The Era -- Day By Day

[Harp]

The Bridget Waters trial is panning out golden truth. Justice listens attentive ear to
words spoken written testament when voiced from the grave.

Snake seems found. A penultimate chapter follows tomorrow.

 

[Farace]

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.

I don’t know if it was quite that old, but my college radio station got a teletype that was all black metal, on a metal stand, clattering away. Very heavy, it very well may have been left over from the ‘30s. At some point, someone named it “Betty.” Eventually it was replaced by a more modern beige plastic unit that just didn’t have Betty’s personality.

The station was rather small, and the only available space to put it was in the bathroom.

 

[LizzieMaine]

At another station I was at the teletype lived in the bathroom, which for several of the gentlemen on the staff gave a whole new meaning to "rip and read."

(Um, will the censorbot let that pass?)

 

[LizzieMaine]

("On the stairs sitting,Yussel?" questions Mr. Ginsburg as he steps into the foyer. "'S rainin'," sighs Joe. "T'at concrete stoop ain' too comf'table f' t'inkin' when it's wet." "Ah,' concedes Mr. Ginsburg, lighting his pipe and taking a seat on the step. "Perhaps then I will get comfortable too. You are not woiking today?" "Goin' in at 11," sighs Joe. "Bink's openin' up, an' I'll go in f' t' aftehnoon. I wish Ma'd get back, I'm awready tiehd." "I got a letter yesterday," confides Mr. Ginsburg. "From mine son. He is saying with the trials over he should be home again soon. Perhaps within the month even." "Be good t' see'im again," nods Joe. "Good ol' Milt." "Of course, he will need a place to live," sighs Mr. Ginsburg. "But with us he can stay until." "I wondeh," ponders Joe, "if 'e'll be -- y'know, diff'ent." "Older, he'll be," shrugs Mr. Ginsburg. "Wawr changes people," exhales Joe. "T"at's what'em cops was sayin' t' ot'eh day, y'know, whenney tawked t' me. 'Bout Solly, I mean. I tol' 'em Solly wasn' no killeh, anney said 'wawr changes people.'" Mr. Ginsburg takes a deep puff of Half and Half, considering this proposition. "Can a man," he propounds, "become something he does not inside truly wish to be?" "T'at's what I useta t'ink," acknowledges Joe. "I ain' so sueh now." ""War," maintains Mr. Ginsburg, "did not change you." "Yeh, it did," contends Joe. "No," insists Mr. Ginsburg, "nodt where it counts...")

("The wide open spaces," sighs Sergeant McManus, surveying the Staten Island landscape as the car pulls up to a squat clapboard structure with two gasoline pumps announcing its function. "Let's hope we get something out of this," exhales Sergeant Bronson as the car grinds to a stop. A grizzled fellow in blue striped overalls emerges from the building. "What'll it be, gents?" he greets. "Police officers," announces Brosnan, stepping out of the car as he flashes his badge. "Oh," stammers the proprietor. "Look, if it's about'em ration stamps..." "We'd like to talk to you," explains Brosnan, "about a report you filed last December." "Ohhhh," ohs the proprietor. "Took ya lawnganuff." "Yes sir," acknowledges Brosnan. "I wonder if you could remember anything more specific about the man that drove off without paying that night, or about his car. Anything at all." "Hmmm," hmms the station owner. "Well, y'know it was late, an'neese lights out'eeh ain' so bright. I remembeh was a Ford, an ol' Ford, maybe 1930, 31, like t'at. Black, maybe dawrk blue. New Yawrk plates, yeh. I was lookin' at' 'is taillight, y'see, as 'ee drove awff, so t'at plate was right in fron'na me. "Mm," replies Brosnan, as McManus takes notes. "You remember anything about the driver?" "Didn't get much of a look at 'im," shrugs the man. "I hoid'im t'ough, he tawked pretty loud." "Is there anything else," sighs Brosnan, "anything at all?" "Well -- hey!" declares the man. "I jus' remembehed sump'n. C'mon inside." The two detectives follow the proprietor into the station, where he scans a shelf of flat-rate manuals and selects a greasy volume. "I t'ink I mighta --" he mumbles, as he riffles the pages, "I t'ink I mighta wrote down 'is numbeh. T'is book was open awna desk, an' I -- yeh, t'ehr'it is, right'eh.' "Hmmm," hmms Brosnan. "Get this, Bill, in the margin. 6 L 6 8 dash 1 8." "I guess I din' give t'at inna repoeht I cawlled in," admits the garageman. "Guess I was so mad, slipped my min'." "Do you remember, sir," pursues Brosnan, "if it was a 1945 or a 1946 plate?" "Black wit' yelleh numbehs," returns the proprietor. "1945," confirms Brosnan. "Thank you, sir, this is very helpful." "Heh," hehs the man. "I take back awlem t'ings I said 'boutchoo cawps. Neveh t'ought you'd bot'eh wit' t'ree dollehs.' "There's a lot more at stake," replies Brosnan, "than that....")

(No no, it's Notre Dame SINKS Navy. I shouldn't have to tell you people this.)

(Little Beaver is the only sidekick in comics who isn't a net liability.)

(Out in Hollywood, A. Hitchcock has an inspiration...)

(We all have our color preferences, but most of us are not quite so FORCEFUL about it.)

(162?? As the saying goes, "only half the lies the Irish tell are true.")

(Get set for the reporters! "Hey, I'm busy!" -- Janie)

(I should think that Mr. Biffle's index cards would make for very interesting reading...)

(Counterpoint? Showoff.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

"The cops had to separate them."

"Sawrry, Bink," shrugs Angie Capiello. "It's fifty cents an oueh now. Inflation, y'know...'

Don't shake the microphone, kid -- you'll pop the ribbon.

It's a heartwarming miracle. Kindle the flames of Molech!

Rubinoff and his Violin are on the phone with their lawyer.

I dunno, could we maybe cram a few more people in that first panel?

"Snazzy snood?"

When it's too late to speak to the manager.

All right. We've got seven weeks left, so start talking.

You can't make a man be something he doesn't want to be inside...

 

[LizzieMaine]

And incidentally...

Start saving up.

 

[Fading Fast]

I doubt many felt it in 1946, I wouldn't have if I had been a Japanese citizen then, but losing the war and adopting this constitution was the best thing that ever happened to Japan. What the country would accomplish in the next several decades would be nothing short of amazing.

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

"There's a lot more at stake," replies Brosnan, "than that...."

These guys make me nervous. I want them to leave Solly alone.

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

162?? As the saying goes, "only half the lies the Irish tell are true."

I hope Nero enjoyed his kink as it proved quite expensive in Roman lives and treasure.

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

I should think that Mr. Biffle's index cards would make for very interesting reading...

As soon as Ma gets back, tell her I want the "under" on 20 pounds.

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

"The cops had to separate them."

I'll bet you to save him. "Heaven has no rage like..."

Also, you have to love that she was okay with him being a criminal, but two-timing her was unacceptable. Her moral meter had an interesting balance.