worse?

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Worker...

HIT AGAINST THE DAMN SHIFT!

 

[Fading Fast]

"Ah," ahs Shirley. "Rosa was telling me just the other day, she thinks you're tall for your age. Me? I don't see it..."'

I love her.

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

"Render unto Caesar," quotes Mr. Parrott. "Indeed," acknowledges Mr. Rickey. "But you will note that the scripture says nothing of Mr. Dewey..."

The scripture is helpfully accommodative to several interpretations.

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

A man who wants to be conned THIS desperately should be accomodated.

I agree. But honestly, I don't think any jeweler would be this stupid. That's a tough business to survive in; the true idiots get weeded out early, unless he's the son or grandson and then all bets are off.

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

Professor Zimmerman can go burn in a hole.

Today, if he had the same position, he wouldn't even see a difference between men and women. You wonder if he'd have selected another profession or would just adopt a new set of politics if we could ever test him against himself in two different eras.

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

Poor Jessica.

Agreed. But what in the heck inspired her to marry him? Make bad choices; have a bad life.