LizzieMaine
Bartender
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("Hmph," hmphs Joe. "T'Dionne Quintuplets. 'Magine havin' five kids steada' jus' one. Mmm-mm." "Awrya even listenin'? interjects Sally. "Whattawe gonna do about 'tis? I coun'ed it, Joe. Eight hun'red an' fifty dollehs. Ma sent us eight hun'red an' fifty dollehs. Why did Ma sen' us eight hun'red an' fifty dollehs? You know how much money t'at is? You eveh even SEEN t'at much money? Lookit!" she demands, fanning the bills. "Wheah's ma ev'n GET eight hun'red an' fifty dollehs??" "Oh," sighs Joe, not looking up from the paper. "I 'magine t'eah's ways." "I don' like t'is," Sally continues. "Ma can' affoehd t'is, an' we neveh took no charity from'eh befoeh. We don't NEED it now, we'eh bot' woikin'..." "Well, look," Joe shrugs. "Why don'cha go downa Schreibstein's an' cawl 'eh up. Ask 'eh pernt blank. See what she says. I'm sueh she'll..." But whatever Joe is sure she'll say is lost to us, as he is interrupted by a sharp knock. Sally steps to the door to admit a beefy, red-faced gentleman with a crinkling smile and his derby in his hand. "Uncle Frank!" Sally greets the newcomer. "Din' expec' t'see YOU onna Sunday aftehnoon..." "Ah, me dear," charms the always-charming Francis P. Leary, "I am here on an errand, a vital errand, for your dear mother. Hello there, Joseph, how's precision parrts?" Joe makes a "loose lips" gesture and shrugs. "Of carrse, Joseph, of carrse. Now Sally, this is a bit of a delicate matter. I presume you still have the envelope deliverred to ye laaaast noight, am I right?" "Y'mean t'is one?" replies Sally, waving the $850 in a questioning manner. "Ah," ahs Uncle Frank. "Indeed thaat one." "Whassit awlabout?" demands Sally. "How's Ma got t'is kin'a money, an' why is she givin' it to us? Come clean, Uncle Frank." "Yeah," agrees Joe, trying to stifle a guffaw. "Come clean, Uncle Frank." "Well, me dear," Uncle Frank replies smoothly, "it's this way. Y'see, y' dear mother, bless her soul, had made arrangements t'have your waaaashing done over at Pilgrim Laundry, ye'see, an' she sent one of those neighborhood boys who's always hangin''round th' store overr here to pick up your darrrty things an' to deliver a note, you know, explaiining the praaaparsition." He withdraws an envelope from his inner pocket, and flourishes it in his hand. "This ennnnvelope here. Y'see, the boy who brought ye th' note was aaaalso carryin' an' envelope meant for *me*, y'see, annnd, y'see, they warrr easily confused. So if ye'll..." "Yeah," yeahs Sally, "I c'n see t'at. But what I don' unnehstan' is why Ma is sendin' YOU an envelope wit' $850 innit Seems kin'a..." "Oh, well, thaat, me dear, is easily explained." Joe is unable to suppress a small guffaw, and looks up. "Heh, jus' readin'a funnies. T'at Fritzi Ritz, whatta scream." "Aaas I was sayin'," Uncle Frank continues. "Aaas ye may know, I am th' precinct captain for the Raaagers Avenue Greater New Yaaaark Fund, and ye dear maaather collects contributions at her stoore from aaaal the haaard-workin' neighborhood folk. An' thaaaat envelope was merely the week's takin's for thaaat outstanding and waaaarthwhile cause. So if ye'll just paaaas that over here, I'll be on my way..." "Ah," ahs Sally. "Well, t'at explains it t'en. Heeh, lemme give ya a dolleh, make it $851 f'ta week, how 'bout t'at." "Verry kind of ye, darlin," smiles Uncle Frank. "Y'generosity is appreciated. "Eight-Five-One. Be sueh t'combinate," mutters Joe, not looking up from the paper. "What?" erupt Uncle Frank and Sally in unison. "Nut'n.")
American airmen have blasted Kiska and Attu again in what some observers believe may be the softening-up prelude to a combined sea and air offensive to drive the Japanese out of the Aleutians. Presumably operating from a new Amchitka Island base only 63 nautical miles distant, the Americans hammered Kiska five times on Thursday, the Navy reported. They also plastered Attu, 172 miles further west, a total of seven times. All targets were hit heavily, and at Attu, several fires were reported started. Americans occupied Amchitka Island on January 12th and completed an air base there on February 16th, beginning operations from that base against the Japanese submarine base at Kiska on March 1st. Since then the Amchitka base has originated 220 raids against Japanese-held territory.
("We'll be back after we finish the Russians." That's right boys, pull the wool over your own eyes.)
Eleven leaders of the Jehovah's Witnesses movement have been named as defendants in a libel suit filed by a Wisconsin attorney formerly connected with the sect, who claims that libelous remarks about him were published in the "Watch Tower" magazine, official publication of the Witnesses. Olin R. Moyle served as general legal counsel for the Watch Tower Bible and Tract Society for several years, operating from the Witnesses' "Bethel Home" headquarters in Columbia Heights, and alleges that after he resigned from that position, the Society's president, Judge Joseph F. Rutherford, caused "harsh criticisms" concerning him to be published in the magazine, calling him "a murmurer and a complainer." Judge Rutherford died in January 1942, and his estate will not be held liable for $100,000 in damages sought in the suit, but other Watch Tower officials, including Rutherford's successor as president Nathan H. Knorr, have been named as defendants in the case. Knorr served as Vice President of the Society when the alleged libelous articles were published. The defendants, in filing their response to the suit, submitted a document filled with quotations from the Bible, but all of those citations were ordered struck from the record, with Brooklyn Supreme Court Justice Peter A. Smith stating that "scriptures cannot take the place of statutes in a civil lawsuit." The main argument offered by the defendants in their response to the suit is that they were "working for God" when the articles put forth in the suit were published.
(Joe looks up from the paper, and gazes at Leonora dangling a string for Stella the Cat, and at Sally sitting on the fire escape studying her radio-theory book, and tries not to ponder the future.)
The Kings County Commander of the American Legion is calling for an end to the current trend of women wearing military rank, divisional or regimental insignia on their clothing. "It has gotten so any Flatbush Avenue car will show up with a woman aboard wearing insignia declaring her membership in the First Division," declared Commander Daniel F. Rogers. "Or perhaps a high school girl will appear with flier's wings. Another has the chevrons of a technical sergeant on her sleeve, or even the insignia of a commando outfit!" Pointing out that such insignia have to be earned by those in the service, Rogers maintains that they should be worn only by those who have actually earned the right to do so. "Worn by anyone else," he maintains, "their value is cheapened."
"Old Timer" writes to the Old Timers Page to remember "Terrible Terry" McGovern, the scourge of the Greenwood Fight Club in days long past, "the most natural fighter who ever went into the ring," and who never hurt his hands going for his opponents' soft spots. But he "contracted a malady," which first forced the cancellation of his bout with the infamous Abe Attel, and then led, in his weakened state, to his finish at the hands of Young Corbett. "Please let the Old Timers know that an invisible germ whipped the greatest fighting machine of all time."
The Eagle Editorialist salutes Mother on this Mothers Day 1943, noting that she doesn't look much like the image on the greeting cards these days -- her hair isn't white, she doesn't wear a ruffle around her neck, and she doesn't repose in a rocking chair. She's twenty years younger, and thirty years stronger, and you'll find her today holding her own in a war job in a factory, while also wrangling ration points and serving in Civilian Defense, the Red Cross, or the AWVS. And she is proud of her children in the service -- as proud, we expect, as they are of her.
(Yeah, Leo had to wait until May for his first ejection, but keep in mind the season started late.)
("There Never Were Orgies." Of course there weren't, Lionel Atwill wasn't invited.)
("I didn't dig it so I can't accept it. Heh, no seriously, hand it over,")
("A competent performer." Well, YOU try to play the flute with wooden teeth.)
(Poor J. Stemfor Pipeful. Tried so hard to get a job with Philip Morris.)
(I mean, you can see why Joe laughed. And meanwhile, a machine that remembers for a little while and then forgets? What possible market could there be for THAT?)
(Whoa, new logos today and everything. "BUT WHAT ABOUT US?" demand Irwin Higgs and Bill Biff from the sad limbo of abandoned comedy relief.
