The Era -- Day By Day

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

In much of the USA, "Mary" and "marry" are ho monyms. In 1940s New York, as in much of the rest of the Northeast corridor from Philadelphia to Boston, "Mary" and "marry" are not pronounced the same. If you've heard a good traditional NYC accent, you know what I mean. Of such observations is the fascinating study of sociolinguistics made...

You will note that the Eagle published this same wire service story, although in its prissy WASPy way, it cut the payoff. But "community chest" they let pass? Come now, Mr. Schroth, whom are we kidding?

At Home WIth The Dressens...

Well, finally...

If he shows up next in tights and a cape, I swear I'll scream...

"Unlike some I could name..."

Well won't this be nice and gruesome.

Clear branding is important.

If you've never seen a sorta-grown-man scurry, behold Mr. Smart.

You can't say she doesn't travel well-prepared.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Worker...

Also, bring back "Pinky Rankin!"

You'll recall that the Pirates, under their former ownership, offered Roy Campanella a tryout four years ago, and then mysteriously did not follow thru on that offer. Let's see how the new guys do.

 

[Fading Fast]

And as the hype reaches a fever pitch, you may tune in on today's Game Of The Century, with NBC's Bill Stern -- ah -- enhancing the play by play here:

The detailed and precise announcing by Bill Stern is a pleasure. The lack of commercial breaks are a joy, too. The effort to keep us up on the player substitutions is impressive. BTW, with no co-announcer, Stern must be exhausted by the end of the game.

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No, you really couldn't. She's smarter than you. She'll always be smarter than you.

Murder, though, is not a straight IQ test.

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In much of the USA, "Mary" and "marry" are ho monyms. In 1940s New York, as in much of the rest of the Northeast corridor from Philadelphia to Boston, "Mary" and "marry" are not pronounced the same. If you've heard a good traditional NYC accent, you know what I mean. Of such observations is the fascinating study of sociolinguistics made...



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You will note that the Eagle published this same wire service story, although in its prissy WASPy way, it cut the payoff. But "community chest" they let pass? Come now, Mr. Schroth, whom are we kidding?

Eighty years is and isn't a lot of time, but my God, would these people be shocked at what is acceptable today.

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Well, finally...

Once more, then I'll stop: how exactly did he hide that he was missing an arm?

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Also, bring back "Pinky Rankin!"

I quit the first letter about eight paragraphs in, which could have been boiled down to, at most, two paragraphs.

Also, does the paper go by two names or is it the merger of two papers: The Daily Worker and The Worker?

 

[LizzieMaine]

The Worker is the Sunday edition, with a much more extensive national distribution. The Daily News, calling itself the Sunday News one day out of seven, follows a similar pattern.

Bill Stern had a couple of spotters, but otherwise he always worked solo on football. He wasn't always the most accurate announcer in describing the plays -- his favorite technique when he realized he had the wrong player carrying the ball was to insert a fast lateral pass -- but what he lacked in absolute accuracy he made up in energy.

Red Barber also did this game, for CBS, and that recording also exists, although I haven't heard it. But there are no two announcers you could name who differ more in technique and style, and for comparison I hope eventually to get hold of a copy.

 

[Harp]

Murder paid $56k today's coin back in 1946. The proverbial thirty pieces of gold
adjusted inflation in .38 caliber lead.

Euthanasia, an unexpected hot topic circa 1946, though perhaps not.

Mary Churchill. A passenger quey brief but memorable moment inside Terminal Three,
O'Hare Airport twenty-one or two years ago. An exceedingly spry octogenarian thereabouts.
Her book, A Daughter's Tale, I should have read. Manchester's magnum opus, The Last Lion,
really finished off Winston S Churchill for me. I kid you not.

Yeah, Terry walked into a fast cross but southpaw slug; still, a jawbreaker.
Gotta plug The Cinderella Man. Russel Crowe as James Braddock, a Depression era pugilist
who returned to professional boxing and bested Max Baer in 1935 to become heavy weight
world champion. Ron Howard directed. An Opie movie. Absolutely fantastic must-see film.

Army-Notre Dame.... Have mentioned having met Heisman Trophy winner Johnny Lattner
at Hines VA Hospital. He played under Frank Leahy who warned his team to make grades
or get drafted for Korea. Everybody made grades.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Mmm," chews Sally thru a mouthful of beefwich. "T'is one's betteh, but t' meat is still kinda -- I dunno, crumbly." "Yeh," frowns Joe. "T'at's what I t'ought. It's 'at meat y'gett'n now. Ya dunno who's grindin' it. Y'ask f' 80-20, an'ney give ya 70-30 an' t'ink y'won' know t' diff'nce. An' when y'do get straight meat, half t' t'ime it'sat old stuff been hangin' inna waehhouse." "Whatcha gotta do," suggests Sally, "is grind t' meat y'self." "Shaughnessy done awright grindin'at side 'a beef Jimmy got us," reflects Joe. "Even'ough 'e chawrged t'ru t' neck fawr it." "Neveh min' Shaughnessy," dismisses Sally, finishing the sandwich. "Heeza bum. Heeh's whatcha do. Tawk t' Solly, see'fee c'n getcha one'a t'em big grindehs. An'nen when ya go t' t' wholesale, y' pick out t'cuts YOU want. An' grind'm yaself so ya know it's bein' done right." "Where'm I gonna put a grindeh?" shrugs Joe. "How 'bout inna back room?" ventures Sally. "Ma don' keep nut'n inneh but ol' foinitcheh an' junk. Clean out awlat, putcha grindeh inneh, an'nen ya'rawl ready." As Joe considers the complete impossibility of this idea, a muffled argument emanates from that very back room. "Who's inneh?" gapes Sally. "Jus' Heckie," sighs Joe. "Him 'n some guys a' tawkin' 'bout'tat football game....")

("I don't know where we can go with this," sighs Sergeant Brosnan, burning the Sunday oil. "Everything McLuhan had to say was perfectly reasonable, without a single hole." "Even that business about Zenofsky being a perfect candidate for the Prohibition Bureau because of his past," nods McManus. "What was that he said? 'An ideal infiltrator and undercover man.'" Brosnan lights a fresh Chesterfield and blows smoke toward the harsh office light. "You buy it?" he questions. "Not really," admits McManus. "But you can't build a case on 'not really.' "Any leads on Zenofsky himself?" questions Brosnan. "Asked around a bit," reports McManus. "Didn't take too much work to find him. He's got a place on Sterling Street. Fortune-telling shop." "Sterling, huh?" nods Brosnan. "Just can't stay away from the old neighborhood." "Here's another thing I found out," continues McManus. "That girl that lives at Leary's place? Barbara Scanlan? Guess who's been getting her fortune told." "Bill," replies Brosnan, a tiny smile cracking the stone of his face, "this just might be the break we need....")

(I thought with Notre Dame it was always a moral victory...)

(Sagebrush Caesar? Wasn't that a book by George Seldes?)

(It's nice to see Margaret Dumont still getting work, and being so cheerful about it.)

(Is this how lonely bachelors spend their time, musing over decor?)

(I say we get rid of the rest of this dull stuff and make WOMEN ON THE WARPATH the main feature.)

("Hey, did you notice he kinda looks like that Big Joe's Beefwich guy?")

("My mother had every record Billy Murray ever made...")