While Mr. Schroth shoots off firecrackers in his backyard there is no Eagle today, but for the millions of New Yorkers who labor on thru the holiday at their war jobs, the Daily News as ever makes its morning appearance...
"At least I *know* wheh Joe is," sighs Sally, resting the paper in her lap as the train sways its way to Jersey. "But I wondeh wheh Solly Pincus is. He t'ought t'ey'd prob'ly send 'im back t' Europe but who knows weh." "Whassit like, I wondeh," sighs Alice. "Y'know, Siddy won' neveh tawk about what he seen inna las' wawr. I know he was in France, an' one time he mentioned 'is place cawlt 'Argonne' a' sump'n, but I dunno weh t'at is. You know weh t'at is?" Sally ponders for a moment. "I hoid of it," she sighs. "I seen a movie when I was a kid, 'T' Big P'rade.' You eveh see t'at pitcheh?" "Nah," dismisses Alice, "I didn' go much t'pitchehs back t'en. I -- uh -- woiked nights." "Y'know," resumes Sally, "me'n Joe's about t'on'y fam'ly Solly's got -- but if sump'n happ'nt'wim, I dunno if, y'know, t'Awrmy would know t'at. I don' know who he's got down f'ris nexta kin. Some'n coulda happnt'wim, an' we might neveh know." There is another long silence punctuated only by the rattling of the train and the low murmur of its passengers. "Hey Sal," resumes Alice. "You t'ink maybe if I went t't' liberry t'eh t'ey'd have sump'n 'bout t'is Argonne?" "Yeh," shrugs Sally. There is another long silence "But who wants t'hang arounna liberry," Sally continues. "Bore ya sick inneh." "Yeh," nods Alice. "Guess ya right..."
"Yeh," murmurs Sally, gazing at Miss Farmer's photo. "Good luck, kid."
Oh, why bother. I'm sure the Brow would be happy to give you a pistol if you asked him nicely.
Of all the twists this story could take, "wacky chimp antics" was not something I anticipated.
WILL YOU JUST GET OUT OF HERE??????
"Rich? You mean like -- 'Daddy?'"
Better get used to it, he'll insist on being called "The Colonel" for the rest of his life.
A short, balding 20-year-old must make use of whatever he can.
Two plane crashes in a week? What's the odds?
Oh come on, once you get used to it he's actually kinda cute.
("Whassat?" queries Alice, as Sally taps a folded sheet on her lap, her eyes far away. "'Not'eh letteh from Joe? Can't be doin' much bakin' if 'e's awrways writin'!" "Neh,"sighs Sally. "Letteh fr'm Joe's sisteh, Lina." "T' one 'nat raised 'im?" replies Alice, her brows raising. "I t'ought she was dead." "Might as well'a been," frowns Sally. "She lives in Joisey now, out'n Teaneck. Keeps house f'some docteh'ra sump'n. I on'y met 'eh once, right b'foeh we got married. She looks me oveh an' says t' Joe, 'you daeh t' bring t'is Irish koiva in my house?" "Huh," huhs Alice. "Whassat mean?" "It means," scowls Sally, "t'nex' time I see 'eh I owe 'ehra smack inna mout'." "Oh," ohs Alice as comprehension dawns. "I don't t'ink Docteh Levine would like t'at." "No," concedes Sally. "Prob'ly not." Well," Alice continues, "if t'at's how it is how come she's writin' to ya?" "She wants t'let bygones be bygones," explains Sally. "I guess Joe's been writin' to 'eh since 'e's been inna Awrmy, an' when he's oveh t'Kilmeh she wawnts we sh'd awl get t'getteh. She's neveh met Leonoreh, an' she ain' tawked t' Joe since we gawt married. T'at's awmos' seven yeehs." "You gonna do it?" wonders Alice. "I dunno," shrugs Sally. "I know when I ain't wawn'ed, an' cawlin' me what she cawlt me is kind'va sign, y'know?" "Ya ma useta cawl Joe a dumb bohunk," notes Alice. "An'now she t'inks he wawks on wawteh." "T'way Lina looked at me t'at time," frowns Sally, "it was like she was gonna put me UNDEH wawteh. An' now I should take Leonoreh out t'meet 'eh?" "She's fam'ly, t'ough," notes Alice. "Like it awr not." "Who needs 'at kin'a fam'ly," scoffs Sally. "I got awla fam'ly I need. I got Ma an' Mickey an' Uncle Frank, an' Jimmy an' Danny an'-- well, you an' Krause, an' -- ev'na Ginsboigs, even." "How 'bout Joe, t'ough?" challenges Alice. "What's he got?" "He's got awla t'em too," argues Sally. "An' Solly Pincus is like a brot'eh." "But," counters Alice. "Ya ma an' ya bro'teh, at least -- f'you, t'at's blood. What's Joe gawt f'blood? His sisteh." "Blood don' matteh," dismisses Sally. "Easy," frowns Alice in a highly pointed tone, "f'you t'say...")
American casualties in World War II have now exceeded those of the First World War, it was disclosed today by an analysis of official reports. Over 31 months of global fighting have produced 261,541 US casualties, as opposed to the 259,735 casualties over the 19 months of American participation in the last war. 56,772 Americans so far have died in the current war, versus 53,878 in World War I.
(There's a new world coming.)
Fears of the Office of Defense Transportation of a massive transportation pileup as holiday vacationers flooded back into the city failed to materialize today, as bus and rail lines reported no major problems with returning holiday traffic. Many of those who left the city over the weekend were doing so at the start of two or three week vacations, and many, anticipating a late rush, started home early. Lowering skies yesterday afternoon cut short holiday activities for many others, thus spreading the return traffic out over the entire day rather than it occuring all at once.
General Charles de Gaulle is expected soon to arrive in Washington DC, possibly within the next 24 hours, for conferences with President Roosevelt on the complex state of official relations between the United States and de Gaulle's National Committee for French Liberation. A dispatch from Algiers stated flatly that Gen. de Gaulle is scheduled to lunch with the President on Friday. It is also anticipated that the Fighting French leader will be the guest of honor at a dinner given by Secretary of State Cordell Hull, and possibly also at an official State dinner at the White House.
(There's no such thing as a bad dog.)
(That's a nice euphemism.)
(Paige went 11 innings at Ebbets Field and then on one day's rest he goes out to Dexter Park and throws three more? He'll probably go six today at the Parade Grounds.)
("I'm not so worried about bricks hitting me in the head, but I paid ten dollars to some guy in an alley for these stockings!")
("Ha! I bet it's the horse again!" Don't you just hate that?)
(Rattle brain? She's no Harold Teen!)
(It's like Mr. Stamm is reading my mind. Which is, under the circumstances, an unsettling thought.)
(SUCH CRUST! Kitty used to live with the Bungles.)
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