The Era -- Day By Day

[ChiTownScion]

In the fulfillment of a life's long dream, I've just returned from a two-week trip in London that exceeded all positive expectations.

But now back to reality: catching up on the adventures of Annie and Harold Teen.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("So t'cop come in, awl big an' bright in'nis blue coat wit'ta brass but'ns," relates Sally to a wide-eyed Leonora, tucked securely into her crib, "an'ne says 'awright yez dames,' he says. 'pack up yeh stuff an' gettouttaheah awr I'm sen'in f't'wagon!' But t' C I O organizeh says 'we ain' goin' noplace, ya cap't'list tool, till we get t' eight houeh day at two sixty pehr! An' awla gals jus' set right down inna Woolwoits, an' woul'n wait on no customehs an'..." But her dramatic bedtime story recitation is interrupted by a sharp and urgent knock at the door. After ensuring that her daughter is secured, Sally hastens to the kitchen to admit Alice Dooley. "Quick, kid," rattles that one, hustling inside. "Y'gotta let me flop heeh f'ra bit. T'heat's on." "Wha...." Sally begins, but she is swiftly cut off. "T' Shoeh Patrol is afteh me." "Wha..." again attempts Sally. "Whoo," whooshes Alice, pulling out a chair and flopping heavily atop it. "Wha..." attempts Sally one last time. "It's like t'is," Alice explains. "I go t'tis jernt wheah t'ey say Higsby likes t' drink, right? T' 'Ol Reliable.' Whatta jernt. So I'm inneah, I fig'eh, see, t'bawlclub is goin' t'Pittsboig t'marra, an' if I'm gonna get holda Higsby an' get'im t't'inkin', t'is izza night t'do it, right? Well, he ain' inneah, so I get a drink an' I tella bawrtendeh I'm wait'n feh me date, right? So I take a seat an' kina look aroun' annis saileh, some pimply-face kid, comes oveh an' stawrts gabbin' me up. An' you know, we'eh settin'eah, an' I get a good look att'm, an'nee's kinda cute, right, innis saileh suit, so we'eh chatt'n alawng, lit'l hawrmless floit'n, an'nen'nis Shoeh Patrol comes up an' says t't'kid, he says 'as ya weh, saileh,' an'nat, well, t'at don' set right wit' me, y'know? Me'n nis kid ain' doin' nut'n but goofin' aroun', an' I says to t' shoeh patrol, I sez 'as YOU weh, captain!' An'ne says to me, well, I won' tell ya what he sez, but he cawls me a name I ain' takin' f'm nobody, right? So I does what any lady would do unneh t'soicumstances." She pauses for breath as Sally gapes wide-eyed. Alice leans forward and whispers. "I DECKED 'im!" "Wha..." gasps Sally. "So now t'Shoeh Patrol is afteh me. I gotta flop heeh. You got a bed 'ra couch a' sump'n, I'm bushed! WHAT A NIGHT! Hey, y'got a toot'brush I c'n use?" "Wha..." groans Sally.)

A German naval spokesman was quoted today as admitting that the Allies are striking increasingly heavy blows at the German U-Boat fleet in the Battle of the Atlantic, on which may hinge the success of an Allied invasion of occupied Europe. Simultaneously, Allied sources reported that ship losses for May will probably be lower than for April, one of the best months since the start of the war, while destruction of Axis submarines is reaching a new high. The final showdown will come, Allied informants states, in late summer, when Germany is expected to put another 600 submarines into action against the full weight of the latest anti-submarine weapons of the US and Britain, including escort aircraft carriers, destroyers, and other such vessels.

Special hearing offices of the Office of Price Administration continue today to crack down on pleasure driving. Thomas Greco of Forest Hills lost two A coupons, and his ration book was suspended until August 15th because OPA agents found his car at the Belmont Park racetrack last Thursday. Greco claimed that the car was driven there without his knowledge by his nephew Tony. John Crescitu of Tuckahoe was docked three A coupons and his book revoked until July 22nd after OPA agents found his car parked at the Hotel St. George in Brooklyn, a trip of sixty miles. Crescitu told investigators that he had driven to visit his nephew, who is on furlough from military duty. Michael A. Orlando of 154 Luqueer Street was released with no penalty after agents determined that he was driving to avoid the rainy weather as a result of an ailment he contracted during military service.

(Wonder if the Judge ever stopped in at the Old Reliable. I hear things get pretty high there.)

Up to two thousand restaurants in New York City may be forced to close soon unless something is done to resolve the present food situation. Paul Henkel, president of the Society of Restaurateurs told a dinner of that organization at the White Turkey in Manhattan last night that "the entire industry is in a state of panic, similar to the one that prevailed ten years ago when the banks closed." The large reduction in processed foods due to rationing, the difficulty in obtaining unrationed items, especially poultry, and labor difficulties are all combining, Henkel asserted, to the creation of a crisis for the restaurant industry.

(Welcome back Jane! Now tell us -- who is the zombie, Miss Dee or Mr. Conway?)

Mrs. M. S. S. writes in to Helen Worth asking for readers to consider the donation of ladies' formal gowns, gloves, and shoes suitable to be worn by men performing in a minstrel show or musical comedy. "I have been soliciting these garments for several weeks," she notes, "and have only gotten three garments so far. All of my friends seem to wear smaller sizes." The garments, she adds, are for men in the Armed Forces now stationed in Northern Ireland, and notes that "the preparation and the giving of these plays relieved the tedium of many a winter evening for a homesick lad, and we hope will do so again."

(Well, they're sick of Spam too.)

("Hig always has been conspicuously unsuccessful against the Pirates." If only he knew...)

Organist Ethel Owen always performs for the "Abie's Irish Rose" broadcast wearing the same drab, old-fashioned blue dress, and the studio audience can't figure out why, given that she is considered one of the most modish women in radioland. Turns out Miss Owen has a role in "Three's A Family" at the Longacre Theatre, and the dress is her costume for that part -- the "Abie's" broadcast takes her almost right up to curtain time, and she has no time to change her clothes before she's due on stage.

(Calling it now -- Sadie is Mary's long lost black sheep sister. Or vice versa.)

(Time for an invisible tourniquet.)

(Or for a sore-armed pitcher trying to escape from an angry matador. Just thought I'd add that.)

(LEAVE THE FISHING POLE IN THE CAR DAD)

(What is it this time? Elephants? Rubber fenders?)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

And Gene Tunney laughed and laughed...

Somebody's not getting a Christmas card this year!

Pat grew the beard because he remembered how suave Cap'n Blaze was with the ladies.

"Shooting the Keys."

"HARK!"

It's a workers' market.

Hasn't changed a bit.

"Why CAN'T we go to the racetrack??"

Whenever there is trolling to be done, tap three times and Kayo will appear.

Good luck, you dear idiot.

 

[Fading Fast]

("So t'cop come in, awl big an' bright in'nis blue coat wit'ta brass but'ns," relates Sally to a wide-eyed Leonora, tucked securely into her crib, "an'ne says 'awright yez dames,' he says. 'pack up yeh stuff an' gettouttaheah awr I'm sen'in f't'wagon!' But t' C I O organizeh says 'we ain' goin' noplace, ya cap't'list tool, till we get t' eight houeh day at two sixty pehr! An' awla gals jus' set right down inna Woolwoits, an' woul'n wait on no customehs an'..." But her dramatic bedtime story recitation is interrupted by a sharp and urgent knock at the door. After ensuring that her daughter is secured, Sally hastens to the kitchen to admit Alice Dooley. "Quick, kid," rattles that one, hustling inside. "Y'gotta let me flop heeh f'ra bit. T'heat's on." "Wha...." Sally begins, but she is swiftly cut off. "T' Shoeh Patrol is afteh me." "Wha..." again attempts Sally. "Whoo," whooshes Alice, pulling out a chair and flopping heavily atop it. "Wha..." attempts Sally one last time. "It's like t'is," Alice explains. "I go t'tis jernt wheah t'ey say Higsby likes t' drink, right? T' 'Ol Reliable.' Whatta jernt. So I'm inneah, I fig'eh, see, t'bawlclub is goin' t'Pittsboig t'marra, an' if I'm gonna get holda Higsby an' get'im t't'inkin', t'is izza night t'do it, right? Well, he ain' inneah, so I get a drink an' I tella bawrtendeh I'm wait'n feh me date, right? So I take a seat an' kina look aroun' annis saileh, some pimply-face kid, comes oveh an' stawrts gabbin' me up. An' you know, we'eh settin'eah, an' I get a good look att'm, an'nee's kinda cute, right, innis saileh suit, so we'eh chatt'n alawng, lit'l hawrmless floit'n, an'nen'nis Shoeh Patrol comes up an' says t't'kid, he says 'as ya weh, saileh,' an'nat, well, t'at don' set right wit' me, y'know? Me'n nis kid ain' doin' nut'n but goofin' aroun', an' I says to t' shoeh patrol, I sez 'as YOU weh, captain!' An'ne says to me, well, I won' tell ya what he sez, but he cawls me a name I ain' takin' f'm nobody, right? So I does what any lady would do unneh t'soicumstances." She pauses for breath as Sally gapes wide-eyed. Alice leans forward and whispers. "I DECKED 'im!" "Wha..." gasps Sally. "So now t'Shoeh Patrol is afteh me. I gotta flop heeh. You got a bed 'ra couch a' sump'n, I'm bushed! WHAT A NIGHT! Hey, y'got a toot'brush I c'n use?" "Wha..." groans Sally.)
...

So I does what any lady would do unneh t'soicumstances." ... "I DECKED 'im!"

Just perfect.

Over to you Emily Post.

...

A German naval spokesman was quoted today as admitting that the Allies are striking increasingly heavy blows at the German U-Boat fleet in the Battle of the Atlantic, on which may hinge the success of an Allied invasion of occupied Europe. Simultaneously, Allied sources reported that ship losses for May will probably be lower than for April, one of the best months since the start of the war, while destruction of Axis submarines is reaching a new high. The final showdown will come, Allied informants states, in late summer, when Germany is expected to put another 600 submarines into action against the full weight of the latest anti-submarine weapons of the US and Britain, including escort aircraft carriers, destroyers, and other such vessels.
...

How in God's name is Germany producing 600 (600!) more submarines with the Allies bombing the h*ll out of German manufacturing? Germany really was a war machine.

Annie and Co. are doing their part, but it's no wonder they are being ovewhelmed with too many subs to destroy.

...

(Welcome back Jane! Now tell us -- who is the zombie, Miss Dee or Mr. Conway?)
...

"Yes, welcome back from your, umm, "vacation" Ms. Corby. Just curious, what do you think of "The Ox-Bow Incident."

"Brilliant picture, amazing, an instant classic!"

Big Brother's work here is done.

Talented and cute as all heck, here is Ms. Dee with her husband - her one and only husband whom she was married to for 57 years proving that not every Hollywood marriage is a pit stop. "Take that Page Four!" - Frances Dee

...

(Calling it now -- Sadie is Mary's long lost black sheep sister. Or vice versa.)
...

She could also be Taffy Tucker's mother.

...

It's a workers' market.
...

You don't need to have studied economics to intuit how markets work or to know when they are moving in your favor or against you.

...

Hasn't changed a bit.
....

For those keeping score at home, that $1,000,000 Bim just, effectively, gave away is worth ~$18,000,000 today,

 

[FOXTROT LAMONT]

I woke up this morning thinking about this trial, still in a state of horror over it, thinking about how I'd have reacted if it had happened to my daughter. Or to me.

Theresa O'Brien of the Bronx appears to have left no mark on history, but I can only hope she was able to know some closure. And I hope the perpetrators -- and the judge and the jury -- were haunted by this case for the rest of their lives.

I must attempt some legal looksee here. I read all the law papers for my baccalaureate, so could have sat solicitors
but graduated Cambridge for Aldershot so never the silkworm, but this was justice denied. Withal a conspiracy predicate existed which led to criminal rape. This never was subordinate statutory but criminal rape of a minor child
not yet attained majority. Nor emancipated by matrimony, only engaged to be wed a soldier fiance himself only emancipated by wartime military conscription. These are the case factual which the judge knew to be true.
How that man could have lived with himself. And those fiendish whelps.

 

[FOXTROT LAMONT]

You don't need to have studied economics to intuit how markets work or to know when they are moving in your favor or against you.

Here in London's financial district yesterday I argued Cantillon's Effect within fiat economics is ridiculous.
All damn day; either Cantillon, Russian oil tanker indemnification, West Texas crude, Louisiana Light, and the inverted
curve of treasuries with Powell's favouring this indicator. The only commonly held agreement was that the late
Argentine actress Isabel Sarli was a goddess. Most beautiful woman whom ever walked nude on a beach.
Of course this was a random walk analysis.
Jerome Powell and the Federal Reserve can raise interest rates.
Isabel Sarli could raise the dead.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Whatta night," sighs Joe, between sips at his egg cream, as Ma Sweeney wipes ice cream from Leonora's nose. "Ahhh, what's the trouble now, Joseph," she chuckles. "Y'eveh see t'at pitcheh 't' Man T'at Come T'Dinneh?' Well, it's kin'a like t'at. See, las' night I come home f'm woik, you know? Quaeteh pas' one inna mawrnin' I come inna house y'know, awl tiehd, lookin' forwehd t'gettin' in some z's, y'know? An' I go inna bedroom an' I heah Sal snorin', so I kin'a try t'be quiet takin' me cloe's awf, an' awluva sudd'n'a light comes on' an'neah's'at Alice Dooley sitt'n up in bed, wit' MY pajamas on! 'Hiya slats!' she says! "What kep' ya?" she says! I ASK YA." "Oh dear," replies Ma, her face darkening. "Yeah. An'nen I'm sayin' 'whassis now? Whas'goin' on'neah? Wheah's Sal? An'nen I look downonna flooeh, an'neah's Sal sleepin' on a pile a' blankets. 'Keep it down, willya?' she says. "People try'na sleep!" she says. An'nen Alice gives me 'tis story 'bout how t'ey was fumigatin'eh apawrtment f'bedbugs an' she needed a place t' stay. ONCE AGAIN, I ASK YA! I tell ya, I don' like it. T'is Alice gets down my neck. She's loud, she eats like a hawrse, an'na pooeh cat's scaehd t'deat' of 'eh! I don' know why Sal's gotta run'aroun' wit'teh!" "Ah, Joseph," reassures Ma. "You know, Sally was a very saaaarious garrl when she was yoong. Always marchin', always readin' them maaagazines o'hers, alwaays gettin' into aaarguments aboot foolishness. Twelve yarrrs old, she should've been playin' with her little friends, instead she stood on the cornarr handin' ooot pamphlets farr that Sacco an' Vaznetti! I told harr that was no way far a yoong lady to aact an' she tol' me I "didn't undaarstannd th' praablems of the age!" Oi think a high spirited friend like Alice might do her some good, I do." "Well, I dunno," mutters Joe. "I mean, she busted t'buttons right off me p'jamas, an' los' t' drawrstring downa hole inna waistban' teah. I shouldn' hafteh put up witt'at." "Ah, everything will be foine, Joseph, you'll see. Off to work wi'ye now, before ye miss ye train." After a final slurp and a kiss atop Leonora's head, Ma watches Joe bustle out, and immediately steps to the phone. The nickel dings, the BUckminster number is dialed, and Ma's voice assumes an urgent tone. "Francis?" she snaps as the call is answered. "Oh, James. Put ye father on the line. It's important. Francis? Nora. Listen, we got trooble. This Alice Dooley is... You haaard me, Alice Dooley. Hello? Francis? FRANCIS!")

Leaders in the House of Representatives today decided to again bring up the compromise 75-percent-forgiveness pay-as-you-go income tax plan for House action next Tuesday. That decision emerged from a meeting of the House Ways and Means Committee's chairman Rep. Robert L. Doughton (D-North Carolina) and House Speaker Sam Rayburn. The compromise plan would forgive 75 percent of 1942 taxes due for the majority of taxpayers, with those in the lowest tax brackets, with $50 or less of tax due, receiving 100 percent forgiveness of that obligation. Married persons with one dependent with an income of less than $1510 and married persons with two dependents with an income less than $2333 would receive full forgiveness of their 1942 tax obligation under the plan.

Three hundred psychiatric patients, many of them in wheelchairs, and some of them bedridden were evacuated from Bellvue Hospital today during a smoldering fire in the Psychiatric Building that left fourteen firemen overcome by smoke poisoning. The fire, of undetermined origin, broke out around 1:05 AM in a sub-basement where mattresses, mattress stuffing, and coffins were stored. The heavy, acrid smoke spread rapidly, as 500 doctors, nurses, and hospital orderlies transported the patients to safety.

The immediate objective of the Allies today appeared to be to force Italy out of the war by inciting revolt, bombing the country to ruins, or invasion -- or, possibly, all three. Prime Minister Winston Churchill in a statement today urged Italians to overthrow the Mussolini government and surrender to the justice of the United Nations "before it is too late." It was considered that Mr. Churchill's remarks seemed to point to an impending Allied drive in the Mediterranean. Mr. Churchill and President Roosevelt discussed war plans during a press conference at the White House. It was also noted that the President and the Prime Minister are working on a joint statement concerning their two weeks of war talks, but there is no indication when that statement will be released.

(KIDS TODAY)

The new colonial-style grocery store constructed by the H. C. Bohack Company at the intersection of Henry Street and Love Lane last year has been cited as the best improvement in the downtown district for 1942 by the Brooklyn Heights Association. The brick-walled, peak-roofed supermarket was honored in a citation presented to company president Henry C. Bohack by association chairman Russell V. Cruikshank. The citation will be "proudly displayed" in the store.

A Municipal Court Clerk who, though a Democrat by registration, feels bound to defend the honor of Mayor LaGuardia has rented a hall for a debate between himself and Brooklyn Hill critic of the mayor's food policies, A. H. Eastmond. Clerk Harry Wolkof released a letter today to Eastmond in which he announces that he has arranged to debate him on the stage at Girls High School, Nostrand Avenue and Halsey Street, at 8pm on the evening of Friday, June 4th, and that he will be on stage waiting for him to appear, before what he predicts will be a "capacity audience, standing room only." Mr. Wolkof added that he is also making arrangements to rent loud speaker equipment for the occasion.

("Nevarr haard of her," sniffs Ma.)

(How can he hear anything with that pot on his head??)

Film star Hedy Lamaar is altar-bound for the third time, with veteran picture actor John Loder her new leading man. Miss Lamaar divorced her second husband, picture producer Gene Markey, after fourteen months of marriage, charging that he never paid any attention to her. Miss Lamaar gave her age as 29, while Loder, son of a British nobleman, admits to 43.

("Well, I dunno," grumbles Sally, as the train rumbles thru the Hudson Tube. "Joe was pretty soeh. He loves'em p'jamas." "Ahhh, ya worry too much," dismisses Alice with a chuckle. "T'at string is still inneah someplace, he c'n dig it out. We got moeh impoehtn' stuff t'warry'bout." "T'is road trip's goin' on f'two weeks," notes Sally. "Y'can't get t'Higsby till'en." "Ohhhhh, I woud'n say t'at. Look heah," Alice says, producing a slip of paper. "Whatcha t'inka t'is? I'm gonna sen' Higsby some telegrams, get him t't'inkin'. T'is izza fois' one." "Forbes Feel is a pitchehs pawrk," reads Sally. "You oughta pawrk t'eah. Signed, A Friend." "See, now, t'at's jus't stawrt," nods Alice. "Heehza nutteh one." "How come y'did'n pitch t'fois game in '41? We'eh gett'n wise t' yeh in Bklyn. Signed, A Friend." "See," explains Alice, "T'at toins up t'heat a lit'l bit, makes 'im t'ink. Now look it t'is nex' one." "You rat," reads Sally. "I'm onta ya, you bum. Who was t'at red head. We'eh t'rough. Signed, A Friend." "See??" grins Alice. "T''at's whatcha cawl ya coup de gracie!" "I dunno," sighs Sally. "Joe's awrf'l soeh about t'em p'jamas.")

Eagle radio editor William Juengst is the proud recipient of a certificate from the Society For The Prevention of Disparaging Remarks About Brooklyn. The honor, signed by Society president Sid Ascher, notes Juengst's "widespread contributions to the welfare, prestige, and dignity" of the borough.

("Oh, you mean that time Bill burned down the Governor's house? Or that time the typhoon blew down my hotel? All that's old news."

(That isn't how blood transfusions work.)

("This isn't your truck at all! It belongs to Alfred Andriola!")

(THAT'S RIGHT FOLKS, WHEN A FRIEND IS IN DANGER AMERICA'S NUMBER ONE HERO DOG NEVER RUNS AWAY AND HIDES)

(One of the great Bungle storylines of the 20s was when George was hit on the head, lost his memory, and became convinced that he was Gustave Brown, president of a memory training school. It was during this affair that he first met, and became engaged to, the notorious Mrs. Sybil Dardanella. DON'T TELL ME YOU DON'T REMEMBER THAT GEORGE)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

DIAGRAM PLEASE

"Happy Memorial Day!"

SWAG

Well, I mean, that pit's only about half full.

"Bare feet? Get the moldy fig! What's next, ridin' a raft down the Mississippi?"

Get used to it, fellas.

Actually, I think you have to turn that in.

Meanwhile, how 'bout you other clowns?

If this ends up with 88 escaping by disguising himself as a maid...hey, he could get away with it. People are pretty desperate.

You gotta admit Emmy is limber for her age.

 

[Fading Fast]

...

Leaders in the House of Representatives today decided to again bring up the compromise 75-percent-forgiveness pay-as-you-go income tax plan for House action next Tuesday. That decision emerged from a meeting of the House Ways and Means Committee's chairman Rep. Robert L. Doughton (D-North Carolina) and House Speaker Sam Rayburn. The compromise plan would forgive 75 percent of 1942 taxes due for the majority of taxpayers, with those in the lowest tax brackets, with $50 or less of tax due, receiving 100 percent forgiveness of that obligation. Married persons with one dependent with an income of less than $1510 and married persons with two dependents with an income less than $2333 would receive full forgiveness of their 1942 tax obligation under the plan.
...

I feel toward this like I feel about today's debt-ceiling negotiations. Yes, I have my preferred resolution, but you - our politicians - are going to do what you are going to do, so just do it already and stop arguing as I'm tired of reading about it.

...

(KIDS TODAY)
...

Fair enough, now let's go after EVERY. SINGLE. WITNESS. who perjured him or herself in the theater rape trial.

...

Film star Hedy Lamaar is altar-bound for the third time, with veteran picture actor John Loder her new leading man. Miss Lamaar divorced her second husband, picture producer Gene Markey, after fourteen months of marriage, charging that he never paid any attention to her. Miss Lamaar gave her age as 29, while Loder, son of a British nobleman, admits to 43.
...

I love Hedy, but she blasted through six marriage in her life. Plus, I'll take the over all day on her being 29 in '43.

...
("Well, I dunno," grumbles Sally, as the train rumbles thru the Hudson Tube. "Joe was pretty soeh. He loves'em p'jamas." "Ahhh, ya worry too much," dismisses Alice with a chuckle. "T'at string is still inneah someplace, he c'n dig it out. We got moeh impoehtn' stuff t'warry'bout." "T'is road trip's goin' on f'two weeks," notes Sally. "Y'can't get t'Higsby till'en." "Ohhhhh, I woud'n say t'at. Look heah," Alice says, producing a slip of paper. "Whatcha t'inka t'is? I'm gonna sen' Higsby some telegrams, get him t't'inkin'. T'is izza fois' one." "Forbes Feel is a pitchehs pawrk," reads Sally. "You oughta pawrk t'eah. Signed, A Friend." "See, now, t'at's jus't stawrt," nods Alice. "Heehza nutteh one." "How come y'did'n pitch t'fois game in '41? We'eh gett'n wise t' yeh in Bklyn. Signed, A Friend." "See," explains Alice, "T'at toins up t'heat a lit'l bit, makes 'im t'ink. Now look it t'is nex' one." "You rat," reads Sally. "I'm onta ya, you bum. Who was t'at red head. We'eh t'rough. Signed, A Friend." "See??" grins Alice. "T''at's whatcha cawl ya coup de gracie!" "I dunno," sighs Sally. "Joe's awrf'l soeh about t'em p'jamas."...

It's so perfect that Sally has to be the voice of reason. So, did Alice blow out the top or bottom buttons on Joe's Pajama top?

...

(That isn't how blood transfusions work.)
...

You're so right, but I think we've come to learn that "Invisible Scarlett" is not where we turn for a strict adherence to science or logic or coherent storylines.

...

Meanwhile, how 'bout you other clowns?
...

Isn't all this "you're lucky you're being called up" talk really BS since any male in the qualifying age bracket can enlist at anytime?

...

If this ends up with 88 escaping by disguising himself as a maid...hey, he could get away with it. People are pretty desperate.
...

Of course most job searching is online today, but if we still had physical employment agencies, those three job signs in the '43 window would also be in today's window, 80 years later.

 

[FOXTROT LAMONT]

I feel toward this like I feel about today's debt-ceiling negotiations. Yes, I have my preferred resolution, but you - our politicians - are going to do what you are going to do, so just do it already and stop arguing as I'm tired of reading about it.

My best guess is another .25 basis raise, inward treasuries curvature aside. Inflation is high and energy priced high,
and Powell's belated recognition and brake slam just added to the mix. Velocity is 1.258 I think with 30 day treasuries
and Libor rate spread wide, and 9-18suries curvature whatever. A damn ink blot mess. I look at lumber. Poor cousin
to steel but flat board cut timber sells for $344 while Texas and Louisiana honey is abouts $72 pesos last night seen.
Powell sits tight in chair, raises Death another two-fiver.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("I guess O'Dwyeh's OK," comments Sally, folding the paper as she and Alice clatter homeward aboard the H&M. "I din' vote f'rim f' Mayeh, but he's been OK f'ra DA. T'em Moideh f' Moneys got what was comin'twum." "Ehhh," ehhs Alice. "O'Dwyeh t'inks he's such a hot shot. Now, a DA you c'd do bus'ness wit', t'at was Geoghan." "T'at crook?" snorts Sally. "Awlem rackets he was mixed up in?" "Ahhh," scoffs Alice. "I don'know nut'n bout politics. Awl I know is Geoghan awrways treated me right." "Whatcha mean by t'at?" queries Sally from beneath a cocked eyebrow. "Uh," stumbles Alice, "uh....well, I run into 'im onna subway oncet, an'nee was very p'lite. You know, like you an' Petey." "Ah," nods Sally. "I getcha. Say, did I eveh tell ya what Petey said t'me t'at time? He toin't t'me an'ne says 'Sorry lady.' Jus' like t'at, like it was sump'n he din'even hafta t'ink about. Like he says it ev'ry day when'ne bumps inta gals onna subway. A poifeck gen'leman." "Yeah," exhales Alice, pleased that the conversation has taken this particular turn. "A poifeck gen'leman." "Huh," huhs Sally, again scanning the paper. "T'is Raymon' Street Jail. Whatta hole." "Yeah," squirms Alice. "Whatta hole. I mean, fr'm t'outside, it, ah, looks like a -- hey, oueh stop comin' up!" "We ain' even t'ru t'tube yet!" "Yeah, but'cha wanna be ready t'beat t'rush!")

The head of a Detroit advertising agency is expeted to be nominated for the newly-created position of General Manager of the Office of Price Administration. Informed sources state that Lou R. Maxon, who has been serving without pay as the chief information officer of the OPA, is understood to have been offered the job by Price Administrator Prentiss Brown with the understanding that he would have the authority to put into effect a new OPA program of fewer regulations, simplification of those already in force, and stricter enforcement of price and rationing rules. The Democratic leadership in the House of Representatives is understood to have impressed the need for widespread changes in the operation of the OPA upon persons close to President Roosevelt, and that there is talk in some quarters of eliminating the OPA entirely and turning the administration of price controls and rationing over to various other government agencies.

Rail and bus lines in the city are preparing today for a record-breaking rush of holiday weekend travel, in the midst of the most serious gasoline shortage since the war began. Transportation company officials predicted that traffic to and from New York for the Memorial Day holiday will be 30 to 40 percent of what it was a year ago, which was the highest in history. With auto travel now just about nonexistant, several railroads disclosed that Pullman reservations are sold out, and that in coaches, travelers in many cases will find standing room only. Much of the expected travel will be by servicemen coming home on furloughs and relatives of servicemen going to visit them in camp.

(And we really MEAN IT this time!)

Commissioner of Investigations William B. Herlands admitted yesterday in General Sessions Court that he is no fan of Mayor LaGuardia's weekly radio broadcast. Testifying in the trial of Milton Solomon, accused of attempted grand larceny in the operation of a stirrup pump racket, the Commissioner was asked by Defense Counsel Louis Brodsky if he had heard the Mayor's broadcast last November in which he opposed repeal of the law requiring that stirrup pumps be maintained in all two-family houses. "No," admitted Mr. Herlands. "What!" exploded Mr. Brodsky. "You don't listen in to the Mayor! Never let him learn that!" "I won't care," shrugged Mr. Herlands, "if you inform him."

(A lot of us, Miss Corby, grew up saying 'Jeepahs!' BUT NON-RHOTICITY DOESN'T MAKE US UNAMERICAN!)

Gypsy Rose Lee, Bobby Clark, Professor Lamberti, and all the rest of the "Star and Garter" cast will give up their night off tonight to offer a special performance of the smash Broadway revue at the Brooklyn Coast Guard Training Station at Manhattan Beach. The entire show, exactly as seen at the Music Box, will be given for the entertainment of the servicemen, starting at 8 pm.

The Eagle Editorialist declares it good news that a compromise is finally in sight on the drawn-out debate over pay-as-you-go income tax, and considers the version of the plan endorsed by House and Senate conferees, while not the Ruml plan, at least 75 percent of it. "The people have grown weary of this tax row," the EE concludes, "for it has been dragging along for many months," and expresses the hope that President Roosevelt will sign the bill in the same spirit of compromise that Congress has shown in negotiating it.

("They better keep practicing. I hear they'll be on the same bill as a lady Russian sniper!")

(In his room at the Schenley Hotel in Pittsburgh, one Kirby Higbe sips bourbon from a water glass and rereads the mysterious telegram that has just been delivered. "Duhrochuh!" he snorts, as he crushes the yellow sheet in his fingers and flips it into the wastebasket. "Hell fahr! Ah declauh, befo' this season's ovuh, me an' Mistuh Duhrochuh is gon' have it out!")

The St. Louis Stars, having switched from the Negro American League to the Negro National League will roll into Dexter Park on Sunday for a doubleheader against the Bushwicks. The clubs have not met since 1941, when the Mound City squad gave the Woodhaven team a tough battle in a night game. The Bushwicks will be going for their eleventh and twelfth straight victories in the twinbiill.

(Lost the badge WITH YOUR PICTURE ON IT OF A FACE THAT BOSS LOU HAS SEEN IN PERSON? Rookie move, Mary. You're losing your edge.)

(What'll these poor folks do for fun now? Maybe there'll be an appeal!)

(Black net gloves? What a floozy.)

(And roll down the window, I hate the smell of wet dog!)

(Reboot Jo isn't as manic as Classic Jo, but she's just as smart.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

If they bring in Madeline Webb to testify I'll take back everything I said about this case.

The look on Mrs. Klein's face says it all.

"Well, you also had mercurochome in your hair, but we weren't going to ask about that."

"Oh well, that's that. Hey, when do we eat?"

"He still uses too many clothespins though."

Tracy just missed qualifying for the Olympics on the 40 yard dash.

"That little kid thinks he's a troll. I"LL SHOW YOU HOW TO TROLL!"

Asking Andy Gump for advice? That's not the cure, it's a symptom!

Skeez will have a great job at a gas station waiting for him after the war.

"Sunken chest, flat feet, pencil neck? 4-F!!!!"

 

[Fading Fast]

...

(And we really MEAN IT this time!)
...

No kidding, I would have sworn we had read that this was already in effect.

...

(A lot of us, Miss Corby, grew up saying 'Jeepahs!' BUT NON-RHOTICITY DOESN'T MAKE US UNAMERICAN!)
...

Is Lichty doing some freelance work drawing ads for "Lady of Burlesque?"

...


(In his room at the Schenley Hotel in Pittsburgh, one Kirby Higbe sips bourbon from a water glass and rereads the mysterious telegram that has just been delivered. "Duhrochuh!" he snorts, as he crushes the yellow sheet in his fingers and flips it into the wastebasket. "Hell fahr! Ah declauh, befo' this season's ovuh, me an' Mistuh Duhrochuh is gon' have it out!")
...

Butterflies flapping their wings and all that, even if the butterfly is a heavyset ex-con cum defense worker.

...

(Black net gloves? What a floozy.)
...

Twenty-nine-year-old (please!) Hedy Lamarr takes umbrage, Lizzie.

And in the Daily News...

If they bring in Madeline Webb to testify I'll take back everything I said about this case.
...

That's perfect. She could be the only one who could make this case interesting again. Although, she probably wants to keep a low profile right now so that people forget she wasn't executed for the doing the same thing her two male accomplices were executed for doing.

"Madeline, the Prison Board wants to know if you have any grievances?"
"Nope, none at all, all's good, not one complaint, very happy, thank you."

...

The look on Mrs. Klein's face says it all.
...

I'm going to go out on a limb here and say Al Johnson is not a happily married man.

In a way, everything said here is true, it's all perspective and specific circumstances.

...

(And roll down the window, I hate the smell of wet dog!)
...

My favorite wet-dog-smell strip. Schulz was a genius.

...

Asking Andy Gump for advice? That's not the cure, it's a symptom!
...

And then he completely twisted the advice anyway.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Now why cooodn't we haave had a joodge like thaat," huffs Ma Sweeney, slapping at the paper unfurled on the counter before her, "when they took me Michael!" "Nex toime," shrugs Uncle Frank, sipping at a two cents plain, "maaybe the boy caan get picked oop in Long Uylan' City." "You know thaat wasn't his faaalt, Francis," growls Ma. "That no account boy of yaaars was responsible. Daaniel's a reckless fool, an' ye know it. But he's not in the aaaarmy, now is he?" "Nora," begins Uncle Frank, his florid cheeks growing slightly more so, "weee've been ovaar this, toime an' again, and..." "JOSEPH!" interrupts Ma, slapping Uncle Frank's forearm as a signal to cheese it. "Yaaal be haavin' ye usual, I suppose?" "Neh," replies Joe with a shake of his head. "Ain' got t'time. Runnin' late -- t'at Alice Dooley left a whole messa dishes inna sink t'is mawrnin' an' I hadda deal wit'm." "INNA BAG!" shouts Leonora, with a giggle. "ISS INNA BAG!" "An'nat's a'noteh t'ing," grumbles Joe. "She neveh shuts'eh mout'. I get home, midl'a night, an' she an' Sal is sitt'n inna kitchen, gabbin' an ' writin' out awlese papehs, an' when I come inna doeh, t'ey look at me an' put'tem papehs away. I tell ya, I don' like it." Ma and Uncle Frank exchange ominous glances. "In fack, I'm gett'n t' t'ink maybe t'at Alice is upta no good. I t'ink.," he continues, lowering his voice to a whisper, "t'at Alice might be a SPY." Ma and Uncle Frank simultaneously exhale. "I'm t'inkin'," Joe adds, "I might cawla, you know, t' F B I!" "Oh no, no, no, no," gabble Ma and Uncle Frank in perfect two-part harmony. "Don't be silly, Joseph," interjects Ma, with a forced chuckle, " Alice is juuuust a high-spirrrited girl, and she's as paaaatriotic as you or I. In faaact, I would guess she's... uh... "Collectin' faar the Greater New Yaaark Fund," interrupts Uncle Frank. "A foine and waaaarthy cause, and aaas you know I'm the district leeeader faar this neighborhood, aaaaand I haaaave, ah, recruited Miss Dooley aaaas me aaassociate." Ma's head becomes a blur as she nods in agreement, a broad grin splitting her features. "Well, I dunno," shrugs Joe. "I guess t'at c'ud be it. I dunno how t'ey got time f'rit, woikin' oveh'n Joisey an' awl, but...I guess. Anyways, I'm late, so seeya t'marra." Joe kisses his daughter atop her head, with an admonition for her to "stay outa ya gramma's nick'ls," and bustles out the door. "Well," frowns Uncle Frank. "WELL," agrees Ma, her arms tightly folded.)

A condemnation of "those wretched people" who are "trying to destroy all Christianity has given the Reich" was revealed today to have been sent last year to Catholic bishops in Germany by Pope Pius XII. The Papal letter, dated October 25, 1942, was sent in response to a congratulatory message from those bishops for the Pope's 25th episocopal jubilee, and further promised the churchmen that "better times" are in store for them. Vatican Radio broadcast the text of the letter, in German, only 24 hours after the station had denounced as propaganda a statement over the Nazi-controlled Paris radio that accused the Catholic Church of "a crushing responsibility in unleashing the present war."

Price Administrator Prentiss M. Brown today deferred until next month a decision on a shakeup of the Office of Price Administration, and defended his agency against charges that it is "breaking down," and is unable to hold the line on prices. Mr. Brown stated that no further action will be considered on an administrative reorganization of the OPA until mid-June. The statement came as Representative Lyle Boren (D-Oklahoma) was preparing to call on the House Democratic Steering Committee to approve a resolution requesting that President Roosevelt order a complete reorganization of the agency.

Jehovah's Witnesses were planning an appeal today of a $30,000 verdict against them in the libel suit filed against 11 officials of the Watchtower Bible and Tract Societies by former Watchtower legal counsel Olin R. Moyle. The verdict yesterday awarded by jurors before Supreme Court Justice Henry Ughatta found that the organization had libeled Moyle in articles published in 1939 in the pages of the Watchtower magazine, after Moyle wrote a letter to the late Judge J. F. Rutherford criticizing him for an attitude of "lewdness and drinking" at the sect's headquarters, and that Watchtower Society agents had followed Moyle to his home state of Wisconsin after his dismissal from the organization's Brooklyn headquarters, where they interfered with his efforts to reestablish his hometown law practice. "Of course there will be an appeal," declared a Watchtower attorney. "The verdict is a stigma on the organization."

A survey published in the current issue of Fortune magazine predicts that a "large majority of people" would support President Roosevelt should he seek a fourth term -- if, the article emphasized, the war is still going on in 1944. The publication asserts that if the war is over before the next election, the President would fail to gain public support in any bid for a fourth term.

(SERIOUSLY YOU PEOPLE THERE'S A WAR ON!)

(As a longtime user of Coty Air-Spun Face Powder, I say this is the best wartime tie-in ad I've ever seen.)

The familiar phrase "Have your nickels ready -- step lively please!" rings out now in melodious feminine tones as thirty-four "motormanettes" take their places aboard Brooklyn's famous trolleys. The women, appointed from civil-service lists, and specially trained in their new duties at the Fresh Pond Depot of the BMT Lines, and at present are dressed in their everyday clothes, topped by a motorman's cap. It is expected that a special uniform will, in time, be provided. While women served as "conductrettes" during the First World War, this is the first time Brooklyn trolley's have actually been operated by women.

("I'd give you a bus ticket out of town, but, well, you know...")

(In the home-team clubhouse at Pittsburgh's Forbes Field, Pete Coscarart stands, his glove under his arm, peering at an enigmatic telegram just delivered by the batboy. "Bad news?" queries Frankie Gustine, bending to tie his shoes. "Nah," replies Petey. "I can't figure it out, though. Look here -- all it says is 'There's no place like home. Signed, A Friend.'" "Heh," chuckles Frankie. "You got friends back in Escondido? They miss ya?" "No, lookit here," says Pete. "Sent from Brooklyn. I dunno this address. 63rd Street, that's way out somewhere I never went, that's for sure. Whatcha s'pose it's all about?" "Brooklyn's a screwy place," laughs Frankie. "Y'got that right, nods Pete. "I had some pals there, Camilli, Cookie, that kid Pee Wee. We used to go out, have some laughs. But them fans -- wow. You know that guy useta send up balloons when Cookie'd come to bat? Well, first game I come back there after I got traded, some woman had ballons with PETEY on 'em an' sent'm up! I kid ya not!" "You got a secret admirer!" chuckles Frankie, nudging his fellow infielder in the ribs. "I caught a look at her," shrugs Petey. "Not a bad looker, but she had these eyes. Ever see them people stand on the corner handin' out pamphlets? She had eyes like that." "Probly don't get enough salt," laughs Frankie. "Heh!" chortles Petey, tossing the telegram in his locker and heading out to the field...)

Former burlesque queen Margie Hart will make her triumphant return to Brooklyn in her first role on the local legitimate stage, when she opens at the Flatbush Theatre next week in "Cry Havoc," the first war play with an all-feminine cast to come out of the present war. Miss Hart, who starred last year on Broadway in the ill-fated "Wine, Women and Song," will be supported at the Flatbush by screen star Florence Rice and Flora Campbell.

(SMILE!)

(Either Tallulah hunches her shoulders up more than she should, or she really needs a better bra.)

(YEAH! GO! GET A REAL JOB! AT A LAUNDRY!)

(AMERICA'S NUMBER ONE HERO DOG NEVER TURNS AWAY A FRIEND IN NEED, MOSTLY)

(Jo's not cut out for this.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

Black market antibiotics. All these guys should be immediately drafted and sent overseas.

Well, OK, now it's getting good.

All the people we have ever been, and all the people we could ever possibly be exist right now, in our minds, waiting only for the opportunity to burst forth. In other words, Flip Corkin better watch his step.

A successful campaign depends on thorough preparation.

And to think he only just got those bandages off his face.

I wonder what poor Tom Carr will think when he comes home from the war to find his wife "retired." "BIM GUMP DOES IT TO ME AGAIN."

All those prisoners released. Imagine the line at the bathroom.

The old neighborhood seems very very far away.

"Well, I figured it would save time when I sneak back in."

*snif*

 

[Fading Fast]

("Now why cooodn't we haave had a joodge like thaat," huffs Ma Sweeney, slapping at the paper unfurled on the counter before her, "when they took me Michael!" "Nex toime," shrugs Uncle Frank, sipping at a two cents plain, "maaybe the boy caan get picked oop in Long Uylan' City." "You know thaat wasn't his faaalt, Francis," growls Ma. "That no account boy of yaaars was responsible. Daaniel's a reckless fool, an' ye know it. But he's not in the aaaarmy, now is he?" "Nora," begins Uncle Frank, his florid cheeks growing slightly more so, "weee've been ovaar this, toime an' again, and..." "JOSEPH!" interrupts Ma, slapping Uncle Frank's forearm as a signal to cheese it. "Yaaal be haavin' ye usual, I suppose?" "Neh," replies Joe with a shake of his head. "Ain' got t'time. Runnin' late -- t'at Alice Dooley left a whole messa dishes inna sink t'is mawrnin' an' I hadda deal wit'm." "INNA BAG!" shouts Leonora, with a giggle. "ISS INNA BAG!" "An'nat's a'noteh t'ing," grumbles Joe. "She neveh shuts'eh mout'. I get home, midl'a night, an' she an' Sal is sitt'n inna kitchen, gabbin' an ' writin' out awlese papehs, an' when I come inna doeh, t'ey look at me an' put'tem papehs away. I tell ya, I don' like it." Ma and Uncle Frank exchange ominous glances. "In fack, I'm gett'n t' t'ink maybe t'at Alice is upta no good. I t'ink.," he continues, lowering his voice to a whisper, "t'at Alice might be a SPY." Ma and Uncle Frank simultaneously exhale. "I'm t'inkin'," Joe adds, "I might cawla, you know, t' F B I!" "Oh no, no, no, no," gabble Ma and Uncle Frank in perfect two-part harmony. "Don't be silly, Joseph," interjects Ma, with a forced chuckle, " Alice is juuuust a high-spirrrited girl, and she's as paaaatriotic as you or I. In faaact, I would guess she's... uh... "Collectin' faar the Greater New Yaaark Fund," interrupts Uncle Frank. "A foine and waaaarthy cause, and aaas you know I'm the district leeeader faar this neighborhood, aaaaand I haaaave, ah, recruited Miss Dooley aaaas me aaassociate." Ma's head becomes a blur as she nods in agreement, a broad grin splitting her features. "Well, I dunno," shrugs Joe. "I guess t'at c'ud be it. I dunno how t'ey got time f'rit, woikin' oveh'n Joisey an' awl, but...I guess. Anyways, I'm late, so seeya t'marra." Joe kisses his daughter atop her head, with an admonition for her to "stay outa ya gramma's nick'ls," and bustles out the door. "Well," frowns Uncle Frank. "WELL," agrees Ma, her arms tightly folded.)
...

"Ma's head becomes a blur as she nods in agreement..." Perfect imagery.

...

Jehovah's Witnesses were planning an appeal today of a $30,000 verdict against them in the libel suit filed against 11 officials of the Watchtower Bible and Tract Societies by former Watchtower legal counsel Olin R. Moyle. The verdict yesterday awarded by jurors before Supreme Court Justice Henry Ughatta found that the organization had libeled Moyle in articles published in 1939 in the pages of the Watchtower magazine, after Moyle wrote a letter to the late Judge J. F. Rutherford criticizing him for an attitude of "lewdness and drinking" at the sect's headquarters, and that Watchtower Society agents had followed Moyle to his home state of Wisconsin after his dismissal from the organization's Brooklyn headquarters, where they interfered with his efforts to reestablish his hometown law practice. "Of course there will be an appeal," declared a Watchtower attorney. "The verdict is a stigma on the organization."
...

Stop. Pay the settlement and move on. Get the story out of the papers as fast as you can as it just makes you look bad every single day.

...

Price Administrator Prentiss M. Brown today deferred until next month a decision on a shakeup of the Office of Price Administration, and defended his agency against charges that it is "breaking down," and is unable to hold the line on prices. Mr. Brown stated that no further action will be considered on an administrative reorganization of the OPA until mid-June. The statement came as Representative Lyle Boren (D-Oklahoma) was preparing to call on the House Democratic Steering Committee to approve a resolution requesting that President Roosevelt order a complete reorganization of the agency.
...

The problem is not the agency, it's, as well-intentioned as they are, the unachievable competing goals. You can't hold prices below a market-clearing level and prevent shortages and prevent blackmarkets. Whenever prices are held below market-clearing levels, shortages are inevitable and blackmarkets will develop. The type of law enforcement needed to wipe out the latter requires the brutal goose-stepping we're fighting the war to eliminate in the first place.

...

(Either Tallulah hunches her shoulders up more than she should, or she really needs a better bra.)
...

She's also psychotic. It's one thing, in the throes of passion, to kill a lover who jilted you, but it's a whole other level of crazy to be gleeful that somebody is going to be executed for the murder you committed. And yes, she basically has Bette Davis bra syndrome, comicstrip style.

And in the Daily News...

Black market antibiotics. All these guys should be immediately drafted and sent overseas.
...

That's way too good for them. As with people who sell fake cancer drugs today, there needs to be a deeper circle in hell for them.

...

Well, OK, now it's getting good.
...

No kidding. Play the recordings talking about the amorous arts!

Judge: "I will review this evidence in the privacy of my chambers to determine if it has any relevancy to the case. [Muttering to himself] Does this door lock?"

...

All the people we have ever been, and all the people we could ever possibly be exist right now, in our minds, waiting only for the opportunity to burst forth. In other words, Flip Corkin better watch his step.
...

Yeh, you're an actress playing Desdemona in a summer-stock troupe touring war-torn parts of China.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Now," enthuses Alice Dooley, unrolling a large sheet of graph paper across the kitchen table, "onnis chawrt y'see how we got t'indirec' pawrt'a t'campaign mapped out. T'at means gett'n t'rough t'ev'ry'body but whatchacawl ya principles -- you know, people arouna bawlpawrk, neighbehs, relatives. I was t'inkin' telegrams t'a bunhca t'ese folks is t'way to stawrt wit'tat, an'nen, maybe, t'marra, we got t'day off, we stan' out'n fronna Ebbets Feel wit'tese petitions. You know howta do t'at, right, you like awlat politics junk..." "Alice," groans Sally. "It's awmos' midnight. Don'cha t'ink we otta knawk off f't'night? I mean, I dunno 'boutchoo, but I need my sleep. I fell asleep at my jig twicet t'day, an'nat Mildred Kelly come oveh an' says, 'I don' mean t'distoib ya, Sally deeh, but t' line is backin' up.' It's embarassin'! She tried t'gimme anutteh onea t'em pills, an' well, I ain' touchin'nem no moeh. I mean, lookit how sloppy t'at woodwoik looks f'm t'las' time!" "We can't waste no time," insists Alice. "Some utteh club might snap up Petey, an'nen wheah we gonna be! Or Higsby stawrts winnin' again -- t'en what? No, ain' no time t'waste. B'sides, you sleep OK, ya keep me awake in fack witcha snawrin!" "An'nat's annoteh t'ing," eyerolls Sally. "I do'wanna soun' like a joik, but ain' you ready t'go home?" "Oh, no, no, counters Alice. "T'em Shoeh Patrols is still..." "Wit' so many bums in saileh suits runnin' aroun'nis town t'ese days," argues Sally, "t'ey ain' gonna waste t'ime wit'choo. You gotta go home, ya drivin' Joe up t'wawl." "What?" replies Alice, a wounded expression shading her face. "I t'ought Joe liked me. In fack, t'is mawrnin' he lef' onna table two dollehs, an'na note. 'Fawr a woit'y cause,' it said. I bought me lunch wit'it t'day. Don'nat mean he likes me? B'sides, t'at room I was in was strickly a fleapit -- y'got a nice place heah. I'm comf'table." "Can'cha be comf'table," groans Sally, her face sinking into her hands, "at t' Y W C A?")

A survey of more than 6000 men now serving in the armed forces conducted by the Office of War Information has concluded that letters from home help fighting men fight better -- but those letters must be the right kind of letters. Comments compiled by an OWI special service officer indicate that those corresponding with soldiers overseas should be careful to write what the men like to read. Letters should stress how you and the family are anxious for his safe return, and should also describe what you at home are doing to help win the war. News of financial circumstances and, most of all, lots of the latest neighborhood gossip are also well received by the fighting men. But, the men also emphasize, they do not want to hear you bellyache about your homefront problems -- and they also don't want to hear you bragging about what a gay life you're leading at home, even if you actually are leading one. Most important of all? Keep writing. "Get this straight," declared one soldier. "Letters seem more important sometimes than ammunition!"

Pre-induction physical examinations for men in draft class 3-A whose dependency exemptions may soon end when the Army begins inducting fathers will be given in order to avoid hardships which might result if men are rejected as physically unfit after quitting their jobs and winding up their personal affairs in expectation of military duty. In a talk on the manpower situation delivered to the Commerce and Industry Association in Manhattan yesterday, New York State Selective Service administrator Col. Arthur V. McDermott indicated that pre-induction physicals will be authorized when local board members are convinced that a registrant's physical status is sufficiently questionable, and that occupational reasons are serious enough to justify making necessary arrangements at the induction center. Col. McDermott also advised employers and executives to not take the essential status of any man in class 3-A for granted -- and that includes themselves.

(I'd be sore too -- I mean, he completely missed the Christmas season.)

The Eagle Editorialist predicts that Hitler will betray Italy without a second thought if his interests demand it. "It is significant," he points out, "that there has been no response from Berlin to the frantic appeals of Mussolini a few weeks ago for additional anti-aircraft units from the Reich for the protection of the Italian islands at the toe of the boot, whose people are fleeing in panic from the overwhelming storm of steel from the skies."

("Besides, it only looks like they're chewing a lot because of all the gristle...")

Singer Vaughn De Leath, long billed as "the Original Radio Girl," has died at the age of 42. Miss De Leath owed her title to the general belief that she was the first woman ever to sing over the radio, back in the experimental days of crystal sets and earphones, and was also the first singer to popularize the low-pitched crooning style of microphone vocalizing, a necessity in the days when a ringing soprano voice might shatter delicate transmitter tubes. She was one of the first artists heard over WJZ, when that station was founded in 1921, and was a frequent and popular personality in the early days of network broadcasting. She was one of the first American artists to be heard in Europe over a transatlantic relay, and always pioneering, she was featured in 1939 on an NBC television program. She had over 500 song compositions to her credit, and was also featured in several Broadway productions. Miss De Leath, who is reported to have died at her home in Buffalo of uremic poisoning and a longstanding heart ailment, is survived by her second husband, composer Irwin Rosenbloom. Her most recent radio work took place over Buffalo station WBEN, from August of 1942 until March of this year.

(In the visiting clubhouse at Crosley Field, Cincinnati, Leo Durocher plucks the eight of clubs from the top of the discard pile, fans his hand, leans back, and smugly declares "Gin! That's ten in a row, boy -- comes to -- let's see now -- $750 you owe me for this month. Wanna make it an even $800?" Kirby Higbe glares at his manager, his features clouded into a hooded scowl. "Ah think," he replies, in measured tones, "ah'll do mah competin' f'rm heah on out on th' mound." "First time for everything," smirks the Lip. "What's THAT s'postuh mean?" growls Higbe, rising sharply as his chair scrapes across the dirty concrete floor. He reaches across the table and grabs Durocher by his immaculate shirtfront. "Lissen heah, yuh sawed-off little ba..." "Now, now, Hig," wheedles Durocher, "watch the shirt there, boy, that's real silk. Prewar stuff, you know. Can't get that no more. Just kiddin' around, just keepin' ya on ya toes. I like the spirit, boy. I like the spirit. You be like Johnny Allen over there, go out ready to knock their heads off, that's the boy!" "You send me any mouh telegrams like that last one," growls Higbe, releasing his manager with a pointed shove, "an' Ah waguh yuh'll see some right smart head knockin'.")

(C'mon, Jinx, you can do better than hokey B musicals.)

("No flapper?" Well 23 Skidoo to you, shiek!)

("That girl! Hmph! I've known her all her life and I've always known she was no good!" Ah, wholesome small town America...)

(So Dan, I've been meaning to ask. Since you don't seem to be a Government secret operative anymore, exactly what is it that's keeping you out of the draft? I hear Kay is chair of your local board back home...)

(WHERE'S THAT CAT WHEN WE NEED HER?)

(There's no farmer like an urban farmer.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News....

If that's a laugh I'd hate to see her when she's mad.

I RESENT THE IMPLICATION THAT CLARINET PLAYERS ARE NOT WELL ADJUSTED.

"Oh dear. And me an Episcopalian."

Yeah, that's what you said in 1922.

"Oh Claude! I've always wanted to see Ithaca!"

Yeah, so far, Whiskers, you have proven a poor judge of who can't know what.

Hey, at least it's not razor wire.

War is Real.

There's no man of his word like a con man of his word.

C'mon now, that's nothing. I mean, they took Reiser.

 

[LizzieMaine]

Oh, and...

I was gonna say. I mean, wasn't it kind of a big deal last year when the milk-wagon horses came back?

 

[Fading Fast]

("Now," enthuses Alice Dooley, unrolling a large sheet of graph paper across the kitchen table, "onnis chawrt y'see how we got t'indirec' pawrt'a t'campaign mapped out. T'at means gett'n t'rough t'ev'ry'body but whatchacawl ya principles -- you know, people arouna bawlpawrk, neighbehs, relatives. I was t'inkin' telegrams t'a bunhca t'ese folks is t'way to stawrt wit'tat, an'nen, maybe, t'marra, we got t'day off, we stan' out'n fronna Ebbets Feel wit'tese petitions. You know howta do t'at, right, you like awlat politics junk..." "Alice," groans Sally. "It's awmos' midnight. Don'cha t'ink we otta knawk off f't'night? I mean, I dunno 'boutchoo, but I need my sleep. I fell asleep at my jig twicet t'day, an'nat Mildred Kelly come oveh an' says, 'I don' mean t'distoib ya, Sally deeh, but t' line is backin' up.' It's embarassin'! She tried t'gimme anutteh onea t'em pills, an' well, I ain' touchin'nem no moeh. I mean, lookit how sloppy t'at woodwoik looks f'm t'las' time!" "We can't waste no time," insists Alice. "Some utteh club might snap up Petey, an'nen wheah we gonna be! Or Higsby stawrts winnin' again -- t'en what? No, ain' no time t'waste. B'sides, you sleep OK, ya keep me awake in fack witcha snawrin!" "An'nat's annoteh t'ing," eyerolls Sally. "I do'wanna soun' like a joik, but ain' you ready t'go home?" "Oh, no, no, counters Alice. "T'em Shoeh Patrols is still..." "Wit' so many bums in saileh suits runnin' aroun'nis town t'ese days," argues Sally, "t'ey ain' gonna waste t'ime wit'choo. You gotta go home, ya drivin' Joe up t'wawl." "What?" replies Alice, a wounded expression shading her face. "I t'ought Joe liked me. In fack, t'is mawrnin' he lef' onna table two dollehs, an'na note. 'Fawr a woit'y cause,' it said. I bought me lunch wit'it t'day. Don'nat mean he likes me? B'sides, t'at room I was in was strickly a fleapit -- y'got a nice place heah. I'm comf'table." "Can'cha be comf'table," groans Sally, her face sinking into her hands, "at t' Y W C A?")
...

"Or Higsby stawrts winnin' again -- t'en what?"

"'I t'ought Joe liked me. In fack, t'is mawrnin' he lef' onna table two dollehs, an'na note. 'Fawr a woit'y cause,' it said. I bought me lunch wit'it t'day. Don'nat mean he likes me?"

Just wonderful.

At what point does Sally start to see the insanity in Alice and, then, start to see some uncomfortable parallels to her own behavior? This is going to be good. Oh, and poor Joe.

...

Pre-induction physical examinations for men in draft class 3-A whose dependency exemptions may soon end when the Army begins inducting fathers will be given in order to avoid hardships which might result if men are rejected as physically unfit after quitting their jobs and winding up their personal affairs in expectation of military duty. In a talk on the manpower situation delivered to the Commerce and Industry Association in Manhattan yesterday, New York State Selective Service administrator Col. Arthur V. McDermott indicated that pre-induction physicals will be authorized when local board members are convinced that a registrant's physical status is sufficiently questionable, and that occupational reasons are serious enough to justify making necessary arrangements at the induction center. Col. McDermott also advised employers and executives to not take the essential status of any man in class 3-A for granted -- and that includes themselves.
....

Joe had to swallow hard reading this.

...
(In the visiting clubhouse at Crosley Field, Cincinnati, Leo Durocher plucks the eight of clubs from the top of the discard pile, fans his hand, leans back, and smugly declares "Gin! That's ten in a row, boy -- comes to -- let's see now -- $750 you owe me for this month. Wanna make it an even $800?" Kirby Higbe glares at his manager, his features clouded into a hooded scowl. "Ah think," he replies, in measured tones, "ah'll do mah competin' f'rm heah on out on th' mound." "First time for everything," smirks the Lip. "What's THAT s'postuh mean?" growls Higbe, rising sharply as his chair scrapes across the dirty concrete floor. He reaches across the table and grabs Durocher by his immaculate shirtfront. "Lissen heah, yuh sawed-off little ba..." "Now, now, Hig," wheedles Durocher, "watch the shirt there, boy, that's real silk. Prewar stuff, you know. Can't get that no more. Just kiddin' around, just keepin' ya on ya toes. I like the spirit, boy. I like the spirit. You be like Johnny Allen over there, go out ready to knock their heads off, that's the boy!" "You send me any mouh telegrams like that last one," growls Higbe, releasing his manager with a pointed shove, "an' Ah waguh yuh'll see some right smart head knockin'.")
..

I might have to take back my "Insane" comment if she pulls this off.

...

(C'mon, Jinx, you can do better than hokey B musicals.)
...

Can she, can she really? Jinx might have taken her fantastic name and shape as far as her okay talents will allow.

I just thought of something I, embarrassingly, hadn't before, did anyone notice that the newspapers never looked into the angle of the theater's responsibility for its customers' safety in that awful rape trail? Can't help wondering if all the advertising the theaters buy has something to do with that "editorial" decision.

And in the Daily News....

If that's a laugh I'd hate to see her when she's mad.
...

I knew electric vehicles dated back to the 1800s, but who'd thunk, in 1943, there'd be a large enough fleet of them ready to make regular deliveries south of 96th Street in Manhattan?

I RESENT THE IMPLICATION THAT CLARINET PLAYERS ARE NOT WELL ADJUSTED.

Her argument that she boasted to the butter-and-egg man about her having had sex with Dempsey so that he, the butter-and-egg man, would then recommend her for a job with Dempsey makes absolutely no sense.

Also, even in 1943, being a virgin at 39 is nothing to brag about.

But boy has this story picked up in the past few days. In market terms, we sold it at the low.

...

Yeah, so far, Whiskers, you have proven a poor judge of who can't know what.
...

With that insane beard, I've been suspicious of his decisioning and thought process from the start.