The Era -- Day By Day

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Worker...

Baseball is full of surprises.

 

[Fading Fast]

"Huh," huhs Sally. "T'at ain' like Uncle Frank t' give up t'at easy. Usually he c'n find ANYT'ING."

If he'd just do some honest work, he could make some real money. What's amazing is that all the pieces for an honest living – and a good one – are in place except his mindset or work ethic or some combination.

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

Hey Janie -- nice coat! You get that at Namm's?

"What's 'Namm's,' is that what you said? Although, this indirectly reminds me I have to get my fur, umm, sable – it's a sable, you know – out of storage for the season."

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

"Baltimore's Picture Newsaper."

In the context of 1946, you'd think these three would be held without bail...or just shot (kidding).

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

Page Four runneth over...

It's impossible to keep it all straight from day to day.

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

Don't start something you can't finish.

Isn't this how ABBA got started? It worked out for them, and one was a blonde and one a brunette.

 

[Harp]

The Homes child custody Habeas Corpus hearing, ''that you have the body,'' remands
court jurisdiction for custodial hearing.

Praeger's suit against Goodman dismissal was foregone conclude. However, judge should
leave Praeger actual complaint against spouse stand.

General Stilwell will die in San Francisco and ''Neptuned;'' or ashes given to the sea. He has a headstone at the West Point Cemetery, which is odd idiosyncracy however deceased sentiment..
The Combat Infantryman's Badge was intended enlisted men and officers beneath brigadier general, so a special order cut Stilwell's near posthumous presentation. Outstanding soldier.

Once had lunch with a Second World War veteran needing some free legal advice regarding
his unemployed destitute forty year old son; and remarked he had strolled past the atomic bomb on Tinian in 1945 as it waited plane loading.

Nasty tossing a flower pot at Jane constitutes tortious battery and criminal assault; though the former charge in the 1940s is deficient and would need further development through America's civil rights era. A lawyer could also credibly contest the latter as well, so a ****** flush.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Yeh," sighs Sally. "he's closed up out'eh till spring, an'ee's back at Ma's stoeh f' t' winteh. Maybe t' meat t'ing'll set'l down by nex' yeeh, who knows. Even if it does come back, it's gonna cawst a lot moeh, an' he dunno what 'e's gonna hafta chawrge." "What's he gonna sell till t'en?" questions Alice. "He got some fish," shrugs Sally. "I dunno what kin', even. Jus' fish. Cap'n Joe's Fishwich is gonna hafta keep it floatin'." "How'see gonna keep up t' payments awna stand?" Alice wonders. "T' Jacleen Enteh'prises," notes Sally, "Is very undehstandin' 'bout t'at." "Ahhh," acknowledges Alice. "He ain' givin' up, I'll tell ya t'at," Sally continues. "Know what he done las' night? He had a few cans a' beans, an'ee cooked 'em t'illey was awl mushy, an'ee made 'em inta patties, an' put some kinda sauce on 'em, an' cawlt it Big Joe's Beanwich." "Beanwich?" chuckles Alice, sniffing the room. "Izzat what I..." "Yeh," eyerolls Sally....)

("I dunno," frowns Bink. "I jus' ain' sueh'rabout'is. Zeno said..." "Zeno," snorts Rosa. "Ya gonna miss ya chance t' do sump'n t'at could make t' bot' of us some money 'cause some two-bit swami..." "Foeh bits," corrects Bink. "F' fifteen minutes." "Two bucks an houeh??" sputters Rosa. "Don' be stupid," sniffs Bink. "I can't affoehd t'at kin'a money." "Well, at leas'..." sputters Rosa. "B'sides," Bink continues, "I on'y been t' see 'im t'ree times. T' foet' time I get a coupon..." "Ah," ahs Rosa. "Yeh," smirks Bink. "Good f'ra free donut at Toomey's. I'm tellin' ya, Zeno's a real wizzehd." "He sueh is," exhales Rosa....)

(There are rules, and then there are Ted's rules...)

(Where's that jackleg surgeon that operated on Fred? Got another patient for ya!)

(Movie Bugs would have contrived it so the grocer broke his OWN window...)

(Ernie shows us how to have fun with Zip-A-Tone.)

(Woodhull's magazine thrived because Butch wasn't around to ban it from the newsstands...)

(A story about a guy stuck in an insane asylum. This really ought to sync up with the story now going on in the dailies.)

(Yeah, but if you remember your Page Four, you know Dunninger never saw that divorce trial coming...)

(I'm sure the family she abandoned back home wouldn't believe it either.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

Well, I mean -- the Bronx.

I always wondered about those catalog underwear guys.

A roomer? What a noble, selfless idea.

"Creative science?" Careful with that.

"See? Now light those sacrificial fires lest Molech smite thee!"

Harold's not aging well.

Well, at least you got a nice wrench out of this.

Ever have one of those days?

We never saw the body...

Mmm. Pseudotile.

 

[LizzieMaine]

ANd in the Worker...

By all means, Mr. Slaughter. Do take the day off.

 

[Fading Fast]

Maybe t' meat t'ing'll set'l down by nex' yeeh, who knows.

Doesn't it seem like we are always a day away from Truman's decision on the meat situation?

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

"Don' be stupid," sniffs Bink. "I can't affoehd t'at kin'a money."

Solly dodge a b*llet with this one.

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

Ernie shows us how to have fun with Zip-A-Tone.

Think what the commission must be considering how high he's willing to jump.

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

A story about a guy stuck in an insane asylum. This really ought to sync up with the story now going on in the dailies.

I've never gotten comfortable with the Sunday/dailies divide. The writers must hate it. Each one attacks it in his own way, but it's all a lot of story wheel spinning one way or another.

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

I'm sure the family she abandoned back home wouldn't believe it either.

"If that was your family, would you do anything differently?" — MW

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

Well, I mean -- the Bronx.

"I came from the Bronx and a certain background. I worked really hard. I kept my focus on the right things." — Jennifer Lopez.

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

Mmm. Pseudotile.

I noticed that too.

 

[Harp]

Not to be a cynic but the Daynes-Goodman banns portend divorce lying atop a dozen
year age difference with an English lass seemingly shy of American residence commitment.
A circuitous courtship is inherently suspect however well intentioned its formal engagement.
Dunno. This just doesn't look like solid straight line hustle true love to this confirmed Irish bachelor.

Snake's dead and gone. Name writ to the wind. War isn't romantic and Lazarus raised from
the dead tales lead down dark alleyway reminiscence tinged reluctance to let go.

 

[Farace]

(Ernie shows us how to have fun with Zip-A-Tone.)

Sometimes I miss the stuff, and tape rules, and press type. I learned paste-up work right before desktop publishing happened, and it took awhile to transition. Some of the more interesting paste-up was for Globe-Pequot Press, who occasionally had me create trail maps with all the above items, and anything that had to be printed at a shade of grey was on a separate acetate layer, one for each percentage to be screened With registration marks applied from a roll.

I still have an adhesive wax machine out in the garage. Damned thing cost me $500 in the ‘80s, just scrap metal now!

 

[LizzieMaine]

It all takes me back to the days when I edited the school paper and also helped set the type, by hand and by Linotype. Oh for the smell of ink....

 

[Farace]

It all takes me back to the days when I edited the school paper and also helped set the type, by hand and by Linotype. Oh for the smell of ink....

I was a compositor’s proofreader in the ‘80s, in the time in between linotype and desktop publishing. Most of our work was textbooks for major publishers. Our typesetters (most named Susan for some odd reason) typed into a large, early computer composition system with a hard drive the size of a small automobile tire that held an amazing 10 megabytes and looked like a distant relative of an bottle-type office water cooler. From there to the Linotron, which output galleys into a large plastic cassette which was brought into the darkroom for developing. Galleys after developing and drying were cut into convenient lengths for proofreading, marked up, the corrections entered, and the whole process happened again. Clean galleys were sent to paste-up, where they were pasted into pages (sometimes easier said than done due to rules of page layout), with running heads, folios, any footnotes, and illustrations added. Those mechanicals were then sent to the stat camera, about the size of a Buick, photographed, developed, and then sent to stripping, where they were laid out into usually 16- or 32-page layouts for the press. This part was trickier than it sounds—fold up a large piece of paper, number them sequentially, and then unfold it and see where the numbers fall and in what orientation. That stripped sheet was then used to create the printing plate which went downstairs, where I didn’t work. Down there were a couple of very large presses, at least one a Heidelberg, all the machinery for folding and sewing signatures, doing hard- and softcover binding, embossing cloth covers, etc. And the big guillotine for shearing the edges of paper square, so dangerous it required two hands and a foot to operate it to ensure there were no free extremities to wander under the extremely sharp blade. It’s amazing that almost none of this is done anymore. That company went out of business around 1988 due to pressure from desktop typesetting. I then worked at another similar company, which folded in 1990.

Being on the night shift (four ten-hour days) meant I had the opportunity not only to proofread, but to learn paste-up, operating the Linotron and developer, and the stat camera.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("He came in this afternoon," relates Shirley Blick. "He bought an Eagle, a pack of Chesterfields, and a pocket comb. And then he went in the back room and talked to Mrs. Leary for about five minutes, and he left." "Ah," ahs Rosa. "He comes in every day," continues Shirley. "I asked Joe who he was, and do you know who he is? He's the manager of Flynn's Cabaret." "Up t'eh past Empieh Boulevard?" questions Rosa. "T"at place?" "That's right," nods Shirley. "He lives on Fenimore Street, and he walks by here every day. He's trying to lose weight. He walks eight blocks to work, and he stops here for his paper. Every day." "Hmmm," hmms Rosa. "It ain't t' Copacabana, but it'd be a stawrt. You gonna go t' woik awn'im?" "All in good time," confirms Shirley. "He always comes out of the back room like he's in a hurry." Shirley pauses, selects a pocket comb from the display rack behind the cash register, and tosses it across the counter onto the floor. "Maybe sometime when he comes in, he might drop something." "I catch," chuckles Rosa. "Yawr good." "I learn quick," agrees Shirley. "I just need to do it on a day when he comes out of the back room smiling." "Um," ums Rosa, "y'know what goes awn inneh, don'cha?" "I couldn't say," denies Shirley, with a flick of her eyebrows. "I promised my mother I wouldn't know anything about it....")

("What's this Oi hear," scowls Ma, passing a plate of beans across the dinner table, "aboot you goin' t' soom faaaaartune tellar??" "Oi nivvar..." denies Uncle Frank, poking at his own plate. "Oi doon't mean you, ye plank," glares Ma. "Oi'm taaaalkin' t' Barbara." "He ain't no fawrchoon telleh!" insists Bink, sp anking the bottom of the ketchup bottle over the beans. "He's whatchacall a swami." "Wraps his head," chuckles Uncle Frank, "in a Taaaarkish towel." "No," snaps Bink. "Tat's 'em yogis. Zeno weahs one'a t'em kinda hats like Sidney Greenstreet, c'ept its got awlese jewels an' gems an' junk awn it. An'eez a VERY wise man." "Sppppppt," contributes young Frankie from the safety of his high chair. "At least SOOM'body in this fam''ly," mutters Ma, "has got soom sense...")

(A successful investor always knows what's in the wind...)

(All right, let's get this over with...)

("I see somebody who couldn't even aim a Flit g un.")

("I miss my grandma." -- Dennie. "Unca Bill set fire to the house again!" -- Sunny.)

("Now if you'll excuse me, I'm late for the Connie Mack Look Alike Contest...")

(All right. Moving on...)

(Where The Action Is...)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

"Death Bride." If that's not a bad film noir from Monogram Pictures, it ought to be.

**** Young would fit right in as a Boston writer.

ATTACK

Well, at least he's clean.

We've become a nation of spectators, not a nation of participants.

If it wasn't for laundry marks, imagine the crimes that would go unsolved.

If you want to be good at something, it helps to be absolutely single minded about it.

A face-first dive is easier to control.

"I'd have to ask the AMA."

"Follow-up care? Ohhh, that's not important. Annie can take out your stitches with embroidery scissors."

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Worker...

It all comes down to the final day....

 

[Fading Fast]

"Sppppppt," contributes young Frankie from the safety of his high chair. "At least SOOM'body in this fam''ly," mutters Ma, "has got soom sense..."

She's not wrong. It's a shame Mickey didn't knock-up Shirley; she and Ma would get along fine.

And just noting, looks like another day when the decision on meat will be coming from Truman tomorrow.

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

"I miss my grandma." -- Dennie. "Unca Bill set fire to the house again!" -- Sunny.

"Oh for God's sake, figure it out on your own." — MW

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

"Death Bride." If that's not a bad film noir from Monogram Pictures, it ought to be.

That was an aggressive tag for a 1946 newspaper. I wonder if the editor was out.

I think Monogram should cast Mary Beth Hughes in the lead if they can't get P*ggy C*mmins.

(Hughes left, C*mmins right)

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

ATTACK

Terry: "You could sleep, umm, stay, I mean stay with me till you find a room."

 

[Harp]

''A fiery dark haired princess,'' beats out coffee as wake up rouse.
I spent two years in Greece and Romi gypsy tribes prowled Thessaloniki streets,
a balkanized sect apart Hellenic society and uniquely distinct.
If haven't seen, King of The Gypsies with Eric Roberts, Susan Sarandon, and Sterling Hayden
admirably catches the cultural ethic set New York. An essential classic jewel of a film.

Terry can adjust and adapt terrain to accommodate Jane, chaste or carnal venue lady's choice.

 

[LizzieMaine]

Meanwhile, if there is anything that could get me down to 2026 Brooklyn for a fast visit, it might be this. I wish I'd seen this a week ago...

https://playbill.com/article/a-morn...ler-will-play-brooklyns-mark-odonnell-theater

Yes, that's OUR Ernie Bushmiller, creator of Fritzi Ritz and Nancy, and a man with one of comics' truly singular visions...

 

[Fading Fast]

As an aside, whatever you think of AI, it can certainly do a much better job of screening for inappropriate words than our current sledgehammer software version does. I know it's the provider's package, but is anyone anywhere trying to make it better? I don't code, but someone who does could probably bang out a better version in under a day.

This is a screenshot of the actress' name in my post this morning:

I had to do this: P*ggy C*mmins just so that it wasn't completely blocked out. My God, we should be able to do better than that.

 

[LizzieMaine]

Our prissy little censorbot wouldn't have lasted a nanosecond in 1946.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("C'mon, Joe," sighs Sally, leaning into the kitchen. "It's awrmos' midnight. Come t' bed." "I 'spose," exhales Joe, pushing aside a Big Chief tablet covered with scrawled calculations. "I can't lookit t'is anymoeh anyways. My eyes 'bout t' fawl out'a my head an' roll 'crosta flooeh." "Well," shrugs Sally. "C'monta bed an' close'm. T'at'll keep 'em in." Joe picks up the tablet and flips it closed, but the stolid visage of the Chief on the cover offers him no solace. "I dunno how I'm gonna manage, Sal," he confesses. "Twenny-nine centsa poun', an'nat's cash'n carry." "I tol' ya when y'stawrted up," reminds Sally, "y'gotta go f' volume. If ya gotta raise t' price a lit'l, well, maybe y' do, but if ya sell a lot'v'm -- I mean, a LOT'v'm -- ya still gonna make money. Ya gotta get moeh places sellin'a t'ings!" "I got Ma's place," shrugs Joe, "an' Schreibstein's, an', well, nex' spring I'll have t' stand again.."" "T'at ain' enough," warns Sally. "R'membeh when ya sold Morrie an' Lil on sellin' ya san'wiches? Ya gotta do MOEH'ra t'at kind'a t'ing. Take a week an' go awlaroun' awla diff'rent neighbehhoods, an' fin' some nice clean places t'at do a good business. Get'm innehrested in Big Joe's. It's no risk t' you. T'ey use ya name an' ya recipe an' pay a p'centage, an' ev'rybody's happy. Go inta lunchrooms. San'wich jernts. Bea neries. Dinehs. Can'y stoehs. An' not'em kinda places t'at's fulla bookies an' numbehs runnehs, an' cheap chiselehs an' p'lice charactehs! Good CLEAN places run by hones' people like Morrie an' Lil. People like Ma!" "Ah," ahs Joe. "Yeh," nods Sally....)

("I tawked to 'eh," growls Rosa, "an' she d'cided t' stawrs ain' right." "What???" gapes Shirley. "Astrollehgy," dismisses Rosa. "I hoid'a t'at," frowns Sammy. "It's like when ya Tawrus t' bull a' sump'n." "Bull is right," grumbles Rosa. "Itzat Zeno characteh, t'at big phony wit' t' whiskehs. He's got 'eh hooked an'eez gonna play 'eh f'r'awl she's woit'. Which ain' much, but still." "I don't like this at all," glares Shirley. "Bink's a dope, but she's also got a baby to feed. She can't go throwing money around on foolishness." "T'em astrollegy magazines on'y cawst a dime," headshakes Sammy. "An' she neveh paid f'ra magazine in'eh life," adds Rosa. "We've got to do something," declares Shirley. "Ain'choo got enough t'do as it is?" protests Rosa. "Wit' t'at Flynn's Cabaret guy?" "No point in booking an act," Shirley observes. "if there's no act to book." "Ah," agrees Sammy. Shirley gives her boyfriend a close examination. "Sammy," she begins. "You worry too much." "I do?" questions Sammy. "Yes," nods Shirley, "you do. You can't sleep." "Well..." flushes Sammy. "And you're SO worried," Shirley continues, "you need the help that only a man in communion with unseen forces can provide. "I do?" gasps Sammy. "Ya do," grins Rosa, catching on...)

("And if I live to be a hundred and fifteen years old, I don't ever want to eat another avocado.")

(Well, Tommy, that's certainly a nice load of fuel for the Hot Stove. Didn't we see that "Snyder" kid at spring training a couple years back?)

(Brave words from a man who clearly has no idea how to hold a g u n.)

("No thanks, my mother taught me never to accept rides from 80-year-old corporals.")

("A strange and capable person." You never want to get an annual review like that.)

("It's friendship, friendship, just a perfect blend-ship!")