The Era -- Day By Day

[Farace]

Comic strips are hard

Not helped by sometimes fuzzy scans, and especially not helped when Sunday color comics are scanned in B&W. Then again, newsprint was not especially high-res to start with.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("I believe," gleams Ignatius J. Quinlan, "that you will find this new signage fully to your liking." "Lemme see," sighs Joe, examining the boards as Inky passes them across the counter. "As you requested," purrs Inky, "I have arranged the display so that the pricing numerals might be easily interchanged as the exigencies of the present situation might require. And I include at only a small additional charge for time and materials a complete set of numerals in a bold sans-serif face that will command immediate attention. You note the skill in the execution of the brushwork. My twos have drawn particular commendation from knowledgeable clients." "Izzat how ya spell 'chicken,'" glowers Joe. "Wit' two 'n's'?" "Ahhh," gulps Inky, with a nervous smoothing of his moustache. "I spell it thus, a la Francaise, to provide a touch of the Continental je ne sai quoi." "Yeh," eyerolls Joe. "Hey, what's wit't'at pitcheh?" "Ah," repeats Inky. "I must confess to having -- ah -- misplaced the photograph of John Garfield that I used as a reference for past drawings, and I was forced to -- ah -- avail myself of an alternative -- ah -- image." "Why ya got me lookin' like I'm 'bout t' kiss somebody?" gripes Joe. "The -- ah -- only photograph that presented itself for immediate use," rattles Inky, "was an advertisement for Mr. Garfield's current cinema production in which he -- ah -- is seen in an intimate pose with -- ah -- Geraldine Fitzgerald..." "Whateveh," sighs Joe. "I shall put it on your account," glistens Inky. "And should you require..." The sales pitch is interrupted, however, by the arrival of two men in shapeless gray suits. "Ah," inhales Inky., hustling to the door. "Good day to you then." "Mr. Petrauskas," announces Sergeant Brosnan, displaying his shield. "Police officers, like to ask you a few questions." "YAWR," growls Joe, "t' two charactehs t'at got my wife bent outa shape. She ain' stopped tawkin' f' two days 'causea yez." "Yes sir," acknowledges Brosnan. "Like to ask you a few questions downtown." "I can't go," insists Joe. "I got a baby upstaiehs I can't leave alone." "Didn't realize you had a baby," notes Brosnan. "Your wife didn't mention..." "Ain't hers," declares Joe, as the detectives exchange a look. "I mean, ain't mine. B'longs t' Bink Scanlan. You otta know t'at, you was in'eeh tawkin' to 'eh. Anyways, she ain' home, she's oveh'r'inna City t'day. She got a job oveh t'eh dressin' up like a jawr'a instant cawfee." "I didn't quite get that, Mr. Petrauskas," puzzles Brosnan. "F' television," continues Joe. "You know, television. She dresses up like a jawr'a instant cawfee an'nen t'is ot'eh goil, Rosa, dresses up like a can'a plain cawfee an' goes around'eh awn rolleh skates." "On television," injects McManus. "Yeh," nods Joe. Brosnan leans closer and sniffs. "You a drinking man, Mr. Petrauskas...?")

("I am quite certain," jitters Inky, leaning into the telephone in the back office of Mozelewski's of Brooklyn. "Two police detectives are questioning Mr. Petrauskas even as we speak. No, I felt it prudent under the circumstances to withdraw at once, and therefore I do not know the reason for their visit. No, I cannot share this information with Mr. Leary. Mr. Leary for whatever reasons of his own does not inform me of his movements, and therefore I do not know where --- well, you needn't answer in that manner, I merely thought you should -- No, I do not know if they plan to ARREST -- Now see here, Sergeant, I believe that I speak for Mr. Leary when I suggest that you DO find out. Good afternoon!" Inky slams the receiver into its hook, and pauses to collect his sang-froid. As he preens, he does not notice that his conversation has been overheard. "He fin'lly done it," whispers Miss Kaplan. "Joe fin'lly kilt 'eh...")

("And I DON'T want one of those Jane Arden sheared rabbits!")

(Yeah, but can they skate like that dressed up as a can of coffee?)

(Those dimes add up, don't they Mr. Rickey?)

(That's one way to deal with an irrational plot twist. POP!)

(Sure, take away Mary's purpose in life.)

(We're getting a lot of "ums" out of this story.)

(Hey, it never stopped Billy Conn.)

(Better negotiate first!)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

Ew.

You've got three minutes, so get busy.

When Crispy grows up he wants to be Leslie Howard.

Wait'll they meet the REAL monkey!

And that's when you realize you'll never be a kid again.

Careful what you wish for...

It's lonely at the top...

Como? Not a chance. Haymes, maybe.

Junior, meet your new sister.

These store-bought costumes are ruining Halloween.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Worker...

If they're going to question every owner and publish the results, I can't wait to see what Yawkey has to say.

 

[Fading Fast]

"You a drinking man, Mr. Petrauskas...?"

Perfect.

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

"And I DON'T want one of those Jane Arden sheared rabbits!"

"I'd like to get my sable out of storage; where do I present my ticket?" — Jane Arden in the fireproof cold-storage warehouse, just this week.

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

Hey, it never stopped Billy Conn.

It's nice to see Fay Emerson getting some extra work.

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

When Crispy grows up he wants to be Leslie Howard.

We all have dreams.

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

And that's when you realize you'll never be a kid again.

And then there's the horrible moment when you realize you're your parents' age when you were young.

And then there's the even more horrible moment when you realize you're your grandparents' age when you were young.

And then there's the even more than that horrible moment when you realize you are past the age most of those people lived to.

 

[Fading Fast]

Just saw this:

If they're going to question every owner and publish the results, I can't wait to see what Yawkey has to say.

Yes, that would be quite interesting to read.

 

[Harp]

Odds are that Milt has a proverbial ace up his sleeve, or a joker.

Yesterday's Juvenile incurred two scratches and the bettors were few; also, American History
slipped past Salahudin, spoiling superfecta. A buck bet the four only returned about $27,
considerably below the nearly two grand what a mere dime did earlier intact races.

Today's Classic, last run twelfth card, is the world series game with a $7,000,000 price tag.
Magnitude scratched. However, #5 Forever Young-arguably world's best three-year old
dirt runner pairs with #2 Sovereignty against #7 Knightsbridge. Napoleon Solo is eighth.
Golden Tempo and The Puma are third and fourth. Wager 5,2,7,8 for Four and Fiver last ''ALL''.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("I dunno whatt'em cawps said t' Joe," grumbles Sally, "but'ee din' take it well. I woke up at two AM, an' y'know wheh'ree was? Out awna fieh 'scape again, chewin' t'bacceh!" "He ain' done'at in a while," observes Alice. "No," argrees Sally. "He ain't. Awl summeh lawng, wit'awla woik he was doin' at t' drive-in, he neveh got like t'at even once. But what'eveh t'em cawps said put 'im right out'eh again." "You ask 'im about it?" questions Alice. "Coehse I did," sighs Sally. "But you know what'ees like when'ee gets in one'a t'ese moods. Go tawk t' t' wawlpapeh. You know, 'e ain' been t'see Docteh Levine since las' spring. I ast 'im why an'ee jus' shrugs. I don' press 'im, but what'eveh's goin' awn now's gotta have sump'n t'do wit' Solly Pincus." "He ain' tawkin' neit'eh," nods Alice. "In fack, I ain' seen'im since'at meetin'." "We gotta get t't' bot'm'a t'is," insists Sally. "Solly neveh kilt nobody. He's no killeh." "Nah," agrees Alice. "Once y'meet a real killeh...." "Whatta YOU know about killehs?" scoffs Sally. "Oh, I f'gawt. You was in 'prison.' You'n Bawrbra Stanwyck." "Um," ums Alice. "Hahahah. Prison. Ha....")

("Weh's Joe??" demands Miss Kaplan, careening into Lieb's Luncheonette. "I gotta tawk t' Joe!" "He's at the Fort Greene Meat Market," shrugs Shirley Blick. "Nooooooooo!" gasps Miss Kaplan, her eyes plattering. "Oh JOE!!! Ya on'y gonna make it WOISE!" "What?" whats Shirley. "Lissen," commands Miss Kaplan. "Y'gotta stawp 'im! Tell 'im I got a cousin in Red Hook t'at'll dump 'eh offa dock an' no questions ast! Ya gotta stawp 'im!" "What?" repeats Shirley. "I gotta go!" yelps Miss Kaplan. "If on'y I ain' too late!!!" She races out the door in the general direction of Midwood Street, as Bink enters from the back stairway. "What'd SHE wawnt," Bink frowns. "I have no idea," admits Shirley....)

("You're asking a lot, madam...")

("Hey Sal," injects Alice. "Lookit -- t' Silveh Mask Teneh! I dowanna miss t'at! Huh, no Vallee." "Ahhhh," sighs Sally,"shaddup...")

(Mr. Burr is referring to an October 30th column in the Hearst papers by Westbrook Pegler, in which he takes a break from making fun of Mrs. Roosevelt's appearance to excavate a bit of the muck in which Mr. Durocher's ankles are frequently implanted, criticizing his association with George Raft and various gangland hangers-on. And the hot stove gets even hotter.....)

(Just another day...)

("Van Cleve Manorborn?" His friends call him "Spike.")

(I'm running out of "ums" here.)

(I don't think you're getting the full story.)

(Hence the expression "a dog's life.")

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

"I'm sure Sidney will come through wth the promise..."

Tick tick tick tick tick tick tick....

"Jeeps? Where are they getting Jeeps! I've had my name on a list for a year!"

That's easy for you to say.

THE MONKEY'S REVENGE! Oh, and the chimp's here too.

We haven't seen Bull Moose in a while....

Pro tip, kids -- when you hit the bricks, wear sensible shoes.

If you ever wondered why so many houses got turned into duplexes...

"Oh, you know, looted graves and all that sort of thing..."

No matter what, you're not getting into that guy's car.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Worker...

If there's one thing we've learned over the years it's that the image of Joe Louis as some simple-minded pug is very much mistaken.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And meanwhile, here's the recent Pegler column that's got everybody so steamed up...

Mr. Pegler is not quite accurate in his baseball history. Teams kept offering contracts to such towers of corruption as Hal Chase long after the stink was obvious, because they drew crowds. Charles Comiskey knew his team tanked the Series in 1919 before that Series was even over, and he knew exactly who was involved. Yet all but one of those men was in uniform for the White Sox in 1920, and the one who wasn't was offered a contract just the same...

 

[Fading Fast]

"Whatta YOU know about killehs?" scoffs Sally. "Oh, I f'gawt. You was in 'prison.' You'n Bawrbra Stanwyck." "Um," ums Alice. "Hahahah. Prison. Ha....")

Alice is probably just out of the frame.

Separately, the embezzler who sounds like a bit of a nut job reminds me of Inky.

Also, Sally Rand was arrested for "waving her fans too freely." That is what she does: both actually and metaphorically.

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

Tell 'im I got a cousin in Red Hook t'at'll dump 'eh offa dock an' no questions ast!

Perfect.

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

"Hey Sal," injects Alice. "Lookit -- t' Silveh Mask Teneh! I dowanna miss t'at! Huh, no Vallee." "Ahhhh," sighs Sally,"shaddup..."

Growing up in NJ in the 1970s, 660am was still an NBC station that played pop/rock, but was second fiddle to 770 ABC.

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

Um, Jane, this is not the time for that. Oh, you mean to escape. Oh, okay, never mind, carry on.

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

Tick tick tick tick tick tick tick....

The math around Dressen doesn't add up, but whatever.

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

Mr. Pegler is not quite accurate in his baseball history. Teams kept offering contracts to such towers of corruption as Hal Chase long after the stink was obvious, because they drew crowds. Charles Comiskey knew his team tanked the Series in 1919 before that Series was even over, and he knew exactly who was involved. Yet all but one of those men was in uniform for the White Sox in 1920, and the one who wasn't was offered a contract just the same...

The Sherry-Netherlands is an insanely expensive co-op apartment house today: The maintenance fees alone are larger than most people's mortgage payments.

 

[Harp]

The Court rule clarifying a war leasehold finis reminded me of a Chicago ****alow
I once considered purchase. It had been Second World War converted to a three flat,
then reestablished back single mingle residence. Its owner had died intestate-without
a legal will-and a survivor relative had a handwritten deed death transfer, never notarized
in Illinois, but FBI found tucked into a Miami bank box-upon arrest for drug dealing.
And, because this document was bank box kept, the Bureau attested probative validity,
negating simple quit claim deed transfer. After an exciting, action-packed, fun filled day
spent unraveling a Gordian Knotted mess, I skipped away and left Miami Vice.

Lovely Virginia Smiley appears resplendent in her bridal dress. Hope the thief was caught.

Crispin's client should have placed said treasures in American vault hold within air tight
hermetic seal bank trust. Doesn't seem kosher even for 'Nam. But at least there is some
Estate & Trust action.

Barbara Stanwyck had a certain presence.

I ****** flush yesterday's Breeders' Cup Classic, nada, zip, zero. Sovereignty bested the bunch
and Forever Young had a bad trip, while the speed crashed Napoleon Solo. The Puma placed,
surprising moi and ****** my several covering-my-azz Sovereignty Super Fins.
The Breeders' conclude official stakes racing season although tracks will run year end.
I habitually step aside the last eight weeks until the January Pegasus World Cup, which since
its start a decade ago has proved quite profitable. But this year's past performance handicapping with intuitive rhyme reasoning, callused my brain and kicked my azz.
104EZ type of year.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("I dunno, Pete," sighs Sergeant McManus. "Seems like every alley we go down on this thing is a blind one. We got nothing on Pincus, nothing to hold him on, and as long as he stays out of Jersey..." "Well, anyway," nods Sergeant Brosnan, holding up a folder,"there might be something here. There isn't a whole of crime, relatively speaking, the night after Christmas. So I had R&I go over all the logs from that night for precincts along all the routes to and from Jersey, all the precincts around train and bus stations, near bridges, anywhere where a man heading out there or coming back might get into a little trouble along the way." "It's a pretty long s hot," exhales McManus." "Yeah," agrees Sergeant Brosnan. "But if you don't take even the long s hots..." He riffles thru the report, shaking his head. "Not much," he mutters. "Fights in bars, stickups, the usual -- hey." "Something?" questions McManus. "Maybe," muses Brosnan. "Get this. Ten thirty-seven PM, call received at the 123rd Precinct on Staten Island, complainant runs an all night gas station at the foot of the Outerbridge Crossing. Said a man in an old Ford sedan bought three dollars worth of gas, then asked him to check the taillight. And when he went around to do that, guy drove off without paying." '"Poor guy," chuckles McManus. "Running an all-night gas station on Staten Island." "Yeah," nods Brosnan. "You know Staten Island at all?" "Nah," dismisses McManus. "I been lucky." "My in-laws live out there," continues Brosnan. "Out in Tottenville. You know where that bridge goes?" McManus shakes his head. "Straight across Raritan Bay," replies Brosnan, "and on into Perth Amboy. You throw a rock in Perth Amboy, you know where it ends up? Right in the Raritan River." "Ah," exhales McManus, the light dawning. "Whattya think, Bill?" suggests Brosnan. "How about tomorrow, we take a little Sunday ferry ride....")

("You was sueh right 'bout t'at jawb," declares Bink Scanlan. "T'eh gonna sign me t'wa contrack. T'ey t'ink I give t'at jawr'a instant cawfee a real poissonality. I give it a lit'le shake'a t' hips like t'is heeh!" "BE SEATED!" rumbles Zeno the Wizard. "ZENO SEES ALL." "Y'gotta television?" gapes Bink. "ZENO SEES A GREAT CHALLENGE IN YOUR FUTURE, A GREAT STRUGGLE..." "Prob'ly t'at Rosa," sniffs Bink. "She t'inks she's t' stawr a' t' act, but..." "BEWARE!" thunders Zeno. "BEWARE THE TREACHERY OF THE MAN OF LEAD AND WATER!" "Huh?" huhs Bink, as the seer flares his eyes thru the incense smoke. "BEWARE THE TREACHERY OF THE PLUMBER!" "Who?" gapes Bink. "BEWARE," roars Zeno, his beard bristling. "BEWARE THE TREACHERY OF FRANCIS XAVIER LEARY!" "Nahhh," laughs Bink. "Fatty's awright." "BEEEEEEEEEWAAAAAAAAAAAARE!" bellows Zeno....)

(But who wants to wait till 1950?)

(If we ignore all this stuff about Durocher, Rickey, and Dressen, maybe it'll just go away...)

(Yeahhhhh, who makes up these legends?)

(A piano tuner? Well, that's something new.)

(UM)

("Just call me Camille...")

(Sorry, they broke that code last week. You didn't get the memo?)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News....

"I ain' buyin'at," declares Joe. "Why's it toinin'at coleh?" "Aged beef," wheedles the meat man. "Too old f'me..." headshakes Joe...

You can't count on anything anymore.

It could be worse. Tracy could show up with a jar full of bees.

"And when he starts dictating, that's when I draw the line."

Why does Andy turn into Uncle Bim in panel two? Gus taking the weekend off?

Yeah, but where are YOU gonna live?

Maybe you can pro-rate that lamp off the settlement.

"Coo Swoos?" KIDS TODAY!

Time for the monkey to rip their faces off. And maybe the chimp will help.

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

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Worker...

"Hey, a guy's gotta work!" -- P. Muni

 

[Fading Fast]

"How about tomorrow, we take a little Sunday ferry ride...."

These guys are real cops.

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

If we ignore all this stuff about Durocher, Rickey, and Dressen, maybe it'll just go away...

No kidding; it does seem like the "strategy." But Annie in your quote at the bottom of all your posts addresses the value of that strategy.

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

Yeahhhhh, who makes up these legends?

I'm thinking Zeno the Wizard in his spare time.

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

"I ain' buyin'at," declares Joe. "Why's it toinin'at coleh?" "Aged beef," wheedles the meat man. "Too old f'me..." headshakes Joe...

It's been fascinating to watch market prices start to find themselves after years of price controls. So far, it doesn't tell the story most academics want, but it should be studied and taught in schools.

Separately, "Pay the bonus if you ever want to try to have more kids with me and pay it today." — Susan Hayward

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

You can't count on anything anymore.

One more radio memory of growing up in NJ, but in the NY radio market: 880 was still CBS in he 1970s and it had an excellent all-news format with a wonderful background sound of something like a teletype machine (sounded very newsroom busy anyway). It's the station you went to, to learn what was going on in the world.

 

[LizzieMaine]

I listened to WCBS all the time, and genuinely grieved when the present administration of the network killed it. Somewhere I have cassettes of seven hours of WCBS coverage of the 1977 blackout, which should have won some kind of award.

 

[Fading Fast]

I listened to WCBS all the time, and genuinely grieved when the present administration of the network killed it. Somewhere I have cassettes of seven hours of WCBS coverage of the 1977 blackout, which should have won some kind of award.

So I take it you know the "teletype newsroom sound" I'm talking about?

 

[LizzieMaine]

It's burned into my memory along with the dah-dah-dah-DAAAAAAH sounder they used to introduced segments, and the singing commercial for "reeeelax and take a break with the New York Daaaaaily News!"

I worked with one of those actual 1930s-era teletype machines at my first radio job, and changing the ribbon was not a task for the fainthearted.