The Era -- Day By Day

[LizzieMaine]

And finally...

All over Bensonhurst, lights snap on as a piercing scream wafts out into the chilly night...

 

[Fading Fast]

I bet Mr. Hansel was very lonely when they banned Esquire from the mails.

No kidding, plus: "Al Hansel, Kelly St., Bronx, executive."

"executive." Challenge!

 

[LizzieMaine]

VIce President in charge of bank shots, Rafferty's Billiard Academy.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Yeh," sighs Joe, sitting in a reflective mood atop an overturned stewpot, "I r'membeh like it was yestehday. T' Awrmistice. Y'shoulda been'neh awn Lennid Street, aw, I'm tellin' ya. Ev'rybody runnin' aroun' screamin' an' hollerin' an' shoot'n awff fiehcrackehs an' blowin' awn hawrns. Ol' Man Petroff was out'teh blowin' on a tuba. BOMP BOMP BOMP till 'e 'bout passed out fr'm t'strain. I was, what, five yeehs ol', five'na half, an' I r'membeh awluvit. I was out t'eh wit' awla rest'v'm, an'neh was t'ese boys t'eh, t'is crowda boys haddis dummy'a t' Kaiseh t'ey was gonna hang awff a trolley pole on Graham Aveneh, but t'ey couldn' get t'rope t'catch. So t'ey grabbed me, an' says 'heeh, you shinny up t'eh an' t'row t'is rope oveh t'beam t'eh.' So, you know, I wanna get alawng wit' t'big kids, so I take t' rope an' I shinny up t' pole, an' I get up t'eh an'nen I stawrt t'panic 'cause I don' know how t'get back down. An' I stawrt screamin' an' I slip an' fawl awff, an' I land right on toppa t'is big fat cawp. An'nen, while ev'rybody's runnin' aroun', heeh comes Lina -- t'at's me sisteh -- heeh comes Lina swingin' 'is stove pokeh an' yellin' an' swearin' --" "Heh!" chuckles the Corporal. "Yeh," grins Joe, amused by the memory. "Y'know t'at woid ya awrways sayin' 'neh.." "Muthuh..." begins the Corporal. "Yeh," nods Joe, "on'y what Lina is cawlin'nese kids is, in Lit'uanian -- well, wit' a toikey." "Ah," laughs the Corporal. "Ah'll haftuh r'membuh that'un." "Anyways," sighs Joe, "Lina dragged me home, an' about knocked me head awff f'doin'nat, an' nat's how I spent Awrmistice Day. How 'bout 'choo? Wheh was you when ya foun' out?" "Wasn' nowheauh," shrugs the Corporal. "Ah wasn' bo'n yet." Joe gapes at his colleague and stares into his rough, stubbled face. "Lissen," he demands. "How ol' AWR you?" "Nahnteen," replies the Corporal. "Gawdawmighty," exhales Joe...)

A solemn V-E Day observance participated in by all the people of Brooklyn was called for today by Mrs. T. L. Schwartz upon her appointment as chairman of the V. E. Day Committee of the Brooklyn C. D. V. O unit of the 16th Precinct. "Participation in wild parties, or engaging on other unbecoming activities," she declared, "will be in the nature of a sacrilege to the memory of our fallen heroes." SHe warned against any "emotional, hysterical, or hilarious outbursts" when victory in Europe will only mean that the war is half over.

("Get a load," snickers Jimmy Leary, his feet propped atop a crate in the back room at F. Leary and Sons Plumbing and Heating. "Eveh wanna go straight, heeh's ya chance!" "Heh!" chuckles Danny Leary, as he shakes a measure of floor sweepings and chopped tobacco stems into a small cigarette-rolling machine bolted to the workbench. The light mood darkens considerably, however, with the sudden snick of a key in a lock, followed immediately by an unmistable voice. "OI KNOW YAAAAR IN THERE!" the voice bellows. "T' ol lady!" gulps Jimmy. "Out t'back," hisses Danny, scrambling for the door into the alley, but he is too late. A dark shadow fills the door to the back room, with the unmistakable glint of bright nickel sparking just ahead of it. "Don't neithar woona ya move," growls Ma. "Aaahhr yee'll be shaapin' farr new kneecaps." She beckons with her revolver. "Take a seat boys," she commands. "An' staaaahrt taaaahlkin'. What's gooooin' ahhn here? WHARRR'S YE FAAATHER?" The boys exchange desperate gapes. "WELL????" demands Ma, her thumb slowly drawing back on the hammer...)

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

(Mmmm. Bilge.)

(Yellow footballs? Is MacPhail back?)

(I'd like to see Mary Worth ask that question...)

(It's OK, Mary, we'll just hit YOU on the head and you'll forget all about it.)

(Careful, Adolph, those aren't shoulder pads...)

("Heavy?" With that waist?)

(AMERICA'S NUMBER ONE HERO DOG never lets personal misgivings interfere with the performance of his duties.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

"Orson?"

Or just look under your seat. Wait -- yuck, that's the Mirror.

Hey, everybody's got to have a side hustle.

Coming events...

Before lunchtime it'll be all over town.

Aren't you cold?

Annnnnnd how.

Welp, might as well eat the cake.

"Besides, have you seen the cost of ether lately?"

At least he didn't scratch it into the -- ah -- trunk.

 

[Fading Fast]

"I'd never forgive myself if my heckling her with questions caused her to..."

A perfect time for soul-searching that I'll bet Mary lets sail by blithely unaware.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Noel Cowehd!" spits Sally. "Who't'hell is shoot'n at Noel Cowehd! Who drug Noel Cowehd away'f'm'is fam'ly, made 'im loin t'shoot a gun, sen'im t' bakehs school, t'rew 'im awna boat an' sen'nim t' France t'ride arouna truck an' maybe get shawt at by Goimans! HUH?" "Who's Noel Cowehd?" queries Alice. "Neveh hoid'v'im." "Ahhhhh," dismisses Sally, slapping the paper down hard on the concrete stoop, "ain' nobody got no grouns' t'tawk about Brooklyn, at's f'soiten. Runnin' aroun' inna white dinneh jacket singin' sawngs an' count'n 'is money while 'ez fellehs dyin'. Mickey sitt'n in a prison camp, he ain' singin' no sawngs in no white dinneh jacket! Solly Pincus oveh t'eh inna infantry, he ain' singin' no sawngs in no white dinneh jacket! An' sueh'z hell Joe ain' singin' no sawngs in no white dinneh jacket!" She pauses, flushed with anger, and flings the paper away, its pages scattering into the sidewalk. "You goin t'see Docteh Levine t'day?" queries Alice. "Yeh," sighs Sally...)

Russian troops rolling up the outer defenses of Budapest in preparation for an all-out assault yesterday toppled the eastern anchor of the enemy defense line southeast of the Hungarian capital, driving thru torrential rains to within 11 miles of Miskolc, Hungary's fifth largest city. Capturing the communications center of Ujszasz, 41 miles southeast of the capital, Red Army infantrymen assured the collapse of the enemy defense line along the Budapest-Ujszasz Railroad, where enemy forces have heretofore resisted all Soviet attempts to bypass Budapest at the east and throw a siege line aroun the imperiled city.

The roar of bursting robot bombs punctuated a grim Armistice Day observance thruout southern England yesterday but British censors have forbidden all discussion of whether the Germans are still firing their new V-2 rockets. Barely 24 hours after Prime Minister Winston Churchill confirmed that the stratospheric rocket bombs have been showering down on British soil for several weeks, Berlin declared that that the Belgian port of Antwerp was also under heavy bombardment by the new weapon., and asserted that a great area of that city, including its dock area, is in ruins. The Berlin spokesman angrily disputed Churchill's statement that the missles have proven ineffective, and declared "London's surprise will be still greater in the not to distant future."

("It's no use," sighs Danny Leary, his hands thrust into his overcoat pocket as he and his brother exit the bus terminal. "Nobody's seen 'im. T' ol' lady's gonna kill us." "Ahhhh," dismisses Jimmy. "She neveh had no bullets innat gun, y'could look right down'a cylindeh t'eh. She was jus' tryin' t' scaeh'rus, t'at's awl. She neveh did have no bite t'go wit't'eh bawrk." "She hit me oveh t'head wit' a seltzeh bot'l t'at one time," mutters Danny. "You shoulda known bett'eh," snickers Jimmy, "then t'put a slug innat slot machine." "She neveh foun' it," growls Danny. "It was t'at kid a' Sally's t'at foun' it." "I'm gett'n t'be moeh scaieht'a t'at kid," nods Jimmy, "t'an I am of Ma. One'a t'ese days t'at kid's gonna say too much, an' Sally's gonna lamp onta what's goin' awn, an'nen..." "Let's check t' Pawrt Authority nex'," sighs Danny. "Yeh," exhales Jimmy...)

(So much for Notre Dame, now on to Berlin!)

The Brooklyn Tigers will close out their home schedule at Ebbets Field this afternoon still hopes of salvaging a victory from an otherwise discouraging campaign. Gowanus Tech's next three games against the Boston Yanks, New York Giants, and Philadelphia Eagles, are all on the road.

(WHAT A CONVINCING IMPERSONATION! NO ONE WILL EVER KNOW!)

(Hmph! Movie Bugs would NEVER encourage hoarding!)

(Look, what kind of a boyfriend goes over to his girlfriend's house just to sit around reading the paper?)

(And did you ALSO know a handful of oatmeal will stop a leak in your radiator? Try this complete breakfast!)

(Wait, didn't Jane Arden already do this story?)

(That's a pretty bold insinuation to insinuate about Secretary Perkins IN THE SUNDAY FUNNIES.)

(So then look, from here on, let's just whack every amnesia victim over the head with a blackjack and get on with things.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

The Duke-Cromwell-Stotesbury story would benefit from a diagram. Never mind the other one.

"Hah!" snickers Bink Scanlan. "I love t' Hill Page. Hey, he oughta have Fatty in'eeh, huh? Hey, weh'r IS Fatty? Ain' seen'im aroun'." "Shoot oop," growls Ma, her face an ashen gray from lack of sleep, and her hands trembling. "Jooost shoot oop."

Oh, perish forbid.

When my mother did this to me, I learned how to pick the lock. It's not hard to do, these old mortise locks you can snap with a bent paper clip.

"Here you go, I put in the extra ingredient just like you asked." **wink**

We used to go to a cider mill much like this, and made the mistake of forgetting the jug in the back seat of the car. Didn't stay sweet for long...

Forgot the license?? YOU RATTLE BRAINED HEPCAT!

"Camp Is Pitched For The Night?" Didn't your editor ever talk to you about the passive voice?

It actually makes much more sense if all this was just a dream.

Abducted in a uniform that is not your own? Well that's never happened before, huh Terry?

 

[LizzieMaine]

ANd finally...

Tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick....

 

[Fading Fast]

Not defending the white-dinner-jacket-wearing Coward, but will note, his (Coward wrote, co-directed, and stared-in) "In Which We Serve" is a heck of a propaganda movie. One of my favorites of WWII and there are plenty to choose from.

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

So then look, from here on, let's just whack every amnesia victim over the head with a blackjack and get on with things.

I'm on board; saves time and we'll get to the exact same place.

 

[LizzieMaine]

Meanwhile, as our long baseball drought looms ahead, enjoy this RKO-Pathe short subject featuring some neat footage of our own Whit "I'll Maybe Offer Him A Dollar" Wyatt and Pete "Don't Forget To Duck" Reiser going over pitching and batting fundamentals, along with a number of other National League stars of the day. Note especially elderly Honus Wagner, still in good form as a Pirates coach. Note to Sally: Sorry, no Pete Coscarart...

 

[Fading Fast]

Meanwhile, as our long baseball drought looms ahead, enjoy this RKO-Pathe short subject featuring some neat footage of our own Whit "I'll Maybe Offer Him A Dollar" Wyatt and Pete "Don't Forget To Duck" Reiser going over pitching and batting fundamentals, along with a number of other National League stars of the day. Note especially elderly Honus Wagner, still in good form as a Pirates coach. Note to Sally: Sorry, no Pete Coscarart...

In my small brain, every time I hear "Honus Wagner," it's followed by "baseball card."

 

[LizzieMaine]

It's startling to realize he went on to become a pudgy old man who would walk across the street from Forbes Field in full uniform to mooch free beers at a neighborhood bar.

Oh, and another note to Sally --- in the shot of Frankie Gustine making a neat play at second base, I think, on close observation, that might in fact be Petey playing short for the Pirates. Most of the footage in this short appears to have been shot in 1941-42, and the shortstop doesn't look like Arky Vaughan, who was, of course, traded to Brooklyn for Pete, Babe Phelps, and Luke Hamlin, a deal which like another terrible event from the winter of 1941, shall live in infamy...