The Era -- Day By Day

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

"Thatt's roit," frowns Ma. "Ruuuuuuin th' maaaarket!"

I'm impressed they wrote this without ever once mentioning Tommy Manville.

"I learned this trick from that new Marine captain, you know, the one who looks like Cary Grant. Funny how he keeps calling me 'Irwin.'"

Deathbed conversion.

Never try to play chess with a ten year old girl.

"And maybe -- what's that line -- 'send a salami to your boy in the Army!'

**snif**

The marital dance.

Y'know, Mamie, if you really want one you could probably kill and skin it yourself.

SURE THAT'LL WORK

 

[Trenchfriend]

@LizzieMaine
"National Institute of Diaper Services??"

Recycle support services?

 

[FOXTROT LAMONT]

I saw 'The Dump' box yesterday. I think it must be a burlesque establishment.

Mr Caniff is squaring the bed corners with Midi but our lad as gumshoe stretches the shoe leather some.
Thinking everything over Grett will evacuate back Hawaii and California so she's gone. Caniff could scratch
her out with erasure unless he tries slight of artist hand trick to plausibly retain her in-theatre.

 

[LizzieMaine]

@LizzieMaine
"National Institute of Diaper Services??"

Recycle support services?

Diaper Services were specialized commercial laundries that were very popular before disposable diapers were common. While disposables did exist in 1943, they were not widely used. Cloth diapers were standard, and you could either rinse out the contents in a big pail on your kitchen table like my mother did. or you could send them to a "diaper service." A guy would come around with a truck to collect the dirties in a sanitary contaner and then return clean ones neatly folded. You didn't own the diapers so you didn;t have to buy replacements when they wore out. Services like these were not inexpensive but they were very popular for people who could afford to use them.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Whatsa shrapnel shell doin' in Bay Ridge anyways?" puzzles Joe. "Ain'neese kids got no parents?""Awrf'l," sighs Sally. "Y'know, it seems like..." But what it seems like is lost to the ages as Sally's comment is interrupted by a knock at the door. "Hello, Joseph," smiles Ma, as Joe opens the door to admit the visitors. "G'amma!" yelps Leonora, rushing across the kitchen to greet her grandmother. "Hello daaarlin'," returns Ma. "Hello daughter." "Hiya," returns Sally, glaring suspiciously at Willie, who is hiding behind Uncle Frank's overcoated bulk. "We come ovarr so Francis can taaahlk with Mr. Krause about somethin' to do with yaaar farrnace here. Francis, why don't you go down and taalk t'Mr. Krause, an' take William with ye. I'm sure he'll enjoy seein' Mr. Krause again." "Oi'll do that," nods Uncle Frank, with a nod to Joe and Sally. "Oh," sighs Ma, hanging her coat on the peg by the door. "Here, y'go, Leonora, I brought ye soomethin' -- I got evarr so many nick'ls ovarr to the place, Oi thought ye might loike t'lend me a hand and do some saartin'. Take this little bag here an' goo ovar to the table. And don't let ye kitty cat there mess'm ooop!" WIth a yelp of delight, Leonora embarks on her mission. "Oi miss seein' ye aroun'," sighs Ma. "I know," replies Sally. "But it's like I said..." "Ahhhh, Oi know," dismisses Ma. "But look, the boy is -- doin' bettar. Anyway, I..." But she is interrupted herself by a sharp knock at the door. Joe opens again, to admit an agitated Alice Dooley. "Hiya," she bustles. "Hey, look, I jus' seen Uncle Frank goin' downsteahs, an' -- look, Ma, c'n I tawk t'ya out'na hawl heeh? Sorry folks, t'is is some poissional stuff. Be jus' a minute." Without waiting for Ma's reply, Alice grabs her arm and steers her outside. As soon as the door closes behind her, her face darkens. "Lissen heeh," she hisses. "Misteh G tol' me t'eh was t'is big guy aroun'a utteh day askin' questions about Siddy, an' it didn't take me too long t'figyeh out it was one'a t'em Leary boys. An' now you got Uncle Frank oveh heeh?" "Well, let me..." begins Ma, but she is instantly cut off. "Now you lissen good," growls Alice. "Wit' awla rotten stuff I've hadda deal wit'' since I got outta stir, Siddy's t'best t'ing t'at's eveh happn'ta me. I'm doin'a damndes' t'toin me life aroun', but I sweah t'gawd, if you got sump'n planned t'hoit him, if I see eite'h one'a t'em big goons aroun' heah again, I'm gonna break bot' t'eh necks. She pauses for breath, and fixes Ma in a deadly glare. "An'NEN, I'm comin' fa YOU. Y'GET ME?" "Oh yes," nods Ma. "Oi do that." "Ya betteh," hisses Alice, shoving Ma hard against the wall. She turns toward the stairs, and looks back. "Oh yeh," she adds. "Merry Chris'mas." Ma replies with an inscrutable smile. "An' to ye as well.")

Germany was reported tonight to be appealing for Hungarian help in subduing the fighting Yugoslavs and observers said the early winter Nazi offensive in Yugoslavia, stalled before fierce Partisan attacks in nearly every sector, was crystalizing into a battle for strategic Bosnia. The Yugoslav information bureau at Cairo asserted that the special German envoy for southeastern Europe was in Budapest negotiating with the Hungarian government for use of its troops in Yugoslavia. In return, the Germans were said to be offering to withdraw all remaining Hungarian troops remaining on the Russian front, and to permit Hungary to annex northeastern Yugoslav territory between Vukovar, Zupanja, the rivers Save and Danube, and the present Hungarian border.

Congress, acting in a last-minute burst of speed, cleared away its most pressing emergency legislation before voting to adjourn for the Christmas and New Years' holidays until January 10th. President Roosevelt, after consulting with Democratic leaders, assured both the House and Senate that he had no objection to the recess. One of the final acts accomplished in yesterday's session was an agreement to extend the food subsidy program until February 17th.

(Well, at least they weren't playing Spike Jones.)

A 54-year-old Brownsville woman charged with possession of policy slips denied ever seeing the incriminating bits of paper. Appearing in Brooklyn Weekend Court before Magistrate Nicholas Pinto, Mrs. Rose Bernard of 444 Blake Lane suggested that the slips found in her kitchen drawer must be her 12-year-old son's homework. "Might it be extracurricular activity in higher mathmatics?" propounded the Magistrate, inviting the boy, Robert Bernard, to examine the evidence. "Don't look like nothing I ever wrote," declared Robert. "Well," interrupted his mother, "it's something you brought home. Must be your time schedule." Mrs. Bernard pleaded innocent to the charge, and was held on $500 bail pending a hearing in East New York Court on December 29th.

In Chicago, a pretty young woman dressed in Gibson Girl finery was pronounced the winner of a citywide Cinderella Contest last night -- but the audience received a surprise when Cinderella bowed and took off her wig, revealing herself to be Johnny Gray, a 16 year old high school boy.

("Well, Oi think," declares Uncle Frank, gazing at the boiler in the basement of 1720 63rd Street, "that ye praaahblm here is that the pivots in this damparr is warrrn oot. Ye see how she's hannngin' oop heere....Here, William. Leave Mr. Krause aloon, would ye?" But Willie pays no heed, gazing with awe at the network of pipes and valves erupting from the boiler and vanishing up into the walls. Krause bends down low to answer whispered questions, and points to various interesting features of the heating plant. "Are ye listenin', Mr. Krause?" interrupts Uncle Frank. "Yeh," Krause nods, as he shows the fascinated boy a pressure valve.)

(They say this Ralph Branca kid is good at basketball. Wonder if he plays any other sports?)

Tommy Holmes is impressed with the American League's new strikeout king, with 1943 pitching statistics showing that fireballer Allie Reynolds of the Cleveland Indians whiffed a total of 151 batters while going 11-12 in the most recent campaign. Mr. Reynolds emerged last summer as a big league star after an impressive 1942 season with Wilkes-Barre in the Eastern League, where he struck out 193. Mr. Reynolds is 25 years old, comes from Oklahoma, and is in fact an actual Indian, or at least of Irish-Indian ancestry. Inevitably his nickname is "Chief."

(Poor Mr. Quayle. Every year it's the same thing.)

(If there's one thing you got to watch out for, it's a tempremental cow.)

("It's nice, Pop, but can we have the checkerboards back now?")

(SIC EM BOY RIP HIS THROAT OUT)

("Go get that blue spruce over there, he's just a corporal." And poor Mr. Bell, having to wait for his call to go thru like everybody else...)

(Jeez, Bill. Have some dignity.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

Somebody's war souvenir. Awful.

"So you come from Brooklyn?" "WHAT'S IT TO YA, FATHEAD?"

Ah, Gould, you old softie.

"BUT THEY'RE NOT GETTING ANY OF THIS TURKEY!" And I always thought it was funny that Mr. Gillette, whose portrait you see on the box there, was always shown with a giant and luxurious moustache.

And what years were those? Oh yeah, right, that Nick Gatt sure knew how to throw a party. And gawdblessya, "Sanford Claus -- War Worker."

Look at all that swag. Plushie must've had a good week at the card table. And there's nothing more heartwarming than "A Peter Pain Christmas!"

AND TELL THOSE FIGHTERS TO STOP BUZZING THE HOSPITAL!

"CORKIN THINKS HE CAN BLOW ME OFF! I'LL SHOW HIM!" -- Taffy.

You're in over your head, son.

 

[Fading Fast]

LIttle does Alice know that she just auditioned to be a parent and Ma, who plays a great game of long ball, liked what she saw. Awesome writing Lizzie, kudos. The Krause and Frank scene was darn good too.

 

[LizzieMaine]

I don't know if Ma plays chess, but I think she'd be very good at it.

 

[LizzieMaine]

Meanwhile, someone in another group I follow recently posted a gorgeous piece of original comic-strip art -- Frank King's rendering of Skeezix's high school graduation a few years back. (Click for larger size)

Aside from the attention to detail and the careful line and brush work, notice that the Skeezix of 1939 is in fact visibly younger, not just in the way he's drawn, but in the way he carries himself, from the Skeezix who is presently, in 1943, huddled in a cave with his buddies somewhere in the hills of Bulgaria. King's work is full of careful details like this, and the more of them you notice the more you realize what a unique and brilliant artist he was.

 

[EngProf]

Meanwhile, someone in another group I follow recently posted a gorgeous piece of original comic-strip art -- Frank King's rendering of Skeezix's high school graduation a few years back. (Click for larger size)

View attachment 571971
Aside from the attention to detail and the careful line and brush work, notice that the Skeezix of 1939 is in fact visibly younger, not just in the way he's drawn, but in the way he carries himself, from the Skeezix who is presently, in 1943, huddled in a cave with his buddies somewhere in the hills of Bulgaria. King's work is full of careful details like this, and the more of them you notice the more you realize what a unique and brilliant artist he was.

It's nothing short of amazing the small military details that he captures, and it's not big-issue plot points, but the smallest items that you can imagine.
Recently when their revolver was shown, you could tell it was a *Colt* Model of 1917. (Not a Smith and Wesson, which also made Model of 1917 pistols, since the two brands were visibly different if you know what to look for.)
As non-combat troops these Ordnance guys would likely have been issued left-over WWI pistols, so one or the other (Colt or S&W), is just what you would expect.
Just one of MANY details that he gets exactly right.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Hey," heys Joe, approaching his Sperry workbench at the start of his shift to find Miss Kaplan already in position -- at the next bench over. "Whatta YOU doin'eah? Whe's Mozelewski?" "Who?" whos Miss Kaplan, tying a bandana around her hair in preparation for the night's work. "Mozelewski," repeats Joe. "You know, t'guy whose machine t'at is. He's been onnat machine since befoeh *I* stawrted heeh. What's he, absenteein'? T'at ain' like him." "Oh, him," shrugs Miss Kaplan. "I guess you musta not hoid -- t'ey cawlt him inna awfice las' week, an' tol' 'im he's been reclassified. Non-essential. T'at's what t'ey been trainin' me to do -- take over when youse guys is reclassified." "Mozelewski t'ey reclassified?" gapes Joe. "Not me?" "Guess so," replies Miss Kaplan. "You'd hafta ask t'em. Awl I know is t'foehman says I'm onnis machine stawrt'n t'day. An' heeh I am." "An' Mozelewski..." queries Joe. "...Is whatchacawl gett'n'is affaiehs in awrdeh," completes Miss Kaplan. "Yeh. Tough break f'him." "Yeh," exhales Joe. "Tough break f'him.")

Preparations for the opening of a second front in Western Europe were reported to be in full swing, as Radio Vichy reported that General Eisenhower, whom Washington sources have predicted will command the invasion, has arrived in Britain. A broadcast by CBS reported that tremendous convoys have been piling American troops into Britain for the past six months, with, in some locations entire English villages evacuated to make room for the thousands of men, while "huge accumulations" of vehicles and equipment intended for invasion use "are obvious to the most casual dockside observer." The Vichy broadcast concerning General Eisenhower's movements was not confirmed, but it was considered evident that the invasion commander would need to arrive soon if the operation is to be launched as expected within the next three and a half months.

A crack in City Councilman Genevieve Earle's loyalty to Mayor LaGuardia was inferred today by observers, folliwing Mrs. Earle's statement that she woud "prefer to get the budget and investigate it before making any sweeping statements," a statement seen as a reply to Councilman Stanley Isaacs' remark that the minority bloc on the new City Council can be expected to go along in "questioning loyalty" to the Mayor. Isaacs, a Manhattan Republican, spoke last night to a dinner given by the New York City chapter of the National Lawyers' Guild, and charged that the Mayor "varies in loyalty to himself and to the things he used to stand for," and that the council minority is therefore withdrawing its own loyalty. Isaccs indicated that the minority bloc will hold out in the new budget for adequate funds for social services, and will not permit the Mayor to demand cuts in funding for these agencies only so the Administration can show a surplus at the end of the year. Mrs. Earle, Fusionist leader of the minority bloc consisting of three Republicans, two Communists, a right-wing Laborite, and a left-wing Laborite, stated that she feels the Mayor has done "a swell job under difficult circumstances which are becoming increasingly difficult.

Police and the District Attorney's office are probing the explosion of a World War I shrapnel shell in a Bay Ridge vacant lot that killed two young children and injured four others. Detective James Tedesco of the 88th Precinct has been assigned to head the probe, in an effort to determine the origin of the shell and how it came into the hands of the group of children, who detonated it by tossing it into a bonfire they had ignited in the lot at the corner of 3rd Avenue and 64th Street on Saturday.

Dodger president Branch Rickey declared last night that "umpires" should rule the postwar world. Speaking at the midyear commencement ceremonies for the Brooklyn Polytechnic Institute at the Academy of Music, the head of the Brooklyn Baseball Club called for all nations to bow to the authority of "international umpires" who would given the power to enforce order. "We are fighting to determine what nations get into the league," declared Rickey. "We're fighting to control the appointment of umpires."

("I ain' hoid nut'n back 'bout t'at radio show yet," shrugs Alice. "I put inna wieh t'ey should cawl us at Schriebstien's, an' I give t'numbeh n' ev'ryt'ing, but not a woid yet." "Huh," sighs Sally, without elaboration. "Liss'n," she resumes, turning to her seatmate. "You'n Ma yes'tday. What wassat awla'bout, anyways? You drag 'eh out'na hawlway t'eh, an' when she comes back in' she's grinnin' like one'a ya, what'chacawl Chesh'eh cats." "What kin'a cat?" queries Alice. "I don' know nut'n 'bout no cats, we jus' was tawkin' som'p'n oveh." "What's goin' on," demands Sally. "You two plannin' some kind'a s'prise pawty a'sump'n? I tol'ya we dowanna do nut'n fancy f'Chris'mas, an' me boit'day ain' 'till April, so..." "Oh, no." dismisses Alice. "Nobody's gonna do nut'n f'ya boit'day, you don' hafta worry none 'bout t'at." "Som'p'n t'do wit' t' wedd'n?" pursues Sally. "I know my ma, she don' grin like 'nless t'ez'a reason." "It's nut'n, Sal," stresses Alice. "Jus' skip it, it's nut'n." "Yeh, right," scoffs Sally. "Hey', " interjects Alice in a desperate bid to change the subject. "Y'wanna heeh sump'n? I t'ink Siddy really likes t'at kid a' Mickey's, t'at Willie. He said he was down'eah yest'day askin' awlkin'sa questions 'bout t'berleh an' awlat stuff. An' when'ee was tellin' me 'bout it afteh, his face jus' lit right up. I says 'you like t'at kid don'cha?' An' ya know what he said?" "Yeh," nods Sally, lost in her own thoughts. "T'at's RIGHT!" laughs Alice. "How'dja KNOW?")

(But no turkeys, so don't even ask.)

"Shocked," a woman of 50, writes in to Helen Worth with a disturbing discovery -- she has found evidence that her husband, a well-respected man in the neighborhood and a vestryman in the church "for more years than I can count," has in fact been embezzling, repeatedly, from the church treasury. She confronted her husband with her discovery and he confessed, but insists that the whole affair will be kept quiet if he repays the amount in small installments. She adds that their children, who are grown, know that something is wrong, but they suspect "everything but the truth." Helen agrees that she has no right to "saddle the children with this nightmare," and can suggest only that Shocked herself might find a job and help her husband repay the stolen money. We marry for better or for worse, she contends. "But how many of us ever imagine it will actually be 'for worse?'"

The Eagle Editorialist salutes "Red Cross" Barber for his appointment as head of Brooklyn's Red Cross campaign for 1944. The Dodger broadcaster has long been a strong supporter of the Red Cross in his radio work, and in the community at large, and is "an ideal choice for the post."

(And you do get tired of pork sausage.)

("A Roosian wit' boots!" See, I'm not making up this dialect stuff.)

("Your nose is shorter!" Still a ways to go, though.)

("Use Miss Quill's name instead!" "Oh no, I couldn't do that, her father is the head of the Transit Workers Union!")

(A head-butt can be lethal under the right circumstances. Better take the hat off first.)

(Sure are some good lookin' people in this hotel.)

(Yeah, but now you've gotta keep up with production.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

APPOLINIA REINMANN SCHELLENBACH! APPOLINIA REINMANN SCHELLENBACH! APPOLINIA REINMANN SCHELLENBACH!

I dunno, if you want the full Lillian Russell effect, you'll need to start lacing a bit tighter.

"Oh well, whatever!"

Yeah, well, it's Christmas.

You might not remember, but I bet April Kane would.

SURE SMELL THE WHOLE CAVE UP

"And I wonder about Corporal Slice's family, how they'll spend Christmas.." "Corporal who?"

Hey, that's actually not a bad idea.

After a while, the jokes do kinda write themselves.

Pretty good for an old man who almost died a year ago.

 

[FOXTROT LAMONT]

Ann Sheridan can still compete with today's starlet crowd.
And Errol must be slipping in the polls. A Mick losing to English born Mr Hope.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("I tawked t't'em people f'm t'at radio show at lunchtime t'day," fumes Alice. "Cawl't'm right up onna phone inna lunch room t'eh. An' ya know what t'ey said? T'ey said t'ey don' want no singin' an' dancin' acts -- it's actin' out scenes, y'know? Who wants t'do t'at? An'NEN, when I said I know Patsy Kelly, t'ey kin'a laughed an' said 't'at ain'a recommendation ya t'ink it is!' Whassat s'posta mean? Hey -- you lissenin' t'me?" "Mmm," replies Sally, not hearing a word of it. "Whassat ya read'n'eah," inquires Alice. "T'at ano'teh one'a t'em 'Madam Oisle' magazines?" "Yeh," nods Sally, bowing to the inevitable and resting the publication on her lap. "An' y'know, it wouldn' hoit you t'read a book like t'is once'nawhile. T'is one heeh's got awlese articles 'bout, you know, doin' awla stuff ya need to do. 'Make It Woik -- Evr't'ing In Ya Life." See t'eh? An' lookit you -- ya woikin' at t'plant, ya takin' caeh'ra t' Ginsboigs, an' ya gett'n ready t'get married. An' you don' even wanna KNOW how much woik ya in fa afteh T'AT." "Oh," ohs Alice, "t'at ain' AWL woik. I 'magine'll be some fun inneh. Siddy's a lotta fun when ya get 'im goin'." "I don' mean t'at," dismisses Sally. "Take t'is awrticle heeh, f'zample. It's awlese famous people tawkin' 'bout how t'ey make sueh t'take time t'get away f'm awla stuff t'ey HAFTA do t'fin' t'ime t'do t't'ings t'ey WANNA do. Look heeh -- says heeh Gypsy Rose Lee gets up at 4 inna mawrnin' jus' so she can get in some t'ime to write books an' plays an'' awlat. An'nen she says at night she likes t'set home an' lissen t't'radio an' do needlepernt. Gypsy Rose Lee! NEEDLEPERNT! Ain'at sump'n?" "I tried t'at once," shrugs Alice. "I made t'is t'ing t'at said 'Gawd Bless T'is Home," an' I tried t'hang it up on me wall, but t'ey wouldn' let me drive no nails inna concrete." "Huh?" "Um, one'a t'em fussy lan'loehds, y'know." "Well," continues Sally, "It's good advice. I mean heeh's ano'teh --- HEY. NOW JUS' A MINUTE. Lissen t' T"IS! 'Dorot'y Kilgallen, young columnis' of 't' Joinal American, mot'eh of two cha-rubs an' wife of a Broadway produceh tol' us she can awrways fin' excuses f'not woikin'!' YEH I BET SHE CAN! MISS POIFECT WHITE GLOVES WIT' 'EH NOSE INNA AIEH! Gawdfabbid SHE should woik ovehtime makin' radio tubes! 'If'eh husban' asks 'eh t'go to t'OP'REH awr wants t'take 'eh to a PAWRTY afteh t'THEATEH...' WELL LAH DE DAHHH!" "Heh," snickers Alice. "An'ney cawlt'eh YOUNG! T'at's rich!" "Wait," growls Sally. "She'sa same age I am." "Well'en," pronounces Alice. "T'eh ya go! Hey, lemme lookit'at book when ya done, huh?" "I'm done wit' it now," fumes Sally, tossing the magazine to the floor as the train rumbles on toward home...)

Borough President John Cashmore today demanded the return of independent ration control to Brooklyn, opening a new front in the borough-wide agitation against the recent destruction of the local OPA office under a directive from regional administrator Daniel P. Woolley. Cashmore emphasized the need for close personal contact in such a community as Brooklyn, and said he believes reestablishing the former system would work for greater efficiency here. At the same time, Borough President James Burke of Queens came out with his own demand for the old system, and criticized Woolley for mounting a crusade against "cheap watches for soldiers" when there are far more pressing issues to be addressed on the home front.

Meanwhile, national Price Administrator Chester Bowles is reported to be taking a "close look" at the OPA situation in Brooklyn, following protests lodged with his office by Brooklyn Representative John J. Delaney and most of the other Brooklyn Congressmen. Only a direct order from Bowles can overrule regional administrator Woolley's recent abolition of county-level OPA offices in New York City. An OPA spokesman in Washington seemed to endorse Woolley's action, calling the rubbing-out of local offices "part of a program designed to increase the efficiency of OPA field operations."

The expected police shakeup in Bedford-Stuyvesant, where allegations of lawlessness led to a scathing Grand Jury pronouncement, leaves a completely revamped top command in charge there today. Inspector William P. O'Brien has been given command of the 13th Division, which includes the Bedford-Stuyvesant section. O'Brien, formerly of the 5th Division in Manhattan, was in charge of the small army of uniformed men who investigated the charges made by the August grand jury right after its pronouncement was handed up, and in doing so operated under the direct orders of Mayor LaGuardia. The new setup, announced today by Police Commissioner Lewis P. Valentine, reassigns former 13th Division commander Inspector John E. Copeland to what is described as "a desk job" in the Chief Inspector's Office in Manhattan.

The former Eastern representative for Father Coughlin is calling for the America First movement to reorganize itself even before the war is over. Father Edward Lodge Curran, president of the International Catholic Truth Society, told a luncheon meeting of the Brooklyn Mid-Day Club that the America First Committee, which opposed American involvement in the war, "never should have dissolved in the first place." He urged a return to "orthodox American principles" and declared his belief that most Americans do not favor the creation of a "super-government or world state as a police power over the world."

A useful gift for your serviceman in the Pacific? Word from the boys over there is that they could really use some nail polish. Don't get the wrong idea -- they've discovered that fingernal enamel is an excellent remedy for the chigger bites that plague them in the jungle. Painted over a fresh bite, the polish immediately stops the irritation and inflamation resulting from chigger attacks.

("What do ye think, William," inquires Ma, studying the picture ads. "We could go oover to th' Patio t'night. We could go see 'Lassie Coom Hoome.' Would ye loike that, tharr's a little boy an' a very noice dog in that picture. An' we could see the big goooldfish too! Would ye loike that?" Willie ponders his straws, and offers no reply. "Paaarhaps," she adds, "we could see if Mistarr Krause would loike to join oos?" Willie looks up and immediately nods his assent.)

(And Yesterday -- For The Germans!)

The Eagle Editorialist condemns the "war souvenir" attitude that led to the death of two Bay Ridge boys following the detonation of a shrapnel shell brought back from the First World War. "No one," declares the EE, "has any business having loaded ammunition of any kind around where it can fall into the hands of children."

(That's called 'cutting out the middleman.')

(I wonder what poor old Mr. Mack would think of Las Vegas?)

Star Cardinal shortstop Marty Marion has been reclassified 1-A by his draft board in Abbeyville, South Carolina. The elongated infielder, who was a key in the Cardinals' two consecutive pennants, is 27 years old, is married, and has one child. He expects to be inducted in January.

(Notice that Jo's nose isn't shrinking. Figures.)

(These hicks have never heard of an exclusive contract.)

(Aim higher -- no, I mean lower.)

(Windy day? GOOD THING YOU'RE INVISBLE.)

(Meanwhile, a homeless tramp wonders what happened to his wreath trade.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

Whatever you do, Miss Hutton -- don't sneeze!

Awwww.

Oh, they'll change their minds around the middle of next year.

DIdn't work out so well last time, did it?

So we say "so long" to Laffy, and "well helllllllloooooooo" to -- um -- this good looking fellow.

Gawblessya, Skeez.

Aw, do what you always do, Bimbo -- give everybody a big canvas bag full of money.

"Course, he'll have to get the ones with cardboard soles. OPA's doin' the best it can, I guess. Far be it from ME to complain..."

Well, that solves the egg problem. See if you can get a pig next.

Pop's been working out!

 

[LizzieMaine]

Oh, and..

It pays to have Santa under long-term contract.

 

[Fading Fast]

"...but t'ey wouldn' let me drive no nails inna concrete."

It is so perfect that Sally has a "Dorot'y Kilgallen" as a life foil.

Annie needs to read up on "The Broken Window Fallacy" by Frederic Bastiat (shockingly, a French economist worth reading).

 

[LizzieMaine]

"Sally who? Oh, you mean that strange loud girl who kept trying to trip me on the stairs. Honestly, some people."

 

[FOXTROT LAMONT]

Ms Kilgallen I believe fell tragic murder victim; rumour ties death to her investigative pursuit JFK assassination.

 

[LizzieMaine]

We take you now to the night of November 14, 1965, as Joe and Sally sit in front of their television set for the latest installment of "What's My Line." "Helluva t'ing," observes Joe, as John Daly somberly declares that this evening's broadcast will go on as a memorial to the late Miss Kilgallen. "Imagine'h dyin' like t'at. I seen inna papeh, t'ey said she was awl dressed up, sitt'n onna bed." "I bet there's more to it," observes Leonora, looking up from her sociology textbook. "Y'mean somebody knawked'er'awff" scoffs Joe, glancing at Sally, frowning back at him over her glasses. "Nah, who'd wanna do t'at? Hey, maybe Awrlene Francis done it, huh?" Sally's only response is a silent glare. "Either of you," continues Leonora, "see that column she had last week in th' Journal-American?" "No Hoist rags INNIS house," growls Sally. "Yeah, yeah, Ma, I know," shrugs Leonora. "But you shoulda read it just th' same. She was talkin' about that Ruby guy, the one shot Oswald. She talked to 'im, y'know. Maybe she knew somethin'." Sally has no reply, and watches the television in silence as Bennett Cerf expounds on Miss Kilgallen's virtues. "Maybe she wasn'at bad," sighs Sally at long last. "Maybe she even done some good." Leonora reaches over to take her mother's hand, commisserating with her loss of a part of her past. Sally shrugs her off, and looks up with a squint. "But jussa same," she snaps, "she neveh shoulda pushed me onnem staiehs."