The Era -- Day By Day

[Fading Fast]

"Sal," whispers Alice. "Lemme ask ya sump'n. Was you jus' -- prayin'?" "Leemee lone," mutters Sally, bending over her bench. "S'awright," assures Alice. "I was too."

"Leemee lone."

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"ye'll joost have t'foind solace in ye waaaark."

Ah, my father's philosophy of raising a child said with an Irish accent.

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Today I learned that Evans Krehbiel's parents were both notable fine artists, with his father a significant figure in American impressionism, and his mother an interesting modernist. I wonder if they -- ah -- know what their son does for a living...

Well at least they don't have to send him a monthly check anymore.

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Yeah, well, to paraphrase Captain Renault: "Don't underestimate stupid American kids, I was with the stupid American kids when they blundered into Berlin in 1918 (and are about to do so again)."

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You know, you don't have to point it out.

Okay, Rita, just give him a thank you, umm, handshake and be done with it. The kid's mind will explode.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("I dunno why I'm takin'is so hawrd," exhales Sally, gazing up at the peeling Kalsomine ceiling of Dr. Levine's office. "I mean, it ain' like I knew 'im poissonal a'nut'n. Well, I wrote 'im a few lettehs, y'know, givin' im some advice. Back when we haddat strike at Woolwoit's, y'know, I t'ink it mighta been him pul't some strings t'get me outta t'jug." "Ah," ahs Dr. Levine, flipping the page of her notebook. "I mean," shrugs Sally, "who else coulda done'at? Uncle Frank? I ask ya. But anyways, awl durin'at funeral p'rade thing, y'know, onna radio, I'm stannin'neh at my bench an' -- I can't see t'wiehs, y'know? From cryin'." "You aren't alone, you know," acknowledges the doctor. "I cried too." "Really?" marvels Sally. "I t'ought doctehs wasn'allowed." "It's not good form," agrees Dr. Levine. "But then, there's people who'd say I'm not good form either." "I didn't know doctehs was allowed t'make jokes," adds Sally. "Sometimes we have to," sighs Dr. Levine...)

("That paaaar little daaahg," sighs Ma. "Eh," ehs Bink Scanlan. "He's doin' awright. T'ree squaehs, a nice bed t'sleep in, goes f'nice wawks. Don' hafta sweep no flooehs." "Moind ye toong," frowns Ma. "Oi doon't imagine Francis woold loike t'know what ye been oop to with his soon." "Ahhhh, what's Fatty caeh," snickers Bink. "Whassit matteh if one'vm gets a lit'l messed up? He's got a spaeh." A strange sound erupts from Ma's midriff, sounding suspiciously like a belly laugh. Bink stares incredulously. "Oof," huffs Ma, rubbing her stomach. "Thaaat Shaughnessy an' his bloody gristly brisket...")

("What's the meaning of THIS!" rumbles Mr. Rickey, thrusting the Eagle sports page in the face of his quivering minion. "Well,' shrugs Mr. Parrott, "if Breadon wants to let the Coopers go, that's so much the better for..." "I mean THIS item," interrupts the Mahatma of Montague Street, his thick finger pointing to one small item. "YOUR paper, Mr. Parrott. Hiring a LOW COMEDIAN. A JESTING JAPER. A MERRY ANDREW. A BROADWAY BUFFOON! TO WRITE ABOUT *OUR* BALL CLUB!" "Heh!" snickers Mr. Parrott in spite of himself. "I never knew Schroth had it in him!" "No sooner do I wrest Durocher from the siren lure of the footlights," laments Mr. Rickey, "then another prancing Punchinello insinuates himself upon the franchise." "You know," suggests Mr. Parrott, "if you took off your glasses and slicked back your hair, you could look like Chic Johnson. You and Olsen could do a bit together. The crowd would eat it up." Mr. Rickey lifts his jaw from the top of the desk and stares at his aide. "Are you MAD?" he demands. "You know," observes Mr. Parrott, throwing caution to the winds, "how much money Olsen and Johnson made last year?" Mr. Rickey pauses to consider this possibility. "What does this Johnson do?" he queries. "Can you -- giggle?" proposes Mr. Parrott. "Haw haw haw?" enunciates Mr. Rickey. "More like this," corrects Mr. Parrott. "Hee hee hee hee!" Mr. Rickey stares. "That will be all, Mr. Parrott." "Yes sir....")

(See kids, this is why you don't climb on roofs.)

(Bugs Bunny as a hapless suburbanite. What's next, complaining to the Zoning Board of Appeals?)

(And once again we remind you, Phil Fumble is Mr. Bushmiller's avatar.)

(Two years? Must've been exhausted.)

(Maybe Scarlet should lay off the Hungarian dinners before bed.)

("All right Admiral, but LEAVE THE WHISTLE ALONE!")

(Meanwhile in Hollywood, struggling singer Frankie Laine says HEY! I HAD IT FIRST!)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News....

All right with the dog, now you've got ME crying.

Spring? What's that??

It's always best to observe the social niceties before you break the bottle. Otherwise we'd have chaos.

"I could suggest a good place." Well, she got a good head start.

"Shoulda gawt 'is billfold too." -- Bink.

SERVES YOU RIGHT

I mean, what were you expecting to happen?

If we don't get a story where Chili meets Rita, and they team up to seek their vengeance on the two-timing little pantywaist, I'll be very disappointed.

And make sure you do hospital corners, I don't want cold feet.

Tough tootin', Terry, you can't say you didn't have your chance.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And also...

"Do not worry. We shall have no trouble at all finding employment."

 

[Fading Fast]

"who else coulda done'at? Uncle Frank? I ask ya..."

And another opportunity to see reality lost.

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"What does this Johnson do?" he queries. "Can you -- giggle?" proposes Mr. Parrott. "Haw haw haw?" enunciates Mr. Rickey. "More like this," corrects Mr. Parrott. "Hee hee hee hee!" Mr. Rickey stares. "That will be all, Mr. Parrott." "Yes sir...."

Well played, Lizzie.

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Spring? What's that??

It's funny, as I feel as if I know the actors. It's like Hill uses a traveling theater troupe as we see the same actors in different roles each week. I believe you've said something similar and, of course, before me, Lizzie.

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"I could suggest a good place." Well, she got a good head start.

"It is a good fur day – yes indeed, a good fur day. We should use some stills from today for publicity material."

"Somebody tell the dog to stay in character; his mind seems to be wandering again during the scene."

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Tough tootin', Terry, you can't say you didn't have your chance.

No kidding, I don't want to hear a peep out of him even if he has to watch. Too bad, kid.