The Era -- Day By Day

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News.

Ahhh, Louis Untermyer. You romantic devil.

Jeeeezuz.

Hey Charlie, be a shame if you forgot your parachute.

"Am I mentioned? Did they spell my name right?" -- Sandy.

Starting out with a blank page.

Josie and Judy Wallet ought to form a club. It'd be easier on the hands.

"I've decided to come back from the grave. Warbucks just got here and we're all sick of his big mouth.

"Luck is the residue of design."

Ouch.

 

[Fading Fast]

A 16 year old girl found wandering near Flatbush and Nostrand Avenue has been taken to Bellevue Hospital, an apparent victim of amnesia. She is described as five feet two inches in height, weighing 95 pounds, with fair skin, brown hair and brown eyes, and was wearing a white dress with black sandals, no stockings or hat, and was carrying a black alligator purse.

Oh look, somebody dropped the first paragraph of a Warner Bros. film noir screenplay and, when found, it was mistaken for a police report.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("De-Gool-eee," puzzles Leonora, intently studying the front page. "DeGoolie?" "De Gaaaaaahl," corrects Ma, adding by way of explanation, "he's a Frenchman. They doon't taaahlk loike we do." "Oui?" replies Leonora, recalling a scene from a newsreel recently viewed during an afternoon matinee at the Patio. "That's roit," grins Ma, "not like we do." "Ain'nat sump'n," declares Sally. "She knows moeh'ra 'bout what' happ'nin' inna woil' t'an I do. I wish I'd get anot'eh letteh fr'm Joe. Y'know t'is is oueh annehvoisehry? Seven yeehs. Ev'ry yeeh we'd go out dancin', go t'Roselan', leas' tilla wawr come. I dunno weh..." Her thought, however, is interrupted by the door, skeening open to admit a remarkable figure. Clad in an immaculate cream-colored linen suit, a tall, slim man approaches the counter, peering from behind impossibly thick spectacles beneath a rakish Panama hat. He peels off fawn-colored gloves, revealing long, tapering fingers. "Good afternoon," he purrs, flashing a Pepsodent smile. "You are -- ah -- Mrs. Leary?" "Mrs. Sweeney," corrects Ma, scanning the visitor up and down. "Ah, my error. By any other name, you would be Mr. Leary's -- as the continentals say -- inamorata. And," he continues, inclining his head toward Sally, "you must then be -- ah -- Mrs. Petrowitz, is it?" "Petrauskas," scowls Sally. "Ah, of course, my dear," smiles the visitor. "My apologies. I understand that Mr. Leary wishes to speak with me. Might I see him?" "Mistarr Leary," replies Ma stiffly, "is aboot his warrk. Ye moight leave ye name an' noombar, and Oi'll have him call ye when he cooms in." "Very well," nods the visitor. "My name is Quinlan. Ignatius Quinlan, at your service. Mr. Leary may perhaps know me better by the -- ah -- affectionate nickname of 'Inky.' And he may reach me at -- ah -- INgersoll 2-5590. He may at this number reach a Miss Biberman. He may leave a message with her, she is my -- ah -- secretary." Ma jots the information on the back of a napkin and tucks it in her apron pocket. "Might I, as long as I am here," smiles Mr. Inky Quinlan, "trouble you for a packet of Sen Sen?" Ma frowns, and pulls the requested confection from a display behind the counter. "I thank you, dear lady," Mr. Quinlan concludes, sliding a dime across the counter. You may keep the change." He pockets his purchase and withdraws, as Sally cocks an inquisitive eye at her mother. "Praaahbably," chuckles Ma with a bit more force than necessary, "needs his farrnance fixed." Leonora snickers, as Sally shoots her a wondering glance...)

Thirty four of the thirty six delegates to the Dumbarton Oaks conference are in this city today, on an errand whose purpose is a closely-guarded secret. The conference participants are registered at the Waldorf-Astoria Hotel as "Mr. Edward Stettinius and party." They arrived in Manhattan last night, under a reservation which had been made in advance, but neither the hotel nor the State Department would reveal who is paying for their rooms. The train bearing the group arrived from Washington last night at Pennsylvania Station on a track other than one announced.

(Tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick....)

("Hmph," hmphs Leonora. "Amatchoor!")

("Let it go!"-- Mickey Owen. Are you SURE this time?)

The Bushwicks host the New York Black Yankees in a twinbill tomorrow at Dexter Park, coming off Thursday nights loss in Washington to the Homestead Grays and last night's 7-2 victory in Woodhaven against the Birmingham Black Barons. Emil Moskowitz allowed the Barons nine hits in racking up his sixth straight win of the season.

(Mr. Kelly is hoping to break into this new 'film noir' thing. "Look, I've even got the hat!")

(Look, pity boy, just turn around. She's getting chilly.)

("He's running in the fifth at Belmont!")

("Of course, I don't have it on me. My bank is nearby. Right next door to a chemical laboratory.")

("Oh well! Back to my old job, washing dishes at Childs!")

(AMERICA'S NUMBER ONE HERO DOG'S existence is justified! SO THERE!)

 

[LizzieMaine]

Five hundred miles from Paris, in the back of a truck slogging north of Toulon, Joe gazes wistfully at a wilted photo. "Yeh," he sighs to the Corporal. "T'at's 'eh, t'at's Sal. Seven yeehs we been married, seven yeehs t'day." "She a waitress?" inquires the Corporal, appraising the picture. "She woiked at Woolwoit's," sighs Joe. "I woiked in a pickle fact'ry in Williamsboig -- t'at's pawrta Brooklyn, see -- an' she woiked at Woolwoit's downtown'eh, on Fulton Street. We run oveh t' Borra Hawl durin' lunch. I had on me ovehrawls, awl smellin'a brine, an' she had on'at unifawrm t'eh. Got married jus' like t'at. She don' woik t'eh no moeh, she woiks inna factry f't'phone comp'ny out'n Joisey. But she still got t'unifawrm, an' put it awn f't'pitcheh, see, so I wouldn' f'get..." "Thass so romantic," replies the Corporal in a mocking sigh. Joe scowls from beneath his helmet, and with a sigh of his own, returns the photo to his shirt pocket...

"That's right, Itha Duerrhammer. With two Rs."

"You're so much -- wiser." Sure, that's it.

The Cycle of Life.

"As long as he doesn't try to elope with her again in a butcher's van."

America's Secret Billionaire Army moves into action.


"Even though you always went off and left me with random strangers, your heart was always -- wait a minute..."

"We'll have one of each. And half a buck on 5-4-7 to combinate!"

Fortunately it didn't go in deep because of all the scar tissue.

Honestly, this whole household could go on lithium.

 

[Fading Fast]

Enough already, they make less of a fuss when presidents die and this guy was kinda a jerk anyway.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("I jus' don' get it, is awl," sighs Sally, reclining on the couch as Dr. Levine taps her pencil on the edge of her notebook. "I been dread'n oueh annehvoisehry f' weeks now, but when it fin'ly gets'eeh -- I don' really feel nut'n. 'It's oueh annehvoisehry,' I sez t'myself. 'Yep, it's oueh annehvoisehry. Mm-hmm.' I didn' cry a' nut'n." "Seems to me," observes Dr. Levine, "that's a sign you're adusting to the reality of the situation, isn't that how it is?" "But I don' WANNA adjus' t't'reality'a t'situation," snaps Sally. "Cause if I do, t'at means, y'know, I'm awright wit' it. An' I AIN'T. Awlese guys you see runnin' aroun' like -- oh, like Uncle Frank's boys, t'ey ain' married, t'ey ain' got no kids, an'neh runnin' aroun' wit'out a caeh inna woil'. An' Joe's oveh t'eh, has t'leave t'on'y home he knows, an'nee'se oveh t'eh weh'reveh'ee is, an'nez nut'n I c'n do about it. An' I AIN'T awright wit't'at." "Ah," nods Dr. Levine, her pencil flying. "An' I tried t' tawk wit' Ma about it," continues Sally, "I really did. 'Cause a mot'eh's'posta lissen when'neh daughteh's got sump'n t'say, right? But she don' pay me no attention a'tawl. She's moeh worried 'bout Hops Gaffney gett'n married t'Marie Belacso!" "Hops....?" queries Dr. Levine. "Aw," sighs Sally. "It's a lawng stawry. Hops Gaffney's t'is guy, t'is creepy kin'a guy woiks f' Ma doin' errands 'n'awl 'roun' town. I dunno, I guess she feels sawry fawr 'im cause 'e's gotta face like a rabbit 'a sump'n. I mean great big eehs like Bugs Bunny. An' Marie Belasco -- well, she's my nephew's mot'eh. See, my brot'eh Mickey -- you know, t'at's inna Goiman prison camp now -- back about six yeehs ago, he knew t'is Marie Belasco, an' -- well..." "Ah," nods Dr. Levine. "An' we din' know nut'n'about it, see? He kept it t'is big secret till Ma foun'ese papehs in 'is safe deposit box an' looked 'eh up. An'nen she run awff an' left t' kid -- Willie's 'is name -- wit' Ma. He lived wit'teh f'ra while, an'nen'nis summeh he moved in wit' me frien' Alice an'neh husban' Sid Krause, see, he'eza supeh in oueh buildin'. Well, I dunno how it happn't, but Marie Belasco wen' out t'Califawrnyeh, an' somehow t' Hoppeh -- we cawl 'im t'at, t' Hoppeh, it's kin'a stupid, but it fits, right? Well, somehow HE's out t' Califawrnyeh now too an' t'ot'eh day Ma gets t'is telegram sayin'ney got married, an' eveh since she'se been out'uveh min'! She don' wanna heeh nut'n 'bout me'n my problems, awl she caehs about is Marie Belasco an' Hops Gaffney! An'na woise t'ing is, she won' even tawk about it! She don' even know I know!" "How is it," interrogates Dr. Levine, "that you know about all this? Did she explain it to you?" "Oh," shrugs Sally. "No, Ma neveh tells me nut'n. I wouldn know nut'n'abouttit, 'cept me'n Alice wen' oveh t'eh late at night, oveh b'hin'a stoeh t'eh, an' we run t'ru Ma's gawrbage till we foun'a telegram." "You -- " gapes Dr. Levine, "went over to your mother's store late at night and you ran thru her garbage..."" "Yeh," confirms Sally. "But it was okay, see, we was wearin' disguises. We was dressed up like bums." "Ah," nods Dr. Levine. She taps her pencil on her notebook, and finally snaps it shut. "I think," she sighs, "that's a good point to stop for today." "Sometimes I t'ink my Ma ain' tellin' me ev'ryt'ing," muses Sally. "Ah," agrees Dr. Levine.)

French Forces of the Interior, in a spectacular drive, have liberated the city of Vichy, for four years the symbol of French humiliation, according to a special broadcast from FFI staff headquarters received today in London. The FFI broadcast announcing the liberation called upon the people of Vichy to maintain public order and to cooperate with the new authorities, even as other broadcasts described the erstwhile diplomatic envoys of Marshal Petain as scrambling to abandon the sinking ship. An unconfirmed report from Algiers that Petain himself had been captured by FFI forces at Metz and summarily shot was described as "incredible" by authoritative French quarters in London. It was noted that Petain's name does not appear on the "Death List" issued by the FFI some time ago, and it has been anticipated that the Marshal is to be taken alive, for trial before a French court after the war.

Among those laboring in Brooklyn's war industires is 102-year-old Mosha Byron. Born in Palestine in 1842, Byron works on a sheet metal fabrication line at the Metal Litho Company at 4603 1st Avenue, where it his job to lift metal sheets from the moving belt at the rate of 35 per minute. He attributes his vigor to a lifetime of living by "Scientific Power," and notes that he sometimes goes for several weeks without food. He has never tasted meat, coffee, tea, ice cream or candy, but he eats plentifully of fruits, vegetables, and sugar.

("I swearrr," groans Ma, "woon'a these days Oi'm gonna joost sell this place an' go t'warrk f'soombody else. Oi don't know hoo mooch marrr Oi can take." "Ahhh," dismisses Uncle Frank thru a sip of two-cents-plain, "ye warry too mooch." "Oi do, do Oi??" roars Ma. "Ye want t' hand TEN THOOSAND DOLLARS ovar t'thim two parasoites in Califarnyeh loike it was ten CENTS, an' ye think OI warry too mooch? Joost wharr ye goin't' get ten thoosand dollars?? We doon't have that koind'a mooney layin' aroond, an' if you think Oi'm gonna maaaaaartgage th' stoor, ye got anoothar think..." "Oh, no no no," smiles Uncle Frank, leaning back on his stool and patting his burbling belly. "Noothin' loike that. Would ye pass me s'marr'a thim Tums?" Ma slaps the roll of tablets down on the counter with considerable energy, and a scowl more forceful than any possible words. "Oh," continues Uncle Frank, as he peels the foil from the end of the roll. "Did a sarrt oova spiffy-dressin' fallar coom by here lookin' farr me?" "Ah," ahs Ma. "He did. Coom flooncin' in here loike Cesar Romero in his oice-cream suit. He wrote doon'is name. Oi fargaat t'give it to ye." She digs in her apron and tosses the napkin across the counter. "Inky Quinlan," sneers Ma. "Hoo much does he waanta baarow?" "Oh, no," replies Uncle Frank thru an inscrutable smile. "Noothin' loike that." Ma frowns and mutters a Gaelic curse. "Oh, now Nora," chuckles Uncle Frank. "Oi wouldn't say THAT....")

("It knocked Herring's cap off, exposing his bald spot." IS THAT NICE???)

These teen-age ballplayers of 1944 bring to mind other youthful stars of days past, like Mel Ott -- who was just sixteen when John J. McGraw brought him to the Giants where he rapidly grew into potent manhood. But then there's Joe Medwick, who, upon his graduation from Cartaret High School in New Jersey, thought to try out for the Newark club of the International League. "You're too young, sonny," declared Bears manager Tris Speaker. "Run along home now and fly your kite." Ducky took offense at that comment, and instead tried out for the St. Louis Cardinals, where fame and fortune awaited...

("Got a feelin' I've been framed!" Like a hand-colored portrait from Loeser's!)

(This gag was clearly written for Daffy Duck, but he wisely declined to take part.)

(Poor Margie Hart just can't catch a break.)

(As we move into the golden age of Sideburn Presidents.)

(You don't want fried chicken, it'll just make you thirsty.)

("Yeh," drawls the Corporal, "Ah say if yew put aaahla th' gin'rals in this warr in a fistfight, Patton'd win evuh tahm." "Hah," hahs Joe, gazing into a stewpot simmering over a gasoline flame. "Patton don' punch, he jus' SLAPS." "Keep sturrin'," frowns the Corporal.)

("You know, it wouldn't hurt YOU to have a little work done.")

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

That's a great dress, until you notice the spillhole in the back.

Well whaddaya want for a two dollar permanent?

"Thank gawd we don't have to eat old lady McJacken's egg salad!"

"Mrs. Bleating-Hart?" Well, these next few weeks will certainly be subtle.

You know, there's a lot going on with this family we never hear about...

Sometimes it's best not to see these in color.

"Mrrrmp!" Save some Tums for Shadow.

No no no, you're supposed to write it on the wall. In blood, if you can swing it, but red crayon will do.

For more information contact your local Civil Air Patrol recruiter!

"Would you like to swing on a star?"

 

[LizzieMaine]

And also...

IS THAT NICE?

 

[Fading Fast]

So, is Sally back on her lithium or not? Just askin'

*******************************************************

"Somehow I thought you'd be older."

You haven't seen everything yet.

 

[LizzieMaine]

She is, but she doesn't like it much -- and maybe skips a dose now and then. (Basing all this on someone I actually knew who took lithium bromide and hated every minute of it...)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And speaking of medicines, the name of Mr. Moshe Byron rang a bell for me -- sure enough, we have met him before. From the Eagle of October 2, 1940:

Three elderly men, including one claiming to be a 98-year-old Egyptian, were sentenced in the Court of Special Sessions for practicing medicine without a licnense. The oldest of the defendants gave his name as Saibi Suden of Egypt, but was also identified as Mosha Byron of 879-A Greene Avenue, and was sentenced to a year in prison and a $1000 fine for illegally treating patients and prescribing "herbal remedies" in April and May of this year.

My my my.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Blackmail!" spits Alice, silhouetted in the dim after-hours light in the offices of F. Leary & Sons Plumbing and Heating. "T'lit'l rat! I'll wring 'is neck!" "Extaaaartion, to be pr'cise," chuckles Uncle Frank, flicking the ash from his cigar into a nearby display model of a toilet bowl. "An' if tharr's neck-wringin' t'be done, ye'll hafta wait ye tarrrn. Nora's tharr ahead'a ye!" "I ain' jokin', Frank," glowers Alice. "Ya said y'was gonna DO sump'n." "And soo Oi am," smiles Uncle Frank. "Oi gaaaht a plan an' it's aahlready poot inta mootion." "I t'ink my plan is betteh," growls Alice, with a violent twist of her wrists. "Ah," acknowledges Uncle Frank. "Boot ye'll see moi plan is -- neatarr." "All right, Frank," comes a mellifluous voice approaching from workroom behind the office. "See what you think...Oh!" The voice stops short as the speaker steps into the circle of light from the overhead bulb. "Upon my word," he purrs. "Alice Dooley!" "Inky Quinlan," exhales Alice with distaste. "When'ney let YOU out?" "I might ask you," smiles Mr. Quinlan, "the same question. Were I, that is, a social boor. But no matter. It would seem that your time as a guest of the state treated you kindly." "Aw, cram it, Inky," sneers Alice. "Sing Sing ain' done you no favehs. An' cut out t'at Adolphe Menjou tawk. I remembeh when you lived downbacka t'gas woiks." "We all have our pasts," nods Mr. Quinlan, "and yet we likewise all may -- reinvent ourselves to suit the mode of the day. I understand that you have done so quite convincingly. My congratulations to -- Mister ah -- Krantz, is it?" "Krause," frowns Alice. "Ah," nods Mr. Quinlan, turning his attention to Uncle Frank. "I have some work to show you, when you and the -- ah -- dear lady have concluded your discussion." Uncle Frank nods, and as Mr. Quinlan retreats to the workroom, he takes a deep draw on his cigar. "T'at guy's ya plan?" growls Alice. "T'at monkey?" "Troost me," nods Uncle Frank, punctuating his reassurance with a large smoke ring. "I got no cherce," acknowledges Alice. "F'now.")

School is the place for New York's children, asserted Mayor LaGuardia yesterday, and not work. Speaking in his weekly broadcast over WNYC, the Mayor called the city's present child-labor situation "alarming," and accused employers of taking exploiting children, even if those children's working papers are in order. The Mayor urged parents of children who spend their summer vacations working to "give their children a little time off," before sending them back to school. "The war is going to be over," he declared, "and we are going to have peace for a long time. You are depriving your children of something if you do not send them back to school. There is nothing more important than that, and I am going to talk about it from now until school opens." The mayor noted with alarm that 77,000 summer work permits were issued this year compared to 6918 in 1940, and that 1944 has seen the issuance ofof 85,000 permanent work permits for children who have quit school, compared to 24,000 four years ago.

(Sorry kid. You can never see all of Brooklyn.)

(More than any other studio, Fox is keeping Technicolor in business for the duration.)

The Eagle Editorialist reassures readers that the decision of the city to open schools on schedule is a wise one, and declares that there is no need to fear a polio epidemic this fall. "Increasingly," the EE argues, "in recent years medical authorities has been against the theory that the disease spreads by direct contact as among crowds or even among members of the same family sleeping in the same house and eating from a common table."

("Right under 'My Most Embarassing Moment!")

(Remember two years ago when they won 104 games and still didn't win the pennant? It all evens out, I guess...)

A crowd of 7500 saw the Bushwicks split yesterday's twinbill with the New York Black Yankees at Dexter Park. The locals won the first game 13 to 4 while the visitors took the nightcap 5 to 4.

(BY ALL MEANS MARY THAT'S A SMART THING TO DO.)

(None of us are free until the horses are free...)

("Does this mean you'll buy me some gas??")

(Jeez, think it over first. Didn't you ever read "Live Alone and Like It?")

(GREAT NOW THE WHOLE CREEK SMELLS LIKE SMELLY DOG BUTT.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

Also --

What about the Petrauskases, the Sweeneys, the Learys, the Krauses, and the Ginsburgs?

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

Out in Hollywood, a random contract screenwriter at Universal rolls a sheet into his machine and pecks out a title. "MURDER AT THE PLANETARIUM." He gazes down at the words, jerks the sheet out of the typewriter, crushes it into a ball, and flings it across the room.

"Y'll see t'woild" mutters Joe. "Fr'm t'back'uva truck!" "Awww, quitchuh gripin', Brooklyn," scoffs the corporal. "Yew ain' in one'a them tanks up front, er yuh? Yew ain' got nuthin' t'worry about." "I c'n still gripe," growls Joe, feeling a bit nauseous from the bouncing of the vehicle against the rutted road." "Technician Fives don' git t'gripe," sneers the corporal. "Look it up in yuh manual. Yew gotta make T/4, an' then yew c'n gripe." "Hmph," hmphs Joe. "Wasn' like t'at at Sperry's."

Projectionists? T/3.

IS THAT NICE???

CUT! SOMEBODY TELL THE DOG TO STAY IN FRAME!

Address YOUR cards and letters to "Pantywaist, Covina Ill."

These supermarkets will never catch on.

"Have you been away, Corky?"

Best troll ever.

He won't get far on nine miles to the gallon.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And finally...

And he'll be single for the rest of his life....

 

[Fading Fast]

I don't think I ever thought of this before until "Inky" messed up his name, but is Krause Jewish? Does Alice have a religion? I know she was raise in an orphanage by "the sisters," but does she practice a religion? Today, we don't think a lot about marriages of mixed faith or if someone has no religion, but in the 1940s, those were big issues, especially when it came to raising a child, say like Willie.

***************************************************************************

"More than any other studio, Fox is keeping Technicolor in business for the duration."

I was thinking something similar in that I'm surprised they were doing that during the war.

Also, two of Fox's black-and-white offerings from this season, "Song of Bernadette" and "Keys of the Kingdom," are two of my favorite religious movies and better, IMHO, than most of the Technicolor "Bible" epics of the 1950s.

 

[LizzieMaine]

The people who found Alice on the Fulton Street L assumed from her appearance and the name in her clothing that she was Irish, and they accordingly put her in a Catholic orphanage, but her experiences there, and after, soured her considerably on the whole idea of religion. Alice herself doesn't really know if "Alice Dooley" was her real name -- it's possible the clothing she was wearing when she was found was second-hand, and part of her still wonders who she really is.

Krause was raised in Yorkville, so likely has German-Jewish ancestry, but he's far more secular than the Ginsburgs, who take their faith very seriously. He used to think about it more when he was younger, but his experiences during the first war, followed by the loss of his first wife and baby while barely out of his teens left him severely shaken. He is only now beginning to come out of that, and it will be interesting to see the direction the years will take him.

The Sweeneys were definitely Irish-Catholic, but this is one of the many ways in which Sally has rebelled against her mother. She considers herself an agnostic, in the way of many people who read sophisticated magazines in the late '20s -- and Ma still fumes because, even though she herself doesn't pay a whole lot of attention to religion, she wanted her only daughter to have a proper Church wedding. This was a big part of her early hostility toward Joe. Joe, for his part, thinks of one religion of being about as good as any other. Given his Lithuanian-Russian ancestry, his people were probably once some strain of Orthodox, but whatever remained of that affiliation disappeared with the passing of his parents. He's a believer in a very general way, but he's never belonged to any church.

Uncle Frank pays occasional lip service to religion, and affiliates himself with church charity efforts when it suits him to do so, but he has too many religious pillars of all faiths on his customer list to take it all that seriously.

 

[Fading Fast]

The people who found Alice on the Fulton Street L assumed from her appearance and the name in her clothing that she was Irish, and they accordingly put her in a Catholic orphanage, but her experiences there, and after, soured her considerably on the whole idea of religion. Alice herself doesn't really know if "Alice Dooley" was her real name -- it's possible the clothing she was wearing when she was found was second-hand, and part of her still wonders who she really is.

Krause was raised in Yorkville, so likely has German-Jewish ancestry, but he's far more secular than the Ginsburgs, who take their faith very seriously. He used to think about it more when he was younger, but his experiences during the first war, followed by the loss of his first wife and baby while barely out of his teens left him severely shaken. He is only now beginning to come out of that, and it will be interesting to see the direction the years will take him.

The Sweeneys were definitely Irish-Catholic, but this is one of the many ways in which Sally has rebelled against her mother. She considers herself an agnostic, in the way of many people who read sophisticated magazines in the late '20s -- and Ma still fumes because, even though she herself doesn't pay a whole lot of attention to religion, she wanted her only daughter to have a proper Church wedding. This was a big part of her early hostility toward Joe. Joe, for his part, thinks of one religion of being about as good as any other. Given his Lithuanian-Russian ancestry, his people were probably once some strain of Orthodox, but whatever remained of that affiliation disappeared with the passing of his parents. He's a believer in a very general way, but he's never belonged to any church.

Uncle Frank pays occasional lip service to religion, and affiliates himself with church charity efforts when it suits him to do so, but he has too many religious pillars of all faiths on his customer list to take it all that seriously.

I need to find a way to bookmark this one.

Thank you, Lizzie.

 

[LizzieMaine]

I think most of this lore has come up in passing over the years -- I'm surprised I can keep it all straight. But I know these people pretty well after all this time...

 

[Fading Fast]

I think most of this lore has come up in passing over the years -- I'm surprised I can keep it all straight. But I know these people pretty well after all this time...

On a classic film forum, I write a weekly entry in my "The Continuing Adventures of Fawn and Me" series where I live with anthropomorphized fawn who watches the weekly movie "screenings" we do on that forum. After a year of creating these two characters, I know them better than most of my friends and family - and I've done nothing one-tenth as creative and extensive as you've done here. But if you create a character from scratch, you really, deeply know him or her. What you've done with these characters is incredible as they are real people to me - and I've warned you - Willie better stay with Alice and Krause or you'll have a reader revolt on your hands that will make the Raven Sherman storm look like a tempest in a teapot.