The Era -- Day By Day

[Harp]

My suspicion regarding the England jewel thefts coalesce American GI involve.
Cat burglary with some serious meow. Guys appear to have left discernible automotive
trace however and now New York detectives are brought in. Fencing all that ice Stateside
won't be easy. Barracks inspections up the yin yang with lotsa lettuce spread latrine rumors.

I need remark Mary Worth penciling excellent pneumatic protagonist depiction.

Terry drags flight.

 

[Farace]

It looks like we got a repeat of the previous day’s page one from the Eagle.

I’m amused by some of the titles of comic that we don’t get to see, that appear at the bottom of the strips that we do see, and I suspect I should be grateful that things titled “Dottie Dripple” and “Steve Roper and Wahoo” are being filtered out.

 

[LizzieMaine]

Here's the correct page one, this time posted without a cat sticking her toches in my face.

We get the cream of the Eagle's comic section, which, with the loss of the B u n g l e s and Dan Dunn in recent years, is not quite what it once was. Dotty Dripple is basically a dime store version of "Blondie," without the incisive social commentary. Roper & Wahoo is an interesting case -- when we started this project six years ago, it was "Big Chief Wahoo," a comedy strip about an Indian chief who becomes an oil millionaire, and falls in with a W. C. Fields-like conman called Mortimer J. Gusto. But then Allen Saunders -- who also writes Mary Worth -- decided it needed to be more serious, so he had a Pat Ryan-like magazine photographer named Steve Roper parachute onto the reservation, and gradually he began to Barney Google the Chief out of his own strip. Wahoo is the namesake for the grinning logo of the Cleveland Indians, although that caricature does not particularly resemble him, but there is no truth to the rumor that he eventually ended up as an acquaintance of Mrs. Langford.

I miss the B u n g l e s every day -- the only piece of original comic strip art I own is an H. J. Tuthill daily that hangs in my stairwell -- and I also often wonder if Sparky Watts ever escaped from that submarine.

 

[Fading Fast]

The story of the great-grandmother and four children goes from awful to unbearably brutal at the end. JFC.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("It is TOO!" glares Leonora. "Is not! Is not!" chirps Zippy the Parakeet. "Leonora, mine lameleh," interrupts Mr. Ginsburg. "'To argue with the leetle boid, it is not fair. You are muuuuch smarter than poor Zippy, and his feelings you will hoit." 'He stawrted it," grumbles Leonora, as Zippy turns to his cuttlebone. "HEY!" bellows a foghorn voice, followed by a strident pounding at the door. "YA GOTTA HELP! OP'N UP! EMOIGCENCY!" Mrs. Ginsburg races to the door and is nearly bowled over as Alice rushes into the parlor, swinging a cake box by its twine. "It's SAL!" she pants. "T'em cawps, t'ey got 'eh!" We wen'innteh Ebingeh's t' get a cake f' Siddy, he loves blackout cake, 'ney been closed an'ee ain' had one, an' when we come out t'at plaincloes t'at's been wawtchin'a place comes up 'n takes'eh away! We GOTTA DO SUMP'N!" "Taking a breath, please," urges Mr. Ginsburg. "Esther, bring a chair. Sit, please. Take a breath." "We gotta get'eh out'a't'eh!" gasps Alice, as Mrs. Gibsburg gently pries the cake box from her iron grip. "If t'em cawps tawk to 'eh..." "I will go across and call Yussel," declares Mr. Ginsburg. "He is at the store?" "Yeh, yeh," gulps Alice. "An'nat lawyeh, Misteh Hoishkewitz, cawll him." "I will talk foist to Yussel," outlines Mr. Ginsburg, "and then Hoishkewitz. You sit here please, until I come back. Ohhhhh, gehatke tsuris..." Alice slumps back in her chair as he bustles out, and Mrs. Ginsburg dabs her forehead with a dishtowel. "Hey," injects Leonora, nodding toward the box on the table. "Let's have some cake!")

("I got nut'n t' say," glares Sally, her arms defiantly folded across her chest. "I know my rights!" "Mm," acknowledges Sergeant Brosnan. "Say, Bill, you got any cigarettes? I'm just out." "Here y'go," replies Sergeant McManus, extending his pack. "How 'bout you, Mrs. Petrauskas?" queries Brosnan. "Cigarette?" "I don' smoke," growls Sally. "Mind if I do?" questions Brosnan, fishing for a match. "You can boin," sneers Sally. "I got nut'n t'say t'no cawps. An' y'got nut'n AWN me." "Like I said, ma'am," continues Brosnan, "we've just got a few questions about that business last winter with Patrolman Flannery and the Schreibstein boy, you remember that do you?" "I got nut'nta say," insists Sally. "Now," continues Brosnan, "it was your purse getting sn atched that started the whole thing, isn't that right?" "Look it up," snorts Sally. "And Flannery used that as a way to frame the Schreibstein boy as a way of forcing the boy's parents to pay protection money," adds Brosnan. "Isn't that what came out in court?" "Izzat so," shrugs Sally. "And the way I get it," states Brosnan, "you were the one who organized the whole plan to catch Flannery, you and Solly Pincus and Esther Ginsburg and Barbara Scanlan. Isn't that the way it went?" "It's awl t'eh in ya papehs," gestures Sally. "Speaking of papers," asides Brosnan, "I haven't seen a paper today. Mind if I take a look at yours?" "Eh," ehs Sally, shoving her folded newspapers across the table. "Eagle, huh?" nods Brosnan. "Pick that up in the subway on the way home from work?" "Eh," repeats Sally. "Huh," huhs Brosnan. "Daily Worker. Read that often, do you?" "Eh," maintains Sally. "I look at that once'na while," admits McManus. "Good sports page. But I liked it better when they had Pinky Rankin." A smirk flickers across Sally's face, but quickly disappears. "You're quite an organizer, Mrs. Petrauskas," nods Brosnan. "Isn't that what they said at Woolworth's, back in '37? Says here you -- ah -- Bill, what's this say here, carbon copy's kinda blurry." "That's - ah - parfait, I think. Parfait glass." "Hm?" hms Brosnan. "One of those tall ice cream glasses," explains McManus. "Woolworth lunch counter makes a nice parfait. You never had one?" "Never have," shrugs Brosnan, as Sally begins to breathe in short, sharp breaths. "Don't really care much for ice cream. Makes my teeth hurt." "Ah," nods McManus. "Anyway, Mrs. Petrauskas," resumes Brosnan, "says here during that riot in '37, you hit a patrolman in the head with a parfait glass." "I got nut'n to say," dismisses Sally, glaring at the detective with slit-eyed hate. "And you were arrested with several others," continues Brosnan, "and then -- all charges were dropped. Mind telling me how that happened?" "I got nut'n to say," defies Sally. "Mm," acknowledges Brosnan. "Mrs. Petrauskas," he continues, "did you ever meet a man called Thud Wilentz? Ever hear that name come up?" "I got nut'n t' say," responds Sally. "Did you ever hear Solly Pincus mention this man Wilentz?" "I got nut'n t' say," growls Sally. "Mm," mms Brosnan, as McManus takes careful notes. "Do you know," digresses Brosnan, "a police inspector named John McLuhan?" "I got nut'n t' say," repeats Sally. "Does Frank Leary know Inspector McLuhan?" Sally's eyes twitch behind her glasses. "I got nut'n t' say," she insists. "Mrs. Petrauskas," Brosnan queries, "how long have you known Alice Krause." "I got nut'n t' say," digs in Sally. "Did you know her," thrusts Brosnan, "before she went to prison?" Sally inhales sharply, and her fists clench, as McManus's pencil skims across his notebook....)

(Coming Events...)


(Hockey? Enjoy those gleaming teeth while you can...)

(What a role for Bette Davis.)

("You better be here for Christmas!")

(Um....)

(All right, so we rig a few fights....)

(Never mind this, did Kitty get down off the roof??)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

She's got nut'n to say either.

"Y' hoid what he said," admonishes Rosa. "T' jawr ain't s'posta bulge inna middle!" "Oh shut up," growls Bink, picking at a leaf of lettuce....

Good dog.

It would be interesting to know how many household pianos ever actually get played.

"Because if we didn't we wouldn't have a story!"

You know it's actually easy to spot termites if you know what to look for...

"CUT! Bring in the stunt dog!"

Harold, my boy, you really need to start taking better care of yourself. Looks like arteriosclerosis is setting in.

We never saw the body...

Um...

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

View attachment 820430
She's got nut'n to say either.

View attachment 820431
"Y' hoid what he said," admonishes Rosa. "T' jawr ain't s'posta bulge inna middle!" "Oh shut up," growls Bink, picking at a leaf of lettuce....

View attachment 820432
Good dog.

View attachment 820433
It would be interesting to know how many household pianos ever actually get played.

View attachment 820434
"Because if we didn't we wouldn't have a story!"

View attachment 820435
You know it's actually easy to spot termites if you know what to look for...

View attachment 820436
"CUT! Bring in the stunt dog!"

View attachment 820437
Harold, my boy, you really need to start taking better care of yourself. Looks like arteriosclerosis is setting in.

View attachment 820438
We never saw the body...

View attachment 820439
Um...

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Worker...

We know that Griffith down in Washington makes a very substantial chunk of his income renting his ballpark to the Homestead Grays, and we know that the Comiskeys in Chicago rent to several N egro League clubs, and we know that N egro League doubleheaders are a big feature at Yankee Stadium. How much was that in 1946, Larry? Hm?

 

[Fading Fast]

We GOTTA DO SUMP'N!"

The unspoken thought bubble over most people's heads: "Do we? Do we really have to? Wasn't this inevitable?" Then they all spring into action.

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

"Did you know her," thrusts Brosnan, "before she went to prison?" Sally inhales sharply, and her fists clench, as McManus's pencil skims across his notebook.

Well that cat just popped out of the bag.

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

She's got nut'n to say either.

Nor is it her first dance, either.

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

"Y' hoid what he said," admonishes Rosa. "T' jawr ain't s'posta bulge inna middle!" "Oh shut up," growls Bink, picking at a leaf of lettuce....

Perfect.

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

Good dog.

I was wondering where Trix was.

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

It would be interesting to know how many household pianos ever actually get played.

My neighbors play their's several times a week.

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

"CUT! Bring in the stunt dog!"

Oh God yeah. He's just a pampered Hollywood dog who plays a hero.

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

We never saw the body...

And if we've learned anything from our six years of comic strips, it's that no one is dead until fully verified – body found, no pulse, no breathing, and no twitching.