LizzieMaine
Bartender
- Messages
- 33,755
- Location
- Where The Tourists Meet The Sea
("Read book," demands Leonora, reaching for the colorful volume her mother has just laid aside on the nightstand. "No moeh t'night," declares Sally as she lifts her daughter into her bed. "Plenny'atime f't'at t'marra. "New'papeh," fusses Leonora. "Y'don' need t'read no papeh," insists Sally. "You go to sleep now -- remembeh, Santy Claus is watchin'. Leonora responds with a vigorous raspberry, but, with her wilted toy panda under her arm, snuggles under the heavy woolen blanket. Sally snaps off the light and, closing the bedroom door behind her, steps into the living room, where a holiday medley by Fred Waring's Pennsylvanians, issuing from the little table radio, gives way to a barking voice declaring the merits of Chesterfields. As the voice hacks out its festive message of "the right combination of fine tobaccos," Sally steps to the chipped bureau, and rearranges the packages laid out beneath a drugstore calendar featuring a blurry painting of a Christmas tree. A single string of colored lights surrounds the calendar, surrounded in turn by a construction-paper chain festooned with just enough tinsel to distract Stella the Cat, who sits comfortably on a chair pondering the possibilities of the situation. As the commercial ends and the music resumes, there's a brisk knock at the kitchen door. "Comin'," calls Sally. She opens the door to reveal Mr. Ginsburg, with an oddly-shaped, paper-wrapped bundle standing waist-high on the floor before him. "Uh, good evening, Missis Petrauskas, good evening to you. Uh, in my shop today a customer came, with a hole in his coat for me to mend, a hole, uh, a cigarette boin for me to mend. And he left behind this bundle, you see, this bundle. And he didn't leave his name, this man, and there is no tag on the bundle, no name is written you see? Well -- um -- I got no use, you see -- and Alice Dooley was telling me -- so I thought maybe you and Yussel and your little goil, I thought maybe... "Oh," nods Sally, comprehending her downstairs neighbor's offer. "Well, t'anks, Misteh G." she nods, accepting the bundle. "T'anks very much." "Is no trouble," nods Mr. Ginsburg. "My best to you, and also from Mrs. Ginsboig, her best too. Good evening." Sally watches as he steps carefully down the stairs, and then closes the door. The slight woodsy aroma exuding from the bundle confirms her suspicions as she strips off the paper to reveal a small fir tree, just two and a half feet high, neatly sawed off at the base and tacked to a wooden stand. As Sally carries the tree into the living room, Stella takes immediate note, leaps off the chair, and rushes over to examine the new arrival. "Oh no," chuckles Sally, as she begins to clear a space on top of the bureau. "Don' even T'INK of it.")
The former police commander of the Bedford-Stuyvesant district has been reassigned for the second time in as many days. Inspector John E. Copeland, yesterday transferred out of Brooklyn to a desk job in Manhattan by Commissioner Lewis J. Valentine, has been shifted once more, to the position of head of bureau operations for the overnight shift. Inspector Copeland will now work from 8 PM to 4 AM as supervisor of a staff of twelve men, instead of the staff of more than 500 he oversaw in Brooklyn. Commissioner Valentine stressed that the new assignment carries with it no reduction in rank or salary, but those familiar with police operations have noted that the position of night-shift supervisor is usually held by a lieutenant -- and that therefore the new appointment can be considered a demotion. Inspector Copeland, who is 60 years old, joined the force as a patrolman in 1906.
Meanwhile, political observers were today speculating on a statement by Commissioner of Inspections William J. Herlands criticizing the Police Commissioner for dismissing departmental charges against a Brooklyn patrolman accused of subversive activity. The charges against Ptl. James L Drew, accused earlier this year of associating with prominent Yorkville anti-Semite Joseph McWilliams and Col. Eugene N. Sanctuary, a known distributor of anti-Semitic pamphlets, were dropped after a departmental trial in July, and Drew has been reinstated at duty, with full reimbursement for pay lost over the period of his suspension. Commissioner Herlands, who had assembled the evidence presented against the patrolman during the trial, called Commissioner Valentine's decision to reinstate Drew "a major defeat on the home front," and asked whether his statement might hint at a rift between himself and the LaGuardia Administration, Herlands declared "I have never pulled my punches, whether the persons involved were part of the administration or not. I do not intend to start now."
("That's roit," affirms Ma. With a glance at young Willie, seated on his corner stool, she adds "And let that be a lesson to ye, lad. Poolrooms is no place farrr yoong boys! Stick to caaandy stores, an' ye'll do foine." "Yeh," replies Willie, adding another floor to his house of straws.)
("I'm gonna cook a roast f'Siddy," declares Alice, "an'nit's gonna be a good one. An' y'know wheah I got it fr'm? Mildred Kelly!" "What's she givin' you a roast fawr," queries Sally. "She ain' neveh give you nut'n but lip." "Aw, she ain' so bad," dismisses Alice. "Y'know t'em lit'l white pills she's awrways takin'', t'em benzedrines'? Well, she dropp'ta bot'l onna flooeh, an' I pick't it up. An'na flooeh manageh seen me do it, an' ast me what it was, an' I said it was mine, f'indigestion, y;know? An' Mildred seen me do it, an' she says she owes me a faveh. An' we tawk it oveh, an' nex' t'ing y'know she's givin' me t'is roast. I got it home inna icebox. Great big one. I'm givin' half'v'it t' Mame G, an'na ot'eh half f'me an' Siddy." "T'em pills is awrf'l," comments Sally. "You remembeh when I fois' stawrted at t'plant, Mildred gimme one an' I wen' be'zoik? I hope you ain' takin' non'a t'em t'ings. "Oh no," affirms Alice. "I don' need no help goin' be'zoik. Remembeh when I t'rew t'at roast at Hig? I still wish I hadn'a done'at, t'at was too good of a roast t'waste onna bum like him. In fack, my New Yeehs resolution is t'neveh waste a roast again." "Shouldn' be too hawrd t'keep t'at one," muses Sally. "Yeh," nods Alice. "I t'ink so. I mean, t'ezza wawr on!")
("Sorry, I didn't catch that. My ears still hurt from listening to "Superman.")
The trial at Kharkov of three Nazi mass murderers and a Russian traitor is believed to foreshadow the fate awaiting Adolf Hitler and his fellow Axis criminals. Most observers of the trial agreed that the Soviets intend to conduct similar trials against war criminals no matter how highly placed the defendants. It is expected that if and when Hitler, Himmler, and Goering are brought to justice they will be sent to the gibbet in the same manner as their lesser henchmen just executed at Kharkov. The defendants in that trial did not deny their actions, but argued that they were only guilty of following the orders of the Nazi regime, which was, itself, the real criminal. One trial observer noted of the groveling Nazis that they "did not even have the courage to fight like cornered rats."
("Jeez," marvels Joe. "Bobo's 1A. He's what, t'oity-five, t'oity six? An'neh gonna draft 'im? What'sawoil' comin'ta?" "I don' caeh too much about basebawl," shrugs Miss Kaplan. "I wenta Ebbets Feel a coupl'a times wit' me boyfrien', befoeh t'wawr. Didn' see too much pernt to it. I rememeh t'is one game I wenta, we set up inna bleachehs t'eh, an' t'whole t'ing was ruint by t'is one gal a few rows up kep' screamin' PEEEEEEEEETEY PEEEEEEETEY a' sump'n. C'n ya 'magine anybody bein'nat stupid?" "Oh, I dunno," huffs Joe. "I bet she's pretty smawrt, once ya get t'know 'eh. Lotta smawrt people gota bawlgames. I bet -- oh --I mean, Clifton Fadiman goes t'bawlgames. I bet -- um -- Gypsy Rose Lee goes t'bawlgames. Yeh. Lotta smawrt people like t'at gota bawlgames." "PEEEEEETEEE!" mocks Miss Kaplan. "PEEEEEEETEEEEEE! Honestagawd, it takes awl kinds." "Yeh," grumbles Joe. "Some kin's wec'n do wit'out." "What?" "Nut'n.")
Catcher Gus Mancuso of the Giants, who was one of several rotating backstops for the Dodgers before the arrival of Mickey Owen, has been classified 4-F following his physical examination by his draft board. The basis of that rejection? The many finger injuries sustained by the 39-year-old during his many years behind the plate renders his hands unsuitable for firing a gun. That makes the 4-F status of the Polo Grounds catching department unanimous, with Ernie Lombardi, Ray Berres, and Joe Stephenson previously rejected for inability to meet physical requirments. The surfeit of catchers means the Ottmen will have plenty of trade bait for the winter.
(But wouldn't it have de-aged into crude petroleum? Mr. Tuthill once again gives us shaky science.)
("You go home and get your panties, I'll go home and get my scanties, and awaaaay we'll go...")
("YEAH THAT"S ENOUGH OF THAT.")
(He looks like Chester Conklin, but he talks like El Brendel.)
(AMERICA'S NUMBER ONE HERO DOG IS A HARD-SHELL CALVINIST.)