The Era -- Day By Day

[LizzieMaine]

And also...

Yeah, well, if you look around you won't see too many real life Skeezixes either.

 

[Fading Fast]

"At leas' t'ey didn' bring up Rudy Vallee," sighs Sally. "Ah," nods Alice, stifling a grin. Just freakin' perfect.

I also love that Mozelewski relentlessly called Miss Kaplan out. That was awesome.


Burma: "And if that story doesn't work for you, I have two more to try out. Oops, did I just say that out loud?"

 

[FOXTROT LAMONT]

The other day I recommended Betty Smith's A Tree Grows in Brooklyn to a local maven for wedge against cuz Jane's Northanger Abbey and I caught that interesting law suit article.
But Dr Allred's matrimonial practice harem scarum theatre date is definitely appointment read. With six wives he must rest on Sunday.

Caniff continues his delay protract. A deliberate technique of chaste cartoonist craft but
again Terrence's Aero A2 jacket adorned AVG Flying Tigers crest and leather name strip
is simply a stunner. Our lad is a soldier born bore to butteplate.

 

[FOXTROT LAMONT]

PREAKNESS
18 May 2024 Pimlico Race #13

#9 Imagination
#8 Tuscan Gold
#5 Mystick Dan
#3 Catching Freedom
#2 Uncle Henry

Track notes: Muth's scratch upended race tactics and Saturday rain forecast might skewer
reasoned finish order; although this line is solid today.
Bet the Superfecta or Super Five wager to maximize winnings.

I placed my Preakness bets after revise and have advanced #3 Catching Freedom and
#8 Tuscan Gold to WIN while keeping #9 Imagination to WIN. Scramble 3, 8, 9 to place and show for cover.
I hold #5 Mystik Dan suspect of replicate Derby run win but probable board hit. Ditto scramble place and show.
And #7Just Steel is in talk so I included him on some of my tickets to place and show.
Hit the ''ALL' box with a check mark on top for fifth place.
The betting handle was good today however less than last week as expected. Luck.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Now t'at," declares Corporal Solly Pincus, as he regards the platter conveyed by Ma with appropriate pomp to the table, "is a brisket t'at IS a brisket." "Ahhhh," agrees Uncle Frank. "Shaughnessy cooms thru once again. Oi bet ye don't see noothin' loike THAT in th' Aaaahrmy." "Not when I'm awake," laughs Solly. "Thaaat's fresh cabbage aaahn there too," adds Uncle Frank. "Shaughnessy knoooows a fellar can get that fr'm doon Sooth. He's a..." but he trails off at the sight of a sharp expression flashed by Ma. "Y'know," continues Solly, "T'at's one t'ing Joe's gonna have trouble wit'. I've had his cookin' an'nit ain' bad. He's gonna have t'loin t'do woise at it if he's gonna make Awrmy food!" After receiving his laugh from those assembled, and taking a sip from the bottle of Rheingold placed thoughtfully at the side of his plate, he sighs. "I got me ordehs t'day," he announces. Week fr'm Sunday I gotta repawrt t't Camp Kilmeh, oveh'rn Joisey t'eh, f'reassignmen'."Awready?" queries Sally. "You jus' got heeh." "Yeh," Solly shrugs. "Don't take too much t'inkin' t'figyeh out why. I dunno wheh t'eh gonna sen' me nex,' but I bet I ain' goin' back t' It'ly." He is silent for a moment, remembering things he can't talk about. "I guess," he finally resumes, "It'ly ain' so bad. T'ey got pretty good food t'eh." "Italian food gives me gas," declares Uncle Frank. "I love Italian food," argues Sally. "Spaghetti 'n meatbawls, ravioli, one t'ime me'n Joe had whatchacawl pizza pie. You know t'at place, Ma, it's justa blawk down Midwood heeh, an'nen roun'a corneh up Nostran' Aveneh. A&P's it's cawled, but not like t' grocery stoeh. Must mean Angelo's an' Pinelli's a' sump'n. We wen'neh one time afteh seein'a bawl game. T'ey bring t'is pizza pie t't'table, awmos' covehs t'whole tawp t'eh. Had t'ese lit'l sawlty fish awn tawp. Mmm. I wanna go t'eh again sometime, maybe nex' time Joe's home." "My ma got 'rested," comments Leonora. "Unca Jimmy sezta Uncle Hops." An instant silence grips the room, broken only by the clatter of a fork dropping to the floor. "Y'ma's crazy," adds young Willie, as though stating a widely-acknowledged truth. "Ah, yeh," ah yehs Solly, as Sally buries her face in her napkin. "T'ez one t'ing, t'ough," he declares in a determinedly jovial tone, "in It'ly t'ey neveh had no brisket like t'is!")

Isolationism as a political doctrine is fading a a major issue in the United States, according to War Production Board chairman Donald L. Nelson, because "the nation has learned that expanding trade among countries is the only way of avoiding war." Speaking before the Conference of Commissions of Inter-American Development at the Waldorf-Astoria yesterday, Nelson argued that not only must the United States decide whether it wants international agreements, but what kind of agreements it should make in order to assure a fair return on goods and active markets in world trade. He urged this country to support and encourage Latin-American industrialization both to increase output during the current war, and to encourage trade when the war is over.

("A lit'l goil like t'at hittn'a teacheh," sighs Alice. "What'sa woil' comin' ta. T'sistehs useta hit me awla time, but I neveh hit back." Krause looks up from his workbench, where he is tying an underwriters knot in the cord for a disassembled lamp, and gives his wife a skeptical glance. "Awright," sighs Alice. "But on'y t'at one time, an'nen I run awff." She rests the paper on her lap and sighs. "T''at ain'a sin," she queries. "Is it?" "Neh," replies Krause, with a puff of his cigar.)

(Coming Events Cast Their Shadows Before...)

The Eagle Editorialist takes a stern stand on the question of diseased poultry being sold in Brooklyn. Noting that the matter was recently brought to the attention of Magistrate Charles Solomon in his courtroom, the EE declares that at the very minimum a veterinarian must be placed on permanent assignment in all slaughterhouses, and that it would be appropriate to bring the matter to the attention of the Federal Government, since nearly all poultry sold in Brooklyn is shipped here from other states.

(I didn't even have to look at the byline to know this one was a "Litchy.")

(Mr. McLish's FULL full name is "Calvin Coolidge Julius Caesar Tuskahoma McLish," but he'd prefer you not let that get around.)

Branch Rickey was rumored to be on his way to Pittsburgh to confer with Pirate management about the possibility of a deal that would land the Dodgers a second baseman, but he did not appear. Pirate manager Frankie Frisch has six infielders on his roster -- including former Dodger Pete Coscarart -- but he considers none of them dispensible, remembeing the woes of last season when he had to play catcher Al Lopez at third. Frisch is, however, said to be gazing avariciously at the extensive Brooklyn pitching staff.

(Y'know, Dr. Snobwell, some pulp writers these days are making up to two cents a word.)

("A shotgun, a horse, and a roadmap to Hollywood." Yep, even before film schools you had to start out with something.)

(Tubby may be the typical comedy relief buffoon, but he's a snappier dresser than Irwin Higgs.)

(Show him your WCTU card.)

(Either Junior has decided to start speaking about himself in the third person or the letterer screwed up.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And also...

Everybody's a comedian.

 

[LizzieMaine]

Tick tick tick tick tick tic tick tick tick...

Jeezuz.

"Yes, you'd be a fine officer on my staff, but I understand you have an adopted son.." "I do?"

He could tell us what Sandy's thinking, but he's contractually forbidden to do so.

Those charges date to nine years ago. What's the British statute of limitations for piracy?

"So -- whattaya say? Rob Avery's garden for old times' sake?"

Kids today. *snif*

"And he knows so much about toilet soap!"

Please welcome our new comedy relief, Mr. Harry "Parkyakarkus" Einstein.

Funny, he doesn't look Algerian.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And finally...

All right detectives, get busy.

 

[Fading Fast]

"He could tell us what Sandy's thinking, but he's contractually forbidden to do so."

I assure you, no one wants to see into Sandy's angst- and insecurity-riddled mind. His occasional outburst of confidence are paper thin. The dog is a jangle of anxiety and self doubt.


"Those charges date to nine years ago. What's the British statute of limitations for piracy?"

It is beyond inconceivable that the British gov't would in any way care about a nine-year-old charge about a possible crime in Hong Kong. Burma could walk naked through a UK police department and not get arrested. Some other stuff might happen, but she wouldn't be arrested.

 

[FOXTROT LAMONT]

"Those charges date to nine years ago. What's the British statute of limitations for piracy?"

It is beyond inconceivable that the British gov't would in any way care about a nine-year-old charge about a possible crime in Hong Kong.

Crown authorities have real fish to fry with chips and like Rick said to gorgeous flower of my
adoring heart Ingrid Bergman, ''the problems of two little people don't amount to a hill of beans in this world.'' And Caniff has dialed down the sexuality with legal scene steal herewith
also, something I anticipated. If I were our gallant lad with all those red, white, and true blue
bloody corpuscles, hormones, and a probable cup or two Maxwell House java-I drink it over here-so I know a caffeine rush when I see one, well, the conversation would be strictly Jack the laddie.

 

[FOXTROT LAMONT]

Another busted flush yours sincerely; albeit overall with scattered tickets whereby I give
fate chance, I had Grey first with three hits down line just missing a Super Five payout.
A sealed rain track skewer but still meriting postmortem showed Baffert's Imagination dead
last either fatigue or mud cause. I studied his earlier video, had some doubt to distance with
him. And Daniel the Mystik almost though not quite gained wire for a triple crown go.
Fairly decent handle. The Derby's astronomic compared step child Preakness but still good.
Belmont Stakes at lovely Saratoga New York this year is next.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("I can't B'LIEVE she said t'at out loud," laments Sally. "My own kid. 'My ma got arrested!' Says it right out loud in fronna ev'rybody!" "Well," shrugs Alice, "I mean, it ain' like ev'rybody t'eh awready didn' know about it. Y'tol'me y'self t'ey picked up Solly f'questionin', an' ya Ma an' Uncle Frank hadta come oveh t'eh an' getcha." "An'nen 'nat Willie," fumes Sally. "'Ya ma is crazy!' He's one t'tawk, t'at mot'eh'ra his!" "C'mon, now," admonishes Alice. "Willie's a good kid. He cawls 'em like he see's'm." "Awr YOU," flares Sally, "sayin' I'm CRAZY? Izzat whatcha t'ink'a me???" "Well, no," wheedles Alice, "I jus' t'ink maybe sometimes..." "You t'rew a pot roast at Koiby Higbe," growls Sally in a deadly voice. "T'at was diff'rn't," mutters Alice. "He had it comin'." They ride on silently, the tension hanging between them like a curtain. "I'm tellin' ya," Sally resumes after an interval, "t'whole business got me t'inkin'. I know I been in trouble befo'eh, but t'is was different. I never been mixed up wit' G-Men till now. T'is was serious. I gotta do sump'n. I gotta figyeh out why I keep doin'is kin'a stuff." She sighs again, carefully forming her next thought. "I'm gonna tawk t'Docteh Minkoff," she resolves. "He's a psychiatrist, y'know." "Whassa psy-chiatris', anyway?" queries Alice. "It's a docteh f'ya mind," explains Sally. "Like, you know, a podiatrist' is a docteh f'ya feet, a psychiatrist is a docteh f'ya head." "Like a scalp specialis'?" replies Alice. "Ain' nut'n wrawng witcha haieh, izzeh?" "No, no," explains Sally. "A psychiatrist is -- well, you eveh heehra Freud?" "Sam Freud?" replies Alice. "Run'sat bakery up on Sixty-Secon'? He's a frienda Misteh G, sometimes t'ey sit in Satellite Pawrk an' play chess. I awrways wan'ed t'loin t'play chess, I like games wit' hawrses inn'em." "No, no," snaps Sally, an edge of irritation creeping into her tone. "T'is guy is SIGMUN' Freud. He was from Awstria. He was famous, he wazza fois' docteh t'figyeh out how t'really get inside ya head an' figyeh out why ya t'ink t'way ya do. An' no, he didn't cut nobody's head open, he done it awl, you know, wit' tawk." "You can't go to Awstria t'ough," points out Alice. "Not f'ra coupla mont's anyway." "No, no, no!" snaps Sally."Anyways, t'is guy Freud is dead now, died a few yeehs back. What I'm sayin' is I could tawk t' Docteh Minkoff. Maybe he c'n figyeh out why I -- um -- get in trouble sometimes.""Didn' you say," points out Alice, "t'at Minkoff is a docteh f' KIDS?" Sally frowns at this thought. "On'na o'teh han'," muses Alice, "t'at might woik. Y'c'n be pretty -- uh -- childish f'ya age!")

The Senate is expected today to demand a conference with the House on the GI Bill Of Rights, which it passed two months ago and received back from the House yesterday in considerably altered form. Among the amendments approved by the House were a cut in the stipulated unemployment benefit for returning veterans of $25 per week for 52 weeks, which was reduced in the House version to $20 per week for no more than 26 weeks. The House also rewrote the Senate's loan provisions, which under the House version would provide loans for investment purposes of up to $1000, and a Government guarantee of up to 50 percent for loans of up to $2500 for the purchase or construction of homes, farms, or business property. Other major provisions of the House bill would provide a maximum of $500 for four years' tuition in approved educational institutions, with an additional $65 per month provided for a monthly living allotment, $75 if the veteran enrolling in the institution has dependents. The rewritten bill passed the House yesterday by a unanimous vote of the 387 members present.

The New York East conference of the Methodist Church today concluded its three-day convention in Brooklyn by resolving against any continuation of military conscription after the war, and calling for the abolition of the Dies Committee. The resolutions adopted also included the statement that the larger nations of the world must respect the wishes of smaller nations in determining their place in the postwar political order, and a declaration that "no three or four larger nations should dominate the world." The conference also affirmed its resolution that a full and clear statement of the United States' war aims should be given.

(Jeezuz. At least she's not beating up history teachers.)

(I guess we know where Tubby gets his clothes.)

The publication of Helen Worth's daily column has been suspended due to her illness.

("Hm? No, I haven't seen him, I've been kinda busy." -- Burma.)

In Los Angeles, the frantic parents of a two year old girl who is dying of leukemia today offered their child to any legitimate agency experimenting with the disease, in a last ditch effort to save her life. The parents of tiny Alta Mira Sorensen, Mr. and Mrs. T. L. Sorensen, said their daughter was diagnosed last month with the disease, an ailment of the white corpuscles compounded by a bone infection, and is being kept alive by blood transfusions. Specialists say she has no more than 60 days to live. Mr. and Mrs. Sorensen have approached the Mayo Brothers Clinic, Johns Hopkins Hospital in Baltimore, the Rockefeller Foundation, and the Stanford University medical department, and in all cases have been told "there is no known cure for leukemia."

("I've been looking over some statistics, sir," ventures Mr. Parrott, approaching his master's imposing desk with clipboard in hand, "and I think you'll find some of this very interesting. For example, in 1939, when we had Pete Coscarart at second base, he turned 69 double plays. That's even more than Billy Herman turned in 1941. And last year, with Pittsburgh, he turned 54. Now, as you know, Mr. Frisch has hinted at some interest in Ostermuller for his pitching staff, and I think we might possibly be able to spare him, given our current pitching depth if you insist on getting Coscarart back in return. Now, I can arrange a conference..." "Those women," glowers Mr. Rickey, his formidable brows beetling with suspicion. "You've let them get to you." "Women, sir?" puzzles Mr. Parrott. "Don't play the fool with me, boy," thunders Mr. Rickey. "No doubt you have them waiting in the anteroom right now, prepared to burst in on me at any moment! JANE ANN!" "Yes sir," replies Mr. Rickey's ever-efficient secretary. "Escort those women out at once!" commands Mr. Rickey. "And escort Mr. Parrott to the cashier's window!" "Women, sir?" queries Jane Ann in a careful tone. "What women would those..." "JUDAS PRIEST!" roars Mr. Rickey. "IS THERE NO END TO THE PERFIDY!" "I'll get you some bicarbonate, sir," nods Jane Ann, as Mr. Parrott sidles out the door. "St. Louis," groans Mr. Rickey. "Oh how I wish I'd stayed in St. Louis...")

Two of the most impresive clubs in Negro baseball will play a doubleheader Sunday at Ebbets Field. Defending Negro National League champions the Washington-Homestead Grays will meet the Newark, formerly Brooklyn, Eagles, with the first game starting at 2PM. The two clubs fought a bitter battle for the NNL pennant last year, wiwth the Grays prevailing by mere percentage points, and the contests figure to be hard-fought by both teams. The Babe Ruth and Lou Gehrig of Negro ball, catcher Josh Gibson and first baseman Buck Leonard, will be in the lineup for the Grays.

(Nice bathrobe, Barry. Been collaborating with Bev, have you?)

("Hollywood!" Well of course, it all makes sense!)

(Because nothing says claims adjusters like coordinated plaid suits.)

("I'm not really interested in seeing whatever you have in that package.")

(AMERICA'S NUMBER ONE HERO DOG sacrifices much for the war effort.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

Miss Corio, an ecdysiast of the old school, departed New York when Butch shut down the burlesque houses, and has spent the past few years doing small roles in films. Mr. Williams, meanwhile, does a dog act, with, you know, performing dogs, but his gimmick is that his dogs *refuse* to do tricks. They just go completely limp on stage. If the show biz tradition of veteran perfomers getting married and going on the road as a double act holds true here, I absolutely cannot WAIT to see what these two come up with.

"Coming events..."

Really? Think so?

Fish in a barrel.

Spud was another of the neighborhood kids, with a sad back story. His father died when he was young, and the Depression hit his family hard. He and his mother lived in an unheated shack, and Skeez and Gootch and Trixie went out one winter and scrounged up enough fuel to keep them from freezing. Spud himself was too ashamed of his poverty to ask for any help. That he should, of all the Alley kids, be the one to die in the war is both inevitable and horribly tragic.

Soo -- where do we drop you off?

"Then -- you kill me! And the rest of the picture is a flashback!"

Pretty small size. It figures.

Optimistic, aren't you?


Moon would make a fine Patient Advocate.

 

[LizzieMaine]

Oh, and...

Heeeeeeeeeere we go again.....

 

[LizzieMaine]

And here, from eleven years or so back, is a page from Frank King's sketchbook showing the Alley kids as they were then...

Clarence is the neighborhood bully, and Carole isn't an Alley character at all -- she's Frank King's niece, who was the inspiration for Trixie.

Poor poor Spud. I hope he didn't see it coming.

 

[FOXTROT LAMONT]

Dinna know Spud but segue Terrence our admirable knight in leather kit is most welcome
amidst such tragic heartstrings ripple, even if our cartoonist Merlin singes Sighn-song shannanigans. Stop the presser please about pirate lass Burms Terrence so return to the seductress at hand lad. Ten-to-one he's Jack the lad aboard that plane sure.

 

[Fading Fast]

"I'm not supposed to haul civilians, but if she's wearing your flying suit, and nothing else, I guess we'll have to salvage government property, including what's inside."

In my mind, Burma has only ever worn "nothing else" under her clothes.

 

[FOXTROT LAMONT]

"I'm not supposed to haul civilians, but if she's wearing your flying suit, and nothing else, I guess we'll have to salvage government property, including what's inside."

In my mind, Burma has only ever worn "nothing else" under her clothes.

Reinforced with additional coffee, bourbon, and a late nite pipe, this Caniff converse has rather devious connotation; which, when considered objectively captures man, woman, and moment sufficiently so the story can proceed. Artist sets portraiture within frame. A set canvas for speculate, chaste yet carnal.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Hiya Sal," greets Corporal Solly Pincus, running up as Sally and Leonora emerge from the 18th Avenue BMT station. "Hey, whatcha doin' t'marra? I got tickets f't'at doubleheadeh, t'em colehed league teams. Whatcha say?" "Ah," sighs Sally, as Solly falls into step beside her as they turn up 63rd Street toward home. "I dunno's'at'sa good ideeh. Remembeh what happ'nt las' time. Who knows wheh t'at nut Kaplan is gonna toin up next." "Ahhhh, don' mind nut'na'bout t'at," dismisses Solly with a wave of his hand. "Ev'ryt'ing's squaeh, an' no hawrm done." "I got a lawng letteh f'rm Joe," Sally continues. "Special D'livery. He ain't soeh about none of it, 'cept at Miss Kaplan, but -- well, I don' feel right about it still. You know how people tawk." "Yeh," exhales Solly. "I can't get in no moeh trouble," Sally emphasizes, with a glance down at her daughter, who is kneeling on the sidewalk giving careful and fascinated attention to a procession of ants. "When y'got a kid, t'ings is diff'nt. B'sides, I gotta 'perntm'nt wit' Docteh Minkoff t'marra aftehnoon, we meet wit' him ev'ry Sunday t'tawk about how Leonoreh's doin' at t'clinic." "I'm gifted," asserts Leonora, without looking up. "She heehs ev'ryt'ing, don't she?" chuckles Solly. "Yeh," agrees Sally. "Ma says t'at too, like it's a bad t'ing." "Ahhhhhhhhh," nods Solly. "Yeh, t'at might be at t'at." "What?" "Nut'n." "Hey," suggests Sally. "If y'got t'ree tickets, go downstaiehs an' ask Alice an' Krause, t'ey'd go. T'ey don' do nut'n on Sundays but sit aroun' , an' Alice knows basebawl awmos' as much as I do." "Yeh," nods Solly. "I'll do t'at." "Wawtch out t'ough," warns Sally. "She c'n get kinda rough." "Nut'n like you," snickers Solly. "T'em days," declares Sally, "awr oveh.")

In the future, jail terms will be sought for all persons found guilty of selling poultry in Brooklyn that fails to meet health standards, it was announced today by the Office of the Corporation Counsel, in the wake of disclosures that the sale of diseased poultry is widespread in Brooklyn. In fining last week the operators of the Shore Road Live Poultry Market Inc. $100 for the possession of 70 pounds of sick chickens, Magistrate Charles Solomon declared that if the defendant in the case had been an individual rather than a corporation, he would have imposed a jail term rather than a fine, and, declaring that "the racket of selling poultry which endangers the health of the public must be stopped," Solomon callled for "stern action by the courts and city departments."

("Not bad!" -- Clifford Odets.)

The newly-organized Liberal Party, founded by a breakaway right-wing faction of the American Labor Party, will today nominate President Roosevelt, Vice President Wallce, and Senator Robert Wagner to head its first ticket in the coming fall election. The formal organization of the new party was declared last night at its state convention at the Hotel Roosevelt in Manhattan. Keynote speaker Dean Alfange, who was the ALP candiate for governor in 1942, pledged that the new party will stand for a fourth term for President Roosevelt, and condemned the Republican Party as the "greatest single threat to a just and enduring peace." Alfange described the presumptive Republican presidential nominee, Governor Thomas E. Dewey, as merely "a bright young man.," whose "only contribution to the stirring struggle for American survival" was to condemn the Lend-Lease program.

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

("You're right. I need to study. I'll buy some comic books tomorrow!")

(SIGH. Season's over and we aren't even thru May. GO BROWNS!)

(For writers, though, professional ethics can be more of a suggestion...)

(I have been waiting for YEARS for a Bungle-Gump crossover!)

(All cops depend on the press to do their legwork, right?)

("Hmmmm. Maybe I should try a short middy cut.")

("But I LIKE to burn things! The curl of the smoke, the acrid fumes, the bewitching flicker of the flames! How they dance! Ohhhhh how they daaaaaance...")

 

[LizzieMaine]

Ow.

Good dog.

Burma's got a conscience.

***sob***

"Worms? What year is this again?"

"I should've married your mother when I had the chance."

"YEAH BUT I WAS!"

Never slick a slicker.

Better than Blue Cross!

A moment of silence please, for a Fine Hit Man....