The Era -- Day By Day

[LizzieMaine]

("I dunno," exhales Sally, "remembeh in t'oity-six t'eh, awlem polls said Landon was gonna win. I guess he foun' out nawt t'b'lieve in no polls. I t'ink t'is is gonna be a close one. Awlamoeh reason why you gotta get ya votin' straightend out." "Oh," injects Alice, "T'a't's inna bag. Yeh. Evr'yt'ing's jake." "Oh?" ohs Sally, flipping her seatmate a sidelong glance. "'Ja fine'ya boit' c'tificate aftehrawl?" "Uh," uhs Alice, "well..." "CLAWRK STREET NEX' STAWP," roars the voice of the conductor as the subway lurches into Brooklyn. "CHANGE 'EEH F'T' B-M-T!" "Oh," resumes Alice, "I jus' rememehed sump'n. Soon's we get home, I need t'go upta t'Ginsboigs' an' check awn Zippy. You know, t'eh tawkin' boid t'eh. T'eh'r at soivices t'night. T' Day'v Atonemen'." "Y'know," nods Sally, "I awrways liked t'ideeh'ra t'at. A time when y't'ink'a 'bout awla t'ings ya done wrong an' how y'c'n do betteh. I guess we awl do a lotta t'ings t'at's wrong. I mean, maybe I say some mean t'ings t'you, but'choo know I don' mean it." "Eh," ehs Alice, her face clouding. "I guess I do my shaeh'ra t'ings I prob'ly shouldn'. But -- I mean -- is it wrawng t'do sump'n wrawng if t'ezza good reason f'rit?" Sally offers a quizzical glance. "Y'know," she sighs, "t'e'z moeh'ta you'n people t'ink." "I hope so," shrugs Alice.)

Troops of the British 8th Army have crossed the Rubicon, and captured Bordonchio, Camerano, and several other towns near the Adriatic coast as the Germans move up reinforcements for fierce counterattacks which virtually halted the American drive on Verona. British troops have cleared the enemy from the area between the Marecchia and the Rubicon rivers and have forced a number of bridgeheads across the latter historic stream.

President Roosevelt will make at least one campaign speech in New York City and one upstate, it was confirmed today by Democratic National Committeeman Robert E. Hannegan. The President's appearance in the city is expected to take place in the last week before Election Day.

Police Commissioner Lewis J. Valentine will be sworn in by Mayor LaGuardia on Thursday for his third five-year term as he completes a full ten years in office. The Commissioner is 60 years old.

("I hoop Sally has th' sense," fumes Ma, with a glance at Leonora, immersed in a copy of 'True Romances', "t'stay hoom aftarr th' warr an' raise'arr choild loike Oi done. I didn't waark in noo fact'ry." Uncle Frank snickers as he sips his two-cents-plain. "What's soo fonny?" demands Ma. "Oooh, Oi dunno," he chuckles. "Seems t'me Oi remembarr ye waaarked soo hard in 'eer, ye run poor ol' Mistarr Lieb roit oot th' daarr." "That was diff'rn't," insists Ma. "We was livin' roit oopstars, wharr Oi could keep a cloos oye aahn th' children. They didn't take a deep breath without Oi haard aboot it. Oi didn' go paaarkin' thim with noo relatives. B'soides," she adds, lowering her voice, "THAT woon is gett'n too smarrt far'rar oon good. T'day she aaasked me what it means t'caaahmbinate a noombar!" "Ye didn't tell 'ar, didjee?" queries Uncle Frank. "Oi did NAAAHT!" snaps Ma. "Good," nods Uncle Frank. "And," Ma adds, "Oi didn' take 'arr bet neitharr!" Uncle Frank laughs out loud, but stops short as Ma's face creases into a sudden frown. "Lean ovarr here, Francis," she commands. "Oh, now Nora," blushes Uncle Frank, "noo kissin' in froonta th' baby," "Kiss noothin'," scowls Ma, taking a deep sniff. "YOU been SMOKIN'!" "Ah," ahs Uncle Frank, his eyes rolling ceilingward. "AH!" conculdes Ma.)

(Greenwich Village? Don Ameche sure gets around.)

("Oh, don't worry, Doctor, I have the water balloons up in my room.")

(Rube Melton is the Thomas Edison of the Dodger staff? You mean he'd be 97 years old if he wasn't dead? That sounds about right.)

(You know, all it would need is a bit of scar tissue dehiscence and you'll be right back where you started.)

(I mean, you really can't make a living selling candy, soda, cigarettes, and papers.)

(Checks and stripes are really big this fall.)

(Nice save, Alice -- uh -- whateveryournameis.)

(NUMBER ONE HERO DOGS ARE MADE, NOT BORN!)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

Y'know, twenty years ago the News would have published that whole poem without blinking, but I guess we all get more respectable as we get older.

I have a copy of this pamphlet. It's clear, scientific, and to the point. There are quality ratings for different brands of condoms and contraceptive jellies, and detailed information on other methods of contraception. There's also a warning that the market in 1944 is flooded with cheap, defective condoms, and the buyer must not purchase from gas stations, bars, or other such establishments.

In loving detail, eh Mr. Gould?

"What's the easiest way to blow up a submarine?"

"I don't know -- does he fly those missions with his feet on the wheel?"

Just because he's got a better haircut doesn't mean you can let down your guard.

You know, the two of you could easily get actual jobs.

Mustn't keep the process servers waiting!

I can't wait for Burms to take this little twerp apart.

A true master at the height of his powers.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And also...

Seven million stories.

 

[Fading Fast]

"J is for the Joy of it, giving sweet pain."

Is Burma ghostwriting to pick up a few extra bucks?

 

[Fading Fast]

And also...

Seven million stories.

Wasn't there a daughter a while back who stole some money and ran away, and her parents, too, sent out a message like this?

Had I stolen money from my Dad and ran away, he would have 1. written me off as a complete loss ("Nope, no children, never had any."), or 2. posted a classified like this hoping to lure me back so that he could kill me.

I would not have been fooled by the latter.

 

[LizzieMaine]

That was exactly my thought. All Is Forgiven, isn't that so Mr. Patrolman and Mr. Detective?

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Nooo, noo, tharr's noo doobt aboot it," declares Uncle Frank. "Th' warr's goin' t'be ovarr in a mattar'a weeks, an' ye'll be seein' Mickey an' Joe roit here hoom farr Christmas." "Don't be changin' th' soobject, Francis Leary," scowls Ma. "Oi KNOW ye been sneakin' smooks. Ye smelled oov'it yestardayy, an' ye smell oov'it t'day, aaan aaaahn toopa that, whin ye took ye hand oota ye paaacket joost now, Oi see a cellarphane cigar wrappar faaal oot. It's roit tharr on th' floor boi ye shoe!" "Disgraceful, Nora, joost disgraceful," exclaims Uncle Frank, bending down to retrieve said wrapper. "Ye really aaaht t'considar hoirin' a janitarr t'sweep oop in heer, aaahl these riff raffy coostamars throowin' tharr trash aaahn th' floor." He deftly knots the wrapper, flips it over the counter, and watches it flutter into the wastebasket. "Ye really should," he adds, "troi t'keep a higharrr-tooned place." "Oi know fool well yarr gett'n'm f'rm soomplace," glares Ma. "Oi told th' boys if Oi harrd they was gett'n'm farr ye Oi'd whale'm inta nixt Tuesday. An' ye moit loike t'know Oi had Danny goo aroond t'aaahl th' stores in th' Flatlands an' poot'm aaahf ye so ye don't git no oidears whin ye oot th' warehoose." "Oh, now, Nora," frowns Uncle Frank. "Oooh now Nora noothin'," retorts Ma. "Oi'm woon steppaheadda ye, Francis, an' Oi'll aaahlways BE woon steppaheadda ye! Oi evaan taaalked t' Garrity, th' tobaccar whoolesaler, an' he's gett'n th' warrd oot aaaaahl oovar town. Nooooo, ye can go hithar an' yaaaahn, bootchee ain' gett'n noo cigars. Th' doctarr said ye was t'quit, an' may th' divil melt me, Oi'm gonnar see to it that'chee DO quit." "Nora," pleads Uncle Frank. "Don'chee think Oi c'n make up me own moind? Why moost'chee intarfeer with..." "BECAUSE, ye bloody oold blatherskite," thunders Ma, "Oi doon't waant'chee t'DIE!" This brings Uncle Frank up short. "TWOICE Oi've haad t'start me loife ovarr again," exhales Ma. "And Oi DON'T plan t'do it a tharrd toime!" Uncle Frank blinks, as the words sink in. "We'rrr gettin' oold, Francis," continues Ma, her eyes watering. "You an' me, we'rr gettin' oold. An' Oi doon't know aboot you, but OI don't plan to get oold aloone." "No," nods Uncle Frank, his voice growing somber as he hands Ma a napkin. "Noo, Oi -- doon't waant'chee to. It's joost that...." Ma dabs her eyes with the napkin, and reaches for a countertop display box. "Take this," she commands, shoving the box across the counter. "Tootsie Rolls?" replies Uncle Frank. "Ivvry toime ye feel th' need f'ra cigarr," exhales Ma, "take yeself woon'a these. Take aaahf th' wrappar joost loike ye would with a cigarr, an' stick it in ye mooth joost loike ye would with a cigarr. Doon't chew aaahn it, joost leave it tharr an' soock aahn it." "Ooov aaahl th'..." sputters Uncle Frank before he is again brought up short by the depths of Ma's glare. "Thaat's a good oidear, Nora," he nods, acknowledging defeat. "Oi'll poot a few in me paaahcket here." Ma nods, and grants a small smile. "Oi'll poot th' baax," she nods, "aaahn ye bill.")

British 8th Army forces expanded their bridgehead across the Rubicon and drove up the Po Valley today as American 5th Army infantrymen met the Germans in a fierce battle to retain the rough and difficult Apennine Mountain sector. After clearing up the last enemy resistance south of the Rubicon, the 8th Army sent Canadian units to the outskirts of the town of Bellaria, on the Rimini-Ravenna coastal highway seven and a half miles north of Rimini. Other 8th Army units further inland approached the town of Savignano on the Rimini-Forli highway eight miles to the northwest of Rimini. Meanwhile, the Fifth Army made gains varying from half a mile to three miles despite a German counterattack which drove the Americans from the strategic spur of Mount Alafino Ridge.The main mass of that ridge, however, was still held by the Americans.

("Ain'nit disgustin'?" scowls Sally. "Awlese doity cawps?" "Terrible," sighs Alice, her mind elsewhere. "Not t'at t'eh was eveh too many t'at WASN' doity," Sally continues. "I remembeh when we haddat siddown strike at Woolwoit's in t'oity-seven'neh -- t'em doity cawps t'at come inneh t'break it up, draggin' us inta t'em pie wagons. I kicked one'v'm right inna kneecap, I guess I give HIM sump'n t't'ink about." "Yeh," nods Alice, absently. "An'nen'nat one we useta have 'roun' home'neh, t'at Flannehry. R'membeh right be'foeh you'n Krause got married, he run Krause in f'passin' countehfeit money? An' it awl toined out t'be a setup? Won'neh whateveh happ'nt'a him? I hoid t'ey sen'nim t' Staten Islan' a'someplace. Good riddance, I say, huh?" "Yeh," sighs Alice. "Hey," snaps Sally. "You awright? Sump'n awn ya mine?" "No," sighs Alice. "Jus' t'inkin' 'bout sump'n, t'at's awl." Sally shrugs but presses no further. "In fack," she resumes, "I t'ink t'on'y hones' cawp I eveh hoid of izzis guy useta wawk t'beat when I was a kid. Doyle, his name was. Oh, he gimme a little trouble now'an'nen, but it neveh stuck. An' him an' Ma an' Uncle Frank was good frien's, he'd hang aroun'a stoeh awla time. I t'ink he's a sawrgent now, upta Empire Boulevard precinc'. I ought go up t'eh some time an' say h'lo." Alice flicks a glance at her seatmate and gives a barely-perceptible headshake. "Yeh," she sighs.)

A purported ban on the recitation of the Lord's Prayer in New York City public schools was criticized yesterday by attorney Charles H. Tuttle, member of the Board of Higher Education. In a speech before a Kiwanis Club luncheon at the Towers Hotel, Tuttle pointed to a recent suggestion by assistant superintendant of schools Frederic Ernst that school officials should "tone down any quasi-religious excercises that may offend any group." "Are we so chained to the chariot of pure secularism," demanded Tuttle, "that the very heighs of literature must be banned?" Superintendand of Schools John Wade responded to Tuttle's remarks by noting that Mr. Ernst's suggestion was merely that, and that there exists no formal ban on the Lord's Prayer, or any prayer, in the city's schools. Tuttle had argued that "the Lord's Prayer is as non-sectarian as the stars on a June night."

(Well then tell Dewey to lay off his dog!)

(Back To Normalcy!)

(Yeah, yeah, Leo's coming back. GO BROWNS!!!!!)

Eighty-five percent of women members of the United Auto Workers want to keep their jobs after the war. A survey conducted by the Congress of Industrial Organizations found overwhelming support among the union's female membership for continuing to work once the war is over, even though women workers are generally at the bottom of seniority lists, and thus can expect to be the first to be laid off once war production in the nation's auto factories ramps down. Some of those responding to the poll declared that they found hard physical factory work far more interesting than the usual prewar feminine occupations.

(STAY OUT OF THIS MARY IT'S NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS)

("Bookies! And he NEVER goes to the library!")

("Yeah, this is nothing new, you can order these from the back pages of 'Short Wave Craft.'")

("Perhaps Richard liked an older woman for his wife." WHAT ARE YOU IMPLYING RED?)

(AMERICA'S NUMBER TWO HERO DOG IS ON THE JOB!)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

"Not her shoulder."

Sigh.

Yes, it's Nye-na, not Nee-na. And didn't you guys used to be the Yacht Club Boys?

"Um, HOW modest?"

"Did you at least get their ration books first?"

Low center of gravity.

OK, somebody get a pressure hose and clean off this sidewalk. Oh, and while you're at it, arrest these guys, it'll save a lot of trouble later.

Woo hoo, SKIPPED!

Well, they do say money talks.

Have this seat, sir -- right over the bomb bay.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And also --

"What? Did I do something funny?"

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Christmas, ehhh?" frowns Ma, glancing up sourly at Uncle Frank, who is methodically stripping the wrapper from a Tootsie Roll. "An' hoo many a'those doos it make t'day?" "Fifteen," sighs Uncle Frank, shifting the oily chocolate rod from one side of his mouth to the other. "They doon't laaast as long as a good cigar." "Whin," snorts Ma, "did YE evarr smook a GOOD cigar." Uncle Frank's eyes finish rolling just as the screen door squeaks open to admit Sally. "Hey, I got a ---" she begins, before breaking into a snicker at the sight of Uncle Frank's surrogate cigar. "WHAT," she laughs, "have you got inya mout'?" "Ask yarr moothar," grumbles Uncle Frank. "Francis is givin' oop cigars 'caus'v'is ulcer," proclaims Ma, "and OI am seein' to it that he DOOS." "Izzit hawrd," grins Sally, "t'keep it lit?" "Ahhhhh," scowls Uncle Frank, removing the Tootsie Roll from its mouth, "yaaaaar aaahl aloike. Noo sympathy farr a man's soofarin'." "Anyways," resumes Sally, "I got anot'eh letteh f'rm Joe. Lissen 'eeh. 'Deeh Sal,' he says, an'nen, a'couese, he goes inta awlla poissonal stuff about -- um -- poissonal stuff. Yeh. An'nen he says 'we awr hopin' f'big t'ings t'is fawl, in fack, t'cawrpr'l in my unit, wheneveh anybody gets t'gripin', he says 'don't worry boys, you all is gonna be home by Chris'mas.' He says 'you all" because he is from t' Sout'. An' we all hope t'at he is right. In fack, if you have awlready sent a Chris'mas present, maybe it will get heeh afteh I get home, ha ha! Hope it dont come back postage due.' An'nen he says 'have you hoid anyt'ing from Solly Pincus? I always wondeh if I will run inta him oveh heeh. I have run inta a few diffrent Sollys an' a coupla Pincuses, but so fawr I ain't been able t'get t'em t'getteh. Ha ha!.' An'nen he says a bunch moeh poissonal stuff an'nen 'love t' awl, Joe.' T'at's pretty good, huh? Home by Chris'mas." "Indeed," sighs Ma, slipping the Eagle under the counter and out of sight, as Uncle Frank sucks thoughtfully on his Tootsie Roll...)

Land-based fighters from nearly-conquered Peleliu have joined the growing Allied aerial campaign in the Phillippines theatre where southwest Pacific bombers rain new blows on Mindonao and carried out a 3000-mile round-trip raid on Java, it was disclosed today. The Japanese Domei news agency, in a broadcast monitored by the FCC, said 100 American planes raided the Palaus on Tuesday concentrating mainly on Koror Island near Babelthuap.

Reports have been revived claiming that Mayor LaGuardia will be commissioned a general and sent to Italy, assigned to aid the Bonomo Government in establishing a "New Deal" in that country. The Mayor, a frequent visitor to Washington, is due in the capital tomorrow on "miscellaneous business," part of which, it is rumored, involves his desire to return to uniform. He served as a major in the last war. He is considered one of Italy's "best friends" in America, and until mid-August broadcast regularly to that country in the Italian language under the auspices of the Office Of War Information.

("It's like Ah bin tellin' yuh aaawl uhlong, Brooklyn," sighs the Corporal. "Yo' li'l girl gon' be a ol' married lady by thuh time yuh see huh ag'in." "Ahhh, ya full'v'it,' growls Joe, rereading Sally's last letter for the twentieth time. "Maaaahk muh words," the Corporal continues. "Use yo' haid, boy. Laaaawng's they soljuhs ovuh heeuh, they's gonna need t'git fed. An' who-all but US is gon' haftuh do thuh feedin'? Home bah Chrissmuss? Mo' likely kingdom done gonna come, an' we still be ovuh heeh dishin' up th' chip beef fo' thuh Lawrd'a Hosts." "Hmph," hmphs Joe, rereading Sally's letter for the twenty-first time...)

("What she probably calls dances..." Having a bad day, Jane?)

The fire that ravaged Luna Park last month wasn't the only reason attendance was down this summer at Coney Island. Writing in Variety, former Eagle scribe Jo Ransom, whose "Sodom By The Sea" is the definitive history of Brooklyn's seaside playground, attributes this year's downturn to manpower shortages, fuel shortages, and even shortages of confetti, all of which have combined -- along with that devastating fire -- to put a damper on Coney's amusement centers. Ransom further notes that many believe that there is simply no longer room at Coney Island for two parks on the scale of Luna and Steeplechase, and that being so, Luna might as well be shut down permanently and its land converted for business and residential use.

(After the war, someone is going to have a long talk with Mr. Lichty.)

In California, an autopsy is planned on the body of Sister Aimee Semple McPherson, who was found dying by her son in a Oakland hotel room, a half-empty bottle of sleeping tablets at her side. A fire department inhalator squad was summoned to the room, but McPherson died before they could use their equipment. At her Angelus Temple in Los Angeles, lights blazed into the early morning hours as Sister Aimee's followers prayed for her to be brought back to life. The evangelist's body will lie in state at the temple over Sunday, before burial at Forest Lawn Cemetery.

("Gonfalon" - obslete word for "pennant." Get with the times, Mr. Murphy. AND GO BROWNS!)

(Her parents hated Yankees? Dodger fans are everywhere!)

(There's something about this story that makes me think Mr. Tuthill finally cracked up while reading P. G. Wodehouse.)

(Oh, good, spy stations have call letters. THAT MAKES IT SO MUCH EASIER.)

("New kid, new identity -- if only I could get a better hat!")

(AMERICA'S NUMBER TWO HERO DOG IS NOT A HOUND! More of a terrier mix.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

That's it for Sister Aimee? I realize it's a breaking story from the Coast, but jeez, you guys can do better than this.

Again with the capital letters. I thought the GOP got rid of that guy in 1940.

It's a good thing you don't live in New York.

Speaking of changing your shirt, you just got stabbed in the shoulder by a rusty lightning rod. Shouldn't you get that looked at? REMEMBER WHAT HAPPENED TO LAFFY!

Eleven years invested in this bunch of lunatics, AND FOR WHAT?

Never mind this, do another musical number. Good trio acts are hard to find.

"It's just that thousand-yard-stare that gets me!"

Joe's postwar career?

"Well, it's like this. Nine years ago I knew this guy named Judas, a real pirate, and we were working the China coast, but I double-crossed him with this big curly-haired Irishman who was bumming around with a couple of kids -- one of whom was Terry, godbless'im, just a little kid in short pants then -- and then when Judas called me on it I set his face on fire with an oil lamp." "Tell me more!" "Well, after that I traipsed around for a few years, got involved with this Nazi -- big mistake there -- and then about three years ago I ran into Judas again in Hong Kong, and.." "NO! I mean, tell me about the big curly-haired Irishman!"

This is why civilians shouldn't be allowed to play with hand grenades.

 

[Fading Fast]

"Well, it's like this. Nine years ago I knew this guy named Judas, a real pirate, and we were working the China coast, but I double-crossed him with this big curly-haired Irishman who was bumming around with a couple of kids -- one of whom was Terry, godbless'im, just a little kid in short pants then -- and then when Judas called me on it I set his face on fire with an oil lamp." "Tell me more!" "Well, after that I traipsed around for a few years, got involved with this Nazi -- big mistake there -- and then about three years ago I ran into Judas again in Hong Kong, and.." "NO! I mean, tell me about the big curly-haired Irishman!"

Nice.