The Era -- Day By Day

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

Did they ever find Lonergan's uniform?

It'll never catch on.

CAN'T WE AT LEAST EAT THE HAM FIRST???

"But I'm allergic!!"

Ahh, small town justice.

"Of course, his son's a lieutenant commander, and HIS son's a mess boy, but at least it's something."

"Detest?" Oh, that's such a mild word.

All in a day's work.

And yeah, put your hat on.

Ahh, reminds me of the time I put a mousetrap in my desk drawer to catch whoever was stealing my stapler.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Eddie Gaffney!" gasps Alice, her eyes flaring as she scans a certain front-page item. "Y'know 'im?" queries Sally, looking up from the February issue of "Mademoiselle," where she is pondering a rundown of Manhattan hot spots. "Yeh," replies Alice. "Um, well, I mean, uh, no, but -- uh -- lissen, you know t'at guy t'ey call Hops Gaffney?" "Oh yeh," nods Sally. "T'at guy runs errands f' Ma oveh't t'stoeh. Little rabbit-face guy." "Well," continues Alice, "t'is Eddie Gaffney is -- um -- kind'va relation'a his. I met 'im aroun' a coupla times when I was -- um -- drivin' a truck f'y' Uncle Frank." "Huh," huhs Sally, with little evident interest. "Smawl woil'." "Yeh," sweats Alice, considering certain events in her distant past. "It is.")

Three local men were killed last month when a Flying Fortress returning from a mission exploded over Catworth, England, and military authorities are investigating the possibility that a bomb jammed in the plane's bay might have detonated in flight. Killed in th explosion were Sgt. Arthur O. Berntzen of 333 Ovington Avenue in Bay Ridge, 2nd Lt. Fred J. Reith of 32-74 35th Street, Long Island City, and Sgt. WIlliam F. Stottgren, 74-32 62nd Street in Glendale. The families of the three airmen have been in touch with each other in an attempt to piece together exactly what happened on the night of January 5th, but military officials have told them that a final conclusion on the cause of the explosion may never be reached.

The auxiliary rescue ship "Spirit of Bensonhurst" was dedicated this morning at the Wheeler Shipbuilding Company in Whitestone, Queens, with one of the district's first Gold Star mothers acting as sponsor. Mrs. Benjamin Karp of Bensonhurst dedicated the vessel, with the invocation spoken by the Rev. Thomas Scanlon of St. Finbar's Church. The vessel was paid for from the sale of War Bonds during the Third War Loan Drive by the Jewish Community House of Brooklyn and the Brooklyn Civilian Defense Volunteers Organization. A dedication plaque was presented to the ship's commanding officer by Herman Neederland, chairman of the 62nd Precinct Brooklyn CDVO.

("Settle ye down, Nora," soothes Uncle Frank. "You know we gaaht noothin' to do with this ootfit, aahn as laang as t' Feds aahr busy oovar t' Bay Ridge they ain' gonna baather with th' loikes a' me." "Did ye see thaat oothar story though?" protests Ma. "They gaaht Eddie Gaffney! Th' Hoppar's broothar aahr coosin' ahhr soomethin'! What if HE taaahlks??" "Eddie Gaffney daaan't know haalfa whoot he thinks he does!" scoffs Uncle Frank. "Eddie Gaffney spent aaahl that toime in stir, an' he doon't know the lay a'th' land." "But what if th' Hoppar TOLD him?" insists Ma. "After Jimmy an' Danny moosed'im up loike they done, don'cha think he jus' MOIT haaave a few things t'say?" "Yaaaaaaar th' woon sent Jimmy an' Danny aaahn that job," shrugs Uncle Frank, "naaaht me. It was aahhl aboot that boy, that grandsoon a' yaars. An' Oi TOLD ye that would lead t'noothin' but trouble! By th' way -- wharr is the boy?" "He's gonna spend th' noite ovar with th' Krauses," replies Ma. "He went ovarr aftar school, an' he's gonna stay ovarr th' weekend." "Krauses?" sputters Uncle Frank. "You mean with that Alice Dooley? You think thaaat's woise?" "Well," insists Ma, "if things is gonna staaahrt poppin' aroond here, Oi'd rather have th' boy ovaar there than in th' midst of it here." "Nooothin's gonna happen, Nora," asserts Uncle Frank. "Have I ever steered ye wrong?" "Ye steered me wraang in 1918," growls Ma. "What?" "Noothin'.")

(Eventually everything settles into a dull routine.)

("I coulda played ball when I was seventeen," declares Joe. "I awrways had a good eye." "Hitt'n bottl'caps wit' a broom handle," snickers Miss Kaplan. "Why you awrways gotta run me down," growls Joe. "What'd I eveh do t'you?" "Well, if y'can't take a little ridin' inna lunch room," observes Miss Kaplan, "what makes ya t'ink ya eveh coulda played bawl? T'em games I went to, seems like awley eveh done was ride t'playehs. T'is one gal up inna bleachehs t'eh, screamin'n hawlehrin', cawlin'a secon' baseman 'OL' MAN' an' 'GRAN'PA' and yellin' "PUT IN PETEY," an' awlat. If you can't take t'is heeh, what makes ya t'ink y'c'd take t'at t'eh?" This time it is Joe's turn to snicker. "Whassofunny?" queries Miss Kaplan. "Nut'n," grins Joe. "Pass t'sawlt.")

Baseball great Ty Cobb, who last played for the Philadelphia Atheltics in 1928, has expressed his view that not only should baseball continue in 1944, but adds that he himself is willing to suit up and take the field again if it will help the game. Mr. Cobb is a very spry fifty-seven years of age.

Another baseball legend will soon pass the half-century mark. Babe Ruth, the Sultan of Swat, the Bambino, turns fifty next week. The Babe, who last played for the Boston Braves in 1935, may not be as slim as Mr. Cobb, but he still possesses the heart of a boy.

(Ah, it's always fine to see that excellent Russian actress Mimi Forsaythe.)

("Whoa, Spicy Western! Hold that one out!")

(Ohhh, Classic Jo! How good it is to have you back! Please let Oakdale show up next!)

(Oh look! A parasite!)

(Careful, Stamm -- too much foreshadowing spoils the surprise!)

("YOU SEE FOLKS THERE'S NO SUCH THING AS A BAD DOG -- EXCEPT, OH, ONE THAT DISAPPEARS FOR WEEKS AT A TIME WHEN THE PLOT GETS ROUGH.")

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

Gee, I wonder what "Kid Twist" Reles could tell us about Lepke. TOO BAD WE CAN'T ASK HIM.

Some people can live an entire lifetime in 21 years.

The Eagle Flies!

You're wasting your time at that foundry, hon -- you really ought to go into the Diplomatic Service.

"Moms?" You're counting on that uniform for a lot, kid.

Ohhhhhh, I wouldn't worry too much about that.

Poor Guy Gulp. Everybody picks on the town drunk.

I bet she knows cabbie language too.

Once a kid turns thirteen he goes straight to hell.

"Mrs. Jones," huh? Well, nice to see at least one of the Slither Sisters settled down.

 

[Fading Fast]

"Little rabbit-face guy."

"...authorities are investigating the possibility that a bomb jammed in the plane's bay might have detonated in flight. " JFC

"T'is one gal up inna bleachehs t'eh, screamin'n hawlehrin', cawlin'a secon' baseman 'OL' MAN' an' 'GRAN'PA' and yellin' "PUT IN PETEY," an' awlat."

"Pshaw, babble from the rabble."

He can act all nonchalant, but Frank's gotta be at least a bit nervous.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Attackin' Staten Islan'," shrugs Sally. "C'n you imagine if t'at happen't heeh? Awla screamin' 'n hawlehrin t'at'd be goin' awn? An' t't'ink t'em people out t'eh jus' slep' t'ru it?" "Huh?" huhs Alice, sitting at the Petrauskas kitchen table nursing a Sunday morning cup of coffee. "Oh, yeh, right." "You ain' ev'n awake," snickers Sally. "Whatcha ev'n doin' up? I t'ought you liked t'sleep in Sundays." "Aw, I tried," sighs Alice. "But Willie wan'ned t'get up oily an' play. Siddy prawmis't t'ake 'im oveh t' Satellite Pawrk an' t'row a football aroun' a' sump'n. He foun'nis football inna gawrbage can, 'n fixed it up. Leas' t'at's what he said 'e done, butcha know what I t'ink? I t'ink he wen' oveh t' Davega an' bawght it f' t' kid. T'at's what I t'ink." "He really likes t'at kid, don'ee?" observes Sally. "Who'da t'unk it? An' y'know, he ain' even'a same kind'a kid 'e was when'nee fois' showed up. R'membeh t'at time he push't Leonoreh off'ta stool oveh t' Ma's place? He ain' like t'at now, in fack, when you brung 'im up heeh las' night, didja see'im take 'is hat awff t'Leonoreh an' BOW?" "Yeh," laughs Alice. "Siddy taught 'im t'at, he says it's impo'eht'n a kid loins ettakett. He ain' neveh bowed t'me t'ough." "Familiarity breeds exempt," laughs Sally. "Huh?" puzzles Alice, as the joke buzzes over her head. "Nah," she continues, "I guess I'm so much talleh'rn'ee is, it don' seem like much pernt to it.")

An expected Senate showdown on the solider-vote bill was postponed yesterday until next week, when an unexpected epidemic of "hookey playing" forced adjournment of the special Saturday session immediately after it convened. The chamber, which usually quits for the weekend on Fridays, met yesterday on a motion from Majority Leader Alben W. Barkley (D-Kentucky), who had hoped for passage of the Administration-backed plan to provide special Federal ballots for voting by servicemen and women this November. But when the opening gavel fell at 11 AM, only seven senators were recorded as present. After twenty minutes and two more roll calls, only 44 senators had arrived -- less than the quorum necessary to conduct business. Barkley then gave up, and adjourned until Monday.

The civilian meat supply over the remainder of 1944 is expected to remain at the same level as last year, according to Chicago meat packers and spokesmen for the U. S. Department of Agriculture, but most of the available meat will be pork. Beef supplies, as a percentage of total meat available for civilian use, are expected to see a decrease over the months ahead. Projected quotas of 40 pounds of beef per civlilan are anticipated, or less than a pound a week per person, but the pork quota is expected to remain at 90 pounds for the year. A spokesman for the American Meat Institute warned that supplies are subject to change depending on the needs of the Armed Forces.

A 55-year-old salesman was beaten by two robbers while sitting in his parked car at the eastern edge of Bedford-Stuyvesant. Herman Jaffee of 1019 Montgomery Street, who sells uniforms and equipment for members of the Sanitation Department, was sitting in his car at the corner of Sackman and Fulton Streets, in front of a Sanitation Department garage, when the two men approached him and announced "this is a stickup!" Jaffee had on his person a $500 bankroll, and fought back, his screams for help attracting the attention of sanitation workers who drove off the assailants. Jafffee was beaten so badly he had to be taken to Bushwick Hospital for treatment of a brain concussion and laceratios of the scalp. Sanitation workers and police trailed the assailants and caught up with them at the corner of DeSales Place and Bushwick Avenue. Charged with assault and robbery, and ordered held without bail, were 24-year-old Joseph Asaro of 792 Gates Avenue and 23-year-old James Chirco of 155 Ross Street. A hearing was ordered for February 9th.

In Philadelphia a man is suing two casket companies for the shock and injury he experienced when his late wife's body fell thru the bottom of her coffin during her funeral services. Charles Bauman of Pittstown, New Jersey is seeking $25,000 in damages in U. S. District Court, noting that not only did he suffer the mental shock of seeing his wife's body fall thru the coffin, but when the body fell, it struck him on the leg and knocked him down.

("The past isn't dead, it isn't even past.")

("We really aaaght to go," comments Uncle Frank. "Th' Academy 'a Music?" snorts Ma. "With aaaahl them hoigh-hat people?" "Ahhh, Nora," sighs Uncle Frank. "Ye got t'let go'a ye suppositions. Laaaahta thim people, whoy, tharrr me cloients." "Powers maaahdls," frowns Ma. "Immaterial," shrugs Uncle Frank. "I gaaaht noo interest in Powers maadls at moi age." "Ye flirted that one toime," continues Ma, her frown deepening to a scowl, "with thaaat Miss Rhoingold." "Thaaaat was purely in the loine'a business," dismisses Uncle Frank. "B'sides, I merely caaahmplimented th' yoong lady aahn'er sweater." "Oi bet you did," growls Ma. "Hmph," hmphs Uncle Frank, tossing off his two cents plain. "Oi s'pose that -- ahh -- this Milo Boolton here isn't ye oidearr of a foine lookin' man. An' Oi s'pose ye wouldn' waahnt to meet 'im." "Hmph," returns Ma, glancing at the photo. "Too mooch chin on thaat one. Oi prefer..." "Ahhhhh," preens Uncle Frank, stroking his. "Oi prefer," grunts Ma, "if ye caan't have a propar chin, ye' at least ought to have sev'ral of 'm lined up on ye neck t'choose fr'm." )

("A full schedule!" marvels Mr. Parrott. "That's very good sir, very good indeed, but..." "But what, my boy," bustles Mr. Rickey. "But what! Don't stand there, boy, with your eyes goggled and your tongue hanging out, it's unseemly, my boy, beneath your dignity as an executive, my boy, beneath your dignity.""But sir," continues Mr. Parrott, glancing at his reflection on the gleaming desktop to be certain that he is properly restraining his optics. "Do you really think we'll have the players? I mean.." "Nonsense, my boy, nonsense," rumbles Mr. Rickey, scrawling a notation on a scrap of notepaper. "Take this my boy. Go to the ballpark this very afternoon and present this to Mr. Comerford. It authorizes you to draw one uniform of appropriate size, one pair of spiked shoes, and one catchers' mitt." "Me?" gapes Mr. Parrott? "I can't play ball at all -- let alone catch!" "Don't be ridiculous!" thunders Mr. Rickey. "I have no intention, my dear boy, that you should catch. The uniform, shoes, and glove -- are for ME!" "Oh," gapes Mr. Parrott. "Did you KNOW, my boy," boasts Mr. Rickey, "that in the campaign of 1908, I stroked the pellet at a lusty .284? Yes indeed, the rising spring brings new youth and vigor, dear boy, new youth and vigor." "Yes sir," shrugs Mr. Parrott. "Are you sure they'll have -- um -- the right -- uh --size?" "Have Mr. Comerford dig deep, my boy," chuckles Mr. Rickey. "I believe that there may be garments yet about once worn by the -- ah -- corpulent Mr. Babe Phelps. I am certain that these will suffice. "Yes sir." "And if not," shrugs Mr.Rickey, "well, I do have some small experience with my wife's corsets. Why did I ever tell you..." But that story is drawn to a sudden halt as Mr. Parrott mercifully scuttles out the door.)

("Whatta pitcheh," laughs Joe, as he and Sally amble out of an afternoon screening of "The Miracle of Morgan's Creek" at the Brooklyn Paramount. "How's a gal -- I mean, HOW'S A GAL get 'ehself in a mess like t'at! I ask ya!" "She didn' do it alone," pronounces Sally. "She had some help." "Oh, acknowledges Joe. "Oh yeh.")

(I guess we really did miss something last week, but comics being comics I'm sure we'll see Ridiculous Old Washed Up Actor again -- if not here, than on Page Four.)

(NO ONE WILL THINK TO LOOK FOR PERSONAL PAPERS IN MY PERSONAL VAULT! I'M SO CLEVER!)

("I'm getting out of this crazy building --and going over to visit my good friends the Bungles!")

(Yeah, it'll be decades before the "Brazilian Blowout" catches on. And sorry, Mr. Hix, but that's the worst drawing of Charles Laughton I've ever seen.)

(And those aren't the only assets that are frozen.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

Miss Keyes will go thru a lot of strife before finding happiness with the love of her life, Mr. Artie Shaw. And it's hard to believe that I wrote that sentence.

"C'mon, Gran'ma! Do the voices!"

Well, that's that.

Some cop -- didn't even use the rubber hose. AND YES CHESTER, SMOKING IS BAD!

Never mind this, I wanna see Moon do the conga next. ONE TWO THREE KICK!

Look, Cinds, I know all about your personal brand and all, but if you're gonna have jungle adventures, you really do need to get some more practical shoes.

And that's how you survive childhood.

Beezie and Lilacs? I thought you two bozos were in the Army by now. At least it looks like they got Poison.

And you just know he didn't waste any time pinning those on.

And finally --

Hey, that's MY line!

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Huh," huhs Alice. "Marie 'Butch' Austin. 'Magine'nat. Funny t'ing -- when I was a lit'l goil, y'know, inna home wit' t' sistehs, lotta t'em utteh kids, t'ey useta cawl ME 'Butch.' But afteh I beat t'tawr out'v'm, why, t'ey give t'at up." "Ah," ahs Sally, immersed in a copy of "Why Women Cry." "Siddy don' cawl me 'Butch' t'ough," adds Alice, grinning with contentment. "Y'wanna know what Siddy cawls me?" "Mmm," replies Sally. "Siddy cawls me -- Buttehcup." Alice leans back with her eyes closed and exhales deeply. "Buttehcup. Ain'nat swell." "Buttehcup?" responds Sally, glancing up from her book with sudden interest in the conversation. "Yeh," confirms Alice with overwhelming coyness. "Buttehcup. An' y'know what I cawl Siddy?" "I cannawt b'gin," replies Sally, her curiosity flaming, "to imagine." "I cawl Siddy," declares Alice, pausing for dramatic emphasis and lowering her voice to a whisper, "Rosebud." Sally's eyes flare into two brown dots. "Rosebud?" she whispers back in positive disbelief. "Yeh!" chuckles Alice, her eyes sparkling. "Rosebud. An' y'know WHY?" Sally replies to this query with a slow shake of her head. "Because," Alice continues, "when we'eh kissin' an' awl, t' tawpa Siddy's head, y'know, wheah he ain' got no haieh t'eh, it toins awl red. Looks jus' like a rosebud." "Oh," exhales Sally, not without a certain sense of relief. "What's Joe cawl you?" queries Alice. "T'at's poissonal," snaps Sally, jerking open her book. "I ain' tellin' you t'at." "Well," chuckles Alice, "I bet I know what YOU cawl JOE." "Mind y'own business," flushes Sally. "I betcha cawl Joe," ventures Alice, "I betcha cawl'im 'Jawn Gawrfield.' Huh? 'M I right? Huh?" "I'm read'n," growls Sally. "Don' bot'eh me." "I guess," concludes Alice, her body shaking with mischief, "it's bettehr'n cawlin' 'im 'Petey.' " Without a word Sally takes her book and flees to another seat at the far end of the car.)

Allied planes subjected the Japanese barge point at Cape Hopkins, New Guinea to its heaviest raid of the war, destroying at least seven planes and sinking at least two merchant ships in new blows at Rabaul and the Northern New Guinea coast. Fighter-escored Liberator heavy bombers dropped 167 tons of bombs at Cape Hoskins, located 145 miles east of the American positions at Cape Gloucester, and 150 miles southwest of Rabaul on Saturday leaving the airdrome a mass of flames.

The Administration's hope for a Federal ballot for soldiers in the coming election, already blasted in the House, is headed for more trouble today in the Senate, as opponents sought to force action on the House-approved bill providing only State ballots. Senator John H. Overton (D-La.) said today that he will move to lay aside the Administration backed Green-Lucas bill, now in its third week of debate, as the subject of further Senate deliberation, and replace it with the "States Rights" bill approved by the Senate on December 3rd, and sent back to the Senate last week after passing in slightly amended form in the House. That bill makes no provision for any Federal ballot to be issued for servicemen and women from states which make only limited provision for absentee ballots. Southern Democrats have joined with Republicans in opposing the Green-Lucas bill, which would provide a Federal ballot for all service members now overseas, as well as those stationed in the US who come from states where only limited absentee balloting exists.

("Oi don't care farr that no-account Errol Flynn even if it IS free," sniffs Ma. "Oi'll not waste me time on th' loikes a' him. You take William an' go if ye must, but leave me oot'v it." "Oh, now Nora," remonstrates Uncle Frank. "If ye doon't want t' see Errol Flynn, that's foine with me, we doon't have to go to th' Patio, Oi merely suggested 'cause it's th' cloosest. But see here now, we goo somplace otharr. Look here, we c'd go downtown t'th' Albee. Deanna Darrrbin an' Pat O'Brien!" "Th' boy won't want to see a pictharr with aahl that singin' an' wailin' in it," protests Ma. "A boy his age wants soomthin' with action in it. Don't ye r'membahr, Michael used to loove those Dooglas Fairbanks pictures. An' Sally too. Remembarr when Michael troied t'sloid down a sheet on th'clothesline by stickin' a knoife in it, an' loike t'broke his neck?" "Sally poot 'im upta that," mutters Uncle Frank. "Ye know she did." "Never ye mind," dismisses Ma. "Foind soomthin' we can aahl enjoy." "How aboot th' Desert Song?" proposes Uncle Frank. "We seen that aahl ready," dismisses Ma. "In 1929." "It's naaaht th' same picture," points out Uncle Frank. "It's a new version. New actarrs, new camels, new evr'ythinng." "What's this 'Miracle a' Maaargan's Creek?" queries Ma. "That soonds loike a good family picture. Th'boy could use a little religious instruction." "Ah," ahs Uncle Frank. "Then it's decided. C'mon William, wash ye face, we're goin' to the picture show." "Wanna go see Unca Siddy," protests Willie. "Noon'a that now," urges Ma. "G'wan in now, an' put on ye good suit, this'll be a foine educational picture farr ye." "So I hearrr," shrugs Uncle Frank.)

The Eagle Editorialist dismisses concerns over recent news from Moscow that each of the sixteen constitutent Soviet Socialist Republics will now have authority to conduct their own foreign policy, and that the USSR will therefore outnumber the United States at the peace table. The EE shrugs that vote-counting is not going to determine the terms of the peace, rather, the views of the nation that has done the most to win the war will carry the most weight regardless of the number of individual votes involved. "The voices of that nation's dead will be heard loudly," the EE predicts. "Much more loudly than the frock-coated gentlemen gathered around the green baize table."

(Don't worry about The Boys, they have it well in hand.)

Cartoonist Will B. Johnstone has died after several months of illness. He was "about 60." Johnstone's cartoons in the New York World and World-Telegram established the familiar figure of "Mr. Taxpayer," a worn-down little man with nothing to wear but a barrel. Johnstone was also a comedy writer for the stage and motion pictures and contributed material to several of the Marx Brothers' films.

(The annual BBWAA dinner was once an occasion for the very highest hilarity, with fully staged, choreographed, and orchestrated musical comedy shows prepared and performed entirely by the writers themselves. But it's a pity Leo wasn't around so he could have played himself.)

(Pendrake? Well isn't THIS complicated!)

(Oh PLEASE let it be Oakdale! I always thought they'd make a perfect couple.)

(Con man, meet your marks.)

(Yeah, that's a pretty good guess. SO GET OFF THE ICE ALREADY.)

(Buy him a drink and he'll go for anything.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

Funny, he doesn't look Methodist.

Well, if Ty Cobb can talk about a comeback, why not this guy?

Ever notice that Mr. Gould has a real thing for freezing people to death?

Big blue eyes? In THIS strip?

Oh well. Hey, there's always Terry. Oh. Right.

"All the more meat loaf for the rest of us." "What?" "Nothing."

Stay classy, Wilmer.

Point taken, but you two guys aren't exactly Esquire material.

Actually, she's an agent for the OSS, but her parents will never catch on.

It's not like Edison didn't go for trial-and-error.

 

[Fading Fast]

Buttercup and Rosebud.

⇧ Sally in her head.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("You still up?" puzzles Joe, as he enters the apartment shortly before 2 AM. Sally is seated at the kitchen table, her eyes red. Stella the Cat bounds off her lap to run over to greet Joe, as, without a word, Sally nods toward a buff-colored envelope lying before her. "Y'got a letteh," she whispers. "Oh," exhales Joe, hanging his coat and cap on the peg, and stepping over to pick it up. "Well," he sighs, examining the return address. "I guess t'is is it, t'en." "Yeh," returns Sally in a very small voice. "Yeh," agrees Joe, as he mechanically tears open the flap and unfolds the sheet inside. "T' President of t' United States to: Joseph Petrauskas," he recites in a clear, even voice. He pauses for breath. "Greeting," he resumes. "Havin' submitted y'self to a local boehd composed a' y' neighbehs t' detoimine y' availability f'trainin' an' soivice inna lan' or naval foehces of t' U-nin'ed States, you awr heehby notified t'at you have been se-lected f'soivice t'ehr-in." Joe breathes deep and moistens his lips as Stella rubs around his ankles and Sally's quiet sobs punctuate the silence. "You will t'ehfoeh repoet to t' local boehd named above at 536 Post Office Buildin', Brooklyn N. Y. at 7:15 AM on t' nineteent' day of February, 1944. Your local boehd will foinish transpt'ation to an in-duc-tion station..." Joe trails off, folds the letter, places it on the table, and sits down, as Sally wipes her eyes with the sleeve of her robe. "OW!" he blurts, as Stella, tired of being ignored, sinks her claws into his shin. From the bedroom, Leonora awakens with a cry.)

An American task force which steamed to within 1280 miles of Tokio Friday to submit Japan to its first naval bombardment in 80 years fired nearly 200 tons of shells into Paramushiru, it was reported today. The only enemy ship sighted, a cargo vessell, burst into flames after being hit by a single shell, witnesses of the bombardment reported. Previous reports had suggested the vessel was merely hit and forced to beach. No American ships were damaged in the attack, and no American lives were lost.

Wendell Willkie's announcement that he will enter the Nebraska Republican Presidential Preference Primary, and possibly others in the midwestern states, was interpreted today as a suggestion that he may be planning to invade the Ohio political domain of Governor John W. Bricker, who is already an announced candidate for the GOP nomination. Willkie has authorized a convention delegate slate to represent him in Wisconsin, but has committed to enter the Illinois Republican primary only if his arch-critic in that state, Chicago Tribune editor and publisher Col. Robert R. McCormick, agrees to meet him in a direct debate. Unless Willkie formally enters the Ohio and Illinois primaries, the Wisconsin and Nebraska primaries will be the only significant test of his political strength in the midwest prior to the party convention.

Meanwhile, Governor Thomas E. Dewey, who has also been entered in the Wisconsin primary, was submitted yesterday as a candidate by the "draft Dewey" movement in New Hampshire, which holds the first primary of the campaign season on March 14th. Gov. Dewey's personal consent was not required to put his name on the New Hampshire ballot.

Police today are investigating the apparent suicide of a former vaudeville dancer who was found dead last night in the Manhattan apartment she shared with two other women. Thirty-nine-year-old Mrs. Helen Oetjen was found with her nostrils stuffed with cotton and her mouth mysteriously taped shut in the foyer of the apartment at 70 East End Avenue, clad in a nightgown and bathrobe, and with a rosary in her hands. A nearby note in what appeared to be her handwriting read "God forgive me. Helen." Police say that there was no indication that illuminating gas or any form of poison were used in the suicide and police today were not fully convinced that Mrs. Oetjen could have otherwise suffocated herself. She had been under treatment recently for a heart condition, and an autopsy is planned today in an attempt to determine the exact cause of death.

("Have ye SEEN th' paper?" bellows Uncle Frank as he bustles into the store, as Ma is busy cutting the wire binding the bundles just tossed off the early-evening delivery truck. "Ah, good," he continues, noticing the papers stacked on the counter. "Take a look, will ye, at page..." "Joseph got his lettar," Ma interrupts. "What's that, then?" sputters Uncle Frank. He notices the streaks around Ma's eyes. "Oh," he swallows. "THAT lettar." "Sally was just ovarr t'tell me. She came straight f'rm pickin' oop Leonora ovarr at Joseph's plant. She's besoide 'ehself, Francis. She didn't want t'let on, but a moothar knows." "Everything will be foine, Nora," sighs Uncle Frank. "Ye said that," reminds Ma, "when they took Michael." "I did," acknowledges Uncle Frank, "But...look, th' Awrmy will know best what to do with a boy like Joseph. They ain' gonna troy t' make, I dunno, a paratrooper oot'v'im, I don't think. An' they sure ain' gonna make 'im a sharpshootar. They'll find a job he can do an' he'll do it, an' ev'rything'll be foine." "They troyed t'make an infantryman outa me Michael," snaps Ma. "An' look where he is." "He's aloive, Nora," reassures Uncle Frank. "An' one day, with th'help of a lotta boys like Joseph, he'll come home." "Ye got an answer t'everything," mutters Ma. "Don'chee?" "No," concedes Uncle Frank. "But -- I do know what'ye caahl th' laws a' averages. An' what's marr -- I know that YOU know th' laws'a averages better'n me. Now, take a look in the paper here...")

More than a hundred tenants in a Flatbush apartment building have declared a rent strike, accusing the management of the building at 25 Tennis Court of failing to provide adequate heat, hot water, and other necessary services. A committee of six representing the tenants appeared today at 32 Court Street to file a formal complaint with the Board of Health and the Office of Price Administration. Mrs. Samuel Case, who identified herself as the organizer of the strike, asserted that a thermometer in her apartment remained at 37 degrees for four days last week, and that for the past two days, tenants have received only intermittent heat. In addition to the issues with heat and hot water, the tenants charged that the building does not employ a porter or a handyman, and the building lobby is not properly staffed. They further charged that when these issues were brought to his attention, landlord Samuel Fischer scoffed "consider yourselves lucky to get what you're getting." Another tenant. Mrs. Yetta Weiner, swore out a warrant for the arrest of Mr. Fischer a few days ago, and will be heard today in Snyder Avenue Court.

("Yeah, I know, but did you have to draw it THAT big?" -- Martha Raye.)

The Eagle Editorialist deplores Senator Arthur Vandenburg's one-man crusade to promote General Douglas MacArthur as a Republican presidential candidate. "As a potential candidate for President," declares the EE, "General MacArthur fails to arouse enthusiasm or even a mild degree of interest. This fact is creditable to the discernment of Americans, who have no reason to assume that General MacArthur possesses the particular abilities that would qualify him for the presidency."

(Planning For A Postwar Future.)

(STENGEL coming back to Brooklyn?? Wow, I hope Frenchy Bordagaray will have time to grow back his moustache! As for the rest of it, a fascinating book could be written about the inter-familial tangles of the Dodger ownership, but it hasn't been, because even now nobody can quite figure it all out.)

Another old-timer is suggesting he might be willing to suit up again if it would help baseball in these manpower depleted times. Howard Emhke, who was a grizzled veteran of 35 when Connie Mack sent him out to pitch for the A's in the first game of the 1929 World Series, and went on to strike out 13 Cubs in a 3-1 complete game victory, is now fifty years old and a laborer in a Philadelphia war plant. But he says "I ought to be able to do something. I feel I owe baseball something."

(It's a gas station -- you can't tell me there aren't any barrels of used oil around you could burn. Or at least squeeze some of of Lieutenant Grabby's hair.)

(WHAT CRUST! Woo hoo, Classic George is back too!)

("WHAT AN IDIOT!" -- Irwin Higgs.)

(Ahh, benzedrine!)

("...only bad owners.")

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

"Hot Yoga," 1944 edition. Oh, and Elizabeth Arden uses Pond's Cold Cream. Pass it on!

Sequels never quite top the original.

Behold the two stupidest rescuers in the history of rescuing.

I never would have thought of Harold Gray as an "ACAB" type, but you never know...

C'mon, Ma -- "Superman's" a pretty good show if you give it a chance.

Let's see now -- didn't April Kane's brother Dillon operate out of India?

"And if you've heard all that gossip in town that I'm a meddling, paranoid old man whose daughter was desperate to get away from, well not a word of it is true."


The guy who says "let's rush the joint" is also always the guy at the back of the crowd that rushes the joint.

Emmy, you need to learn to smile more.

I wonder where Lana Lonigan's working these days.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Yeh," nods Joe. "I gotta repoeht ten days fr'm now." "T'ey fin'ly gawtcha, huh?" shrugs Miss Kaplan. "Y'know, I t'ought about jernin' t' WACs, but -- I t'ought about it, an' I jus' couldn' see it." "Neveh mind heh," inserts Mozelewski. "We'eh gonna miss ya." "Yeh," acknowledges Joe. "Y'know, I knowed t'is day was comin' f'two yeehs now, but it still don' seem real. I mean who'm I? Some guy useta skim pickle vats f'ra livin', an' now t'eh gonna sen' me awff t'gawdknowsweh t'do gawdknowswhat." "I seen you go inna awfice soon's ya come in t'day," says Miss Kaplan. "What'tey say?" "T'eh poissonel gal t'eh, she tol' me t'siddown," relates Joe. "An' she wen' in an' got t'night manageh, y'know? An' he come out an' shook me by t' han' an' said 'congratchalations," like I won a raffle a' sump'n. An'nee said t'ey was gonna gimme a certificate signed by Misteh Gillmoeh n'everyt'ing, in reckanition a' me soivice, an'ney said t'eh gonna put me name onna honeh roll onna wawl out'teh an' put a blue stawr f'me onna soivce flag, an' awlarest'vit. An' I'm t'inkin', jeez, youse people , let up a bit. It ain' like I'm Meyeh Levin a' nut'n. I'm jus' some guy goin' inna soivice, maybe end up peelin' p'tatehs a'sump'n. Million ot'eh guys inna same boat as me, an' jus' hopin' it won' sink." "You goin' inna Navy?" inquires Mozelewski. "T'at's jus' whatcha cawla figyeh a' speech," explains Joe. "Betteh he should go inna Navy t'an you," scoffs Miss Kaplan. "Ya so dense ya wouldn' even float!" "I'm gonna miss t'two'a yez,"sighs Joe. "Jus' like a lit'l fam'ly.")

A bill to be introduced in the State Legislature by Assemblyman Louis J. Oliffee of Brooklyn would give the New York City Board of Education financial independence from the rest of the city government, in accord with the recommendations of a National Education Association investigation that concluded that the present education organization in the city is "dominated" by Mayor LaGuardia. Oliffee's bill would raise the present percentage of city revenue alloted for public education from 4.6 mills on the dollar to 6.6 mills, a move which would guarantee the Board of Education a minimum of $100,000,000 per year. The billf follows the NEA probe's conclusion that the Mayor exerts personal control over the city's education system thru his ability to give or deny financial aid, and would eliminate such control by guaranteeing the Board sufficient funds to operate as it sees fit without the involvement of the Mayor. Oliffee further noted that his bill, if passed, would block the Mayor's recent threat to cut $7,000,000 from the city's education budget.

Hundreds of British and American bombers pounded the French invasion coast today, in the second day of a nearly nonstop bombardment. The latest wave of assaults followed British night raids on objectives in Germany and France, including the Gnome-Rhone airplane factory at Limoges in central France, which manufactures engines for Nazi Focke-Wulf and other German aircraft. A single Intruder plane sank a six-engined German flying boat over its base on the west coast of France.

The coal shortage continues to worsen in the face of dropping temperatures. Queens Borough President James Burke today appealed directly to the Solid Fuels Administration, declaring that his borough is short up to 400,000 tons in the amount of coal needed to provide adequate warmth for its residents. The fuel situation in the rest of the metropolitan area appears no better, as several of the emergency cash-and-carry coal dumps established to distribute fuel from the city's reserve supply were forced to close down when they ran out of coal. Many householders, shivering this morning in temperatures that dropped as low as 24 degrees, have been without adequate heat for more than two or even three weeks.

("How'dya know," queries Alice, "if ya got whatcha cawl heeh one'a t'ese fawrcical marriages? I mean, I'm kinda new t't'whole business." "It's a fawrcical marriage," sighs Sally, "if ya marry a clown. Like t'at idiot Manville." "Oh," nods Alice. "Siddy ain' no clown. He's kin'a got big feet t'ough, but he ain' very funny. How 'bout Joe? Is he eveh -- you know, funny?" "Not on poipose," shrugs Sally with a wistful sigh. "Ah," ahs Alice.)

The Eagle Editorialist laments recent acts of vandalism at the Brooklyn Museum. Noting reports of "wanton damage" to priceless rugs, tapestries and paintings, and the theft of certain small but valuable articles from various museum collections, the EE declares that the culprits must be "subjected to severe ad prompt punishment," since they "have the type of minds that can be impressed by nothing else.

(You've met Magistrate Solomon, then.)

("Hmph," hmphs Uncle Frank. "She bettar not think she can welsh on what she oowes me!" "You sell t'a place thaat saarves yoong people?" frowns Ma. "Francis Leary, y'aaghta be ashamed!" "Oi don't see ye," rejoinders Uncle Frank, "aaahskin' t'see no baaarth c'tificates when ye take bets!" "Thaat's naaht th' same thing an' ye know it," snaps Ma. "Oi help yoong people laaarn valuable less'ns about th' value of a dollar." "Well," sniffs Uncle Frank, "so do Oi. Oi'll have ye know ev'ry droppa beer Oi sell t'places loike that gets waatered down a full fifty parcent!" "Ye do, do ye?" scoffs Ma. "Oi do!" affirms Uncle Frank. "An'if THAT don't teach 'em the value of a dollar, well, noothin' will!")

(When Mr. Ebbets was acquiring land in Pigtown to build his ballpark, he found that he had to deal with dozens of different owners of dozens of different plots, all of whom had to be negotiated with individually. He seems to have, either consciously or unconsciously, taken steps to ensure that his own estate would end up the same way. Very funny, Charley.)

(The moustache should've been a dead giveaway.)

(She's got every right to be sore. You know how hard it is to find a good girdle?)

(You can always recognize a chump by the way their mouth always hangs open and they never blink.)

(All right, now salvage the car.)

(I HOPE IT GETS FLEAS.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

No "mystery woman?" Then why are we even bothering with this story?

A pan of ice water out the window might settle him down.

Restrain yourself, Tracy. People are starting to talk.

"Especially the one they call 'That Man!'"

Never mind Fred Form, you need Clark Kent.

Yep, just like I said.

"Little tykes?" "HEY!" roars Trixie.

DON'T RUN IN THE HALLS! This isn't Covina High!

Just another quiet evening at home.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And also...

Fitz always was a good family man.

 

[Fading Fast]

Where is "Terry and the Pirates?"

 

[LizzieMaine]

Ooops! That page was missing from the Brooklyn edition today -- found it in the Manhattan final!

If she starts singing "St. Louis Blues" I think I'll scream!

 

[FOXTROT LAMONT]

Yesterday's Terrence showed Caniff's A2 flights magnificently. And the tiger insignia is absolutely spot on.
Leather name strip. Supple leather Aero contract signature.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Whatcha read'n?" queries Miss Kaplan, taking her seat at the lunch table, and snatching a small creased page out of Joe's hand. "V-Mail, huh?" "Yeh," nods Joe, used by now to having reading matter snatched out of his hand. "F'm me pal Solly Pincus. Go a lawng way back, me'n Solly -- we was onna WPA t'get'eh, an'nen at Crown Pickle Woiks. He jernt up witta Awrmy right afteh Poil Hawrbeh. He's got -- um -- fam'ly in Goimany." Joe pauses. "He did, anyway." "Whas'see gotta say?" queries Miss Kaplan, handing back the sheet. "I can't read t'ese V-Mails, t'writ'n's too smawl." "Get glasses," grumbles Joe. "Oh, I f'get," needles Miss Kaplan. "You go f't'em brainy-lookin' dames. But g'head, read it to me." " 'Deeh Joe an' Sal,'" Joe sighs. "'I cannot tell ya wheh I am right now, but I am pickin' up a lotta new woids heeh. Remembeh t'at guy Fullini useta woik at t' pickle fact'ry, t'at dropped t'at barrel a' alum on 'is foot t'at time? Awlem woids he said? Well, I know what awlem woids mean now. Ha. Ha.' See, t'at's him laughin', Solly's awrways one wit' t'jokes. An'nen he says 'I guess f'somebody who neveh climbed a mountain biggeh'n Cobble Hill befoeh I come oveh heeh, I am doin' awright.' An'nen he says nex', 'Awr you 1-A yet? I guess it won' be lawng befoeh you get oveh heeh, so when ya do, be sueh an' look me up an' I will show ya some swell places t'eat. Ha. Ha. How is Sal an' th' Baby? Did you eveh heeh anyt'ing from Mickey? Or has he awready broke outta t'at camp. Write soon, but don' worry 'bout sendin' me no salami. I can get it wholesale. Ha. Ha. Ya pal, Corp'rl S. J. Pincus.'" "Funny guy," chuckles Miss Kaplan. "Wondeh if I'll run into 'im?" muses Joe. "Hey," shrugs Miss Kaplan, "it's a big wawr...")

Another battle looms in the Senate over the soldier-vote question, as supporters of the so-called "States Rights" ballot bill maneuvered to dominate the pending House-Senate conference in an event to head off any compromise that would include a Federal ballot. The prospect of new fireworks became evident when Senator Kenneth McKellar (D-Tenn.), a supporter of the state ballot plan, declared that he would personally contest any attempt to select Senate conferees from among supporters of the Administration-backed Federal ballot plan which was approved in the Senate but rejected by the House.

A Cypress Hills manufacturer is minus his car, wallet, his watch, $1400 in cash, and several teeth following a brawl in Jackson Heights last night that began with him chatting up a young woman in a bar. John J. Young of 69 Etna Street told police that he had been making a tour of establishments in Jackson Heights Saturday night when he made the acquaintance of 24-year-old department store clerk Gertrude McIntyre of Sunnyside. After conversation, Young stated, he offered Miss McIntyre a ride home, but stopped to park for a while along 39th Street between 61st and 62nd Streets in Woodside. Two men appeared, identifying themselves as the woman's husband and brother, and when Young stepped out of the car to speak to them, he stated, the two proceeded to beat and rob him before driving the car to a remote corner of LaGuardia Field and tossing him out of the auto. He was treated for a broken jaw at Roosevelt Hospital, and will require dental work. Police at the Elmhurst precinct noted the similarity between this assault and a similar case about a year ago, and following a hunch, arrested Miss McIntyre this morning. Young then selected her out of a Manhattan lineup. She has denied all charges.

("Siddy t'inks I oughta waieh me haieh upswep', like t'is gal heeh" says Alice. "He's got very foim views onnat pernt." "Ahhh," scoffs Sally. "Whassa man know about haieh. Joe don' neveh tell me what t'do with mine, he awrways says it's what's undehr it t'at counts." "Well, Siddy's awrways tellin' me I oughta do t'is an'at," shrugs Alice."I guess caus'a he got no haiehr of 'is own, he gets fussy 'bout ev'rybody else's. Remembeh when I got t'at poimanent t'at didn' toin out too good? He tol' me t'put some buttehr in it, smooth it down. I neveh done'at, t'ough -- I mean, who c'n get butteh? I t'ought about usin' oleo, but I figyehed it's too much woik." "Howcome?" queries Sally. "Ya gotta mix in t'at lit'l yella pill wit' t' coleh foist," sighs Alice. "An' who wants t'be blonde?")

The regional office of the Solid Fuels Administration is preparing to take action today to assure adequate stocks of coal at the city's emergency dumps, fourteen of which failed to operate yesterday due to lack of stock. Five new fuel depots were to begin selling coal on a cash-and-carry basis but only one -- at a Glendale police station -- actually had coal available to sell.

(And they do NOT fit in telephones, cigarette machines, or gambling devices.)

(Too bad you can't get starch from coconuts.)

(Lulu vs. Tippy? A bunch of old men with cigars think boxing ain't what it used to be.)

Big Bill Lee, former Cubs pitching star now with the Phillies has just received word that he has been reclassified 1-A. If poor Freddie Fitzsimmons hasn't thought about whether he'll have to pitch this year yet, he will soon.

(I bet he draws on that moustache with a mascara brush.)

(Made For Each Other.)

(I realize these two are probably too young to have much memory of 1929, but surely they've played Monopoly.)

(Already he's wearing a cape!)

(AMERICA'S NUMBER ONE HERO DOG ALWAYS THINKS ABOUT THE LESS FORTUNATE. WHILE SLEEPING IN THE CELLAR. Hey, wait a minute!)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

I've known a couple of Smithies, and if they're to be believed, tippling was the least of it.

It can't amount to much of an appeal, it's not on Page Four yet.

Today I Learned -- Expensive skates get registered at the store! Um, do they?

Well it can't be Wilmer because she's not clenching her teeth.

Of course the lawyers are rushing the case. Tee time is 2 PM!

("Oh that story again! You know very well he was in the Bonus Army, and Eisenhower ran over him with a cavalry horse!")

If you can't be Batman, be Andy Gump. It's a lot less demanding.

MIGAWD WHAT DID THEY DO TO YOUR HAIR???

Like many men of his sort, Moon always seems to overestimate how glad anyone will be to see him.

"Madame Shoo Shoo?" Well there can't be any doubt now. BURM'S BACK!

 

[Fading Fast]

"...'Yeh,' nods Joe, used by now to having reading matter snatched out of his hand. ..."

"...Oh, I f'get," needles Miss Kaplan. 'You go f't'em brainy-lookin' dames...."'

As to the skates, the only thing I can think of is they are "registered" for a warranty if they are expensive skates. But that's a pure guess.