The Era -- Day By Day

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

A musical about Butch? What a great idea!

Every time I think about putting up wallpaper, I have reason to reconsider.

From a guy getting run thru the breadbasket with a flagpole to the first reel of a 1937 screwball comedy. Never change, Mr. Gould, we love you exactly as you are.

"Sure wish Punjab showed me how to do that trick with the blanket..."

Coming next Sunday -- the zany adventures of Fishy the Fish!

YOU CHUMP.


"Mr. Wallet? We're from the Zoning Board."

Well, that and the fact that you graduated four years ago. Um, you did graduate, didn't you?

What happened, did the Dragon Lady cut this guy's tongue out too?

Bandit country? Imagine who we could run into!

 

[LizzieMaine]

And also...

Clip and save.

 

[Fading Fast]

The Copacabana agreed yesterday to replace its Manhattan nightclub license with a temporary six-month permit and to pay the city a total of $37,371.34 in business taxes, while leaving unresolved the question of whether purported slot-machine king Frank Costello is a part owner of the club. The payments are to be made in a series of installments, starting with a $10,000 payment yesterday, followed additional payments of $5000 per month until the debt is liquidated. Other provisions of the agreement include a pledge to dismiss from employment and not to reemploy certain specified persons known to have underworld ties.

Will they deduct the $27,200 Costello left in the cab from this business tax bill?

 

[LizzieMaine]

("I dunno'f Dewey had anyt'ing t'do wit'tit," declares Sally, "but I r'membeh t'em Social Justice joiks back aroun' t'oity-eight, t'oity-nine. Y'couldn' wawk downa street wit'tout'tm tryna shove t'at doity rag of a papeh in ya face. Hey, r'membeh when'nem Jehovahs haddat meet'n at Madison Squaeh Gawrden, an'nem Coughlins wen'nin'eh'r'n tried t'bust it up? An'awl'ey gawt was t'ehr'own heads busted in?" Awlem pitchehs inna Daily News wit'teh heads awl bandages? Soive'd'm right." "I was outta town'nen," sighs Alice. "Ya missed a lawt," sighs Sally. "I r'membeh one night t'eh, t'ey had t'em Goiman-American Bunds inna Gawrd'n'neh, ya reg'leh Nazis, right? An' Coughlins, an' awlem people. Joe says t'me, he says, 'you ain' gonna go up t'eh'r'n make no trouble awrya.'" "Didja?" queries Alice. "Who," snickers Sally, "me? I didn' t'row no bricks if t'at's whatcha t'inkin'." "I'm s'prised," shrugs Alice. "Seems like you'd..." "No," continues Sally, "I stayed home t'at night an' lissen't'a radio." "You kep' right out of it," marvels Alice. "Yep," nods Sally. "Awl I done was give Jimmy an' Danny two bucks anna brick apiece an' says 'use ya judgement.' Uncle Frank was kin'a soeh when'nee hadda go bail'm out, but he got ovehr'it." "Ah," nods Alice. "Yeh," nods Sally. "T'em two c'n be useful when'ney wanna be. S'a wondeh Ma don' putt'm t'woik inna stoeh." "T'at Flynn guy," comments Alice. "He ain' a Coughlin is 'ee? Din'ee us'teh be tight wit' t' Pres'dent?" "Ahhh, who knows," shrugs Sally. "Awl I know is, somebody otta t'row a brick at'tim." "Yeh," nods Alice. "Belgian pavin' brick." )

Owners of some 650 night clubs in metropolitan New York are suffering from the jitters today over the Police Department's action in withholding renewal of their licenses pending the outcome of seven separate investigations of their activities. So ramified is the probe declared to be that not one of the 1100 license holders in the city's $100,000,000 a year night-life industry assured of escaping the dragnet. Pending the outcome of the probe, police officials declared, the clubs may continue to operate under temporary extensions of their old licenses, similar to those granted those 450 cabarets whose licenses are due to expire next April 1st.

("Ahhh," sighs Ma, laying her book aside on the nightstand. "Jaaaahn Barrymoore." "Hmph," hmphs Uncle Frank, sitting on the side of the bed and kicking off his carpet slippers. "Ye never loiked 'im, didjee Francis?" queries Ma. "A praaancin' fop," snorts Uncle Frank. "Ahhhh, ye joost say that," scoffs Ma. "Remembarr that pitcharr 'Don Juan,' r'membarr when we went t'see that? An' Jahhn Barrymoore's oop thar sword-foightin' an' makin' loov t' Mary Astarrr." "I'da been moor impressed," Uncle Frank argues, swinging his legs into bed, "if 'eed'a doon 'em booth at th' same toime.")

(Carole Landis at Ebbets Field? Can she play second base?)

(What ever became of judgemental bank tellers?)

(SIGMUND JAKUCKI! SIGMUND JAKUCKI! SIGMUND JAKUCKI! YAAAAAAAAY BROWNS! MOIDEH T'EM CAWRDS! Oh, and nice job Dix.)

(Don't be smug Mary, it ill becomes -- oh, hell, whatever....)

(Fandango in the fifth WHERE? Look, if you're going to give racing tips, you've gotta be specific.)

(You know, it would have been so easy to find the antenna and just cut the wires...)

(Yeah, right.)

(Being America's Number One Hero Dog means you have to try harder...)

 

[LizzieMaine]

At the Germano home on Coney Island Avenue, Mrs. Germano glances up at her son. "Wheh ya goin' Frankie?" she inquires. "Wheh ya goin' awl slicked up?""Ebbets Feel," shrugs Frankie, pausing to smooth his hair. "Somebody I wanna meet."

NO TIME LIKE THE PRESENT.

Actually, all he did was plug it in.

Well now! The last time we saw Sgt. Bloney he was skulking in a cave in Macedonia. Let him talk, I want to hear if he ran into Punjab.

Hmph. Running to school with your books closed? Goldbrick.

Yes, by all means, all crooks carry cards. It's the correct thing to do!

Mr. Clark is hanging around my neighborhood again.

Another troll from an entire family of trolls.

Sigh. What a swell role this would have been for Carole Lombard.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

Somewhere in the wilds of Staten Island, Flannery the Cop wonders why HE doesn't get soap company kickbacks.

And finally...

So it isn't exacty Brooklyn in 1941, but in wartime you must take what you can get. GO BROWNS!

 

[PrivateEye]

(What ever became of judgemental bank tellers?)

Whatever happened to saving money? Most Americans live way beyond their means, nd that will catch up to us eventually!

 

[LizzieMaine]

Meanwhile, speaking of Brooklyn baseball, I was astonished this afternoon to be passed on the street by a man wearing a Bushwicks cap. If you are reading this, sir, give our regards to Dexter Park!

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Scaaalpin' tickets farr a warr bond game!" explodes Ma, slapping her cleaning rag on the counter for emphasis. "While me son is in a prison camp an' me son-in-laaaar is gaaahd-knoos-wharr! Francis, ye got t'do soomthin' aboot this!" "What'm I gooona do?" queries Uncle Frank. "B'soides, th' coppars got't'm!" "Wharrr tharr's woon cockrooch," thunders Ma, "tharr's a thoosan'!" "What'm oi goona DO?"repeats Uncle Frank. "Jimmy's roonin' th' roonds aaaahl day farr ye, Danny's roonin' th' warrhoose, an' th' Hoppar is, we hoop, th' prabblem oov th' good people oov th' Treasury D'paaartment boi now! An' *OI* gotta keep oop with evaaarthin' AND do aaahl th' ploombin' an' heatin' jaaahbs b'soides!" "That IS true, isn't it," sighs Ma. "Oi'm saahry, Francis, Oi know Oi roide ye haaard soomtoimes. Ye carry a heavy lood." "Thank'ee farr sayin' soo," Uncle Frank shrugs. "Which remoinds me, did ye fix them daaampars aaahn th' baaaarler doon' th' basement here? Ye been praaahmisin' t'do that since April." "Oiiiiiii'll get to it," exhales Uncle Frank, stumping out his Tootsie Roll in a countertop ashtray. "Ohhh, bloody hell," he mutters, as he realizes his error. "Ye do carry a heavy baaarden," nods Ma in a voice not without sympathy. "Oi do indeed," sighs Uncle Frank, peeling off his coat and heading for the basement...)

Red Army spearheads appear to have driven into the suburbs of the Latvian capital city of Riga in some of the bloodiest fighting of the Baltic campaign, but the liberation of that city is near, it was reported today by the official newspaper Pravda. The dispatch indicated that Soviet forces are deploying north, east, and south of Riga, for a final assault on the capital city, the fall of which would effectively end German resistance in the Baltic states, and release huge numbers of Red Army troops for the invasion of East Prussia.

("'Sissies?" frowns Sally. "I woudln' go t'at fawr. T'Pres'dent woiks f't' Gov'ment an' he ain' no sissy. JOE's inn a Awrmy, an'nat's kin'a like woikin' f't'Gov'ment, an' I KNOW he ain' no sissy.""Whattabout t'at guy McNutt," suggests Alice. "You know, t' Wawr Manpoweh guy. T'at one'at was awn awlem magazine covehs t'eh, t' good-lookin' one. I don' trust no guy t'ats t'at good lookin'." "Good lookin' don't mean a guy's a sissy," protests Sally. "Like I said, I mean, JOE's good lookin', an' he ain' no sissy." Yeh," argues Alice, "but y'say yaself t'at Joe looks like Jawn Garfiel'. Ta't's a diff'ent kinda good lookin'nan t'at guy McNutt. He looks like one'a t'em ads t'ey useta have inna magazine f' shoit collehs, y'know? I awrways t'ought t'em guys looked kinda sissified, like t'em movie actehs t'at, um, don' look like Jawn Garfiel'." "Anyways, t'is gal's gotta pernt," declares Sally. "I was tawkin' t' Docteh Levine t'ot'eh day 'bout afteh t'wawr, an' she says if I wanna keep woikin' I oughtta do it. An' if"m gonna be mis'rable NOT woikin', I REALLY oughta do it." "What about Dewey," wonders Alice. "Huh?" huhs Sally. "Dewey," repeats Alice. "You t'ink HE's a sissy?" "Wit'tat moustache?" replies Sally. "He COULDN' be a sissy if he daehs t'go out in public wit'a t'ing like that onnis kisseh." "Siddy hadda moustache once," adds Alice. "I seen a pitcheh. He looked like a movie acteh, but not like Jawn Garfiel'." "T'at guy t'at useta fight wit' Lawrel 'n Hawrdy?" ventures Sally with a snicker. "No," frowns Alice. "Hobawrt Cavehnawr?'?" guesses Sally. "NO," repeats Alice. "Snub Pollehd?" laughs Sally, as without a word, Alice gets up and crosses the aisle. "Shove oveh, bud," she growls, as the man with the World-Telegram rolls his eyes...)

("Monozygotic" is a word you don't often encounter in a film review. Well done, Miss Corby.)

The Eagle Editorialist salutes the St. Louis Browns for winning their first American League pennant in what turned out to be the most exciting flag race in decades. The EE expects the Browns to carry much support in the World Series against the rival Cardinals, just as they did during the season "because of the traditional American feeling for the underdog in any competition." "What greater tribute to democracy," the EE enthuses, "than the sight of these two teams fighting on the baseball field today as millions of our servicemen overseas breathlessly take time out to hear these broadcasts."

(On the other hand, you wouldn't have to pay anyone to peel potatoes.)

(Tommy, you got a short memory. The Dodgers had every chance in the world in '41 except for Leo throwing away Game One by starting Grampa Davis instead of Higbe, except for Fitz getting kneecapped in Game Three, and except for -- well, we don't need to go into Game Four. WE DON'T. Oh, and GO BROWNS!)

("Besides, what kind of a name is Sabin?")

(He's not really swearing an oath, he's picking a spider web out of the doorway.)

(C'mon, Jane, you know better than this -- kick him first!)

(Hah, my drivers' license says I weight 120, and -- oh, never mind.)

("But-- but -- I really AM AMERICA'S NUMBER ONE HERO DOG! Really!)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

All right, get it all out of your systems, but I tell you once and for all I don't spell my name with an "a." AND I've never been to Youngstown, Ohio in my life.

"Hey," says Sally, calling across the aisle. "T'row me t'at Daily News when ya done wit't'it." Alice glances down at the page before her, looks around the crowded train, and gulps "No."

Don't be so judgemental, kid. Did she push you off a railroad platform?

Whatever you do, Nina, don't let him drink.

"Shove over, bud!"

"Mmmmyesss, you're a man who likes to talk. And I like to talk to a man who likes to talk!"

Ready -- set ---

Rulebreakers only break rules when it's in their interest to break rules until it really IS in their interest to break rules.

Sweater Boy of 1944.

I smell spirit gum.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And also..

If I were Eileen Farrell, I'd be on the phone right now lining someone up to break Al Hirschfeld's arm.

 

[Fading Fast]

"That IS true, isn't it," sighs Ma. "Oi'm saahry, Francis, Oi know Oi roide ye haaard soomtoimes. Ye carry a heavy lood."

She needed to say that; she's been hard on him for months now.

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

"Monozygotic" is a word you don't often encounter in a film review. Well done, Miss Corby.

Yes, but unfortunately the editor made her define it, which kind of undid its effect.

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

Rulebreakers only break rules when it's in their interest to break rules until it really IS in their interest to break rules.

Evergreen.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("T'ey WHAT?" bellows Alice, her eyes incredulous. "Stole my milk money," mumbles Willie, rubbing at a bruise on his arm. "Didja getta look att'm?" demands Alice, her face reddening. "D'yknow who done it?" "No," sniffs Willie, "t'ey c'mup f'rm behin' 'n pusht me down." Alice glares at Krause, her nostrils flaring. "When wazzis?" she demands. "Wheddit happ'n?" "T'is mawrnin' onna way t'school, in fron'na Moskowitz Deli," replies Willie, beginning to cry. "Misteh Moskowitz come out'n run'm awff, but t'ey got away." "We gotta do sump'n about t'is, Siddy," growls Alice. "We gotta do sump'n 'bout t'is NOW." "Yeh," nods Krause, his face a deep frown.)

More than 60 Liberator bombers staging a 2500 mile round trip attack on the big oil center at Balikpapan, in Borneo, were believed today to have severely crippled, if not demolished, the source of nearly a sixth of Japan's fuel resources. In the heaviest attack yet on Borneo, Liberators swarmed over the former Dutch possession on Saturday and planted 74 tons of high explosives on the oil works, described by General MacArthur as "the most lucrative strategic target in the Pacific."

At Breendonck, Belgium, Allied forces have uncovered a Gestapo torture chamber which authorities described as being something out of the Middle Ages. Reports state that the Germans slaughtered 120 prisoners a month, some by means of brutal torture, and others, who survived the torture, by gunshots or hanging. Victims were chained to a table and branded with hot irons to force them to give up incriminating information, chained by their ankles and dropped sharply to the stone floor over and over again for hours at a time, and whipped with thin steel rods. A gallows was found with a drop insufficient to break a victim's neck, forcing the prisoners into death by slow strangulation. Perhaps the most macabre torture chamber was a sealed room containing an air pump and a small vent thru which Gestapo captors sprayed a poisonous gas. The victim could stay alive only so long as they operated the hand powered pump to draw in fresh air and expel the gas, but the victims, already weakened by torture, were rarely able to keep this up for long. The Belgians intend to preserve the chambers as a monument to those who died there, and to the savagery of the Germans who killed them.

("C'mon, honey," pleads Sally. "Op'n ya mout'. Mama wants t'lookit'cha teet'." "No," refuses Leonora, turning her head away. "Lookit'cha own teet'." "If ya lemme lookit'cha teet','" wheedles Sally, "I'll letcha have a cookie." Leonora frowns, and considers the proposition. "What kinda cookie?" she negotiates. "Um," ums Sally, her bluff called. "A good one." "You ain' GOT no cookie!" declares Leonora. "We'll go see Mrs. Ginsboig," promises Leonora. "She got cookies." "Do'like mac'roons," sniffs Leonora. "Wanna Hydrox." "Awright," fumes Sally, throwing up her arms in defeat. "We'll go downa Bohacks an' getcha Hydroxes. Now op'nya mout'!" "Bohacks awlOUTA Hydroxes!" yells Leonora, running across the kitchen and sending Stella the Cat scurrying under the stove. "OPEN YA MOUT'!" yells Sally. "SPPPPPPPPPPT!" spppts Leonora. "T'AT DON'T COUNT!" wails Sally...)

The American Jewish Congress intends to lodge formal complaints with Governor Dewey and Mayor LaGuardia charging police with dereliction of duty in their failure to arrest any members of the mob of several hundred youths who broke up Yom Kippur services at a Coney Island synagogue last week. The riot, asserts Nathan Dinkus, chairman of the organization's Congress to Combat Anti-Semitism, extended up and and down West 30th Street for at least two blocks on either side of Surf Avenue, and while at least six police cars responded to the riot, no arrests were made.

Think it thru, kid. Most of that confetti comes from torn-up phone books!

("Y'realize yarr gett'n oold, Francis," sighs Ma, "whin aaahl th' people ye thought was oold when ye was yoong, doon't look soo oold noo marr." "Oi met'tim a few toimes," nods Uncle Frank. "One toime, 'e gimme a cigarr." Ma looks up and scowls, as Uncle Frank gazes ruefully at his Tootsie Roll. "Ye doon't know," he sighs, "how good ye have it, untill ye doon't.")

(The BROOKLYN BROWNS?????? The Bushwicks won't like that! Besides, everybody knows that as soon as the war is over, the Browns are heading to Los Angeles.)

(I'm losing track of how old all these people are supposed to be.)

("Did you say eats -- or oats? Because it makes a big difference.")

(It's pretty hard to miss from four feet away, but I'm sure he'll figure out how.)

(You really havent thought any of this thru, have you?)

(AMERICA'S NUMBER ONE HERO DOG obeys all constituted authority, usually.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

Perhaps Mr. Dunninger should consider another line of work.

"Awwwww, razzberries!" -- Wheezer.

What a great setup for a Preston Sturges picture. Hey, where's William Demarest?

Careful what you wish for.

Don't you mean "until you get ten pints of beer in you?"

Pretty poor substitute for Joel Cairo.

"Hey lady, yer a dope if ya don't play the ace!"

Any port in a storm.

"Now how does this work? I don't even see a slot to drop in the nickel!"

A trifler? I think of him more as a bounder or a cad.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And also...

Either way, they do go in for gaudy uniforms in St. Louis, don't they?

 

[Fading Fast]

"I'm losing track of interest in how old all these people are supposed to be."

 

[LizzieMaine]

("I dunno what t'woil's comin' teh," laments the proprietor of Moskowitz Delicatessen, just down 18th Avenue from P. S. 48. "It's awrf'l," agrees Alice. "T'at's why I wanna do sump'n about it. Now, t'ink hawrd -- can ya d'scribe t'ese kids t'at beat up me boy?" "Describe'm?" shrugs Mr. Moskowitz. "What's t'decribe? Lit'l punks, like ya see awl oveh. Couldn' be moeh'n ten, twelve yeehs ol', an' runnin'a streets, skippin' outa school, smokin' cig'rettes. If I'da tried smokin' cig'rettes when I was twelve yeehs ol', me ol' man woulda shoved it down me t'roat. An' ya know t'woise pawrt'v it? I bet t'em kids mot'ehs even trade heeh. 'G'mawrnin' Misteh Moskowitz,' t'ey'll say. 'Howzya cawrn beef t'day, Misteh Moskowitz.' An' awla time t'ey're worryin' 'bout cawrn beef, t'eh kids is runnin'a street smokin' cig'rettes an' beatin' up litt'l boys. I dunno what'sa woil' comin' teh." "Well, I'm gonna do sump'n about it," affirms Alice. "Look, t'nex' time y'see t'ese kids, c'n'ya do me a faveh? Cawl'is numbeh -- write it down 'neh -- BEachview 2-9371. T'at's Schriebstein's, y' know, t'canny stoeh down'neh awf Sixty-t'oid, t'at's wheh I get me phone cawls. When ya see t'ese kids again, cawl'at numbeh an' leave a message. D'scrib'm as bes'cha can. I got'n idea what I'm gonna do, but I gotta be soiten it's t'right kids." "Whateveh y'do," nods Mr. Moskowitz, "include me in." "Good," grins Alice. "F'oeh I do it, I gotta line up a lit'l help." She looks around the store. "You c'n help me out," she coninues. "You sell cigawrs in'eeh....?")

Although Brooklyn's home theft insurance losses have dropped, borough residents are still forced to pay higher premiums -- the highest premiums, in fact, in the entire nation. State Insurance Department figures reveal the rate of loss against cost here dropped 9 percent between 1937 and 1940, the last year for which statistics are available, but Brooklyn homeowners still pay at a rate of $27.50 per $1000 of valuation. The loss ratio has gone down steadily since 1937, and borough residents, who have not received the requested answers from Police Commissioner Lewis J. Valentine to the question of why insurance rates have not gone down, are now turning the State Insurance Department in search of an explanation. By comparison, Manhattan residents pay theft insurance premiums at a rate of $17 per $1000. The issue has grown more urgent for Brooklyn residents since Mayor LaGuardia's recent statement that thefts have decreased here in recent years.

The London Daily Mail reported today that Germany's V-2 secret weapon has already been launched against Britain from firing sites in occupied Holland, and that the results "have been found wanting." The report was attributed to "a neutral observer stationed with the German Army." It was further stated that, because the weapon traveled so rapidly that it could induce no terror effect against the target population because the population was unaware of its approach, and that it penetrated the earth so rapidly upon impact that its damage was less than that obtained by a conventional bomb. Despite these reports, official London sources have passed no confirmed reports of V-2 strikes thru official channels.

("Bingo," huffs Ma. "Ye can't do a bloody bit'a decent business with bingo since ahhl these amatchoors harrned in." "It's a haaaard loife," sighs Uncle Frank, glancing at the White Seal Whiskey ad down the page.)

("Yeh," yehs Joe, "last we hoid, me brot'eh'rn'lawr's still in a prison camp. Goin' awn two yeehs now." "Easy life," mutters the Corporal, lighting a fresh cigarette. "Three squauhs, reg'lar bunk t'sleep in, doan hafta ride in no trucks aaahl night...")

("Well alllll reeet, allll raaaaaht, an' alllll roooot!")

("Screechin' Screamin' Mary" Ott is the Hilda Chester of St. Louis. GOOOOOOO BROOOOOOOWNS!)

("Settle down, Frank Morgan, I'm not marrying YOU either!")

(***horselaugh***)

(BANG! "Oops, accidents will happen...")

(Well, you don't really have to, I mean, it really is his grandkid.)

(Cats do love schadenfreude.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

"T'anks," says Sally, as Mrs. Ginsburg hands her a ball of strong twine. "I gotta package t'wrap up f'Joe, wawna get it inna mail t'marra." "For the holidays," nods Mrs. G. ""Yeh," nods Sally. "I'm aheadda t'deadline, so he should get it in time. I got a whole lotta t'ings inneh, I gotta canna t'em mix nuts 'e likes, I gotta paiehra socks I knitted..." "SPPPPPT!" interrupts Leonora, to a sharp look from her mother. "She t'inks t'ey won' fit," mutters Sally, "but I know Joe's feet. T'ey swell up when 'ee's awn'm awl day. He'd go t'woik inna mawrnin' weahrin' a size eight shoe, an' come home at night need'na size nine." "Mendel was like that," sighs Mrs. G. sympathetically. "All day at the shop, waiting on customers. Three pairs shoes he keeps under the counter. Two sizes he'd go up." "Wha's t' t'oid pair?" chuckles Sally. "To impress," laughs Mrs. G. 'Always judge a man by his shoes,' he says. Always when an imporant man comes in, he changes to his good shoes. Two sizes big, just in case." "Y'know what else I got in'eeh?" adds Sally. "I wen' oveh t'Abraham 'n Strauss, got one'a t'em fruitcakes. Joe hates fruitcake. But I figyeh, t'ez boun'a be somebody in'is unit likes fruitcake, an'nee c'n trade it f'sump'n 'e wants." "Always thinking," laughs Mrs. G. "Awrway's t'inki'n'!" nods Sally.

Sinatra drinks tea?

Ahhhhhh, it's the old "amnesiac bride" game!

What, she doesn't make you haul the ashes? Featherbedder.

Some people just aren't cut out for the hard-boiled life...

"I can't wait till we move to Maspeth and find all sorts of new people to hate!"

You got the stripes, you get the gripes.

"Wow, this is fun! Can we play skee-ball next?"

Our family Thanksgivings were very much like this.

"Hmph! Rattle-brained hepcats!"

 

[LizzieMaine]

And also...

GOOOOOOO BROOOOOOOWNS!

 

[LizzieMaine]

("OPEN UP, FRANK!" bellows a familiar voice at the door of F. Leary & Sons Plumbing & Heating. "Mallacht ort!" mumbles Uncle Frank as he emerges from the back room in response to the pounding to admit the inevitable. "Ah, Mrs. Krause," he exhales, wreathing his face in false jollility. "Annd to whaat do Oi..." "Can it," snaps Alice, bustling in to get right down to business. "I gotta jawb fawr ya." "If it's yaaar baaarler," sighs Frank, "ye'll hafta take a noombar. Oi'm backed oop to..." "Nut'n like t'at," hastens Alice. "It's a JAWB jawb.""Oh," nods Uncle Frank, fearing the worst. "T'ezzeeze kids, see," Alice continues, the words tumbling out. "T'ezzeeze kids beat up Willie when'nee was wawkin' t'school t'ot'eh day, an'ney stole 'is milk money, an'ney got away. I need you..." "Oh, now Alice," interrupts Frank. "Who'dye think Oi am, Happy Maione? You know Oi don't do noona that, and 'specially naaht CHILDREN!" "I ain' tawkin'about t'at," insists Alice. "I jus' wanna barrah Jimmy 'n Danny f'ra lit'l while. I gott'n idea t'fix t'ese lit'l punks, but I need ya boys." "Impossible," interjects Uncle Frank. "We gaaaht too mooch doin' as it is, aaand..." But his voice trails off at the sight of the cigar, fresh and aromatic, that Alice is waving under his nose. "Too mooch doin' t'spare... " he quavers, his pupils dilating and his face reddening. "Oi mean t'say....um, that is, Oi mean..." "I got a whole bawx," smiles Alice, her eyes narrowed. "A whole bawx jus' like t'is one. You agree t'lemme have t'boys, an' y'get t'is one right now. Look at t'at, Frank, t'at's real Havana right t'eh. Fifteen centeh. How lawng'sit been, Frank? Nobody's gotta know, it's ju's b'tween you'n me." "Um..." stammers Uncle Frank, "but whaat if Nora..." "T'ol' lady won't know a t'ing. Y' still got t'at ol' sweateh hangin' oveh t'eh onna peg, smells lilke fuel erl? You weah t'at home t'night, say y'jus' come fr'm a foinace job, she won' smell nut'n but erl on ya. An' ya do t'is jawb fawr me, y' get t' whole box." Uncle Frank gnaws his lower lip as his breath comes in short, tense bursts. "AAAAHL ROIT!" he explodes, grabbing the cigar. "YE C'N HAVE TH' BOYS!" "Swell," grins Alice. "I knew you'n me could do business. When I'm ready, I'll cawl yeh, an' y'c'n sen'nm oveh." "Ahhl roit, ahhl roit," stutters Uncle Frank, fumbling with trembling fingers for a match. "Heeh," offers Alice, scratching the match on the seat of her overalls. "Lemme help....")

Adolf Hitler appears to be making a desperate attempt to prolong the war into the coming winter, in the belief that Germany would then be able to confront the Allies come the spring of 1945 with fresh forces of possibly three-quarters of a million troops. This is the conclusion reached by several excellent sources who believe the next several weeks may be the critical point of the war -- the testing time for Hitler's hopes for another winter and spring of struggle. Allied tactics and strategy are said to be designed to counter Hitler by mounting and releasing such powerful offensives over the next few weeks that German resistance is swamped despite its fanatical character.

("I can't b'lieve what t'is woil' is comin' teh," laments Sally. "Y'know what Alice tol' me?" "Oi have no idearr," replies Ma. "Leonora! Don't wrinkle thim magazines!" Leonora looks up from a copy of "Speed Detective" bearing a lurid cover image of a woman leaping past a gunshot as her skirt flies above her knees, prepares to spprrrt, notes her grandmother's expression, and reconsiders. "Alice tol' me," continues Sally, "t'at a buncha kids up t'eh on 18t' Street beat up Willie an' took 'is milk money!" Ma's attention is instantly riveted by this statement. "Bloody hell ye say!" she inhales. "A booncha kids beat up MOI GRAN' SOON?" "T'at's about t'size of it," shrugs Sally. "It wasn' nut'n like t'is when me'n Mickey was kids, I know t'at." "No," agrees Ma, her jaw tightening, "it was NAAAHT. An' SOOMTHIN'S GAHHT t' be DONN!")

Five hundred patrolmen will line the streets tomorrow outside St. Patrick's Cathedral during a solemn requiem Mass for the late former Governor Alfred E. Smith. The police honor guard will also be present today beginning at 2pm, when the Governor's body lies in state at the cathedral. It was announced yesterday that Mrs. Roosevelt will represeent the Roosevelt family at tomorrow's funeral, while Major General Thomas A. Terry will be present as the President's personal representative. Governor Dewey is expected to pay his respects at the bier tonight, before departing for a campaign trip to Charleson, West Virginia.

(Look, business is business, but an exploding ammonia tank isn't exactly the Blitz. Bad show, chaps.)

(You'll be amazed how easy it is to peel potatoes with a lathe.)

(Ahhhh, spot 'em a game, that's just to make it interesting. GO BROWNS!)

("Besides, the old boy's loaded. Wait, did I say that out loud?")

(In crime, as in all things, there is an Order of Precedence.)

(You'd kinda think the Metropolitan would have its own in-house framing shop.)

(Hey, hey, shoes off the bed.)

(AMERICA'S NUMBER ONE HERO DOG is -- helpless in the face of adolescence?)