The Era -- Day By Day

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

Ok, fine, but what about the bacon?

"A man with a small child in tow can collect funds for anything." What a great plot for a movie.

I never knew that was true about pigs.

I wonder if Punj's rug is big enough to cover a whole sub?

This is why the House of Lords doesn't like to mix with the Commons.

I reallllllly hope she runs into Normandie.

This can't possibly end well.

In other words, Shadow with a gremlin is exactly like Shadow without a gremlin.

"Do as I say, not as I....ah, skip it."

"I can't count all these nickels from the pinball by myself."

 

[Fading Fast]

...
("Bums! Bums!" chortles Leonora, seated high atop her father's shoulders, as the Petrauskas entourage steps out of the midday sun and into the refreshing cool of the Marble Rotunda. "I still can't b'lieve we'h gonna be sitt'n down by t'dugout," marvels Sally. "Awlla time we been comin' heeh, we neveh sit down b'low wit' awla big shots. How'ja get t'ese tickets again, Ma?" "Ahhhh, daughter," breezes Ma. "It's easy if a vaaaary imparrtant man owes ye -uh -- a favorrr. Yes, a faavorr." "Some faveh," chuckles Joe, tipping Ma the wink, which is returned by a quick flash of scowl. "Wow!" exhales Alice. "Y'evveh see a crowd like t'is?" "Yeh," nods Sally. "At t'woil' series. We was heeh t'day Casey t'rew t'at lemon pitch an' Owen dropta bawl. Buncha Joe's pals upta pickle woiks took uppa c'llection to get us tickets 'cause t'ey felt sawry f'rus missin'at big game wit' t' Giants when I went inta labeh!" Alice's eyes grow huge. "You wen' inta labeh -- innis jernt?" she gapes "Yup," nods Sally. "An' 'ney took me down inna fois' aid room unneh t'stan's, an'nat's down right nexta t' clubhouse, right? An' y'know who come walkin' by while I'm layin'neh onna table wait'n f'ra amb'lance? PETEY!" "YA KIDDIN!" erupts Alice, giving Sally an astonished shove. "Honestagawd, I kidja nawt," Sally insists. "I look up an' right out by t'doeh is a guy wit' a shoit on wit' numbeh 3. He was fixin' 'is pants a' sump'n', not six feet away. "Didja say h'lo?" babbles Alice. "Tell me ya said h'lo!" "You eveh b'en in labeh befoeh," eyerolls Sally. "Well, no," acknowledges Alice, "but one time I past a kidney stone. Ain'nat kin'a t'same t'ing?" "HIDDA!" yells Leonora, waving her arms and pointing. "HIDDA!" "Hey, lookit," observes Joe. "T'eh's Hilda Chesteh. Whyn'cha take Leonoreh an' say h'lo while I figgeh out which gate we go in." Sally takes her daughter down from her lofty perch, and, with Alice in tow, steps over to where an imposing grey-haired woman in a bold print dress is holding court. "HIDDA!" yelps Leonora. "HING BEWW!" "Oh hey, h'low t'eh, honey," grins Hilda. "Su'eh I'll ring t'bell!" She raises an antique school bell above her head and shakes it fiercely, the sharp ring pealing out against the high ceiling as Leonora giggles with delight." "Howya doin' kid," chuckles Hilda. "Ain' seenya up 'n section t''oity sev'n much t'is yeeh." "Aw, I'm woikin' out'n Joisey," explains Sally. "Well, you ain' missin' much," declares Hilda. "Who's ya pal?" "Oh," replies Sally. "T'is is Alice Dooley, she woiks wit' me at t'plant, an' she lives downstaiehs f'm..." "HIYA TOOTS! MITT ME!" bellows Alice, grabbing Hilda's beefy palm and giving it a mighty pump. "I SEEN YA INNA PAT"E NEWSREEL ONE TIME, JEEZ, T'AT'S A SWELL RACKET YA GOT GOIN', HOW'JA SWING IT! HEY, YA KNOW I USETA GO WITH KOIBY HIGSBY TIL I FOUN' OUT HE WAS A RAT BUT T'AT'S HOW IT GOES YA KNOW! HEY! IT'S BEEN SWELL TAWKIN' TO YA BUT I GOTTA GO FIN' T' LITTLE GOIL'S ROOM YA KNOW? LATEH GATEH!!" With that, Alice releases her grip, and shoves her way thru the crowd toward her destination. Hilda blinks. "Loud," she exhales. "Ain' she?"
...

"...Owen dropta bawl."

Still hurts.

...

Reports reaching the Swedish press indicate that Reichsmarshal Hermann Goering is recovering from a serious illness, purportedly heart disease, a nervous breakdown, or some combination of the two. It is believed that Goering has made no public appearances since March 21, and has notably not been present at recent meetings of the Reich Defense Council. At the same time, another report received in Zurich claimed that Adolf Hitler is recovering at his Berchtesgaden retreat from a nervous breakdown.
...

It would hardly be a surprise if his heart exploded from having to push blood through that big fat body of his all day and night.

...
("GOOOOOO GETT'M, MR. FITZSIMMONS!" bellows Ma, as Sally and Joe exchange looks, Leonora stares intently at the field, and Alice eradicates her third frankfurter. "Settle down, Ma," admonishes Sally. "T'game ain' ev'n stawrted yet. Ev'ybody's lookin' atcha. "Be still, daughter," rebuffs Ma. "I've known you to whoop and haaalar when' ye've a mind to." "Hey!." interrupts Sally. "Joe! Look oveh t'eh, t'ree boxes oveh -- ain'nat KILGALLEN! Wha's SHE doin' heeh?"
"Nah," dismisses Joe. "T'at ain' Kilgallen, jus' some ut'eh fancy dame wit' white gloves on. Heh. White gloves at a bawlgame. Takes awl kin's, I guess." "No, I t'ink it is. T'at gal ain' got no chin, an' if Kilgallen eveh had a chin it got los' f'm bein stuck up inna aieh so much. NO! Don' look! Don' make it like we noticed 'eh. I wanneh t'see US, an' if she comes oveh'n says anyt'ing, make like y'don' know who she is!" "I dunno how y'c'n eat hawt dawgs wit' white gloves on," muses Alice thru a moutthful of Stahl-Meyer's finest. "YOOO HOO!" yoo hoos Ma, to the horror of all assembled, ""MA! Don' say 'yoo hoo!' growls Sally, pulling her mother's dress. "People gonna t'ink ya makin' funna t'awrmy!" Joe coughs up a mouthful of beer at this remark, but Ma is unfazed. "MISTAAAAR FITZSIMMONS!" she shouts. "OVAAAAAR HEEEEEEERE!" And though summoned by an uncanny force Fitz, a bemused grin creasing his broad features, steps over toward the box. "Mr. Fitzsimmons!" beams Ma. "You remember me, of course," "Well now!" rumbles Fitz. "Mrs. Sweeney, is it? How's your game?" "Ahhhhh, I bowled a 160 last night. Me skills is devellopin' an' so is me faaaarm. Of caaarse, I could do with more of ye pointers." "Well, keep at it, ma'am," declares Fitz, his fist pounding his glove before he nonchalantly reaches up to grab a toss sent his way by his colleague Mr. Camilli. "Well, enjoy the game," he says, ambling back toward the mound. "Y'actin' like ya in 8-B," growls Sally. "Carryin' on like t'at about a bawlplayeh." "It ain' like he's Petey," slips in Joe from behind his raised beer cup. "What?" "*** burp***")
...

Joe likes to live dangerously.

Janet Leigh sees nothing wrong with wearing white gloves to a baseball game as seen here in a pic from 1951's "Angels in the Outfield."

....

(I'd love to see a picture of MacArthur throwing off his mask and spinning around to chase after a ball scooting away from him with a little white arrow pointing to it.)
...

It seems very American that the spot where Jefferson wrote the Declaration of Independence became a hotdog stand.

...

(Doncha hate getting one of those form letters from your doctor? And "WOO HOO FREE COFFEE!!!")

If I knew I only had eight weeks to live and somebody told me Lincoln wrote the Gettysburg Address in one evening, I think I'd smack him or her upside his or her head.

...

In other words, Shadow with a gremlin is exactly like Shadow without a gremlin.
...

"...I came over to play."

Goofy's married. How old are these people that they still get together to "play."

 

[FOXTROT LAMONT]

Happy 4 July everybody from London.

 

[LizzieMaine]

As the Eagle staff rests and recuperates from the holiday, we find Sally and Alice aboard the train for Jersey, as Alice scans a copy of the Daily News. She begins, of course, with the all-important back page...

"It's awlya Ma's fault," Alice sputters. "She got Fitz so rat'ld wit'eh hoot'n 'n hollehrin', he couln' keep his min' onna game!" "Ahhhh, t'at din' have nut'n t'do wit' it. Y'know who was t'blame? T'at fathead Rickey, t'at's who. He hadda chance t'get Litwhileh in a trade las' win'eh, but did'dee do it? HAH!" "Ya ma needs t'set'l down," continues Alice. "T'way she's actin', it ain' seemly." "It'sat bowlin'," snaps Sally. "Eveh since she took up t'at bowlin', it's been Fitz t'is an' Fitz t'at. I ast'eh, 'what does Uncle Frank t'ink'a t'is?' An' y'know what she done? She hel't up 'eh han' an' sez, 'you see a ring onneh? Francis got nut'n t'say about'it.' I ASK YA! Sump'ns gotta be done, it's embarassin'!" "Heh!" chortles Alice. "Not so embarassin' as you goin' oveh t'tat ot'eh box an' spillin a Coke onnat gal you t'ought was Kilgallen, on'y it wasn'! Was youeh face red! Hah!" "Aw, layoffa t'at. It was a acciden'. It wasn' my fault I din' have my glasses on. An' b'sides, Mrs. Cashmoeh was very gracious 'bout t'whole t'ing." "Yeh," chuckles Alice, "but MISTEH Cashmoeh, he busted right out laughin'." "I apologized t'him too," shrugs Sally. "I tol' him I voted f'r'im an' ev'ryt'ing. T'ats how ya hannle politicians." "I t'ought you awrways voted f't' A. L. P." "Ahhhhhh, I dowanna tawk about politics. What's on page foeh?"

"Heh!" hehs Alice. "It's like t'at guy Samuel Goldman says -- 'A Mexican div'oece ain' woit' t'papeh it's writt'n on." "GoldWYN," corrects Sally. "An'nat ain' quite what he said. "Well, he ain' been divoeced yet."

"Y'know," observes Alice, "I bet Leonoreh's gonna be a real han'ful when she grows up." "Watch ya mout',"snaps Sally. "Well," Alice continues, "lookit'eh gran'ma!"

"Owr," proposes Alice, "she c'd grow up like Annie heeh. Goin' roun' blowin up subm'rines, fight'n Nazis an' awlat." "Leonoreh is gonna go t'collitch," declares Sally, "like I wish't I coulda. An'nen if she wants t' blow up subm'rines an' fight Nazis an' awl'at, she'll have sump'n t'fawl back on when she's done."

"Long as she don' end up like T'IS kid," continues Alice. "She won' get mixed up wit' no ban'leadeh," insists Sally. "I know awlabout ban'leadehs. Y'know, t'ey awl come t'ru Roselan' when Joe an' me useta go out steppin', an' t'ey useta t'wink at me when I was upside down an'awl. Special' when my unnehpants was showin'. Buncha bums, awl'f'm." "I hope somebody's gonna do sump'n 'bout t'at pooeh pig," sighs Alice. "Mus' be foeh, five hunne't pounsa poek t'eh."

"I kin'a like Pat Ryan wit'ta beeh'd," comments Alice. "Makes'im look whatchacawl distinguishab'l." "Neh," returns Sally. "I awrways figgeh a guy wit' a beeh'd's got sump'n t' hide." "Some guys look betteh wit' a beeh'd. Joe'd look betteh wit' a beeh'd, I betcha. "Ain' nut'n wrong wit' how Joe looks. Joe looks like John Gawrfiel'," snaps Sally. "Well, if ya squint." "I know who'd look betteh wit' a beeh'd," continues Alice. "Who?" asks Sally. "Andy Gump!" "Hm," concedes Sally. "Couldn' hoit."

"Go ahead'n laugh, kid," snickers Alice. "Ya next!" "Poor Skeezix," sighs Sally.

"Bim'd look betteh wit' a beeh'd too," adds Alice. "But," notes Sally, "he'd be jus' as dumb."

"Ya betteh watch out," chuckles Alice, "Leonoreh might en' up like T'IS!" "Nah," snorts Alice. "Notta chance." "Din' you tell me when YOU was a lit'l goil, t'at YOU useta..." "Aw," growls Sally, "min'ya own bis'ness.")

"Plushie'd look good wit' a beehd," concludes Alice as the train pulls into Jersey City. "Yeh," acknowledges Sally. "But Monty Wooley'd sue!"

 

[Fading Fast]

As the Eagle staff rests and recuperates from the holiday, we find Sally and Alice aboard the train for Jersey, as Alice scans a copy of the Daily News. She begins, of course, with the all-important back page...


"It's awlya Ma's fault," Alice sputters. "She got Fitz so rat'ld wit'eh hoot'n 'n hollehrin', he couln' keep his min' onna game!" "Ahhhh, t'at din' have nut'n t'do wit' it. Y'know who was t'blame? T'at fathead Rickey, t'at's who. He hadda chance t'get Litwhileh in a trade las' win'eh, but did'dee do it? HAH!" "Ya ma needs t'set'l down," continues Alice. "T'way she's actin', it ain' seemly." "It'sat bowlin'," snaps Sally. "Eveh since she took up t'at bowlin', it's been Fitz t'is an' Fitz t'at. I ast'eh, 'what does Uncle Frank t'ink'a t'is?' An' y'know what she done? She hel't up 'eh han' an' sez, 'you see a ring onneh? Francis got nut'n t'say about'it.' I ASK YA! Sump'ns gotta be done, it's embarassin'!" "Heh!" chortles Alice. "Not so embarassin' as you goin' oveh t'tat ot'eh box an' spillin a Coke onnat gal you t'ought was Kilgallen, on'y it wasn'! Was youeh face red! Hah!" "Aw, layoffa t'at. It was a acciden'. It wasn' my fault I din' have my glasses on. An' b'sides, Mrs. Cashmoeh was very gracious 'bout t'whole t'ing." "Yeh," chuckles Alice, "but MISTEH Cashmoeh, he busted right out laughin'." "I apologized t'him too," shrugs Sally. "I tol' him I voted f'r'im an' ev'ryt'ing. T'ats how ya hannle politicians." "I t'ought you awrways voted f't' A. L. P." "Ahhhhhh, I dowanna tawk about politics. What's on page foeh?"
...

Oh, Sally, you didn't?

...

"Heh!" hehs Alice. "It's like t'at guy Samuel Goldman says -- 'A Mexican div'oece ain' woit' t'papeh it's writt'n on." "GoldWYN," corrects Sally. "An'nat ain' quite what he said. "Well, he ain' been divoeced yet."
...

"...his Chihuahua decree being a pretty souvenir of travel in the land of sunshine and no gas rationing, but invalid."

"...he ordered his wife to get out of the W. 86th St. address or be tossed out..." Jesus

As Sally notes, Alice might want to look up that quote.

Here's a shocker, though, sixty-seven-year-old Victor Moore would be married to twenty-two-year-old Shirley Page for the next twenty years until he passed away at the age of eighty-seven with a smile on his face.

...

"I kin'a like Pat Ryan wit'ta beeh'd," comments Alice. "Makes'im look whatchacawl distinguishab'l." "Neh," returns Sally. "I awrways figgeh a guy wit' a beeh'd's got sump'n t' hide." "Some guys look betteh wit' a beeh'd. Joe'd look betteh wit' a beeh'd, I betcha. "Ain' nut'n wrong wit' how Joe looks. Joe looks like John Gawrfiel'," snaps Sally. "Well, if ya squint." "I know who'd look betteh wit' a beeh'd," continues Alice. "Who?" asks Sally. "Andy Gump!" "Hm," concedes Sally. "Couldn' hoit."
...

As you noted the other day, Lizzie, this really does feel like throwback "Terry and the Pirates." As you also noted, let's hope the DL or, even better, Hu Shee, pops up soon.

"I'm available for freelance work anytime."

"You'll have to get in touch with my lawyers and my fee is paid in advance...and in gold."

...

"Ya betteh watch out," chuckles Alice, "Leonora might en' up like T'IS!" "Nah," snorts Alice. "Notta chance." "Din' you tell me when YOU was a lit'l goil, t'at YOU useta..." "Aw," growls Sally, "min'ya own bis'ness.")
...

I'm very hopeful for the long-term prospect for Leonora, but if Sally's genes dominate, you could easily see her going through a Dottie stage for a few years during adolescence.

 

[FOXTROT LAMONT]

That dark shadow silhouette looked femme fatalish.

Bye the bees I caught Dial of Destiny. Looover it. What I find most compelling about Indy is he found his niche.
A man so well suited to archeology, grouch but not really. Harrison Ford fits him to a t. Just sat back and drank
a few beers snuck in for the ride. And it's great fun, don't know why all the complaints. Do go if you haven't.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("What'sat ya got t'eh, Ma?" inquires Joe, gazing across his egg cream as Ma Sweeney fiddles with a small, folded sheet. "A lettar," declares Ma, in a troubled tone. "A lettar from me boy Michael." "Ah," ahs Joe. "Flatbush's gift t't' Nawrt' African the-ay-teh. 'Bout time he wrote to ya. Sal's been wonderin' what hap'n't to 'im. Y'know, we din' heeh f'm me pal Solly Pincus f'mont's, an' it toin't out he'd got shot." Ma flinches, and Joe hastens to add, "but he toin't out awright. T'ey give'im a medal n'ev'ryt'ing." "You nevarr cared much far Michael, did ye, Joseph?" inquires Ma. "It ain'nat," demurs Joe, not wanting to ignite a controversy he has tried for six years to avoid. "He jus' -- well, y'evveh have somebody borreh money f'm ya?" "Oh, a few times," nods Ma. "An'nen when it's time t'pay ya back, t'eh fulla 'scuses. 'I'm kin'a shawrt.' 'I ain' got a job right now.' "I been -- uh -- in stawrage.'" Ma's eyes flick at this last. "I'll admit me boy has had his troobles," she finally sighs. "But he's still me boy. Y'arr a parrn't, Joseph. You know." "Yeh," exhales Joe. "I know. Anyways, what's he got t'say?" "He says 'Dearr Mothaar, I am fine. The Aaaarmy isn't loike what I thaat it would be, but I aaam gettin' along. I am in a unit...' -- aaand this paaart is blacked oout -- 'so when we aaarn't' -- and this is blaacked oout again -- 'if ye know whaat I mean. I aaam a bit short this monnth, so if you could send me abouut ten dollars it wouuld help me ooot of a scrape. If ye waaant to send somme caanns of caarned beef ye cooould tuuck it inn with them. AAArmy caaarned beef is.." -- aaand this paart is blacked ooout. "Looove an' kisses, yaaar boy Mickey.'" "Nice letteh," shrugs Joe. "He's still me boy," exhales Ma.")

A Manhattan father of three who received a draft summons ordering him to report for induction at 8 AM yesterday refused to report -- and declared today that he will not report until all single men, and "all draft-dodging husbands who married after Pearl Harbor" have been taken into the service. Thirty-three-year-old Jack Silverstien of 76 Cannon Street further stated that, in addition to having a wife and three children, he has a lame back and is required to wear a brace much of the time. His third wife, Rose Silverstien, helps him withthe administrative end his house painting business. Silverstein is running paid advertisements seeking a lawyer to represent him when the Selective Service Administration comes after him, and a publicity man to get out his side of the dispute. Questioned by reporters, Mrs. Silverstein stated that she believes her husband should report to his draft board because Army doctors are almost certain to reject him on medical grounds, but she does agree with his efforts to secure widespread publicity for his case. Silverstein's three children live with their mother, Mrs. Esther Wiss Silverstein his first wife, at 39 Avenue D in Manhattan, and is under a court order to pay her $17 a week child support. She states that he averages payments of $11 a week, and that she presently receives $7 a month in Home Relief.

The French singer named as "the Other Woman" in the Dempsey divorce case has reportedly been located in Chicago. In a copyrighted article the Chicago Times stated that Miss Yvette Muriel Colbert was located in a lodging house on the city's North Side, after stage star Hannah WIlliams Dempsey dropped her suit against former heavyweight boxing champion Jack Dempsey because Miss Colbert could not be found to testify. Miss Colbert told the newspaper that she "will not return to New York," because of resentment of the methods employed by detectives hired by Mrs. Dempsey to find her. The newspaper quotes her as saying that the detectives "tricked her" into revealing an alleged romantic interlude with the boxer, but insisted that "it was merely a dream I put into words." The Dempsey case is presently being considered by a New York Supreme Court referee.

Mayor LaGuardia's plan to carry to the courts a test case of the independent meat slaughterers' plan to supply meat on consignment to retailers for sale at or below OPA ceiling prices has been accepted by the slaughterers, who will designate one of their number to submit to the test. The Mayor's proposal is in direct defiance of OPA authorities who have warned that the packers' plan is illegal, and that they will prosecute any violator. The willingness of the packers represented in the Eastern States Independent Slaughterers Association to work with the Mayor in preparing a test case was announced yesterday by former Municipal Court Justice Nathan Sweedler.

(Well, at least it was a FLAT tombstone.)

The War Labor Board will meet in executive session today to consider the dispute between American Federation of Musicians President James C. Petrillo and seven manufacturers of electrical transcriptions over the union's refusal to make recordings for broadcast use "at any price." Secretary of Labor Frances Perkins certified the case for WLB consideration yesterday after acknowledging that all efforts at a negotiated settlement of the issue had failed.

The War Department has ruled that home-recorded messages to service members from family and friends may no longer be sent overseas. The ruling comes out of a fear that the recordings might be used to smuggle coded messages containing military information to the enemy. Recordings from home may continue to be sent to service members stationed in the continental United States.

(Having Betty Hutton *IN* "For Whom The Bell Tolls" seems like such a tremendous missed opportunity.)

The Eagle Editorialist observes the passing of the Works Progress Administration by recalling its record of many outstanding accomplishments. The beginning of the new fiscal year on July 1st saw the official expiration of the WPA, and while acknowledging that many "frauds and impostors" found their way onto the rolls over the decade of the agency's existence, they were far outweighed by the "permanent assets" left behind in the form of WPA projects which will stand as monuments to the Administration's efforts to provide food, shelter, honest work and self-respect to more than 12,000,000 impoverished Americans during a tragic era of the nation's history, enabling those persons to remain loyal to "a social system that regarded them as human beings and would not let them starve when they were overtaken by misfortune."

("Oh, a plumber? ASSIGN HIM TO ORDNANCE!")

("DON' STOP WIT" T" TOENAILS!" roars Alice, slapping the paper with a pudgy fist. "KEEP TRIMMIN'!" All heads on the train turn, as Sally's forehead sinks to her palm.)

The largest crowd ever to see an independent game at Pittsburgh's Forbes Field turned out yesterday for the doubleheader between the Homestead Grays of the Negro National League and the Bushwicks. Fifteen thousand persons cheered on the hometown Grays as they rallied in the twelfth inning for a 5-4 win in the first game of the twinbill, and breezed to an easy 8-5 victory in the nightcap. The two clubs then took an overnight train to Washington where they will clash at Griffith Stadium this evening. The trip is the Bushwicks' first extended road engagement since they were founded in 1917. They return to Dexter Park on Sunday afternoon to face the Cuban Stars, currently runners-up for the first-half pennant in the Negro National League.

("Of course, you'll have to change your clothes first.")

(And how in the world can you run in those shoes!)

("Name of a dog" -- a minced oath in French, "Nom d'un chien!" -- a euphemism for "Nom de Dieu," or "Name of God." But a real Frenchman would just say "Merde!")

(OH NO I"M NOT GOING ON ANOTHER ROAD TRIP!)

("Cliffyrd?")

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

"Twice before Jimmy has disappeared." That's a bit disquieting for a three-and-a-half-year-old, wouldn't you think?

Louise Tobin got the last laugh, though -- she outlived them both, and then some, passing away just last November, at the age of 104.

"A man of few words?" That's something new!

Punj is skinny dipping. Let me say that again. PUNJ IS SKINNY DIPPING.

I wonder if Stoop and Punjab ever hit the pool together at the Y?

Poor 88. This never happened at the Hotel St. Regis.

I'd love to see the size of Mr. King's research library.

"Why Women Cry" -- title of Elizabeth Hawes' forthcoming book on what it's like to be a woman working in a war plant.

Kid, if you're looking for marital advice, keep looking.

Just like Charlotte Greenwood!

 

[LizzieMaine]

Oh, and...

Great, let's keep this going! OK Jack, now YOU tell Bobby Clark!

And also...

Roars Sally, "WHAT"VE I BEEN SAYIN"!!!!!!"

 

[Fading Fast]

("What'sat ya got t'eh, Ma?" inquires Joe, gazing across his egg cream as Ma Sweeney fiddles with a small, folded sheet. "A lettar," declares Ma, in a troubled tone. "A lettar from me boy Michael." "Ah," ahs Joe. "Flatbush's gift t't' Nawrt' African the-ay-teh. 'Bout time he wrote to ya. Sal's been wonderin' what hap'n't to 'im. Y'know, we din' heeh f'm me pal Solly Pincus f'mont's, an' it toin't out he'd got shot." Ma flinches, and Joe hastens to add, "but he toin't out awright. T'ey give'im a medal n'ev'ryt'ing." "You nevarr cared much far Michael, did ye, Joseph?" inquires Ma. "It ain'nat," demurs Joe, not wanting to ignite a controversy he has tried for six years to avoid. "He jus' -- well, y'evveh have somebody borreh money f'm ya?" "Oh, a few times," nods Ma. "An'nen when it's time t'pay ya back, t'eh fulla 'scuses. 'I'm kin'a shawrt.' 'I ain' got a job right now.' "I been -- uh -- in stawrage.'" Ma's eyes flick at this last. "I'll admit me boy has had his troobles," she finally sighs. "But he's still me boy. Y'arr a parrn't, Joseph. You know." "Yeh," exhales Joe. "I know. Anyways, what's he got t'say?" "He says 'Dearr Mothaar, I am fine. The Aaaarmy isn't loike what I thaat it would be, but I aaam gettin' along. I am in a unit...' -- aaand this paaart is blacked oout -- 'so when we aaarn't' -- and this is blaacked oout again -- 'if ye know whaat I mean. I aaam a bit short this monnth, so if you could send me abouut ten dollars it wouuld help me ooot of a scrape. If ye waaant to send somme caanns of caarned beef ye cooould tuuck it inn with them. AAArmy caaarned beef is.." -- aaand this paart is blacked ooout. "Looove an' kisses, yaaar boy Mickey.'" "Nice letteh," shrugs Joe. "He's still me boy," exhales Ma.")
...

So it looks like Michael won't be sending any money home.

"y'evveh have somebody borreh money f'm ya?" "Oh, a few times," nods Ma."

...

A Manhattan father of three who received a draft summons ordering him to report for induction at 8 AM yesterday refused to report -- and declared today that he will not report until all single men, and "all draft-dodging husbands who married after Pearl Harbor" have been taken into the service. Thirty-three-year-old Jack Silverstien of 76 Cannon Street further stated that, in addition to having a wife and three children, he has a lame back and is required to wear a brace much of the time. His third wife, Rose Silverstien, helps him withthe administrative end his house painting business. Silverstein is running paid advertisements seeking a lawyer to represent him when the Selective Service Administration comes after him, and a publicity man to get out his side of the dispute. Questioned by reporters, Mrs. Silverstein stated that she believes her husband should report to his draft board because Army doctors are almost certain to reject him on medical grounds, but she does agree with his efforts to secure widespread publicity for his case. Silverstein's three children live with their mother, Mrs. Esther Wiss Silverstein his first wife, at 39 Avenue D in Manhattan, and is under a court order to pay her $17 a week child support. She states that he averages payments of $11 a week, and that she presently receives $7 a month in Home Relief.
...

"Silverstein is running paid advertisements seeking a lawyer to represent him when the Selective Service Administration comes after him, and a publicity man to get out his side of the dispute."

This guy would have been a natural in today's world of social media / go fund me / influencers / etc.

...

The French singer named as "the Other Woman" in the Dempsey divorce case has reportedly been located in Chicago. In a copyrighted article the Chicago Times stated that Miss Yvette Muriel Colbert was located in a lodging house on the city's North Side, after stage star Hannah WIlliams Dempsey dropped her suit against former heavyweight boxing champion Jack Dempsey because Miss Colbert could not be found to testify. Miss Colbert told the newspaper that she "will not return to New York," because of resentment of the methods employed by detectives hired by Mrs. Dempsey to find her. The newspaper quotes her as saying that the detectives "tricked her" into revealing an alleged romantic interlude with the boxer, but insisted that "it was merely a dream I put into words." The Dempsey case is presently being considered by a New York Supreme Court referee.
...

Well, that's an interesting postscript.

Plus, "The newspaper quotes her as saying that the detectives 'tricked her' into revealing an alleged romantic interlude with the boxer, but insisted that 'it was merely a dream I put into words.." Seriously, that's your argument? She's lucky this thing is dead anyway.

(Well, at least it was a FLAT tombstone.)
...

The tombstone may have been flat, but they should check the dice.

My girlfriend would call playing dice on a tombstone bad juju.

...

Louise Tobin got the last laugh, though -- she outlived them both, and then some, passing away just last November, at the age of 104.
...

Although, Ms. Tobin might get a pit in her stomach reading about what the judge from Page Four said yesterday about Mexican divorce papers, "...his Chihuahua [Mexico] decree being a pretty souvenir of travel in the land of sunshine and no gas rationing, but invalid."

Kudos to Betty and Harry, though, as they made it twenty-two years before they got a divorce. So Betty wasn't quite right, but for a movie star and a bandleader's marriage that's close to lasting forever.

It was a different time and everyone smoked so it was probably no big deal, but today, if you ever get near a chain smoker, they positively reek.

...

Punj is skinny dipping. Let me say that again. PUNJ IS SKINNY DIPPING.
...

Seriously, you made the guy wearing the turban go down and look; no one else could have gone?

...

Roars Sally, "WHAT"VE I BEEN SAYIN"!!!!!!"

She has been. In her own crazy way, so has Alice.

 

[FOXTROT LAMONT]

I absolutely believe I saw a woman with an oar.

 

[LizzieMaine]

Nah, that was just Big Stoop, an eight-foot-tall mute commando in native garb. And, evidently, a master of disguise.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Y'know what Joe needs?" proposes Alice as the train rattles homeward. "What?" replies Sally, worriedly scanning the news of Sicily. "Joe," continues Alice, "needs a new suit a' cloe's." Sally lowers the newspaper and frowns. "Joe don' need no suit a' cloe's. He weah's ovehrawls t'woik, an' he's awredy got t'at one suit f'when we go t' Loew's Met. T'at's a nice suit. He got married innat suit." "T'at hokey blue soige numbeh?" snorts Alice. "Wit'ta belt inna back? Ohhhh, Louise!" "Ain' nut'n wrong wit'tat suit," dismisses Sally. "Y'know, Misteh G. is t'bes' taileh in Bensonhoist," insists Alice. "I wen' downa utteh night an' had a look at 'is shawp. Nice place. An' I bet if I ast'im he'd give Joe a discount onna suit. A shawrp-lookin' suit. Inna nice plaid. A suit t'weah when y'go out steppin'." "We don' go out steppin' no moeh," growls Sally. "T'ez a wawr on." "Yeh," declares Alice, "but if Joe hadda new suit t'go showin' awff in, I betcha he'd wanna go out steppin'! B'sides, Misteh G likes Joe. He says Joe is whatcha cawl a 'mensch.' I don' know zackly what t'at is, but t'way he says it I t'ink it means sump'n good. Yeh, Joe otta have a new suit." "Joe don' need a new suit," Sally erupts with sudden sharpness. "An' ya know why? B'cause befoeh t'is yeeh is oveh, he's gonna GET a new suit! F'free! A brown suit! Jus' like t'one t'ey put on Mickey! Jus' like t'one t'ey put on Solly Pincus! Whet'eh he likes it a'nawt! Whet'eh -- whet'eh *I* like it a'nawt...." "Oh," ohs Alice, realizing she has stepped on a tender spot. "A brown suit." "Yeh," nods Sally, her eyes reddening. "Wit' -- a belt inna back." Alice nods. "Yeh," sighs Sally, her gaze shifting back to the front page. "Wit' a belt inna back.")

The Administration's wage stabilization program faced another major attack today from union representatives of 1,100,000 shipyard workers demanding wage adjustments to meet increases in the cost of living. Those demands are involved in the biggest wage case ever to reach the WLB, involving representatives of nearly all the workers in 188 shipyards, workers belonging to the American Federation of Labor metal trades department, the Industrial Union of Marine and Shipbuilding Workers CIO, and the independent International Association of Machinists. The case reflects increasing pressure on the wage stabilization program developing even as wage disputes involving miners and railway workers are still awaiting final settlement.

In Washington DC, Postmaster General Frank C. Walker today "refused to dignify" a charge made by the editor of the National Police Gazette that he recently was the heavy winner in a crap game, cleaning out a group of his friends with a pair of loaded dice. One of the Postmaster General's assistants stated today that Mr. Walker never owned a pair of dice in his life except for those in his Parcheesi and backgammon sets, "and those," the assisstant added, "are not loaded." Walker recently revoked the Police Gazette's second-class mailing permit on the grounds that the magazine contains "obscene material." The paper's editor made his statement at a hearing over the reinstatement of that permit, declaring that he cancelled advertisements for trick dice from his paper at the request of the Postmaster General, but claimed that Mr. Walker had told him that he himself had used such a set of dice which he purchased at a corner drug store in a game with "some old friends."

("I know, Francis!" snaps Ma, leaning close to the telephone mouthpiece while keeping her eye on the door. "He doesn't do no business here, but there's noooooo sense taking chances. Tell those sons of yours to clean up those books, and get Hops to...OH HELLO JOSEPH! Sit ye down, me boy, an' I'll be with ye in just a mooment. Thaat's right, I need foive cases of Haaaarshey bars, two of Mouunds, one of thaat Bloooney booble goom, aaand are ye still carryin' those aaal day suuuuckers? Well, be sure ye take caaaare of the aaaaal-day suuuuckers. Ye get me? Good." Ma hangs up the receiver, steps behind the counter, and gives Joe and Leonora her warmest and most grandmotherly smile. "Business good?" chuckles Joe. "As long as ye keep oop," nods Ma.")

(GOOD DOG!)

(EVERYBODY's contiributing to the war effort.)

A 26-year-old Army private who was one of the first Brooklyn men called into uniform when the draft began more than two years ago has died in a Japanese prison camp. Private Michael A. Cavanaugh Jr., formerly of 65 Abbey Court Road, Gerritsen Beach, was reported in a War Department telegram to his parents to have died of "illness" on June 11th. He was among the American troops involved in the battle for Bataan, and was taken prisoner by the Japanese during the siege of Corregidor. He was so busy fighting that he had no time to write home -- the last his family had heard from him was a letter received on December 8, 1941, the day after the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor. He was a 1935 graduate of James Madison High School, where he was president of his class and a leader in scholastic and athletic activity. Following graduation he worked with his father, a funeral director, until he was selected in the draft in 1940.

(And who knows, maybe we'll find a 16 year old who can play shortstop.)

Gertrude Berg, author-actress of "The Goldbergs," popular CBS serial, is displaying two service stars in her window. One of is for her son Cherney, just graduated from college and recently inducted into the Air Force, and one is for Alfred Ryder, the young actor who grew up playing Molly Goldberg's son Sammy for fourteen years before he was drafted last summer. Asked if she intended to re-cast the role during Ryder's absence, Mrs. Berg replied "what do you do when your son goes in the Army? Replace him??"

(It's a pity you've only got eight weeks left. Those shoulders could probably get you a job with the Football Dodgers.)

(You'd think after his recent experiences he would steer far far clear of trailers.)

(There's a coffee roastery just down the block from here. Wait'll the neighbors start complaining about the smell!)

(You've got to SIT in the suitcase for maximum effect!)

(That's the most ineffective fire escape I've ever seen.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

Hey kid, nobody likes a wise guy.

Awful.

"Or a big man! With a big rug!"

Yeah, don'cha hate having shoes full of water?

I bet when 88 had his band, the rehearsals were brutal.

"Da, comrade."

NICE GOING KNOBHEAD.

"If you think he's bad, watch out if a guy named 'Tops' ever comes thru here..."

You gotta admire Emmy's desk-side manner.

The back room at the Sugar Bowl is seedier than I imagined.

 

[LizzieMaine]

Oh, and...

"Look son, you couldn't go down and suit up? For old times sake? Just for a couple of innings?"

 

[Fading Fast]

("Y'know what Joe needs?" proposes Alice as the train rattles homeward. "What?" replies Sally, worriedly scanning the news of Sicily. "Joe," continues Alice, "needs a new suit a' cloe's." Sally lowers the newspaper and frowns. "Joe don' need no suit a' cloe's. He weah's ovehrawls t'woik, an' he's awredy got t'at one suit f'when we go t' Loew's Met. T'at's a nice suit. He got married innat suit." "T'at hokey blue soige numbeh?" snorts Alice. "Wit'ta belt inna back? Ohhhh, Louise!" "Ain' nut'n wrong wit'tat suit," dismisses Sally. "Y'know, Misteh G. is t'bes' taileh in Bensonhoist," insists Alice. "I wen' downa utteh night an' had a look at 'is shawp. Nice place. An' I bet if I ast'im he'd give Joe a discount onna suit. A shawrp-lookin' suit. Inna nice plaid. A suit t'weah when y'go out steppin'." "We don' go out steppin' no moeh," growls Sally. "T'ez a wawr on." "Yeh," declares Alice, "but if Joe hadda new suit t'go showin' awff in, I betcha he'd wanna go out steppin'! B'sides, Misteh G likes Joe. He says Joe is whatcha cawl a 'mensch.' I don' know zackly what t'at is, but t'way he says it I t'ink it means sump'n good. Yeh, Joe otta have a new suit." "Joe don' need a new suit," Sally erupts with sudden sharpness. "An' ya know why? B'cause befoeh t'is yeeh is oveh, he's gonna GET a new suit! F'free! A brown suit! Jus' like t'one t'ey put on Mickey! Jus' like t'one t'ey put on Solly Pincus! Whet'eh he likes it a'nawt! Whet'eh -- whet'eh *I* like it a'nawt...." "Oh," ohs Alice, realizing she has stepped on a tender spot. "A brown suit." "Yeh," nods Sally, her eyes reddening. "Wit' -- a belt inna back." Alice nods. "Yeh," sighs Sally, her gaze shifting back to the front page. "Wit' a belt inna back.")
...

What's Alice's angle, is she getting a "commission" from Mr. G?

...

In Washington DC, Postmaster General Frank C. Walker today "refused to dignify" a charge made by the editor of the National Police Gazette that he recently was the heavy winner in a crap game, cleaning out a group of his friends with a pair of loaded dice. One of the Postmaster General's assistants stated today that Mr. Walker never owned a pair of dice in his life except for those in his Parcheesi and backgammon sets, "and those," the assisstant added, "are not loaded." Walker recently revoked the Police Gazette's second-class mailing permit on the grounds that the magazine contains "obscene material." The paper's editor made his statement at a hearing over the reinstatement of that permit, declaring that he cancelled advertisements for trick dice from his paper at the request of the Postmaster General, but claimed that Mr. Walker had told him that he himself had used such a set of dice which he purchased at a corner drug store in a game with "some old friends."
...

It's probably a true story, but really stupid strategy to attack the Postmaster General in public when you'll need his friendship now or later.

...
("I know, Francis!" snaps Ma, leaning close to the telephone mouthpiece while keeping her eye on the door. "He doesn't do no business here, but there's noooooo sense taking chances. Tell those sons of yours to clean up those books, and get Hops to...OH HELLO JOSEPH! Sit ye down, me boy, an' I'll be with ye in just a mooment. Thaat's right, I need foive cases of Haaaarshey bars, two of Mouunds, one of thaat Bloooney booble goom, aaand are ye still carryin' those aaal day suuuuckers? Well, be sure ye take caaaare of the aaaaal-day suuuuckers. Ye get me? Good." Ma hangs up the receiver, steps behind the counter, and gives Joe and Leonora her warmest and most grandmotherly smile. "Business good?" chuckles Joe. "As long as ye keep oop," nods Ma.")
...

...

(GOOD DOG!)
...

Of the current or upcoming WB movies listed, "Watch on the Rhine" is the must-see one. Sally, Joe and Alice should keep an eye out for it.

...

(It's a pity you've only got eight weeks left. Those shoulders could probably get you a job with the Football Dodgers.)
...

Or she could be Joan Crawford's body double and they wouldn't even need to give her the shoulder pads that Joan uses.

...

(That's the most ineffective fire escape I've ever seen.)

As drawn, it looks like a tiny balcony, which are chockablock in NYC even in modestly priced apartments. That said, it's hard to picture the Bungles living in an apartment with a balcony. Then again, didn't they find a lot of money at one point? Of course, where are we here versus that timeline anyway?

...

I bet when 88 had his band, the rehearsals were brutal.
...

I think Ms. Grable made a better choice of bandleaders with Mr. James.

...

The back room at the Sugar Bowl is seedier than I imagined.

I picture Ma's backroom at Mr. Lieb's candy shop looking something like this (but with more phone lines):

 

[LizzieMaine]

"Yeh," says Alice. "Misteh G says I should be his 'outside woman,' an' go aroun' an' get business." "Well'en GO outside," growls Sally. "We'reawna train. At's kina' outside? Ain'it?"

 

[FOXTROT LAMONT]

Terrence is so a prolonged wait I forgot Ryan's primary objective.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("I dunno what I'm gonna do f'suppeh t'night," sighs Sally, scanning the rationing news with dismay. "Y'know what we had las' night? Beans. Y'know what we had t'night befoeh t'at? Beans. Leonoreh sees beans an' she says 'spppppppt.' An' she ain' wrong. What I would'n give f'ra brisket." "T'at remines me," pipes up Alice. "Mah-me G. said I should ask yez t'come down f'suppeh tonight. She's making kreplach! Y'know what kreplach is? It's like t'em ko'dunny t'ings Joe makes. "I went t' Erasmus," eyerolls Sally. "I know what kreplach is." "But," interjects Alice, "d'you know t'at kreplach is made wit' a SECRET INGREDIENT?" Sally gives Alice a skeptical side-glace. "G'wan," she replies. "I kidja nawt!" declares Alice. "Mah-me tol' me. A secret ingredient. An' ya know what t'at is?" "A secret?" eyerolls Sally. "It's whatchacawl 'schmawltz.' Ya know what 'schmawltz' is?" "What comes outa Harry James' trumpet?" proposes Sally. "Nahhhhhhhh," dismisses Alice. "See, you din' loin nut'n innat Erasmus atawl. Schmawltz is -- ya ready f't'is?" Sally nods, trying to suppress a chuckle. "Schmawlts is," continues Alice, lowering her voice to a whisper, "chicken fat!" Sally pops her eyes convincingly. "GaWAN!" she erupts, giving Alice a mock shove. "I kidja nawt! I seen it come outa t'jawr. Chicken fat! An' what t'at makes t'em kreplachs taste like! I wanna tell ya!" "Yeh," nods Sally. "T'at soun's good. Tell'eh me an' Lenoreh will be down t'night f'kreplach made wit'schmawltz." "Aw, I can't tell 'eh I tol' ya t'secret. She might get soeh. Let awn ya don' know, OK?" "I won' say a woid," promises Sally, raising a finger to her lips. "Hey, t'ough, it's funny, ain' it," continues Alice. "I mean, ya got t'is woid means, you know, cawrny, like Harry James - an'nen they decide t'use t'at same woid t'mean chicken fat too. Ain' langwidge funny?" "Yeh," nods Sally, as the train rumbles into Hudson Terminal, and passengers reach for bags and umbrellas. "Langwidge is funny.")

The Allied high command has ordered a state of siege on Crete and two other key Aegean islands on the Balkan invasion route, an Ankara dispatch reported today, as Lisbon reported almost daily arrival of convoys in North Africa carrying huge amounts of materiel for Allied armies. Axis broadcasts monitored in London stated that the Allies have concentrated 1,000,000 tons of shipping on the coast of North Africa, presumably including the vessels and equipment needed for an invasion of the European continent. Siege orders affecting Crete, nearby Scarpante, and Lero Island to the north followed a British commando-like raid feeling out the Crete defenses, reportedly manned by 180,000 German troops, Ankara reported.

A Nassau County police sergeant whose impulsive gesture of irritation toward a friend a little over a month ago cost that friend an eye has taken his own life. Sgt. John B. Lewis was found dead last night in the bedroom of his Inwood home, seated in a chair with a flexible gas tube in his mouth. That tube ran under the bedroom door into the kitchen, where it connected to a jet on the gas range. Lewis had been despondent since June 1st, when he threw a teletype file book at his friend, Patrolman John Kemmler, and struck him in the left eye, injuring that eye so severely it had to be removed. Sgt. Lewis was annoyed, he told investigatators, because Ptl. Kemmler forgot to bring him a package of cigarettes he had promised to purchase while out on a radio car assignment.

("Come weez me to zee.....oh. Well then. Never mind.")

The newly-constituted Fair Employment Practices Committee meets today in Washington, prepared to issue recommendations for ending hiring discrimination against Negroes and other minority groups in America. Reverend Francis J. Haas, committee chairman, stated that present practices of job discrimination "breed mob violence." He argued that the recent race riot in Detroit was instigated not by Axis agents, nor by the Ku Klux Klan, but by "inadequate housing, recreation, and transportation."

Indictments were returned yesterday in Manhattan Federal Court against three men accused of smuggling $4500 worth of industrial-grade diamonds to Nazi Germany. Charged were 36-year-old Werner F. Trinler, described as "a Swiss publicity man and former ski instructor at the Jug End Barn in Great Barrington, Mass.," and 23-year old Harry Strygler, a former gem merchant now serving in the Army at Camp Upton. Also indicted on a charge of submitting false statements to the War Production Board that he intended to use the diamonds in his own business was gem cutter Harry Smith. Only Trinler is now in custody, but all three men are expected to face arraignment shortly. It was revealed by the indictments against the men that the Germans require industrial diamonds in such quantity that they paid $200,000 for the $4500 consignment.

"Wondering" writes in to Helen Worth to ask what the appropriate tip is in a beauty salon when the bill is between $10 and $15. She indicates that she is about to have her hair cut for the first time, having worn long hair "for many years. After praising her for her courage in taking this step, and advising her that "in most instances women look more youthful with shorter, well-coiffed hair," provided it is set with "a good permanent," she suggests tipping 10 percent.

(Look, even the leftiest lefty will admit that "Mission to Moscow" is a straight-up wartime propaganda film -- but selling it as a romantic comedy is just too much.)

The Eagle Editorialist congratulates Harry James and Betty Grable on their marriage, declaring that the nuptials mean that "things will be a lot less complicated from here on," now that we don't have to worry about that particular romance and can concentrate again on less important matters. "Like the war."

(No more of this "auxiliary" stuff! You're in the Army now!)

"American" writes in to criticize those who take offense at the recent ruling by the Supreme Court that Jehovah's Witnesses and others with religious objections to saluting the flag may not be compelled by law to do so. "Certainly it is possible to love one's flag and country and yet dispense with the conventional salute. Too many of us indulge in the gesture without giving thought to the meaning. And certainly it is the foundation of our democratic system to permit a person to entertain honest religious and political convictions."

("I dunno whatsa matteh wit' t'ese guys," mutters Joe, scanning the page on the counter before him. "Camilli ain'nat old. Medwick ain'nat old, Wyatt ain'nat old. Davis, awright, he's old. Newsom, awright *he's* old. An' Fitz, gawdlove'im, he come oveh onna Mayfloweh." "Mind ye tongue, Joseph," scowls Ma. "Oi'm here t'tell ye yarr as old as ye feel. Oi meen, look at yeself. Ye just tarrned tharrty, did ye not? Do ye FEEL tharrty?" "Well, it depends," shrugs Joe. "On whaat?" queries Ma. "Onna time'a day," Joe continues. "When I get up inna mawrnin', an' when I go'ta bed at night, well, yeh, I feel t'oity. Inna middle t'ough, I don' feel t'oity at'awl. Well, c'ep aroun' 8 o'clock at night, when I been stan'in on me feet at t'at machine f'foueh houehs straight in'nese dam' heavy boots. I ast'em if I could maybe weah sneakehs oncet inna while, but t'ey din' like t'soun'a t'at. An'nen at night when I'm goin' up t'em steps at t'subway -- I feel t'oity t'en. But t'en I fawl asleep, an' I don' feel t'oity t'en. Until Sal gets up t'go t'woik at 5. But, I don' feel t'oity t'en." "Ah," nods Ma. "I feel sixty t'en. Well, awright," Joe concludes, slurping up a final sip of his egg cream. "Off t' woik. Oh, hey, ya got bubble gum back in stock. Heeh, gimme a coupla pieces 'a t'at." "Ahhh," chuckles Ma, ringing up the sale. "Sure an' ye'r sixty, all roit." "Well," chews Joe, blowing a big pink bubble as he heads for the door, "nawt at t'moment.")

(And put your hair up while you're at it!)

(Just another proof that having a super power doesn't necessarily make you super-bright.)

("What should I put on these other bags?" "Who cares, use your imagination.""Hey, how do you spell 'Horn and Hardart?')

(AMERICA'S NUMBER ONE HERO DOG IS ALWAS ALER.....zzzzzzz....)

(Meanwhile, in another universe Classic Jo would say "What? That bold snip of a girl! Do you know her mother cut me at the grocer's today! 'Hello Mrs. Bungle' she smirked with that false little smile of hers, 'and how are you today?" She never misses the chance for a sly dig! But I put her in her place. 'I'm fine,' I smiled right back, and I tell you, I *meant* it!")

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

That's all, folks.

A story I wish I didn't remember.

Every now and then Caniff gives us a panel that causes me to gasp with awe. Panel two is such a panel.

Well, at least they gave Punj a diving helmet.

"I'm a man of few words -- UNLESS!"

Skeez is going to have a very impressive scar.

"Of course, glad to help. That'll be eight red points."

These small town short-lines never run on time.

"Look in your classified telephone directory under 'Yeggs'."

Point of order: shouldn't she be on strike?