The Era -- Day By Day

[ChiTownScion]

There's a war on and labor is scarce. Well-paying defense jobs are out there. So why would anyone- including Alec "Shadow" Smart- put up with an employer who constantly addresses him as, "panty waist?"

No amount of ice cream perks is worth THAT.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And at one point, you recall, Shadow was actually working in the Pipdyke factory. Probably got fired for embezzling from the employee cafeteria.

 

[LizzieMaine]

The Eagle staff sleeps late today, so no paper is issued -- but there's not much sleep going on as the New Year arrives at 1720 63rd Street. The newlyweds are spending the night at the Bossert after an evening of high revelry, but up on the second floor, Joe lies quietly in bed staring into the darkness. "Sal," he murmurs. "You asleep?" "Neh," sighs Sally. "I'm cold. I hope Krause banked t'fieh befoeh he lef'." "Sal," continues Joe. "you remembeh t'at movie, 'Awl Quiet Onna Weste'n Front?' You eveh see t'at pitcheh?" "Yeh," whispers Sally, not wanting to wake Leonora. "Ev'rybody seen'at pitcheh. So what?" "I seen'at pitcheh when I was, what, sixteen, seventeen? I f'get 'zackly how ol' I was, but I neveh f'got t'at pitcheh." "Yeh," replies Sally. "T'at was a good pitcheh." "Sal," continues Joe, "you r'membeh anyt'ing 'bout t'las' wawr? I mean, awl I r'membehs t'awrmstice, an' awla yellin' an' screamin'n'awlat. But I don' remembeh nut'n else." "I r'membeh my fa'teh didn' come home," reminds Sally, "an' I remembeh how Ma felt about''at." "Howcome t'at wawr happn't?" queries Joe. "What was it awlabout? I mean, I remembeh t'em speeches at Awrmistice Day t'ey us'ta have about 't' wawr t'en' awl wawrs' an' awl, but -- I mean, t'at didn' woik out so hot, did it? So what was t'pernt?" Sally is silent for a long moment. "I dunno," she admits. "I dunno." "Sal," Joe resumes. "Y't'ink it's gonna be diff'nt t'is time? I mean, I know we gotta get ridda Hitleh'n awlat, but in twenny yeehs a'whateveh, izzeh gonna be sump'n even woise? Awr we gonna hafta do awlis awl oveh'ragain? Is it really gonna -- you know -- matteh?" Only the quiet sound of Leonora's breathing breaks another long silence. "I hope so," is Sally's reply. "T'at Teheran t'ing, t'big cheeses awl sitt'n down an' tawkin' t'ings oveh. I hope t'at's a sign a' sump'n. I hope so." Again a long silence. "Sal," sighs Joe. "I'm bein' reclassified. I didn' say nut'n befoeh 'cause, you know, t'wedd'n an' awl, but t'ey cawl't me in a coupla days ago an' tol' me. T'ey put me onna replaceable list. T'ez quotas t'ey gotta meet. T'ey say I'll get a cawrd f'm t'draf' boehd 'na coupla days, an'nen, well, might be a few days, a week, two weeks tops b'foeh I get my -- you know." There is no reply other than a slow but escalating shudder. "Sal --" continues Joe. "I said I wasn' gonna cry," is Sally's response, "when t'time come...but..." "Yeh," nods Joe. "I'm cold, Joe," sniffles Sally. "Cuddle oveh, will ya?" "Yeh," Joe replies...)

And in the Daily News...

Here's to "Victory in '44."

With talent like that, she could be writing soap operas.

It's going to be this kind of a year, is it?

You know you're dealing with a high-class hit man when you get a complimentary fruit basket.

It really is going to be this kind of a year.

Break your resolutions early!

"You BLOTTER!" Oh, Min...

If you think pelicans are dumb, you should meet a seagull.

"ARF" = "Happy New Year for me all right! I've got a pay or play contract!"

"And besides, I got rid of the goats..."

 

[LizzieMaine]

And also...

Hmph, isn't there anything else on?

 

[Fading Fast]

Happy New Year to all.

Lizzie, thank you again for all the time and effort you put into making these Day by Days so enjoyable. The expanded "Sweeney" family story has been an incredible addition. I was really hoping Joe would slip by without having to go to war, but alas. I am holding out just a touch of hope for the physical.

Away for all that, have others been experiencing a lot of slowing down and even freezing up of this site over the past several day? It's been getting progressively worse, at least for me.

 

[LizzieMaine]

It's been a bit balky for me today as well. Maybe the servers are hung over.

Joe has not been looking forward to this at all. There are two-fisted gung-ho warrior types, and then there's Joe, who doesn't even like to use flypaper and looks the other way when Stella brings him a mouse. Who knows what 1944 will bring.

 

[Madhouse27]

As far as the server goes, I’ve had a few visits where I’ve just bailed and tried again later. Lizzie, thank you for your colossal efforts on this thread. It’s much appreciated and a big part of my day. Happy New Year gang!

 

[FOXTROT LAMONT]

A great Alaskan Kodiak bear of a chest cold has hugged me tight for the last few days. Antibiotics, Tylenol,
some other prescribed, and yule booze that lend itself to heated peach slices and syrup topped Cool Whip
concoctions. Addictive as hell. Wrestlin the bear. Cannot bear to look a book, films are fine. Told firm to forget
me this week. Two or so London so my binge watching continues. I saw some very good but first coffee.
This new machine I don't know how to use.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Now t'is heeh," directs Joe, reading to Leonora, who is seated comfortably on his lap, from her new collegiate dictionary, "is whatcha cawl a 'o-see-lot.' See t' pitcheh t'eh?" "Stella!" declares Leonora, following up her observation with a growl, a gnashing of teeth, and the slashing of imaginary claws. "Well, sawrta," chuckles Joe. "Le'ssee what it says heeh. Says 'a lawrge American cat -- fee-liss par-a-dal-lis -- rangin' from Texas t' Pat-eh-gon-ee-eh, tawny yelleh awr gray wit' mawrkins 'a black.' O-see-lot. C'n you say t'at now?" "Stella!" insists Leonora. "O-see-lot," repeat Joe. "Oss-lot," attempts Leonora. "Awright," nods Joe, "t'at's pretty close. Now oveh heeh, y'see t'is pitcheh? Y'know what t'at is? T'at's a 'ock-tra-hee-drun.' Y'know what t'at is? Says heeh 'Gee-om period..' whateveh t'at means. An' nen it says 'a solid fawrmed by eight faces.' Y'see t'eh? T'at's got EIGHT FACES!' How 'bout 'tat!" "Da go' ONE face." interjects Leonora. "T'at's right," acknowledges Joe. "Ya pretty good at t'is 'gee-om' stuff, y'know t'at?" Less see what's onna nex' page heeh -- ooh, lookit'tat -- y'know what t'at is?" "Ock-puss!" declares Leonora, splaying and wiggling her fingers. "He's on'y got one face too," notes Joe. "But lookit awlem awrms..." "How's school comin'?" inquires Sally, entering from the kitchen. "I'll grad'jate inna week," chuckles Joe. "Oughta be just about right," he adds. "Yeh," sighs Sally. "Hey," she brightens, "I just tawked t'Alice, an' she wants t'know if we c'n come downstaiehs f' suppeh wit' t'em t'night? She's makin'eh fois' Sunday dinneh, she says. Cawrn beef'n cabbage." "Oh yeh," replies Joe. "I t'ought I smelt sump'n. Sueh, why nawt. Eat drink'n be merry, eh?" "Yeh," nods Sally. "She says she'll be ready f'rus 'bout five t'oity. An' dress up nice, wouldja, it's a special occasion fawr'eh." "Yeh," agrees Joe. "Whatcha t'ink about t'at, kid -- cawrn beef'n cabbage?" Leonora responds with a raspberry. "Aw, it won' be so bad," reassures Joe. "Sniff deep, y'c'n smell it cookin'." "Oh oh," replies Leonora. "Poop." "Maybe we c'n have Mrs. Ginsboig look afteh'reh while we'eh eat'n," mutters Sally. "I'll go ask." "Yeh," chuckles Joe. "Now ovehr'awn'NIS page heeh, y'see t'at? T'at'sa O-kah-pee. Y'see t'eh? T'atsa 'peculieh African mam-mal closely related to t' gye-raff...")

Top labor leaders today disputed a view expressed by some in Congress who asserted that recent labor strife in the rail, steel, and mining industries has "played into the hands of the enemy in a way that will prolong the war for months. Presidents William Green of the AFL and Philip Murray of the CIO took sharp issue with that contention, with Green scoffing at the idea that the threatened strikes would have "far reaching psychological effects on the German. We have complied with our no-strike pledge and we have broken many production records in the steel industry."

Even if the Raymond Street Jail were to be painted "snow white," it would still be the Raymond Street Jail -- which must be replaced by "something modern in penal institutions." So declared George H. Trumpler, chairman of the December 1940 Grand Jury that has spent the past three years condemning the dilapidated 108-year-old bastille. In an interview with the Eagle last night, Mr. Trumpler took issue with a presentment from the December 1943 Grand Jury that noted certain recent improvements at the old jail, including a new interior paint job which has changed the walls from drab grey to bright buff, and that the "old familiar smell" has been eliminated by a new ventilation system. The grand jury urged a commendation for Warden Thomas McDonnell, but Trumpler scoffed at those improvements, noting that all that was accomplished by the paint job was that the City saved some money by having the painting done by defendants who were held at the jail awaiting trial and had nothing else to do. Trumpler noted many structural problems remain in the old jail no matter what color the walls may be, including a narrow stairway that guaranteed "if there's ever a serious fire, there'll be a second Cocoanut Grove."

(I'm surprised the explosion didn't take care of the billboards...)

More than a dozen youths hired as temporary postal clerks at the Brooklyn post office during the Christmas rush face Federal charges for theft and destruction of packages. Following the official policy of the Federal Governmet not to disclose the identities of defendants under the age of 18, the identities of the youths have not been disclosed. It was learned that the youths, between the ages of 16 and 18, were among 10,000 temporary clerks hired to deal with the increase in mail over the holidays, and that they are accused of opening packages believed to contain valuables.

(Downey will be there assuming he isn't out beating somebody up in a nightclub...)

Women's shoes are, on the average, four sizes larger than they were just twenty years ago. Back then, the largest shoe you could find in most stores was a 7C, but now many styles can be had in sizes up to 10 or 11, in a full range of widths. "Women are wearing larger shoes now because they can get them," explains John H. Downey, women's shoe buyer at Loeser's. In the past, he notes, women bought shoes too small because that was all that was available, and often developed severe foot trouble as a result. But now manufacturers are building shoes designed to accomodate the normal development of the foot. "You don't see many bunions today," Downey adds. "Shoes are better fitted." Many teen-age girls are wearing shoes as large as size 9 1/2, with the fad for saddle shoes and mocassins credited by experts for girls having larger feet than in previous generations.

(The "Oil Bowl?" Does Ickes know about this?)

("Carden Gillenwater?" How is it possible I don't remember him at all? I do, however, remember when they put Owen at third base. GET THE ARROW.)

One of the unusual shortages affecting Hollywood these days is the scarcity of midgets. It seems that such "bitsy" performers are giving up show business for the duration, being very much in demand in aircraft plants, where they are able to fit in spaces too confining for full-sized workers. One film struck by this shortage was Universal's Charles Boyer-Jullen Duvivier production "Flesh and Fantasy," which, as originally scripted required an entire troupe of midgets for a circus scene. But a canvass of the film colony revealed that virtually all such performers who were busy in picture work before the war are now fully employed in the defense industry. Only two midget actors could be found to work in the picture, and the script had to be rewritten to accomodate the situation.

(MY BEEF MUST BE BRANDED!)

(No wonder Keats died young.)

(Sure, whatever, but you're still gonna have a really sore elbow.)

(Ew, do you have any idea how many microorganisms thrive in snow? EW! And I never knew a clamdigger who used a boat.)

(Look, I've seen a lot of small town shows, and I have personally appeared in a lot of small town shows, and never once have I ever seen a costume like that. Well, OK, maybe once or twice BUT IT WAS A LONG TIME AGO.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

WELL WHATTAYA EXPECT WHEN YOU MARRY A COUNT?

"Almost in the same key." Yeah, I've been in these shows too.

"Sister? Hmph. I have no sister. WELL ALL RIGHT IF YOU INSIST." -- Gypsy.

He gets four stars in the Michelin Book of Hit Men.

Alllllllmost like somebody ARRANGED IT THAT WAY.

Happy New Year, Mr. Gray -- The Editor. And camouflage, Walt, is learning how to choose a coat that doesn't make you look like a boulder.

I wonder how the Plushbottoms can even get homeowners' insurance.

It really is a good thing he's 4-F.

Rarely has Mr. Mosely ever been so obvious about his intentions for a story.

NOBODY EVER LISTENS TO LIEUTENANT COLONELS.

 

[Fading Fast]

The problem with hiring a hit man is he has the morals of a hitman.

 

[FOXTROT LAMONT]

The problem with hiring a hit man is he has the morals of a hitman.

The Killer is a good Christmas movie.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("WHAT? WHAT?" bellows Joe, snapping awake as the blast rattles the bedroom window and sends Stella the Cat scurrying for safety under the bed. "Whatt'hell?" blurts Sally, leaping to her feet and rushing over to comfort a screaming Leonora. "Aieh raid?" puzzles Joe, throwing open the window to gaze out into the glowering winter darkness, where only the rasping sound of a dozen other windows reply to his query. "Shutta windeh!" snaps Sally. "Lets get downna basemen'!" "No, wait," reasons Joe. "T'eh wasn' no sireens. T'e'd'a been sireens. Le's go toin onna radio." Rushing into the living room without turning on the light, Sally carrying her sobbing daughter, they switch on the little table radio, waiting anxiously for it to warm up, and are greeted by the calm voice of Stan Shaw introducing a Jimmy Lunceford record on the "Milkman's Matinee." "No news?" wonders Joe. "Heeh, toin'a station. Toin'a station." Sally twists the knob, finding only silence and all-night disk jockeys where news of an air raid might otherwise be found. "It's nut'n," she reasons. "I dunno what it was. It's nut'n." "Whattya s'pose'en?" ponders Joe. "Somebody's berleh blow up? An'oteh ol' shell go awff?" "Who knows," shrugs Sally. "It ain' nut'n'a do wit' us. Go backta bed. You ain' gotta be up." "Ain' you comin'?" queries Joe. "Nah," sighs Sally. "It's pas' time f'me t'get up anyway, I gotta get ready f'woik. You take Leonoreh an' put'eh back t'bed.: "Yeh," shrugs Joe. "Look, I c'n get up wit'cha if ya want..""I said go backta bed," snaps Sally. "Yeh gonna have awla time t'get up befoeh t'sun t'at y'c'n handle. Y'mize'well get what sleep ya can while ya still can." "Yeh," sighs Joe. "Ya gotta pernt. C'mon, kiddo, I'll putcha backta bed." Joe and Leonora head back to the bedroom in silence, as Sally shuffles quietly into the darkened kitchen to be alone with her troubled thoughts.)

Allied and Italian troops have landed in Southern Dalmatia, seizing several key strategic points, according to a roundabout report received in Sweden. The report published in the Stockholm Tidningen under a Budapest dateline, and quoting information from Belgrade, indicated that the landings -- if they occured at all -- were in the nature of patrol actions intended to pave the way for a full-scale future invasion. The dispatch also stated that the Allies have landed large quantities of weapons and ammunition at the occupied points, and at Dalmatian areas held by Yugoslav partisans under the command of Marshal Josip "Tito" Broz. The Dalmatian coast lies across the Adriatic from the Allied-held Italian ports of Bari and Brindisi and there has been widespread speculation that British and American troops might thrust into Yugoslavia and possibly Greece for invasions of the Balkans coincidental with the Soviet approach to Rumania from the east.

Intense police action today is being directed against a new spread of anti-Semitic vandalism against synagogues and other Jewish institutions, following an appeal directly to Mayor LaGuarida by fourth-term students at Yeshiva College for aid in suppressing the rising tide of hatred and bigotry. Police Commissioner Lewis J. Valentine yesterday assigned the Sabotage Squad, under the command of Inspector George P. Mitchell, to place a close guard around such institutions, and to make a "close study" of incidents reported so far. Police are convinced that most of the recent outrages have been committed by youths under the age of 16, and it has been indicated that the parents of such youths as are found to be responsible for such vandalism will be issued summonses as "improper guardians." Such action will open the door for police investigation of the conditions in such homes to determine whether the youths are being influenced by organized anti-Semitic propaganda. In his radio broadcast yesterday, Mayor LaGuarida warned against such propaganda, noting that Hitler's New Years' speech contained statements that sounded like they might have been taken from meetings of America First or the Christian Front. In addition to the police crackdown, Commission of Investigations William Herlands is expected to submit a report to the Mayor next week on his year-long probe of anti-Semitism in the city. Meanwhile, Representative Martin Klein (D-Manhattan), a member of the National Committee to Combat Anti-Semitism, suggested that the evil can be curbed by making it a violation of the law to advocate hostility against Jews. A report released by the Anti-Defamation League of B'nai B'rith asserted that the problem is most significant in the Washington Heights section of upper Manhattan, where even Jewish children have been attacked on the streets by anti-Semites.

("When'nat fois' blas' wen' awff," chuckles Alice, as the train dips into the Holland Tunnel. "Siddy says t'me, 'hey t'at remin's me, we got any moeh'ra t'at cawrn beef'n cabbage lef'?''" She slaps her thigh in merriment at the joke. "Ain' he a scream?" "Mmm," mms Sally, lost in her own thoughts. "Whassamatteh kid?" Alice queries. "You liked t'at suppeh OK, dincha? I t'ought it come out pretty good f'ra fois' try. Hadda sleep wit' t'windehs op'n t'get t'smell out t'ough, I guess t'aieh settles downa basemen' 'neh. I'm t'inkin'a gett'n one'a t'em Aiehwicks, y'know?" "Yeh," sighs Sally. "Lissen," ventures Alice. "You got sump'n onya min'. Whassup?" "We didn' wanna say nut'n las' night," shrugs Sally. "But Joe's bein' reclassified. He's gonna get cawl'd up. He's goin' inna Awrmy." "Joe???" gapes Alice."Inna AWRMY?" "Y'don' hafta say it like t'at," snaps Sally. "Yeh," apologizes Alice. "But still, I mean -- Joe. I mean, he ain' zackly t' Awrmy type." "Was Mickey t'Awrmy type?" retorts Sally. "You neveh met Solly Pincus, but I c'n tell'ya right now HE ain' t'Awrmy type. How many'a t'ese guys runnin' 'roun' in uniforms is t' Awrmy type??" "Jeez, Sal, I didn't mean nut'n by it," mumbles Alice. "When's he goin'." "I dunno," sighs Sally. "Soon. A week, a coupla weeks, some time t'is mont'. T'draft boehd gonna send 'im a notice, he's gotta have a physical..." "Ain' nut'n wrong t'eh, izzeh?" queries Alice, but Sally cuts her off with a sharp look. "Ain' NUT'N wrong t'eh," she growls. "An' I dowanna tawk about it no moeh." Sally glares at her lap, while Alice ponders. "Siddy was inna Navy inna las' wawr," she finally ventures. "He come back awright. Joe'll come back awright. You'll see." Sally takes a deep breath. "T'anks," she exhales. "Don' mention it, kid," assures Alice as the train plunges onward...)

Mayor LaGuardia yesterday renewed his crusade against "tin horn" gamblers, encouraged by a letter of thanks for the benefits his campaign has brought to one Brooklyn family. During his broadcast yesterday over WNYC, the Mayor read the letter praising the police department for doing something about the gambling going on at Utica Avenue and Prospect Place. "My husband has been working steady," read the letter, "no drinking and gambling, and our home is happy again. Words can hardly express my appreciation. God bless you all."

Councilwoman Genevieve Earle is puzzled by a remark made by the Mayor upon swearing her in for the new City Council term. "Good luck," wished the Mayor, before adding., "You'll need it." Mrs. Earle, the council's minority leader and long a prominent LaGuardia ally, declared "I have no idea what he meant by that. However, I don't think it is a question of luck. Being a member of the Council this year, as in any year, will mean keeping well-informed, staying on the job, and playing the game fairly."

("We got the Journal-American. That close enough?")

("Poot that paparr in the basket tharr when ye doon with it," directs Ma as Uncle Frank finishes his breakfast. "Oi'm goin' t'take it ovarr t'Bensonharrst latarr t'day an' give th' whole boondle t' Mr. Krause. He's c'lectin' waste papaar, y'know." "Aahl th'way acraahs town?" puzzles Uncle Frank. "Tharr c'lectin' waaste papar roit here in this neighbarhood, y'don't need t'haal it ahhl th'way ovarr there." "Oi troost Mr. Krause," declares Ma. "I troost Mr. Krause maar thin Oi troost these loo-loife charactaars aroond here." "Caaareful, Nora," chuckles Uncle Frank, "Ye might faaahl oof ya hoigh haarse. Ahhhl roit, then, Oi'm aaahf. Got t' get oot to th' warehoose an' check on' shippin'." He ostentatiously kisses Ma's hand, dons his hat and coat, and makes his exit. "What d'ye think, William?" inquires Ma. "Aaaftar school, would ye loike t'go see ye Uncle Siddy?" "Yeh," grins Willie.)

(Bruiser Kinard, Ace Parker, Two-Ton Tony Galento, and Henry "Booby" Pratt to the contrary, no other sport can possibly approach baseball and the glory of its nicknames. Right, Harold "Rabbit" Parrott?)

(George Bungle has a line, and you've just crossed it!)

(Woo-Woo? Welcome our special guest star today, Mr. Hugh Herbert.)

(EEK A CHICKEN? Well howdya think the CHICKEN feels??)

(Aren't you cold?)

(COLLABORATOR?? AMERICA'S NUMBER ONE HERO DOG IS NOT A COLLABORATOR! He's just a -- um -- pragmatist.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

No, this is NOT Sally and Alice rehearsing for the Western Electric company show. And don't give them any ideas.

See what happens when you get your name in the paper?

That's what you get for not checking his references.

MAYBE WE SHOULD GET A NEW YOUNGER DOG.

("Take off your hat in the house, dear." "I can't, it's stuck.")

The captain hates Mondays.

Meet cute!

I'd love to know what Tilda really said in panel two before they relettered her balloon.

Yeah, whatever, everybody gets shot in the arm.

The eggs do cook better if you crack them first.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And also...

Miss Logan is the greatest Scottish jazz singer of her own or any other generation, and if she's ever touched a drop of Rheingold in her life, I'll fall on the floor with amazement.

 

[Fading Fast]

"Maybe we should get a new younger editor."

 

[LizzieMaine]

("P'ay snow?" enthuses Leonora, bundled heavily against the weather in a hooded wool coat and leggings. "Sawry honey," sighs Joe, as he pauses in the foyer and digs into his pocket for the mailbox key. "Not t'day." He opens the box and withdraws the day's mail -- an advertising circular, a bill, and a small buff-colored postcard. Only a glimpse of the return address is enough to tell Joe what it is. "Local Board No. 175, Kings County, Jan. 3, 1944," Joe reads. "Notice to Registrant to Appear For Physical Examination. You are directed to report for physical examination by the local board examiner at the time and place designated below: U.S. Army Recruiting Substation, Room 536, Post Office Bldg, 301 Cadman Plaza, Brooklyn N. Y., at 9:30 AM on Friday morning, January 7, 1944." Joe scans the fine print covering the bottom half of the card, assuring him that this examination will be for the purpose of disclosing obvious physical defects, and slides it into his pocket. He is silent for a long moment, gazing out the glass-paned door at a man shoveling clumps of heavy wet snow away from the entrance gate of the Beth Israel synagogue across the street. "P'ay snow t'morra?" insists Leonora. "Yeh," nods Joe. "T'marra.")

Twenty-eight men and two women indicted on Federal charges of seditious conspiracy with Nazi leaders to overthrow the government of the United States will receive speedy trials, according to O. John Rogge, special assistant to Attorney General Francis Biddle. Rogge indicated that every effort will be made to bring the defendants to trial as quickly as possible, although there may be delays in completing some of the arraignments. Rogge added there may also be additional defendants added in the case. The latest round of indictmets added two additional defendants, both of whom are already serving Federal prison sentences: former German-American Bund national leader Wilhelm Kleine is serving a total of twenty years on convictions of espionage and obstructing the draft, and August Klapprood, who was Kleine's second-in-command with the Bund is serving five years for assisting his chief in the draft evasion plot. Among the other defendants are noted anti-Semite and Christian Mobilizers chairman Joseph McWilliams of New York, editor and author Lawrence Dennis of the "Weekly Foreign Letter," and Elizabeth Dilling of Chicago, author of "The Red Network" and other anti-Semitic literature.

("We should go to the Patio t'night," chuckles Uncle Frank. "Th' Heat's Ahhhn." "Never moind that, Francis," replies Ma. "Oi need to talk t'ye aboot soomthin' serious. Sally was ovarr after warrk t'night an' she toold me Joseph is bein' reclassified. Tharr gett'n ready to take him in th' Arrmy." "Ah," ahs Uncle Frank. "Ah noothin'," retorts Ma. "We got to do soomthin' aboot it. That boy's no marr suited far th' Aarmy than yoong William there." "Oh, now Nora," dismisses Uncle Frank. "He's a groon man. An' if his toime's coom, well, a maan's got t'do his duty, thaaat's aaahl." "Like yaar two boys?" snaps Ma. "Like James an' Daniel?" "My boys have flaaaat feet," shrugs Uncle Frank. "I've told ye that a dooz'n toimes. Tharr 4-F, an' Oi caan show ye th' cards that say soo." "An' Oi don't s'pose ye had no influence with the draaaft boord," fires back Ma. "Oi don' suppose that daaactar that examined thim wasn't a coostomarr.." "Ev'n if that was TRUE," huffs Uncle Frank, "aaahn Oi ain' sayin' that it is, I swaaar t'ye Oi had noothin' to do with it. Thim two boys have flat feet as sure an' as saaartain as Oi do. An' tharr's no one parrson livin' has seen more'a MY feet than you has." "Well," concedes Ma, "ye still ought t' see if thaar's soomone ye c'n taahlk to. They got me Michael, but I won't stand for Joseph..." "Joseph will be foine," assures Uncle Frank. "He caaahn't even shoot a gun!" yells Ma. "Ye said so yes'elf. Ye said ye troied t'teach 'im laaast soomar, an' aaahl he shot was a seagull, an' that was boi accident! An' he well near croied at th' soight of it! Ye said whenevarr he squeezes th' triggar he clooses his oyes an' flinches!" "He does that," acknowledges Uncle Frank. "Boot th' Aarmy will train that oot'v'im." "How would YOU know," scoffs Ma. "You was nevaaar in the Arrmy." "Oi told ye befoarr," reiterates Uncle Frank. "Oi got flat feet." "Flaat feet," sneers Ma. "Flat as ye head." "Oi'll proove it to ye," snaps Uncle Frank, raising his foot to the table and unlacing his blucher. "Oh, keep ye shoes aaahn, Francis," dismisses Ma. "I seen ahhl I care t'see a'ye croosty old feet." "Joseph will be foine," assures Uncle Frank, retying his shoe. "Ye said that aboot Michael," glowers Ma. "Joseph," repeats Uncle Frank, Will. Be. Foine.")

(Eventually all history repeats itself.)

(Maybe Drew should go to work for Esquire.)

Councilwoman Genevieve Earle of Brooklyn, Fusionist leader, will again serve as Minority Leader for the City Council's 1944 term, and has announced as her first initiative for the new year an effort to resume regular radio broadcasts of council sessions over WNYC. The Council's sessions had been broadcast as "the city's best free show" over the municipal radio station during 1938 and 1939, but Councilman Joseph Sharkey of Brooklyn, leader of the Democratic majority, declared that if the minority wants to be fair about broadcasting, it ought to demand broadcast of the Board of Estimate. "That's where the millions are spent," Sharkey argued. "That's where you'll hear the taxpayers shouting."

("But what, Monsieur McDonald," inquires his former secretary as the defrocked executive packs his belongings into a cardboard box, "shall we do weez ze moose head?" "Send it to Branch Rickey, Forest Hills New York," growls Mr. McDonald. "With my compliments. COLLECT.")

(Freudians will have a field day with this.)

(This is how Irving Klaw started.)

(AND WHAT'S WRONG WITH GLASSES????)

(A physics teacher? "He keeps talking instead about moving to Manhattan to work on some kind of project...")

(Well. you could get run over by a toboggan. Trust me, that hurts.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

HEY DOG, I REPRESENT A NATIONALLY POPULAR COMIC STRIP AND WE'RE LOOKING FOR A NEW CANINE LEAD, YOUNG, HEROIC, ABOUT YOUR TYPE. INTERESTED? HERE'S MY CARD. GOOD BOY.

"He died a complete buffoon with complete abandon." But I still miss him.

"A malted milk and a newspaper." He's so wholesome.

"That's RIGHT, I've NEVER BEEN FOOLED BEFORE. UNLIKE SOME STUPID DOGS I COULD NAME."

It's winter, in the hills of Bulgaria, and you're working outdoors in thin cotton uniforms with no gloves and dopey little hats. Least they could do is get you some hot asphalt.

"Myyyyyyyy Olllllllld Flaaaaame...."

Ah. Bim. Ever the poet.

"You know men. Macedonia is never enough."

"Oh well. War is war."

Genuine dead birds on ladies' hats were an actual fashion craze around 1895. Which for Emmy would be just about right.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And also...

I can remember when a bowl cost a nickel, and you got THREE crackers. WAR IS HELL.

 

[Trenchfriend]

And also...

View attachment 576843
I can remember when a bowl cost a nickel, and you got THREE crackers. WAR IS HELL.

Hot soup from vending machine? Freshly "mixed"?