The Era -- Day By Day

[Harp]

^ Mr Purdy hasn't any plausible court trial defense; so, his counsel should approach
the District Attorney Office and offer a reasonable cop to factual occurrence in exchange
for a life sentence. Prosecution might wave away any such move for terms, but would
likely accept this offer. The client's life weighed in balance scale mitigates any illusionary hope
for trial judge or jury acquital.

 

[Fading Fast]

^ Mr Purdy hasn't any plausible court trial defense; so, his counsel should approach
the District Attorney Office and offer a reasonable cop to factual occurrence in exchange
for a life sentence. Prosecution might wave away any such move for terms, but would
likely accept this offer. The client's life weighed in balance scale mitigates any illusionary hope
for trial judge or jury acquital.

Thank you.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Heh," snickers Alice. "Izzy t' Eel. Wheht't'ey gettat stuff? Izzy t' Eel!" Sally doesn't respond, gazing morosely out the window at the flickering landscape. "Sal..." ventures Alice. "Wait'll nex' election," growls Sally. "Wait'll 1948....")

("What's keeping Rudy with the camera?" mutters Sergeant Brosnan. "Be nice if there was something in there besides dirty laundry," observes Sergeant McManus, nodding toward the mysterious battered grip on the table, just as a lanky man enters, carrying a Speed Graphic. "Awright you guys," huffs Rudy, inserting a bulb in his flash. "Let's get t'is oveh wit'. I wanna get home." "All right, Bill," gestures Brosnan. "Get it open." McManus fiddles with a large ring of assorted keys, selects a likely prospect, and inserts it in the lock. "Nope," he shrugs, choosing another key. With a dry click, the lock releases, and as Rudy aims the camera, McManus reaches into the bag and withdraws a voluminous pair of gray tweed pants. "At least we know he's a big boy," chuckles McManus, holding up the pants as Rudy's camera flashes. The photographer replaces his bulb, and McManus examines the pants. "Hold on, Pete," he announces. "There's something in this pocket." He reaches in, and withdraws a small rectangle of creased cardboard. "Flap from a box of cartridges," he announces, holding the scrap up as the camera flashes. "Let's have a look," requests Brosnan. ".45 ACP. Hm." "That's it, Pete," continues McManus. "Nothing else in the pants." Rudy inserts a fresh flashbulb as McManus pulls out the next item, an odd long rectangle of dirty blue satin, ornamented in glass beads. "What d'you suppose this is?" questions the detective, as the camera flashes. "Hm," hms Brosnan. In quick succession, McManus withdraws a wadded, frayed shirt, a pair of lumpy brown shoes, and a ragged book with no cover. "Let's see that," requests Brosnan, as the camera flashes. McManus hands over the book. "Annemann's Practical Mental Effects," reads Brosnan, scanning the tattered title page. "Hmmm," he repeats. "One more thing in here," announces McManus, producing a manila envelope. He opens it as the camera flashes, and withdraws a single folded sheet. "Pete," he requests, his eyes widening just slightly. "Better have a look at this." Brosnan accepts the paper and gives it a careful scan. "United States Board Of Parole," he reads. "Certificate Of Conditional Release, made out to an Alphonse S. Zenofsky. Atlanta Federal Penetentiary..." "Hm?" nods McManus. "Hm," replies Brosnan....)

(Ripped From The Headlines...)

(Tick tick tick tick tick tick tick....)

(I think we'd all appreciate an explanation.)

("And he needn't worry, his head is far too bulbous for my taste.")

(Well, not for much longer...)

(I'm really surprised Von Stroheim took this part without at least insisting on better dialogue.)

("Oh yeah? See any rats in this cellar?? I mean, besides YOU.")

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

Ew.

I'm sure they'll all get along just fine.

And that's how Fred Furrow became Batman...

That shouldn't be too hard to spot...

"Keep it up, buster, and you will be..."

On the other hand, it does a nice job of exfoliation.

"And be sure the payments are in no later than the first of each month."

If you disband a band, can you reband it later?

A charismatic guy like you, Crispy? Who'd wanna do you in?

Customer service is filled with moments like this.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Worker...

Keep on the sunny side...

 

[Fading Fast]

"Wait'll nex' election," growls Sally. "Wait'll 1948...."

Sally won't have much to be happy about until the 1960s, and then she can hoot and holler for a while, but as we know, all election wins and losses come with expiration dates, we just don't know them at the time.

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

I think we'd all appreciate an explanation.

And it better be a good one for all the time and energy already asked of the reader to follow this boring-as-heck story.

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

Well, not for much longer...

Again with the Fluffy Ruffles tag.

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

If you disband a band, can you reband it later?

Grace Slick did, and more than once.

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

Keep on the sunny side...

Think how happy the DW would be if it only knew how well the Democratic Socialists of America would do in 2026 (after having elected a DSA mayor in 2025).

 

[Harp]

Defendant Robert Palmer faces multiple counts of statutory ****, false imprisonment,
kidnapping. A lifer.



Snakes alive! Snake's alive but disfigured, natch.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("T'eh now," observes Joe, pointing with his spatula. "Y'see t'at, how t'at meat's kinda humpin' up like t'at awna grill? Y'know what t'at means?" "Hmm," hmms Shirley Blick. "Something to do with the way it's ground?" "Ya right!" declares Joe. "T'ey packed it too loose inna grindeh, an'na, y'know, strings'a meat t'at come out wasn' even, and had aieh bubbles in'nm. An' when y'see it inna tray, see, y't'ink t'ez moeh meat t'eh t'en'neh IS. T'ats why y'gotta make sueh to wawtch'm weigh it, don' go by whatcha see. T'em wholesale guys at t' Foeht Greene Meat Mawrket would cheat t'eh granmo'teh if t'ey could get away wit' it." "I never thought too much about meat before," shrugs Shirley. "Y'loin awla tricks pretty quick," sighs Joe. "Now, let's say t'ezza lotta steam comin' out'v'it while it's cookin'. T'at means y'probly got sump'n inneh like soybeans, soybean powdeh. T'ey'll stretch a dolleh's woit'a meat out t' two dollehs woit' an' figyeh ya too desp'rate t' know t' diff'nce." "Wow," inhales Shirley. "It's a cut t'roat business," laments Joe, as the door jingles open to admit Solly Pincus. "Hey," he heys. "Gimme a special an'a Coke." "Toity'five," replies Joe, with unusual formality. Solly nods, and slides a fifty-cent piece across the counter, as Shirley steps to the syrup dispenser to prepare his drink. "Lissen," he murmurs. "I been kind'va joik lately." "Yeh," agrees Joe, loading the bread into the toaster. "It's one'a t'em t'ings," Solly continues. "Yeh," nods Joe," poking at the meat with his spatula. "Awright," concludes Solly. "Yeh," exhales Joe....)

("Well," announces Sergeant McManus, tossing a stack of paper on the desk, "our Mr. Zenofsky has quite an interesting packet. Just came over the wire." "Welll," agrees Sergeant Brosnan. "A fifteen year sentence in the Federal pen -- for bribery and extortion?" "Keep reading," nods McManus. "A Prohibition agent?" marvels Brosnan. "I knew those people would hire anybody, but -- " "There's more," declares McManus. "Long record of bunco schemes, swindles, you name it. Even traveled with a carnival for a while, working a mind-reading angle. And then, somehow, in 1927, he's a Prohie." "How'd he swing that?" ponders Brosnan. "Did he just walk in off the street...?" "Here," gestures McManus, pointing to a sheet. "This is from his personnel file with the Bureau of Prohibition. See there?" "Reference from Captain John McLuhan," reads Brosnan. "New York Police Department." "Uh-huh," acknowledges McManus. "Is that..." ventures Brosnan. "Be a mighty big coincidence," suggests McManus, "if it isn't." "I'll be damned," exhales Brosnan. "And there's more," nods McManus. "Keep reading." "Ah," continues Brosnan. "Arrested on suspicion of accepting bribes in the performance of his duties, charged with criminal extortion. Convicted on June 5th, 1929 and sentenced to a fifteen year term in a Federal penitentiary." "Look there," directs McManus. "Names the key witnesses for the prosecution." "Patrolman Thomas R. Doyle," reads Brosnan, "and Francis X. Leary, both of Brooklyn, New York." "Yeah," nods McManus. "Our own particular bad penny," frowns Brosnan....)

(Proverbs 22:6)

(And if you aren't hyped up enough about Army-Notre Dame, we'll have the radio broadcast here for the listening on November 9th. Rah Rah Rah!)

(Actors aren't strange people! They're just directed that way!)

("My father was a Julliard-trained organ grinder. And then his monkey died. I don't think I want to talk about it any more...")

(Well that explains it, you with your arthritis!)

(Six weeks to live. Merry Christmas.)

(Beat The System!)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

Sometimes you wonder if maybe there really is a supreme entity shaping the destiny of a struggling humanity, and that entity's name is Chester Gould.

"You gotta be kidd'n." -- Leonora.

He really does like to use those high-powered rounds.

All that and you didn't finish Sorrell? That's some sloppy work, boy. Some damn sloppy work.

Meow.

If Andy is somehow mutating into a superhuman creature, well, at least it's something new...

Pro tip, kids -- the main difference between day and night cream is that night cream is thicker and has a higher oil content so it takes longer to fully absorb into your skin. So a little bit will give you the same results as a larger amount of the day stuff. Knowing that now will save you a lotta coin later...

Of course, that doesn't include the second mortgage you'll have to take out to replace the roof.

At least the shoe shortage seems to be over.

Speaking of second mortgages...

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Worker...

Coming events...

There's Still A New World Coming...

 

[Fading Fast]

"Lissen," he murmurs. "I been kind'va joik lately." "Yeh," agrees Joe, loading the bread into the toaster. "It's one'a t'em t'ings," Solly continues. "Yeh," nods Joe," poking at the meat with his spatula. "Awright," concludes Solly. "Yeh," exhales Joe.

A wonderfully written male-apology scene. Nicely done, Lizzie.

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

"Names the key witnesses for the prosecution." "Patrolman Thomas R. Doyle," reads Brosnan, "and Francis X. Leary, both of Brooklyn

It takes hutzpah for those two to testify against someone for taking bribes. But at that time, Frank was deep in "the business," so I guess he and Doyle did what they felt they had to do.

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

She's got to learn that when you look like she does, you don't commit the crime, you let the boys do that and then they spend their ill-gotten gains on you. She lost the plot completely.

If they turn it into a movie, Ella Raines would be happy to play the idiot girl.

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

Pro tip, kids -- the main difference between day and night cream is that night cream is thicker and has a higher oil content so it takes longer to fully absorb into your skin. So a little bit will give you the same results as a larger amount of the day stuff. Knowing that now will save you a lotta coin later...

I'll have to ask super girlfriend if she knows this – she probably does – but here's something I learned through many years of dating different women: Whatever moisturizer a woman wants, is the one she wants – and that is that.

 

[Harp]

In re: Waters, a .38 revolver homicide claimed justified only results mens rea deliberate intent,
effectively ruling out anything accidental or unintended. Mrs Waters is either guilty of murder,
or she acted in self defense of child and herself, beyond reasonable doubt.
An involuntary manslaughter conviction is contestable on erroneous jury instruction grounds;
however, time precludes such appellate recourse. So, defense plead at sentence, which proved
negligible with learned trial judge; whom should have realized his sole recourse was to vacate
verdict entirely. Criminal circumstance does not bend or twist for convenience of clarity.
The sole arbiter of Justice isn't the sword nestled her right side but the gavel wielded judge.

...that girl who came forth through conscience to confess her robbery participation is rather
sweet, and her story makes for good scripting. Ella Raines would be excellent for the debutante
role. I'm often struck while reading this thread of the abundance shown Hollywood source material.

Terry kinda looks line he'll walk into a right cross any day now.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Thaaaaaaaaar, ye filthy buggaaaar!!" snarls Ma, as an enormous roach meets its fate under the toe of her shoe. "That'll teach ye!" "Oi have retaaaarned," declares Uncle Frank, swanking impressively thru the door of the dingy room. "And Oi have brought with me th' fruits'a me day's labaaaars." He places a soggy cardboard cylinder on the table, and pokes at it with a chubby finger. "Arrrrrrrroz con pooollo," he announces, attempting to trill his r like a grandee in a Tyrone Power picture. "Bloooooody hell, Francis," glowers Ma. "Not AGAIN!" "It is a specialty oov th' hoose doonstairs," shrugs Uncle Frank. "Noine hour'sa dishwashin'," retorts Ma, "an' that's aaaall th' baaaaaaandito pays yee?" "Senor Santiago promises t' give me a raise," pleads Uncle Frank, "as soon as business picks oop." "He bett'arr a' poot soom poooollo in it this toime," growls Ma. "Oi've had aaaaaal th' arroz Oi can stand! Francis, whin are we goin' to get oota this reekin' hellhoole?" "As soon as Inky cables me," sighs Uncle Frank, "that th' coost is clear." "Look here, ye gombeen," glares Ma. "This ain't noo annivaaaarsary vacation. Now, Oi doon't knoo what'charr ooptoo, but unless ye coom clean aboot it, Oi am walkin' roit oot that door roit now." "Oi wouldn't recoomend that, Nora," warns Uncle Frank. "Havana is woona th' great cities oov th' warrld, boot tharr are saaaaartain neighbarhoods..." "FRANCIS!" snaps Ma. "Ooot with it! NOW!" Uncle Frank twists his hands, chews his lip, and sighs. "Whaaat d'ye remembarr," he exhales, "aboot a man by th' name 'a Fuzzy Zenofsky....")

("Questions?" chuckles Sergeant Thomas R. Doyle, seated behind his desk at the 71st Precinct. He looks up at the two bland-faced men standing before him. "Sueh," he nods, rising from his chair. "T'is room oveh heeh, t'at's nice'n private." Doyle leads the two detectives into an interrogation room, beckons for them to sit, and closes the door. "Awright, boys," he shrugs, taking a seat himself. "What's awnya mind?" "Wanted to see," begins Sergeant Brosnan, "if you could tell us what you remember about a case back in '29, the Zenofsky business. "Fuzzy Zenofsky," smirks Doyle. "T'at was a lotta yeehs ago." "It was," agrees Brosnan. "But Sergeant McManus and I are working on a case right now that we think might tie back to that whole situation. Appreciate any help you could give us in clarifiying a few details." Doyle squints at the blank faces across the table. "Sueh," he nods. "Whattaya wanna know?" McManus opens his notebook and prepares his pencil, as Brosnan frames his first question. "How well did you know this Zenofsky?" "I was just a flattie poundin'a beat," recalls Doyle. "Right innis' neighbehood, Empieh Boulevawrd down Rogehs Aveneh as fawr as Choich. Fuzzy -- t'at's what ev'rybody cawled 'im, cause'a t' big moustache 'e had, like Joe Stalin. Anyways, he was assigned t' t'is distric', so I'd see'im aroun'. Seemed OK, I mean, f'ra Prohie. You r'membeh what t'em guys was like." "You didn't think much of him, I take it?" observes Brosnan. "Ahhhh," dissembles Doyle. "He was pushy, y'know? Din' wanna stay awn his side'a t' street, if y'get me. An' one'a t' people he stawrted pushin' wazzis friend'a mine, t'is plumbeh t'at had a shop oveh'rawn Bedfed Aveneh. Niceh guy you woul'n wanna know, a widoweh, raisin' two boys by 'imself, an' keepin' comp'ny wit' t'is sweet young Irish widdeh wit' two kid'sv'eh own. Nice, nice kids. Nice, nice people." "Why would a Prohibition agent," injects McManus, "be involved with such -- ah -- nice, nice people?" "Ohhh," smirks Doyle, "you know what it was like innem days. Fella might have a drink a' two, maybe brew a lit'l beeh." "Mm," nods Brosnan. "Just a little." "Just a lit'l," agrees Doyle. "Well, I seen how Fuzzy was put'na squeeze on'nis pooeh plumbeh -- hawnest'a gawd, t' man was baehly makin' ends meet, t'get squeezed f't'at kinda money -- an' I done what any hones' cop would do. I tawked it oveh wit' me captain..." "That would be," interrupts Brosnan, "Captain John McLuhan?" "Was it?" shrugs Doyle. "So lawng ago. I'm awrful wit' names. Anyways, I got ti's plumbeh t' set up a trap awn Fuzzy, an'ee wawked right int'wit. I got a commendation, even. Signed right awna bot'm by Jimmy Wawkeh himself." "Hm," replies Brosnan, as McManus closes his notebook. "Thank you, Sergeant," Brosnan concludes. "You've been very helpful." "I'm awrways helpful," grins Doyle. "My ol' man, gaw'restim, he awrways said, 'son, t' fois' duty of a p'liceman is t' be helpful...")

(Postwar inflation.)

("Really, Branch?" frowns Mr. O'Malley. "Television? And all home games?" "I have a vision for the future," thunders Mr. Rickey. "As do I," nods Mr. O'Malley. "But they have yet to develop a coin-operated television set.")

(So, does anyone know how to get this boat home?)

("Stravinsky! Where will it end? Prokofiev? And then we'll have to deal with the Rankin Committee!")

(Those rush seats can do a real number on your face.)

(I know I've seen this movie, but I can't remember which one.)

(Careful, that's a good way to pick up ticks.)