The Era -- Day By Day

[FOXTROT LAMONT]

This afternoon I had a staff confab with a Mrs Brown remarkably prescient in my chaste mind Fast, definitely
wanted to ride along with her.
So, I shouldn't remark Mr Caniff's deliberately subtle rendition of Terrence's girl. I'd swear she was topless.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Whattaya MEAN if t'ez on'y one seat lef' onna subway I gotta let YOU have it?" sputters Sally, as she and Alice stand in the foyer of 1720 63rd Street, dinner pails in hand. "Now jussaminute!" "I'm on'y kidd'n, Sal," insists Alice, recognizing a flare in Sally's eyes that instinctively causes her to back up a step. "Jus' jokin' about, you know, me bein' supehviseh. I know t'at don' mean nut'n onna subway, hones'." "Well jus' keep t'em kinda gags t'yaself," growls Sally. "Now c'mon, we gotta get goin'." "Ah," comes a vigorous voice from behind, as Mr. Ginsburg emerges from Apartment 1-A. "I thought it was you. Good, good. Mrs. Petrauskas," he continues, "I would like you, that is to say, Mrs. Ginsboig and I, we would like you to be our guest for dinner. Sunday evening, please, our guest for dinner." "Oh," ohs Sally. "Yes, and please, may I request please," adds Mr. Ginsburg, "your daughter to bring, please bring your daughter, your little goil. I have a friend who would like to meet you both." "Huh," huhs Sally, a bit puzzled. "A very fine man, a friend," continues Mr. Ginsburg, "Who would like to meet you. From Brooklyn College. Six PM, shall we say, Sunday evening, six PM?" "Um," ums Sally, puzzled and intrigued by the invitation. "Yeh," she shrugs, "yeh, we c'n do t'at. Six a'clock. Yeh." "Very fine, Mrs. Petrauskas," enthuses Mr. Ginsburg, shaking Sally's hand. "Sunday evening, then. We look forward to seeing you both!" Mr. Ginsburg bustles back into his apartment, leaving Sally and Alice to exchange a quizzical glance. "Brooklyn Collitch?" shrugs Sally. "Won'eh what t'at's awlabout?" "I dunno," replies Alice, as they clatter down the stoop and head toward the 18th Avenue BMT station on the corner. "But I hope t'ey don' expec' me t' COOK fawr ya. It ain't seemly f' management t'cook f'labeh." "WhasSAT s'posta mean!" roars Sally, as they disappear down the steps.)

American airmen rounding out four straight days of attacks on the Japanese base at Wewak, New Guinea, shot down eight more enemy planes in heavy aerial combat Tuesday, while nearly 200 miles to the east, ground forces moved to within less than 28 miles of Mandang, it was announced today. Heavy and medium bombers dropped 174 tons of explosives on Boram and Bandi Plantation in the new assault while escort planes engaged an enemy fighting force of 30 planes, of which eight were definitely shot down and possibly two others, raising the total Japanese loss to 73 for the four days.

Finland is pondering her reply to Russia's latest armistice proposal, which is reported to offer three concessions from the original Soviet offer. Those concessions include an agreement that Finland need merely "isolate" German troops remaining within its borders, rather than formally interning them, a demand that war prisoners held by Finland be released and extradited has been modified to omit bona fide refugees from the Baltic states, and a willingness of Moscow to consider other territorial concessions in place of the original demand that Finland transfer Hango and Petasmo to Russia as originally agreed under the 1940 Russo-Finnish peace agreement.

(Sorry, there's NO SUCH THING.)

Storage warehouses in Brooklyn are jammed to the rafters, and warehousemen are turning away customers due to an unexpected side effect of the fathers' draft. With so many family men now being taken into the Armed Forces, there has been a dramatic increase in the number of wives putting the family belongings into storage and moving with the children back in with their parents. "Approximately 90 percent of the furniture in storage," commented G. Sumner Small, manager of the Pioneer Warehouse in Flatbush, "belongs to couples in their thirties." The space shortage has reach such a serious point, noted Small, that the warehouse company has begun to lease space in empty storefronts to store the overflow. "This problem did not exist during the last war," observes Small, "and as time goes on and more fathers are taken, the situation will grow more critical."

(Well, he's got to work off that cold chicken a la king somehow.)

("This second base situation, my boy," rumbles Mr. Rickey, "grows more critical by the hour. By the HOUR, my boy." "I hear," ventures Mr. Parrott, "that, um, Coscarart in Pittsburgh is, um, 4-F. Maybe we could --" Mr. Parrott freezes, however, under his employer's stony glare. Mr. Rickey takes the cigar from his mouth, moistens his lips, and takes a deep breath. "Of course," he exhales. "I see it all now. They arranged this all, oh, they arranged it ALL. Somehow they reached even YOU. No WONDER you were so willing, so ready, so ENTHUSIASTIC to leave the newspaper and to come to work for me. You are working in LEAGUE with them, don't try to deny it, you are their CATSPAW, all a part of their GRAND SCHEME. OH! TO THINK I WAS MANIPULATED, TO THINK THAT I WAS PLAYED LIKE A FINE VIOLIN BY THOSE WOMEN, THOSE TWO INDOMITABLE WOMEN.""Um," shuffles Mr. Parrot, "I don't know what you're..." "I SHOULD HAVE SEEN IT! SUCH MACHIAVELLIAN GENIUS!" roars Mr. Rickey. "Wait," pauses Mr. Parrott. "Do you mean those women from Bensonhurst, who sent all those telegrams to the Eagle last year? "None OTHER," thunders Mr. Rickey. "Locate them at once! Such genius demands, nay, REQUIRES, a place in my organization!" "Um," ums Mr. Parrott, gazing nervously at the door. "Do you think," Mr. Rickey demands, slapping his big hands on the desk and leaning directly into Mr. Parrott's terrified face, "that they would enjoy the climate in Montreal?")

Rogers Hornsby, unable to find employment in American ball, is now managing in the Mexican League. The new pilot of the Vera Cruz Blues believes that many American players, unsatisfied with the terms available to them, will follow his example by playing ball in Mexico. Hornsby, who has played and managed various minor league clubs since he was dropped as manager by the St. Louis Browns in 1937, signed last month with Vera Cruz as a playing manager. He is forty-eight years old.

(Joel Kupperman -- on stage?? What's he gonna do for an act, solve math problems?)

(Captain DAWG.)

("Nervy?" That's one way to put it.)

(Hey Jane, ever heard of Ursula Parrott?)

(I had no idea Scarlett lives in such a ritzy building. Hey, what's she do for a living, anyway?)

(AMERICA'S NUMBER ONE HERO DOG is really too busy these days to bother with random unnamed extra dogs.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

At F. Leary and Sons Plumbing and Heating, Jimmy the Chest and Danny the Neck exchange worried glances, and gaze down at their feet.

New nominee for 1944 Headline Of The Year.

"Song of Bernadette? Oh good, a musical."

"Wild Girls of the Road."

Cut your losses, hon.

Actually, she's writing to Helen Worth about her mother.

"After all, that never stopped Jinx Falkenburg!"

Once a rattle-brained hepcat...

"Castor Oyl? Isn't he in a different strip?"

Burms has always had a habit of talking to herself.

 

[Fading Fast]

"But I hope t'ey don' expec' me t' COOK fawr ya. It ain't seemly f' management t'cook f'labeh."

If Alice isn't careful, she'll end up like the radio and be on her way through the window pretty soon.

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

("This second base situation, my boy," rumbles Mr. Rickey, "grows more critical by the hour. By the HOUR, my boy." "I hear," ventures Mr. Parrott, "that, um, Coscarart in Pittsburgh is, um, 4-F. Maybe we could --" Mr. Parrott freezes, however, under his employer's stony glare. Mr. Rickey takes the cigar from his mouth, moistens his lips, and takes a deep breath. "Of course," he exhales. "I see it all now. They arranged this all, oh, they arranged it ALL. Somehow they reached even YOU. No WONDER you were so willing, so ready, so ENTHUSIASTIC to leave the newspaper and to come to work for me. You are working in LEAGUE with them, don't try to deny it, you are their CATSPAW, all a part of their GRAND SCHEME. OH! TO THINK I WAS MANIPULATED, TO THINK THAT I WAS PLAYED LIKE A FINE VIOLIN BY THOSE WOMEN, THOSE TWO INDOMITABLE WOMEN.""Um," shuffles Mr. Parrot, "I don't know what you're..." "I SHOULD HAVE SEEN IT! SUCH MACHIAVELLIAN GENIUS!" roars Mr. Rickey. "Wait," pauses Mr. Parrott. "Do you mean those women from Bensonhurst, who sent all those telegrams to the Eagle last year? "None OTHER," thunders Mr. Rickey. "Locate them at once! Such genius demands, nay, REQUIRES, a place in my organization!" "Um," ums Mr. Parrott, gazing nervously at the door. "Do you think," Mr. Rickey demands, slapping his big hands on the desk and leaning directly into Mr. Parrott's terrified face, "that they would enjoy the climate in Montreal?")

Dear Lord.

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

Agreed, fantastic headline. There was one other headline recently that we liked, but I don't remember it now.

As to the article, one comment Lizzie style, "the fairer sex."

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Mrs. Krause???" sputters Sally as the train rattles thru the Hudson Tube. "T' day ain' DAWNED when I'm gonna cawl ya MRS. KRAUSE!" "Well," fumbles Alice, "I don' mean awla time, jus' at woik..." "T'at's even WOISE!" erupts Sally. "I neveh cawled Mildred Kelly 'Mrs. Kelly,' an' I sueh's hell ain' gonna cawl YOU 'Mrs. Krause.' Y'cn' get t'at RIGHT outta ya head right now." "Awright, awright," mutters Alice, "it was jus' a suggestion. I mean, Joe's a private inna awrmy, right? I bet he don' cawl 'is sergeant 'Alice.'" "Do you EVEH lissen t'y'self," growls Sally. "Now leemee 'lone, I'm readin'." "Hm," hms Alice, glancing over at her seatmate's reading material. "Whassat?" "It's a catalawg," snaps Sally. "You gonna buy sump'n?" inquires Alice. "I mean, I wasn' gonna say nut'n, but t'at coat you got on is pretty -- well -- nineteen t'oity-eight." "It ain' 'nat kinda catalawg," Sally replies. "It's a collitch catalawg. Brooklyn Collitch." "Oh yeh," nods Alice. "T'ey got a pretty good baseball team. Maybe gonna be betteh'n'a Dodgehs. You gonna owrdeh tickets a'sump'n?" "No," declares Sally. "I jus' wanna get a feel f't'place. T'at guy we'eh s'post'a meet at t' Ginsboigs Sunday night t'at wants t'meet Leonoreh, Misteh Ginsboig says he comes f'rm n'eh. I wanna see what it's awlabout." "Evry'body knows what collitch is about," scoffs Alice. "Raccoon coats, beanies, an' footbawl. Ain' you neveh seen none'a t'em Jack Oakie pitchehs?" Sally lowers the brochure and scowls. "Neh," she snaps and returns to her study.)

The South Pacific Air Force has destroyed 891 Japanese aircraft over the 16 weeks between November 20th and March 10th, and has wrecked completely the five Japanese airfields surrounding Raubal, key enemy base on New Britain Island. In addition, Vice Admiral Aubrey W. Fitch's Army, Navy, Marine, and New Zealand fliers were credited with the partial destruction of the Kavening air fields on New Ireland, and another 98 planes as probables, all at a cost of less than 200 Allied aircraft. The aerial conquest of the South Pacific has left 25,000 to 50,000 Japanese troops bypassed in the Solomons, while an estimated 50,000 more are isolated in the New Britain and New Ireland area as a result of a tightening air and sea blockade.

Officials of the War Production Board were reconciled today to the fact that war factories may have to slow down production in order to free more men for military service, but were prepared today to press for continued deferments for young technicians who constitute the backbone of many vital new industries. WPB chief Donald L. Nelson and Selective Service Director Lewis B. Hershey told steel executives in a closed meeting yesterday that Army and Navy quotas must be met even if it means losing production, a position which reflects a decision made at the highest levels of command that that the time has come when men, rather than materials, are now the primary consideration. Nelson noted, however, that such industries as those producing synthetic rubber, radio-detection equipment, aircraft, and high-octane gasoline, where men in their mid-twenties are leading development of new advances, may require special consideration.

(If only we had a catchy name for this....)

(Hey, c'mon now, it's only two days after the deadline.)

(I bet he's releived it's just a slight concussion.)

(SUKEY!!!!! Gawbless ya, a real Mainer never shrinks from a challenge.)

Bob Carpenter, youthful owner of the Philadelphia Phillies, went into the Army this week. Carpenter, heir to DuPont millions, reported to Fort Dix, New Jersey to begin basic training as a buck private. Carpenter is fourteen years younger than his field manager, Brooklyn bowling magnate Freddie Fitzsimmons.

("El Club Gypsy?" I mean, they can't even get their languages straight.)

("Yes, sir, Mr. Police Chief sir, this fellow just walked up to me and handed me this bag..." "Hmmm. Say, that's nice leather! Wish someone would give ME a bag like this!")

("They're Either Too Young Or Too Old...")

(Well, be patient. "Inner Sanctum" comes on at 8:30.)

(And the moral of the story is -- eh, whatever.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

Jeeezuz.

People appreciate a FINE HIT MAN.

Never miss a trick, do ya?

Two words: "Kraft Dinner."

NEVER MIND THE BABBLE I'M HUNGRY.

"Look, have you ever read 'Live Alone And Like It?'"

Bim needs a tax write-off.

This would be a great time for April Kane to walk in the door.

It's nice to be loved.

"Now, son, about my daughters..."

 

[Fading Fast]

"Bob Carpenter, youthful owner of the Philadelphia Phillies, went into the Army this week. Carpenter, heir to DuPont millions, reported to Fort Dix, New Jersey to begin basic training as a buck private."

All stereotypes, even those about the rich, fail close scrutiny.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Bugs Bunny!" reads Leonora, before puzzling "Whassa Bugs Bunny?" "Oi guess she ain't seen too many pictchar shows," chuckles Ma. "Whatta YOU t'ink it's awlabout, Ma?" queries Sally. "T'is Brooklyn Collitch guy wants t'meet 'eh. Whatcha t'ink it's awla'bout?" "Oh who knows," dismisses Ma. "Thim professars an' ahl, who knows what thar thinkin'. Never had none'a th' loikes a' that when YOU was a little garl. You was handful enough with ahhl ye read'n an' hollerin' withoot no professors snifin' around." "Alice t'inks," continues Sally, taking a pensive sip of her Coke, "t'at t'is guy might be whatchacawl a talent scout f' t' Quiz Kids. She read inna magazine t'ez t'ese professehs an' doctehs an' stuff t'at tips 'm awff when'nez a smawrt kid aroun. Maybe Leonoreh's gonna be t'next Joel Kuppehman." "Ah," ponders Ma. "Of caaarse, ye wouldn' want t'at." "I wouldn'?" replies Sally. "Oh no," asserts Ma. "Aaahl that pooblicity, ahhl thim reportarrs an' magazine wroiters pryin into me --- ah -- yarrr parrrsonal affairs. Oh, no ye'd not be waant'n thaat." "I s'pose," sighs Sally. "Still, t'ough, 'magine Leonoreh onna radio. 'Magine what she might say." "Indeed," exhales Ma.)

A Brownsville mother is offering the clothing and other items left behind by her son, who died a war hero in the Mediterranean theatre, to "some young man who could use them." Mrs. Anna Rosenberg of 281 Fountain Avenue says that her son, Sergeant Leonard Rosenberg, had several suits, a winter coat, several pairs of shoes, and other articles of apparel that might be of some use to a needy person. She adds that her son was five feet ten inches in height and had a broad-shouldered build.

The fast growth of the market for bootleg whisky nationwide has led the War Production Board to make a new survey of wartime requirements for alcohol with the possibility held out for at least a limited return to civilian manufacture of liquor. Secretary of the Treasury Henry Morgenthau noted that the government stands to lose out on millions of dollars in tax revenue unless the bootleg liquor trade is squelched, and further warns that the present situation could lead to the return of Prohibition. Representatives of the liquor industry are meeting in Washington this week with the Treasury secretary.

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

("An' think of all them potato fields on Long Island, awla houses we can build!")

("It's easy," declares Leo. "Just deliver your line, punch the last phrase, and wait for your laugh. Oh, wait..")

(Make one mistake and you'll hear about it for the rest of your life.)

(Does LaGuardia know about this magazine?)

("What nonsense. Of course I'll give the -- ah -- briefcase back.")

(I mean RELLY.)

("Tesla? He's dead, right? He can't sue?" -- R. Stamm.)

(AMERICA'S NUMBER ONE HERO DOG HAS A CONSCIENCE. Oh well, when do we eat?)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

"Dublin was thronged but all the pubs were closed."

KIDS TODAY

"Huh? Were you talking to me, Colonel? Gee, I wonder if that really was Burma!"

And stupid, don't forget stupid.

"Ah, Mr. Jenks, I have two daughters you know -- you wouldn't happen to be -- ah -- single...?"

And the worst part is, his knees really are like that.

"Lotta mysterious shadowy figures though. Not that it's any of MY business.."

"Sailors today are a lot less emotional."

"Failing that, I'll settle for rye."

"Billious?" Maybe you ought to send HIM a bottle of bismuth!

 

[Fading Fast]

"Make one mistake and you'll hear about it for the rest of your life."

Didn't The Bungles, years ago, find and keep a lot of money from the basement of their apartment house?

 

[LizzieMaine]

Poor, poor Mickey. And to think that was also the same day Judas threw Raven off the back of the truck. How much tragedy can one generation take?

Here's a MLB-Network complilation featuring interviews with Owen and Tommy Henrich dissecting the moment. "I can't believe I missed it!"

I will, and will always, take issue with the idea that this was the play the cost the Dodgers the series. Leo should have started Higbe and not Davis in Game One, which would have put Brooklyn one up instead of one down, and Fitz not getting kneecapped in Game Three would have put the Dodgers three up going into game four. They still might not have won it all, but the odds would have been much more in their favor. Rest in peace, Mr. Owen, you were the Bill Buckner of your generation.


I do remember that Bungle storyline -- I assume, since we now seem to be back to the Prime Bungles universe, that George ended up trickling it all away on bad investments and security deposits for new apartments after getting evicted.

 

[Fading Fast]

I agree with your take, but Mickey Owen's take, "we all did the worse things we ever did in our lives that day." is "a bit" of a stretch.

And poor soccer-jersey-wearing Raven Sherman, one heck of a woman.

 

[FOXTROT LAMONT]

"Bob Carpenter, youthful owner of the Philadelphia Phillies, went into the Army this week. Carpenter, heir to DuPont millions, reported to Fort Dix, New Jersey to begin basic training as a buck private."

All stereotypes, even those about the rich, fail close scrutiny.

This article invariably forces comparing naked life with clothed privilege.
Life however humble and destitute is stronger, isn't it?

 

[LizzieMaine]

(“And this,” introduces Mr. Ginsburg, gesturing to a tall man in a carefully-tailored prewar suit, “is Dr. Minkoff, Dr. Simon Minkoff of Brooklyn College. A good friend.” “How do you do, Mrs. Petrauskas,” nods Dr. Minkoff. “And this must be Leonora.” “SPPPPT!” greets Leonora, skeptical of the entire affair. “Shhhh!” shushes Sally, her face reddening. “Neveh min’ ‘nat,” she apologizes. “Who knows weh kids pick up stuff t’ese days. It’s a good t’meetcha. Um,” she adds uncomfortably, “Erasmus, class ‘a June T’oity-one.” “Oh yes,” nods Dr. Minkoff. “Mr. Ginsburg has told me your daughter here has some remarkable skills for her age,” continues Dr. Minkoff. “I’m a psychologist, a specialist in early childhood development, and my particular area of interest is gifted children.” “Gifted?” puzzles Sally, glancing at Leonora, who is staring with fascination at Dr. Minkoff’s twitching moustache. “Unusually talented,” explains Dr. Minkoff. “that is to say, with skills developed beyond what is usually expected at any given age.” “Y’mean,” returns Sally, “like ‘eh bein’ able t’read.” “Precisely,” nods Dr Minkoff. “How old IS the child? “Two ‘na half,’ shrugs Sally. “I mean, I stawrted readin’ when I was about t’ree anna half, but…” “Ah,” nods Dr. Minkoff, making a quick scribble in a pocket notebook. “So this is something that runs in your family?” “Well, I dunno,” shrugs Sally, “I mean, my brot’eh Mickey’s a pretty bright guy. He’d hitch rides onna backs’a trucks an’ wagons when he was a kid, took rides awloveh t’city, an’ awrways foun’ ‘is way back home. He’s a prisoneh’ra’wawr now, ove’n Goimany, an’ well, knowin’ Mickey, he’s gonna find ‘is way home any day now. An’nen my ma, she’s one’a t’ese people can do awlkindsa math inneh head wit’out writin’ nut’n down.” “Ah,” nods Dr. Minkoff, as the group takes seats in the Ginsburgs’ parlor. “How about your husband?,” inquires Dr. Minkoff. “He ain’ so hot at math, he on’y went as far as 8-B in school,” shrugs Sally, “but he’s good at ot’eh t’ings. He loin’t t’run a lathe at Sperry’s in jus’ a few weeks. Neveh touched one in’nis life, an’nee took right to it. An’nee knows how t’cook, too, his sisteh loint’Im t’at whenee was a kid, he c’n make awlkins’a stuff, neveh needs no recipes neit’eh.” “Very interesting,” nods Dr. Minkoff. “Look heeh,” says Sally, reaching for a copy of the Sunday Eagle on the coffee table. “Leonoreh – whass’is say on heeh?” “Boima,” Leonora reads. “T’at ain’ Boima!” she sputters, pointing at the photo of Jackie Coogan. “Boima’s a GOIL!” “She reads t’ funnies,” flushes Sally. “Oh, I do too,” chuckles Dr. Minkoff.)

Income tax rates for families without children wll likely see an increase, but the tax rates for large families will see a light decline under a tax simplification plan proposed by the House Ways and Means Committee, based on new exemptions that would replace the present schedule of $500 for a single person, $1200 for a married couple, and $350 for each child or other dependent. Under the proposed simplificiation, exemptions would be set at $500 for the taxpayer and $500 for each dependent including the spouse.

President Roosevelt declared at a news conference yesterday that the Army and Navy myst have all available youths under the age of 36, regardless of their role in industry, unless they are certified as “essential industria specialists.” But Rubber Direector Bradley Dewey took issue today with the President’s appraisal of the sitiation, asserting at a news conference of his own that “irreplaceable young men” in the rubber industry are already being drafted, and that as a result of their loss the Government rubber program might not meet “anything like the estimates” he had made in a progress report prepared before the new draft policy went into effect.’’

(Tick tick tick tick tick tick….)

(“Whassat say t’eh?” cajoles Sally, pointing to the top of the sports page. “SPPPPPPPT!” Leonora instantly replies. “T’at’s how,” grins Sally, “she pr’nounces ‘Durocheh.” “Ahhh,” nods Dr. Minkoff, making another notation in his book.)

(“Two Guns Explode As One.” Ah, spring romance.)

(“BY LEON SCHLESINGER???” Well, I suppose if Walt Disney can sign "his" comic strips...)

(Gee, Bugs gets around.)

(Don’t worry, toots, bathing suit season is just around the corner.)

(Keep On the Sunny Side of Life!)

(The line between diplomacy and show business has always been exceedingly fine.)

(Sorry Rick, you’re no Flip Corkin.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News….

“Hm,” hms Margie Hart. “Glasses. I never thought of that.”

Yeah, watch out for them Coast Guards. They’re uncouth.

Y’know, for a FINE HIT MAN, Flatsie sure is dumb.

What? I mean, he IS just tryin’ to get ahead.

For a little kid, I bet Chester has a really impressive passport.


No, no, “Pi Day” was last week.

Oh, well, Pruneface killed a little dog, stole his sweater, and then froze to death. But lemme tell you about his WIFE…

EWWWWWW

It’s a pity Pop and Ma Smart never went thru with the wedding.

Hey, just like Jiggs and Maggie!

 

[Fading Fast]

"I never thought I'd be so glad to see a guy's wife!"

Most Burma line ever.

 

[LizzieMaine]

Cheery seems to have mellowed since we saw her last. Whatever happened to "Stone-headed boor of a husband! You have no secrets from me!"

 

[Fading Fast]

Cheery seems to have mellowed since we saw her last. Whatever happened to "Stone-headed boor of a husband! You have no secrets from me!"

She still scares the bejesus out of me. I agree she appears less vicious right now, but let's see how she does as the storyline develops.

 

[FOXTROT LAMONT]

Terrence's Burma reminds me of a work acquaint who is a gorgeous lass of the same vivacious cut.
This Cherry Blaze really seems altogether opposite, a gal who plays the cruel cricket game.

Lately things over Wellington's way here really rival the comics what with palace malice intrigue, press mess,
and Kate's illness. And a bad cold tops it off for me. But this Burma is a babe for our lad whom matches glamour and gallantry. She's not a simple lipstick tart either. Mr Caniff just drew her right.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Terrible," murmurs Uncle Frank, examining the Eagle's front page. "Aand joosta few blaahcks fr'm here. Oi've had th' boys makin' the rooonds t'day, seein' what help an' assistance we moit be able to poot t'gethar f'these poor fam'lies. Joost terrible." "Indeed," agrees Ma, bringing a platter of thin-looking pork chops to the table. There is a silence punctuated by the quiet scrabbling of knives and forks, until young Willie proffers a random question. "Whatsa 'slommasheen?'" Ma and Uncle Frank exchange startled glances. "Oi didn't catch that, William," smiles Ma thru clenched teeth. "What was thaat again?" "A 'slommasheen," repeats Willie. "Leonoreh tol' me t'ezza slommasheen inna back room." "Oh dear," clenches Ma. "Children aaan their games." "Ah," begins Uncle Frank, his mind racing furiously. "A slommasheen, me boy, is a -- um -- is a saartova -- uhh -- a wicked dwaaarf, yes indeed, a taarible wicked dwaarf with -- um -- only one aaarm. An' he lives in daaaark places joost wait'n far little children who aaask too many questions! Oh, no, me boy, ye moost steer very cleaaaar o'the wicked wicked slommasheen -- aaaahr heeee'l caaaaaary ye away an' EAT YE ROIT OOP!" "Ohhhh," gapes Willie, his eyes wide. "T'at ain' what Leonoreh said. Leonoreh said t' slommasheen eats NICKL'S!" "Ooooooooh," continues Uncle Frank, fixing the boy in a terrifying glare. "Oooooooooonly when thaaaar's NO NOOOOOSY LITTLE BOOOOYS abooot!" "Oh," gulps Willie, returning to an exploration of his pork chop. "Oi been afraid a' this," mutters Ma. "It was oonly a matter'a toime." "Naaht t'warry, Nora," dismisses Uncle Frank. "B'soides, ye been plannin' f'weeks now t'send th' little boy ovarr t'live with thim Krauses once th' school yaar is ovarr. Noo harm doon." "Ye don't undarrstand, Francis," declares Ma. "It's noot th' boy that waaaries me. It's Leonora. She's naaht loike otharr children. Well, she's loike her motharr, an' you remembarr what THAT was loike." "Ah," nods Uncle Frank. "Indeed." "An' what's waarse," continues Ma. "Sally was tellin' me tharr's this professar or doctaar or soomthin' fr'm th' College that foond oot about th' choild an' waants to have harr take soom TESTS. Maybe send harr to a special SCHOOL. It's Sally aaahl oovar again!" "Now, Nora," shrugs Uncle Frank, thru a mouthful of gristle, "ye needn't let that worry ye. You recall we dealt with thaaat, joost as we'll deaal with this." "Toimes have changed, Francis," argues Ma. "It ain't loike it was twenty-five yaaars ago. Ye can't joost..." "Ye know, Nora," chuckles Uncle Frank, "ye waaary too mooch." "Well," retorts Ma, "It seems I got to do th' waaaryin' farr th' booth'uv oos!")

American troops, capturing the big Japanese port of Lorengau, held all the vital areas of the Admiralty Islands today, opening the way for new assaults on the already-battered enemy holdings from New Guinea to Truk 610 miles north in the Carolines. Spearheaded by tanks, dismounted troops from the 1st Cavalry Division occupied Lorengau on Saturday, all but completing the campaign for the strategic Admiralties which began on February 9th with a landing on the Los Negros islands.

Eight million workers may be left without jobs after the war once war contracts expire, warned a Senate War Contracts Subcommittee. In a formal report criticizing current Administration policies on contract expiration, the committee headed by Senator James E. Murray (D-Montana) observed that national production of goods and services in 1944 stands at approximately $194,000,000,000, compared to $98,000,000,000 in 1940, and about half of that current figure is sustained by war contracts. "When war contracts are withdrawn," warned the report, "the danger is that the entire edifice may topple over." The report recommends steps be taken for a carefully-planned demobilization policy that will keep production levels from falling below $135,000,000,000, with the gradualized withdrawal of war contracts overlapping with the resumption of civilian production toward an annual goal of $200,000,000,000. This, the report predicts, would allow the reabsorption into civilian employment those war workers would would otherwise be displaced.

(Keep 'em flying!)

Mayor LaGuardia yesterday accused the State Legislature of targeting the city in order to get at him. In his weekly broadcast over WNYC, the Mayor credited the current session with setting "a new record in non-achievement," and charged Democrats and Republicans in the state capital of "working in perfect harmony" to injure the city of New York in order to spite him. Because the city did not get the revenues requested, the Mayor warned of a coming municipal economy drive, which he will discuss further in a future broadcast.

(Ahhh, "Whistling in Brooklyn." At least we'll see Camilli and Medwick again!)

(Hence the expression, "sins of Commission.")

(But -- didn't Rickey tell us all last year that everything was peeeeeeachy-keen between Arky and Leo and that they had pledged eternal friendship and that all was forgiven???? And didn't Mr. Parrott even WRITE AS MUCH? Gee, you can't trust anybody these days.)

Former Chicago Mayor "Big Bill" Thompson died yesterday at the age of 74, as a result of heart failure brought on by a cold. Thompson triggered an international incident in 1927, threatening to "bust King George V in the snoot" if the then-reigning British monarch dared to make a visit to the Windy City. As part of his "America First" platform, Thompson also ordered the burning of all "pro-British" books found in the Chicago public and school libraries.

("The click of pert heels on the pavement?" Only a dope doesn't wear rubbers in the rain.)

(And one day they found George Bungle lying face down in a quicklime pit.)

(Never trust a Private First Class with greying hair.)

(Tsk, tsk. Isaiah 8:19.)

(And little Kitty laughed and laughed...)