The Era -- Day By Day

[Fading Fast]

"Cigarette?" offers Inky Quinlan, extending a monogrammed silver case. "No thank yee," frowns Uncle Frank. "Ye bought thoose, as Oi recall, from me. In any event," he continues, leaning back in his swivel chair, "Oi've gaaaht an assoinment farr yee." "Ah," nods Inky, his immaculate moustache twitching with anticipation. "Oi need," sighs Uncle Frank, "a lettar." "Ahhhh," nods Inky. "A billet-doux, as they say. Perhaps in a light, feminine hand with a dash of, ohh, Nuit de Noel? And who, might I inquire, is to be the -- ahh -- unfortunate recipient?" "Can that Charrles Boyer stoof," frowns Uncle Frank, his face growing sour. "Oi'll coom straight to th' point. Oi need a lettar attestin' to me straang maaaral chaactarr." "Oh my," chuckles Inky, his cigarette nearly falling from his hand. "And, ah -- what, may I inquire," he stammers, "is to be the -- ah -- purpose of this -- ah.." "Nevaaar ye moind that. Ye can make it oot to 'to whom it may consaaarn,'" Uncle Frank growls. "Oi need it to be impressive, and aaaahn whatchecaaahl impressive stationery." "Well, I have my sample case with me here," nods Inky, ever-ready to accomodate a client. "Here are some samples. Perhaps you..." "Th' White Hoose?" reads Uncle Frank, pushing his glasses up his nose. "Don'chee think thaaat's a bit mooch?" "Ah," nods Inky. "As you wish. But I do sign a very convincing Mr. Roosevelt." "Office of the Governor," reads Uncle Frank, examining the next sheet. "I pride myself, you see," declares Inky, flashing a Pepsodent smile, "on being strictly non-partisan in these matters." "Oi doon't think so," shrugs Uncle Frank, dropping the sheet to the back of the stack. "Sally would kill me if she foond out. What else ye gaaaht here? 'City of New Yaaark, Office of the Mayor.' "That one's very popular," injects Inky. "Look behind the bar at the Old Reliable Tavern, you'll see an oustanding sample." Uncle Frank merely scowls and glances at the next sheets. "Office of the Borough President of Brooklyn." He pauses for a moment, shakes his head, and moves on. "Bronx County Democratic Committee, Edward J. Flynn, chairman." "Oh," interrupts Inky. "I -- ah -- have discontinued that particular... ah ..." Uncle Frank shakes his head and continues. "'Brooklyn National League Baseball Club, Inc.'," he reads. "'Branch Rickey, President.' Ye caaan't be serious." Inky merely shrugs. "I am," he acknowledged, "somewhat overstocked on that particular item, and am offering a 20 percent discount." "No, no, no!" rumbles Uncle Frank. "I need soomthin' coonvincin' but not ridiculous! What's this one." He adjusts his glasses for a better view. "F. Leary an' Soons Ploombin' an' Heatin'!??'" "AH," gasps Inky, snatching the sheet away. "I have no idea how that got in there..."

This entire exchange is freakin' hilarious. Kudos, Lizzie.

This line: "A billet-doux, as they say. Perhaps in a light, feminine hand with a dash of, ohh, Nuit de Noel? And who, might I inquire, is to be the -- ahh -- unfortunate recipient?" is particularly funny. Inky is quite the piece of work.

He's been a great addition to the crew.

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

"Girl Marines on Desert Isle"

Let's check back on this story in about nine months.

 

[Fading Fast]

I also love the entire meta Frank thing at work here: Frank deals all day long with sketchy people who have "custom" codes of honor and a creative approach to abiding the law, but they are all uncomfortable putting their name on a letter that says he is a man of strong moral character. The really funny thing is that Frank is a man of honor, he's just honorable according to the rules of honor in his warped little world of corruption. A hand shake deal with him will be honored / a friendship is respected / bills are always paid / and he'd protect people close to him, like Ma and Sally, with his life. But sure, he'll skim a little here and cheat the gov't as much as he can get away with - it's the water he swims in. Still, even his corrupt friends, who lie and cheat all the time, aren't comfortable with putting their name on the moral character letter. It's very funny.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And honestly, I think he would have married Ma a long time ago if she'd let him. But she carries her own coals of fire.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Oh, t'at's wondehful," mutters Sally to herself, as she spends a quiet moment with the newspaper after putting Leonora to bed. "Jus' wondeful. Now we'll NEVEH get ridda t' fathead. An' whot'hell's'is guy O'Malley?" Her musings, however, are interrupted by a soft knock at the door. "Hello, Sally," smiles Uncle Frank, as she opens the door. "Oi was in th' neighbarhood an' Oi thaaat Oi'd drop this aaahf. It's a little present farr Leonora." He hands Sally a brown-wrapped parcel, as she hangs his hat on the peg by the door. "It's a book," he continues, indicating the package. "Huh," huhs Sally, unwrapping the parcel. "Huh," huhs Sally, examining the dun-colored book inside. "'Crane Valves, Fit'ns, Pipin', Plumbin', Heatin', Mill Goods, Tools, Et cetehra. Catalawg Numbeh 140. 1921.' Uh, well, I don' t'ink she's eveh read t'at one..." "Oi gaaht th' oidea ovar at th' stoore th' oothar day. Th' choild spent almoost th' whool aftarnoon aaahf in th' carrnar, readin' th' telephoon book. An' she'd look at pitcharrs, an' spell oot what it said oondarneath. Oi've nooticed she loikes sooch books, cataloogs, things loike..." "Yeh," nods Sally, cocking an eye, "it's swell. Hey, c'n I getcha a cuppa tea a'sump'n?" "Noo, noo," sighs Uncle Frank. "Nora woon't allow -- uh, that is to say, th' doctarr woont allow -- you know, on accoont'a me oolcar. D'ye gahht any milk?" Sally nods in acknowledgement, steps to the icebox, and pours a glass. Uncle Frank sits down at the kitchen table, and sips without much satisfaction. "Ahhh." he exhales with false heartiness. "Noothin' soo good aas a whoolsome glass a'milk." "Sawry I ain' got no beeh," chuckles Sally. "Joe useta like it, but since 'e's gawn I don' keep none aroun." "Nivver tooch th' stuff," disclaims Uncle Frank. "If ye knoo what went into it, ye wouldn't neither." He pauses, drumming his fingers against his glass. "Listen, Sally," he begins, his eyes flicking nervously around the room. "Ye've been loike th' daaaghter Oi nivvar had. Ye knoo that, don'chee?" "Yeh," acknowledges Sally, unsure where the conversation might be headed. "Oi've known ye moothaar," he continues, "farr a long toime. Twenty-foive years. We've been thru thick an' thin. An', well, Oi'm verry faahnd oov'er." He goes silent for a moment, pondering his next thought. "If Oi was to -- " he stammers, "if Oi was, let's say, to ask yarr moothar to..." But that thought is cut off sharply by a loud banging at the door. "HEY SAL!" comes a loud voice from the hallway. "OPEN UP!" With an eyeroll, Sally holds up her hand to pause the conversation and goes to the door to find Alice in a highly agitated state. "Sal," she exclaims. "Y'gotta gimme a han'! Willie locked Siddy inna berleh room, an' we can't get t'dooeh open!" "What?" gapes Sally. "We neveh had no key t't'at dooeh, but Willie took it awlapawrt an' puttit back t'get'eh, an' he done sumpn' an' Siddy wen' inneh t'shake t' grates, an' shut it behin' 'im an' now we can't get it open! An' I do'wanna jus' bust it down, I mean'nat's nice woodwoik onn'eh, y'can't get t'at kin'a woodwoik no moeh, so.. Oh! Frank! Good! You gotcha tools onna truck? C'mon, come downstehs, Siddy's gonna roast t'deat' inneh!" And with a sad sigh, Uncle Frank drains his glass and reluctantly rises to the occasion..)

("Aaaahr ye tellin' me," demands Ma, "that we're sharrrrrt foive caaartons? Foive carrtons'a Camels?" "I coun'ed 'em t'ree times," shrugs Bink Scanlan. "T'ree times I coun'ed 'em." "What brand," scowls Ma, "d'YOU smoke?" "Hmph!" hmphs Bink. "I like t'at. Not even a week awna jawb an' awready makin' accusations. An' if it's any'ting t'you, I smoke Ol' Golds, so t'eh. An'," she insists, with a pointed chaw of her gum, "ya got just'z many a't'em as ya sposta have." "Hmmm," scowls Ma. "Five carrtons'a Camels shawrt. Oi don' like t'at. Oi don' like t'at at AAAAHL" She taps the clipboard on the counter, running calculations in her head, but finds no satisfaction. "Oi'm gonna get to th' bottom'arr this, ye may be saaaartain," she frowns. "Anyway, Oi want'chee t'goo ovar th' chooin' gom next. We been gooin' thru an uncooman amoont'a Black Jack this week." She glances suspiciously at Bink. "Incidentially," Ma continues, her eyes narrowing. "What braand'a gom d'YOU chew?" "Gum," swallows Bink. "What gum?")

The lowly $2 bill, widely scorned as unlucky, turns out to be even more of a jinx for Adolf Hitler. It seems that the two-spot is the only denomination of US paper money that the Nazis have been unable to successfully counterfeit, and when this fact became known, the Germans abandoned any further attempt to manufacture that denomination. As a result, American $2 notes have become the only US currency to be accepted without question anywhere in the world.

(I'm not crying, it's just pollen...)

("George S. Pat-ton hits the spot...")

(Getting back Camilli would certainly goose attendance next year, but getting back Babe Herman? DO IT!!!!)

("Strictly zombie!")

("I swear to god, Bill, if you don't put that costume back in that trunk I'll take it out back and burn it!")

("Meanwhile, just let me reach up here and change this light bulb...")

(That'll teach the little imps!)

(Woo hoo! Free horses!)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

"A friend for Zippy," suggests Mr. Ginsburg. "A companion, you could say." "Hmm," nods Mrs. Ginsburg, spreading marmalade on her toast. "It's a thought." "It's a thought!" repeats Zippy, squawking in his cage.

Nothing makes a gal feel more glamorous than "Government Rejected Nylon."

"Oh, and you did bring your ration books...?"

and when Sel LeLoyd sends a telegram, he always uses the Nite Rate.

Some people just don't like to be upsold.

A crummy COMMERCIAL?

Well, it'll give him time to come up with an ending.

I mean, it's not like she really needs to study...

"And besides, it's only spelled with one 'K.'"

"I'll merely say it's Government Rejected!"

 

[LizzieMaine]

And finally..

Gee, I wonder what kind of an act she'll do.

 

[Fading Fast]

"Allow me to rephrase the question and to break it into two part. First, can you write the numbers "two" and "zero" in that order?"

"Like this?" [Willow writes the number twenty on the form.]

"Yes. Good. Now can you say the number 'twenty' out loud?"

"Twenty."

"Congratulations, you are now a WAC!"

 

[Fading Fast]

Internet down again?

 

[LizzieMaine]

("I sweah, t'woil's goin' nuts," sighs Sally. "Wawrs, elections -- an'nen, out'a t'blue, out'ta t' BLUE min' ya, Unca Frank comes oveh'rn stawrts tawkin' awlis stuff about marryin' Ma. Afteh'raw'leese yeehs. An' he wawns ME t'be t'one t'try'n convince'eh!" "Whassat stawry," chuckles Alice. "'Speak f'y'self Jawn Awlden?' Hey, izzat t'one 'bout t'guy wit' t'big schnozz, awwr'm I t'inkin'a sump'n else?" "Whateveh," dismisses Sally. "What'm I s'posta SAY? We don' even know if Pa is livin' awr dead, he might be runnin' aroun' France right now. Awr Asb'ry Pawrk a'sump'n." "Who caehs?" queries Alice. "Ain'ee legally dead?" "Yeh," shrugs Sally, "I remembeh when she gawt'tat papeh inna mail, but y'know what she said? 'T'at bloody bodach ain' gonna die until I kill 'im!'" "Well," sighs Alice, "I mean, I'm still soeh at Hig f'what he done, but y'know, afteh'ra t'rew t'at pot roast att'im I didn' feel so bad." "What'm I s'posta SAY?" repeats Sally. "I mean, Unca Frank's a good old guy 'nawlat, an' 'ee was good t'me 'n Mickey growin' up, but I mean -- husban' material? He'd neveh be home, awrways out on'nem plumbin' cawls, fixin' foinaces. An' Ma bein' such a homebody. I jus' dunno'f it'd woik out." "Marriage is a swell t'ing," argues Alice. "You'n Joe got a good marriage, right? T' Ginsboigs, t'ey gotta good marriage. An' I neveh knew what happy was 'till I met Siddy. An' y'know what, he feels'a same way. Las' night, right, afteh we got'tim outta t'at berleh room, I says t'him, 'good t'ing I was heeh, huh?" An'nee looks at me wit'tem big brown eyes an' says 'Yeh." "He ain' got brown eyes," notes Sally. "Y'know, I wondehed about'tat," shrugs Alice. "Must'a been awlat soot.")

The chairman of the Democratic National Committee today predicted that President Roosevelt will defeat Governor Thomas E. Dewey by a greater margin than he defeated Wendell Willkie by four years ago. Chairman Robert Hannigan also stated that the popular vote this year is likely to exceed 47,000,000, and predicted that the President will not only sweep New York City but also the state and the nation. Republican National Committee Chairman Robert Brownwell Jr. expects to issue his prediction for the election later this week.

("Whoot's that smell?" queries Ma, her nose twitching. "Ain't me," declares Bink Scanlan, tossing the canvas bag on the counter. "I use'at Koikman soap." "Leonora," continues Ma, frowning at her granddaughter, absorbed in her stacks of nickels. Ma sniffs closer, and again requests attention. "Leonora, daaarlin',"she queries, "didjee motharr give ye a baath laast noit?" "Yeh," snaps Leonora. "Go 'way. I'm busy." Ma shrugs, as Bink takes the opportunity to pocket three packs of gum from the countertop display. Ma sniffs again, and reaches for Leonora's sweater."What's in ye pocket tharr," she inquires, her nose wrinkling at the smell. Leonora huffs and reaches into her pocket, tossing a gelatinous gray mass on the table. "Leonora, darlin'," stammers Ma, holding her hand to her mouth. "Whoy d'ye have boiiiiiled fish in ye paacket?" "Fr'm dinneh," explains Leonora, her dignity ruffled. "Savin' it fa' Stella!")

(Everything will be fine. Yes indeed. Everything will be just fine.)

(Well, they had to do something since the Battle Page went away.)

("It's Mr. O'Malley again, sir," interrupts Mr. Parrott, as Mr. Rickey chalks new names on the roster list on his blackboard. "Tell him I am out," declares Mr. Ricket with a puff on his cigar. "Prevaricate if you must. And instruct Mr. O'Malley, if you will, on the meaning of the term 'silent partner.'" "He's very upset," insists Mr. Parrott. "He wants to know why Holmes ran Schmitz's picture and not his." "Call Mr. Holmes," sighs Mr. Rickey. "Tell him another photograph of Mr. O'Malley will be delivered by messenger, and that he should take pains to run it. And be certain, this time, that the photograph does not exceed the maximum width." "That won't be easy," sighs Mr. Parrott. "Ah." chortles Mr. Rickey, his own ample belly rippling with laughter. "A jest, a jape, a joke. Very good, Mr. Parrott. Very well observed." "Yes sir," sighs Mr.Parrott...)

(You know, a jitterbugging goose just might work. I hear Margie Hart used to do an act with a seagull.)

("Or was it Waukegan? Somewhere around there?")

(Um, that's not a closet. Just so you know.)

(If I Only Had A Brain...)

(Well, at least they're not on the menu.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

View attachment 651725

Internet down again?

Technology, our capricous master..

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

Maybe if he didn't run around getting drunk in nightclubs with Georgie Jessel, he'd have a happier home life.

DIdn't they make a movie of this in 1931 with RIchard Barthelmess and Kay Francis?

Serves you right for trying to finesse. Flattop would've just hit her over the head.

"You little SHOP-LIFTAH!"

LOOK IT UP IN A BOOK WALT

Sorry, you don't get a Purple Heart for this.

"Ann Sheridan was never this much trouble!"

"You could be an air raid warden. Just look important and yell a lot!"

You're not supposed to use an actual chain.

Look, a ragtag band of misfits!

 

[Fading Fast]

DIdn't they make a movie of this in 1931 with RIchard Barthelmess and Kay Francis?

I can't think of the movie you're referring to, but it would certainly fit the precode style of movies from that era. There's also a pretty good foreshadowing of this in Evelyn Waugh's 1934 novel "A Handful of Dust." There, the wife tries to set the husband up with a mistress to – after the fact –"justify" her own affair and kind of make it all okay (if you're insane).