The Era -- Day By Day

[LizzieMaine]

Oh, and as we saw last summer, Bobby worked with Gyps's sister June Havoc too. BET THAT WENT OVER WELL.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Y''gotta do sump'n!" demands Sally, standing in the Krauses' kitchen clad in a bathrobe and struggling to hold a squirming Leonora on her hip. "I gawta sick lit'l goil 'eeh, an' no heat upstaiehs, an' if I DON'T get no heat, I sweahtagawd I'm gonna light foinetcheh awn fieh inna bat'tub!" "He's doin'a best'ee can," argues Alice, jerking her thumb toward the boiler room door. "T'at ol' berleh ain' no good f'nut'n an' you know it, but t'eh ain' no way t'replace it till afteh t'wawr! We tried get'na a priority! We even' astcha Uncle Frank to get one! An' no dice!" "What's Uncle Frank gawt t'do wit'it??" demands Sally. "Neveh min'," retorts Alice. "I'm tellin' ya we jus' can't get it!" "An' it ain' jus' me!" spews Sally. "Whattabout'a Ginsboigs? Two ol' people up t'eh, how ya t'ink t'eh takin'is? An' pooeh Mrs. Nucci up t'eh onna foet' flooeh? Has anybody even been up t'eh t'check awneh? She might be an ice cube b'now, an' y'd neveh know it! I'm tellin' ya...""Sorry, please, to interrupt," comes a tired voice, as Mr. Ginsburg pokes his head in, a heavy overcoat over his pajamas. "The heat, Mrs. Krause, can anything be done?" "He's TRYIN'!" groans Alice. "Yeh," sighs Krause, entering the kitchen, his face a blur of soot. "Anyt'ing?" pleads Alice. "Neh," shrugs Krause. "Wellat's jus' swell," fumes Sally. "Inna winteh y'freeze t'deat' an' inna summeh y'roast t'deat'." "Inna fawl an' spring ain'so bad..." offers Alice. "Heeh, look. lemme put awn some cawfee, huh? Warm ya right up. Misteh G, you too, siddown." "Thank you," nods Mr. Ginsburg, his eyes weary from lack of sleep." "Y'wanna go getcha wife?" suggests Alice. "Esther is sleeping," sighs Mr. Ginsburg. "Our boy's old raccoon coat she has. Me, not so lucky." "Uh-oh," exhales Alice, exhibiting an empty jar. "Outa cawfee. Um, I gawt soup, howbout I heat up a nice can'a soup.""Whateveh," sighs Sally, as Leonora clutches her sore ear and squirms...)

(Clip and Save.)

("There is no question!" declares Mr. Rickey. "Brooklyn is a community on the move, I tell you, a community with a future! And the time to plan, I say, the time to PREPARE for that future is NOW." "Hm," hms Mr. O'Malley...)

("Can I help it? My supplier just got married, and he can't keep his mind on his work!")

(We haven't forgotten you, Mr. Camilli. Nor will we.)

("Minnie Minnows?")

("And incidentally, stop flicking your ashes on the rug.")

(It sure is a good thing there's newspaper reporters around or the cops would never get anything done.)

("Well, there;s that weird stain on the floor, but you expect that in an artist's room.")

(But DO the ends justify the means??)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

It'll be an interesting Christmas dinner.

You tell'm, FA!

"In other words NOT MY PROBLEM."

"An' after that, go jump at a duck, sit on a tack, an' peddle yuh papers!"

"This did NOT actually happen!" -- Elaine Barrie.

There is an incinerated, dismembered corpse in that hole. HEY KIDS COMICS.

"Uh, actually, you know, she's only Uncle Bim's mother-in-law, and he's dead now, so -- uh -- what's the problem?"

"Whatever," says the pig. "When do we eat?"

LIfe is merely a long string of small lies we tell ourselves to get thru another day.

Guess his time with Hu Shee wasn't wasted after all.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And also...

Hey, c'mon, who WOULDN'T want to own a Rolex?

 

[Fading Fast]

Guess his time with Hu Shee wasn't wasted after all.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Leffe'ts Aveneh!" gasps Sally. "Hoffman, Hoffman -- hey, I t'ink I remembeh t'at guy! He wazzis lit'l kid inna fois' grade at P.S. 92 when I was in 6-B! Yeh!!! Din' have no beehd t'en, but t'same face! Awrways runnin' aroun'a school yawrd hollehrin'!" "T'ey grow up so fast," sighs Alice. "I won'eh if Willie's gonna be like t'at someday." "Nah," says Sally. "Willie's gonna be one'a t'ese guys like Krause, neveh says nut'n but 'Yeh.'" "I don' mean'nat," sighs Alice. "I mean, well, izzee gonna grow up, 'nafteh go t'wawr. Y'know? Awlese guys now, t'ey useta be lit'l kids runnin' aroun'a school yawrd, not so lawngago." Sally muses on this though. "Nah," she predicts. "I dunno, but -- nah." "Hope ya right," exhales Alice. "I dunno why," frowns Sally, "t'ey gotta put t'is guy inneh an' not Joe. Joe's betteh lookin'." "Intoipreteh," notes Alice. "I guess ya gotta know a buncha lang'widges t'do t'at. Maybe t'at's why t'ey put'im inna papeh." "Joe knows a lotta langwidges," insists Sally. "He knows a lit'l Lit'uanian, y'know, fr'm 'is sisteh. An'nen, y'know, growin' up aroun' Williamsboig t'eh he picked up some, oh, a lit'l Goiman, a lit'l I-talian, an' a lit'l, you know, Yiddish. I t'ink 'e might know a lit'l bitta Hungarian too. Pretty good f'ra guy on'y went s'far as 8-B." "Awl I know is plain American," sighs Alice. "C'ept I know a few, y'know, sweah woids. Like if somebody says t'me 'kish mir en toches,' I know what t'at is." "Joe c'n say t'at exact t'ing," boasts Sally, "in five langwidges!" "Mus' be sump'n," marvels Alice, "t'be able t' do t'at...")

The 77th Division struck north above the Ormoc corridor today, tightening a giant American nutcracker that is gradually squeezing 20,000 or more Japanese back against the northwest coast of Leyte. At the northern end of the corridor, weary veterans of the 32nd Division slogged farther south to within less than 15 miles of a junction with the 77th.

("Oi doon't have it yet," declares Shaughnessy the Butcher, "boot Oi WILL get it!" "Of carrse," insists Uncle Frank, "Oi'm naaaht askin' ye t'take noothin' that'd be ootharwoise goin' t' th' boys in saaaaarvice." "Oh, NO," agrees Shaughnessy. "Boot if," ventures Uncle Frank, "woona thim barrds moit, oh, escape froom a farrrm oot aahn Long Oislan', let oos say, an' moit meet with an -- unfaaartunate accident aahn woona thim dark hoiways, well, that'd naaaht meet the grade farr th' Army, now woould it?" "Oh," agrees Shaughnesssy, "no, saaaartainly naaht. Only th' BEST farrr th' boys in saaarvice." "That's whoy Oi loike ye, lad" nods Uncle Frank, unwrapping a fresh Tootsie Roll. "Ye aaahlways gatchee priorities straight.")

("At's tellin' im," nods Joe, as the Corporal ejects a brown stream toward the retreating back of a Second Lieutenant who has just reprimanded him for wearing an overcoat that is not his own. "But lissen," Joe continues, "y'don' hafteh whispeh. Nex' time ya wawna say t'at t'some looey, lookim right inna eye, give'im a s'lute, an say it like 'Paaah-boo-chuck tu man zik-nawn.'" "Puhhh-boo-chuhnk..." repeats the Corporal. "No, t'at ain' gonna woik," shrugs Joe. "Try 'tis -- 'Neee-awld kee ah seg-gum.' "Neeeh'awll...'" "No, no," interrupts Joe. "Nawt like -- you-awll. Y'gotta make it soun', you know -- neveh mine, try t'is -- 'va faawhn cuulo' -- no, f'get t'at, he mighta been in It'ly, an' I bet t'at'sa fois' t'ing ya pick up." He exhales, cogitating. "C'n you say 'kish meeh'r'n tookas?" "Kish meeuh'r'n tookus," repeats the Corporal. "Yeh!" grins Joe. "Now ya gawt it." "Heh," hehs the Corporal. "Wait'll'at Lootenan' Epsteen gits aftuh ME agin'!"

(Lichtys having marriage problems again?)

An explosion of sewer gas that lifted manhole covers in Crown Heights raised fears late last night that the section was under attack by flying Nazi robots. Police, air raid wardens and firemen rushed to investigate the detonation at the intersection of Crown Street and Bedford Avenue, and quickly determined that there was no indication that robot bombs caused the blast.

(Look, let's be honest. The Tigers would be lucky to be allowed to play in the school yard at P. S. 92, and only on days where there's no kickball.)

("ISH DISH!" That's almost as good as "ED HEAD!")

(Oh, Mary, you're such a mouldy figge.)

(Tubs had no intention of giving that waitress those nylons, he just wanted to sit in public fingering them, and that is much more than I ever wanted to know.)

(Federal crime to open somebody else's Xmas presents, toots!)

(Always make sure every member of your team is clear on the plan before you go into action.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

Ew.

Just how carefully do you people screen your ads?

When you're a newly-introduced character in a realistic war story and you've been developed just enough to where the reader is invested in you, it's not a good idea to go off in the jungle alone...

Nice placement of the bomb there, Mr. Gray.

Poor Jeeves. I bet he misses Bertie.

Nice try, knobhead.

Remember when he used to just say "Invaders?"

Awwwwww....

Look, at least she didn't call you Pantywaist.

Never mind the story, there's a few thousand guys here who want to see Moon's leather jacket.

 

[Fading Fast]

kish meeh'r'n tookas

Early in my career in the early '90s, I sat on the trading floor next to a first-generation Jewish man who taught me that one, but I should say that really I picked it up as that's how it actually happens. It's only after you all but know how to use it, that you ask what its actual translation is. The beauty in NYC in those day was that you had all sorts of people using all sorts of expression from all sorts of languages you wouldn't expect. Once in a while, it even still happens today. My very German Catholic friend - went to Catholic schools from kindergarten through college - uses "oy vey," all the time.

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Lichtys having marriage problems again?

True, but at least the line was funny.

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

When you're a newly-introduced character in a realistic war story and you've been developed just enough to where the reader is invested in you, it's not a good idea to go off in the jungle alone...

It's the red-shirt crew member beaming down to the planet in the original "Star Trek" series.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Pack up," commands the Corporal. "We's movin' agin'!" "Rate we'eh goin'," shrugs Joe, "we'eh gonna be in Goimany 'na coupla days." "Ah wouldn' know," shrugs the Corporal. "Ah nevuh did travel much, nevuh could see thuh poin'. One patcha dirt allus 'bout seemed thuh same's any othuh." "Snow's 'bout t'same, too," agrees Joe, slapping his arms about his chest over his field jacket to get the blood moving. "Yew col'?" queries the Corporal, applying a pipe wrench to the fitting securing the gasoline stove to its fuel tank. "Ah though'cho said yo' din' GIT col'." "Nah," dismisses Joe. "I'm awright." "Wallll," continues the Corporal, jerking the wrench without looking up, "yonduh on thuh truck is yo' ovuhcoat. Ah got mine back frum that sawrgen'." "Didja?" marvels Joe, hastening to the truck to reclaim his garment. "Sho' did," replies the Corporal. "We had us anothuh crap game, an' sho' nuff he tried ag'in on me with them loaded dahce. An' I says, 'cousin, we needs t'have us a convo'sation.' An' aftuh a tahm, walll, we done come t'wan unduhstandin'." "Hey," notices Joe, pointing to the three chevrons on the sleeve of the Corporal's coat. "T'AT ain'cha coat." "Naw," chuckles the Corporal. "But me'n that sawrgen' agreed -- aftuh we tahlked it ovuh some -- that Ah oughta have me a spauh...")

The housing shortage in Brooklyn has grown so acute that discharged servicemen holding renumerative war plant jobs are offering as high as $200 a month for apartments which are increasingly difficult to find. Joseph Platzer, director of the City Vacancy Listing Bureau set up by Mayor LaGuardia in September to provide quarters for factory workers, made that disclosure yesterday at a meeting aimed at finding a solution to the crisis. He stated that, while most applicants sought unfurnished apartments in the $50 to $70 per month class, which are virtually nonexistant, many who are willing and able to pay $100 a month ore more are also finding it difficult to secure living space.

("I dunno wheh you get awf cawlin'ese t'ings cigarettes," fumes an angry customer, slamming a crushed half-empty pack down on the counter. "Oi doon't caaahl'm noothin'," fires back Ma. "Joost happ'ns t'say aaahn th' packet there. See, roit undarr th' pitchar 'oo th' camel. 'Taaarkish an' doomestic blend cigarettes.'" "Tastes like ya cut up a Toikish TOWEL," protests the customer, "an'nen dumped m'lasses awn'it!" "Oi gaaaht noo troock with th' recipe," insists Ma. "Ye gaaht a beef, ye take it oop with th' manufacturarrr! Address roit tharr aahn th' back." "R. J. Reynolds T-O-B-A-C-O Com'pny," reads the customer, his eyes flaring. "T'at ain' even SPELT right!" "Oi'm sure," dismisses Ma, snapping her dishrag around the seltzer spout, "thaat even soocha big consaaarn as that is havin' a hard toime foindin' help. Don'chee knoo thar's a WARRR ahn?" "An'anot'eh t'ing!" roars the customer, flinging the pack in Ma's face. "T'at DON' EVEN LOOK LIKE A CAMEL! It's a HAWRSE wit' a BUMP awn it!" "Uh, oh..." snickers Leonora, observing all from the far end of the counter. "You be quoiet, child," interrupts Ma. "Looks like moose," replies Leonora, as the customer slams out...)

(Miss Velez, who is sadly better remembered for the way in which she departed this life than for the substance of her movie career, was an outstanding screen comedienne. The "Mexican Spitfire" movies were only a small part of a much greater whole. RIP.)

Nationwide television networks connected by microwave radio relays will become a reality after the war, prediced Dr. George B. Hoadley last night at a meeting of the New York Electrical Society. Such networks have already been demonstrated on a small scale by program relays between television stations in New York and Schenectady, and, Dr. Hoadley noted, major advances in microwave radio development due to the war will facilitate the wider introduction of relay systems in peacetime. Such relays would be constructed at 30 to 100-mile intervals, and if such relays are extended across the continent, coast-to-coast television networks are entirely feasible, allowing any event of national interest to be transmitted across the entire country.

(Having listened to enough wartime Radio Tokyo brodcasts to know, I will only say that "retractible" is actually pretty accurate.)

(Hey, I for one would much RATHER hear about "the Brooklyn Tigers of the Brooklyn High School of Women's Garment Trades" than about that other bunch of stiffs...)

("CLAMAROO!")

(There are, however, certain locations on Long Island where they don't seem to care too much about that...)

(Never did trust those Pilgrims.)

(SHOULDN'T THEY BECOME INVISBILE???? HEY STAMM, KEEP YOUR SCIENCE STRAIGHT!)

(No Honor Among Thieves.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And also...

(Gertrude Niesen? Forget it Bobby, she's out of your league.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

Last names are irrelevant when you are PUK.

You people have no idea what you're in for.

"Trust, but verify."

Even the picture of Thomas E. Dewey on the wall wants no part of this wedding.

Somewhere, Nick Gatt is smiling.

He's your BROTHER f'gawdsake.

Ah, so he's Dan Dunn's replacement -- a World Famous Secret Operative. Hey, whattaya hear from Kay and Irwin?

There's a way out of anything.

KIDS TODAY

"And keep it quick, don't you know there's a war on?"

 

[Fading Fast]

Nationwide television networks connected by microwave radio relays will become a reality after the war, prediced Dr. George B. Hoadley last night at a meeting of the New York Electrical Society. Such networks have already been demonstrated on a small scale by program relays between television stations in New York and Schenectady, and, Dr. Hoadley noted, major advances in microwave radio development due to the war will facilitate the wider introduction of relay systems in peacetime. Such relays would be constructed at 30 to 100-mile intervals, and if such relays are extended across the continent, coast-to-coast television networks are entirely feasible, allowing any event of national interest to be transmitted across the entire country.

Coming Event Cast Their Shadows Before...

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

Finally a Puk Paaris update. Page Four should sleuth out the story behind that name for us.

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

There's a way out of anything.

Yes, it is possible this general is a complete *sshole, but most aren't, and if told this story, he'd laugh and congratulate Terry and that jerk.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("I t'ought t'ey sen' me oveh'reeh t' cook," gripes Joe, hoisting a crate of canned rations, "nawt be a damn movin' man." The Corporal snorts a reply out of the corner of his mouth, along with a brown stream, but his words are drowned out by the rumble of explosions. "I dunno how t'em guys up front c'n live onnis stuff," frowns Joe, pulling open one of the cartons. "Looks like dawg food. C'ept f'tem D bawrs, t'ey look like roofin' slates." Another blast erupts as men scurry around the truck. "Jeezuz," shudders Joe. "T'at one was close." "Shake uh laig, Brooklyn," admonishes the Corporal. "Sawge jes' tol' me, they's been a change'a plans. Movin' out in ten minutes." Joe glares at the stacked cartons he must now re-load, but his expletive is drowned out by another blast...)

The only woman ever to complete a course of Rabbinical study last night occupied her father's pulpit at the Brooklyn Jewish Center, to urge that the Jewish people must arise from the present crisis "with determination to be creative again." Mrs. Helen Leventhal Lyons, daughter of the Rev. Dr. Israel Herbert Leventhal, cited the two historical destructions of Jerusalem and the many crises of the Middle Ages, noting that "the Jewish people withstood them all, and emerged with renewed strength to create new values." She stressed that 5,000,000 Jews, more than third of the world's entire Jewish population, have been obliterated during the present crisis, but declared that those who have survived must rise again to build "a spiritual and cultural life again, in America and in Palestine." Mrs. Lyons graduated in 1939 with the degree of Master of Hebrew Religion from the Jewish Insitute of Religion, but could not be formally ordained with the title of Rabbi due to her sex. She is also a graduate of Erasmus Hall High School, and attended Columbia University and the University of Pennsylvania.

("Joe still ain' wrote me back," frowns Miss Kaplan. "I hope he ain' gawt a mad awn." Mozelewski looks up from the notebook where he is noting a column of figures next to a series of rough sketches. "Whatcha doin'eh," she queries. "T'at don' look like no dress ya drawrin'." "Jus' t'inkin' bout afteh t'wawr," he sighs. "T'is shawp I'm gonna open on Flatbush Aveneh. Jus' woikin' oveh s'm ideehs f' flooeh plans." "You ain' seerious 'bout'tat?" gapes Miss Kaplan. "Joe's fawt'eh'r'n'lawr promised he'd do me a faveh if I done one f'r'im," declares Mozelewski, "an' we shook awn it. I figyeh, y'know, Joe wouldn' marry inta no fam'ly'a foeh-flushehs, right?" "Fam'ly a'crazies," mutters Miss Kaplan. "That wife a' his, 'magine havin' t'go t'wawr an'neb come home t'wa mout' wit' legs awn it." Mozelewski frowns deeply, and returns to his figuring. "Yeh," continues Miss Kaplan, "t'at's when Joe's gonna really need a -- frien'." Mozelewski just shakes his head....)

(Hear the wisdom of youth.)

(Mr. Hutson there looks like he is shocked to receive a football from the sky when he's been praying all month for a Christmas turkey.)

(They're getting desperate since Mrs. Bleating-Hart cut off their endowment.)

(Well it's JUST ABOUT TIME then that NOSEY MAILMAN DID SOMETHING about this!)

(That's the worst firing stance I've ever seen, unless that gun is full of gumballs.)

(This is what happens when you don't peek!)

(AMERICA'S NUMBER ONE HERO DOG always shares his bounty, after he gets all the meat off.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

"T'at's Veroniceh Lake?" snorts Sally. "Nevva woulda recognized 'eh wit' bot' eyes open." "Andre Dee Tot'," observes Alice. "What's he, a flooehwawkeh?" "Directeh," shrugs Sally. "Same t'ing."

Coming Events....

After the war, Flip will make a great used Jeep salesman.

Once again -- T. but V.

Lieutenants are the same all over.

After all, that's how Mama DeStross started out!

To catch a rat all you need is the right bait.

"And yes, I know what you want again this year. Cork insoles."

Get ready to re-plate Page Four...

But would any jury, you know, care?

 

[LizzieMaine]

And finally...

I wonder if you can be elected to non-consecutive terms as Miss Rheingold?

 

[Fading Fast]

She is also a graduate of Erasmus Hall High School

Sally, do you know her?

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

t'wa mout' wit' legs awn it."

Nice.

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

"T'at's Veroniceh Lake?" snorts Sally. "Nevva woulda recognized 'eh wit' bot' eyes open." "Andre Dee Tot'," observes Alice. "What's he, a flooehwawkeh?" "Directeh," shrugs Sally. "Same t'ing."

Their marriage lasted eight years and produced two children, probably better than the average star-director marriage.

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

"Movie star." Well, I guess if we're being generous; she has acted in several movies.

 

[LizzieMaine]

The then-Miss Leventhal would've been three years ahead of Sally, but they might have passed each other in the corridor. And I'm sure she would have calmly stepped aside and let Sally rush past her on the stairs.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Somebody said y'could see Goimany fr'm'eeh," observes Joe, clenching the bench as the truck inches forward at the rear of the long convoy. "I dunno 'f'at's true, but if y' CAN, it don' look no diff'nt fr'm France." "That's 'cause yo' lookin' out th' backa th' truck," snickers the Corporal, biting off a chew. "This t'baccuh's nuh good. Awl drahhhed up." "I wrote t'Sal," shrugs Joe. "Her ma runs a canny stoeh, ast 'eh t'see if t'ez any chewin' t'bacceh inneh an' maybe sen' some oveh." "Whut kin'a candy sto' sells chewin' t'baccuh?" puzzles the Corporal. "Y'all go t'wa ciguh sto' t'buy bon-bons?" "Ahhhh, in Brooklyn," muses Joe,"y'c'n get anyt'ing inna canny stoeh. Canny, cig'rettes, cigawrs., papehs, ice cream, Coca-Cola, egg creams..." "Whuzzat?" interrupts the Corporal. "'Zat lahk aig nawg?" "Aw," sighs Joe, relishing the memory, "t'at'sa bes' t'ing inna woil' awn a hot day. Chawc'lit syrup, milk, an' ice col' seltzeh wawteh, awl fizzed up inna tawl glass till it's got a head awn it like a beeh. Mmm. Sal's ma makes t'bes' egg creams in Pigtow--, um, Eas' Flatbush." "Whuttabout t'aigs?" queries the Corporal. "Ain' no eggs," shrugs Joe. "Ain'no cream neiteh." "But'ch'all cawl it a 'aig cream,'" frowns the Corporal. "Yeh," nods Joe. "Howcome?" demands the Corporal. "I dunno," admits Joe. "We jus' do." The Corporal considers this reply as the truck grinds along. "Lotta ot'eh t'ings y'can' get inna canny stoeh," adds Joe, just trying to keep the conversation going. "Y'c'n play a slot machine, bet awn a hawrse race awra bawl game, putcha money down onna numbeh..." "Whussat?" queries the Corporal. "Ohhhhh, now," sighs Joe, "t' numbehs. T'at's w'eh -- well, see, inna papeh t'ey publish whatchacawl t'parimutuel numbehs. An' ya bet on what t'las' t'ree numbehs of t'dolleh figyeh's from some one track is gonna be." The Corporal gapes in astonishment. "Ah allus figyuhed yo' Yankees was crazuh. Now Ah KNOW it." "An'," adds Joe, "see, y'c'n bet straight awr y'c'n combinate. Now, what t'at means is...." But his explanation is drowned out in a volley of not-so-distant explosions as the convoy rolls on...)

Hopes for an increase in the production of civilian goods were dashed yesterday by the War Production Board in view of military developments over the past 24 hours, with the issuance of a general stop order by the WPB calling an immediate halt, effective until further notice, on any ramping up of civilian manufacturing. The WPB also ordered a halt for three months extending from January 14, 1945, any processing of wool for use in civilian clothing. The WPB orders follow by two weeks the practical abandonment of the agency's "spot authorization" plan which had called for a gradual resumption of civilian production now in order to prevent the shock of sudden reconversion once the war ends. Developments on both the European and Pacific fronts requiring a sharp increase in the production of military goods, especially ammunition, had already forced the discontinuation of that plan. WPB officials estimate there will be no expansion of any sort of civilian production for at least the next three months.

Meanwhile, Selective Service officials have ordered a ramping up by local boards to speed the induction of men in the 26 to 37 age group, with a view toward inducting thousands of such men into the Army by February 1st. War Mobiization Director James F. Byrnes stressed that such men are needed to replace specialists being discharged by the Army to fill manpower shortages in essential industries.

(Atop Joe's still-unwashed overalls, neatly folded on the bedroom chair, Stella the Cat slumbers in peace in the knowledge that living with a precocious three year old is, at least, an improvement over sharing quarters with a monkey...)

The Eagle Editorialist suggests that this week's revelation that Frank Sinatra makes more money than the President of the United States is simply a lesson in the basic principle of supply vs. demand. "If F. D. R. could sing as well as Sinatra," suggests the EE, "and could please as many people with that talent, doubtless he would have chosen the N. Y. Paramount for his headquarters instead of the White House."

("Hmph," hmphs Mr. Rickey. "No doubt Mr. Walker will anticipate that his achievement will justify an increase in his salary. How old is he?" "Um," ums Mr. Parrott, running a lightning calculation. "He's 34, sir. He'll be 35 next September." "And how old," rumbles Mr. Rickey, "was Mr. Camilli when we -- ah -- " "Thirty-six, sir." "Ah," hms Mr. Rickey. "Do you think that, knowing these men as you do, that -- ah -- Mr. Walker would appreciate a -- Day in his honor, something of that sort? Perhaps with, let us say, a few gifts in token of his achievement, perhaps, oh, a fishing rod of some sort, In lieu, of course, of an increase in salary?" "Ummmmmm...." ums Mr. Parrott. "There is a shop on Flatbush Avenue," continues Mr. Rickey, "Davidsons or Davellos, or something of that..." "Davega, sir?" "Yes, that's it," nods Mr. Rickey. "A dealer in sporting merchandise at discounted prices. Your assignment, Mr. Parrott, is to visit this establishment and ascertain the pricing of..." "Sorry to interrupt," comes the voice of Jane Ann, buzzing from the intercom, but a man is here to see Mr. Parrott. "Thank you," whispers Mr. Parrott, as he darts briskly for the exit....)

The long-awaited return of Olsen and Johnson to Broadway occurs next Saturday night, when they bring to the Winter Garden their successor to "Hellzapoppin'" and "Sons 'o Fun," entitled "Laffing Room Only," a new revue in the traditional O&J style. Co-stars for the new production will be Frank Libuse, Betty Garrett, and a lot of others...

(And sad to say the Sunday comics section is missing today, but you know the usual drill. Red Ryder will look stern, Fritzi Ritz will ritually humiliate Phil Fumble, and Mary Worth will glare disapprovingly at the fashion artist and that French guy necking in the parlor.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

I guess it's a sign of the times that the Chaplin story is just a little sidebar now. When you keep doing the same old act, the audience does eventually get tired of it...

"I jus' don' caeh nut'n'about Chris'mas t'is yeeh," sighs Sally, staring into her Coke. "I ain' bought no presents f'nobody, an' I don' caeh if nobody gets presents f'me." "Oh, well, now, daaaaughter, that's noo way t'be," interrupts Ma, jerking a thumb toward Leonora, absorbed in the magazine rack. "Whoot if Saaaanty Claaaahs hears ye taalkin loike that." "Santy Claus c'n kiss my..." begins Sally, but her suggestion is cut off as the door jingles open to admit a beaming Uncle Frank. "Nora," he announces, "it's aaaaaahl set! Oi joost come fr'm Shaughnessy's, an'nee gaaht us a barrrrd f'Christmas dinnar." "He did, did'ee?" snickers Ma, skepticism fairly radiating from her face. "He DID," emphasizes Uncle Frank. "Wharrr IS it?" demands Ma. "Oh, now, it's a week till Christmas, Nora," wheedles Uncle Frank. "Ye doon't think Oi'm goona waalk in th'door an' give ye a barrd t'hang oot th' foire escape by its feet till then, do ye? In this neighbarhood, it'd be gaahn beforre noitfall. Shaughnessy's gonna keep it in 'is coold starrage." "Well," demands Ma, "what's it LOOK loike. Remembar we got Alice an' Mr. Krause an' William coomin' ovar here, an' you an' me an' Sally an' Leonora an' Daniel an' James. That barrd's gotta feed noine people. Is it a big enough barrd farr THAT?" "Well," hesitates Uncle Frank, "Shaughnessy didn't 'zacktly SHOO it to me, he says it's bein' -- ah -- d'livered later this week." "Ah," ahs Ma, her arms folded. "Doon't look at me loike that, Nora," squirms Uncle Frank. "It gives me th' willies when ye..." "If t'eh ain' enough t' go aroun'," sighs Sally, "y'can include me out. I ain' inna mood anyway. Look, I gotta go see Docteh Levine. Leonoreh, you b'have y'self till I get back. S'long." She gathers her coat and makes a brisk exit. "Ah," ahs Uncle Frank. "Ah," agrees Ma...

Yep, this is how it is, all right.

"Well, DICK, at least they DID go thru with it!!" -- Tess Trueheart

"The young one learns well." -- The Asp. Oh, and you guys should go see Olsen and Johnson, I bet they could use a good drag act in their new show.

Actually they say Dempsey HAS been putting on a little weight.

SNAKY BLEACHED BLONDE! SNAKY BLEACHED BLONDE! SNAKY BLEACHED BLONDE! And I wonder if Mr. Mosely has ever experimented with psychedelic mushrooms?

C'mon, kids, you're smarter than this.

"Well, I just wish it to be known that MY camel features MUCH MORE DETAIL than THIS sorry specimen!" -- Ignatius Quinlan.

"BUT DID THEY STEAL THE KAISER'S ASHTRAY? NO I DIDN"T THINK SO! BUT I DID, GOT IT RIGHT HERE!" -- Col. Leland S. MacPhail.

 

[Fading Fast]

The Eagle Editorialist suggests that this week's revelation that Frank Sinatra makes more money than the President of the United States is simply a lesson in the basic principle of supply vs. demand. "If F. D. R. could sing as well as Sinatra," suggests the EE, "and could please as many people with that talent, doubtless he would have chosen the N. Y. Paramount for his headquarters instead of the White House."

This real-life example of a very basic economic principal (one that many still struggle with today) was already highlighted in a similar manner almost two decades earlier in the famous Babe Ruth quote:

"I know, but I had a better year than Hoover." --[Ruth] Reported reply when a reporter objected that the salary Ruth was demanding ($80,000) was more than that of President Herbert Hoover's ($75,000).

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And sad to say the Sunday comics section is missing today, but you know the usual drill. Red Ryder will look stern, Fritzi Ritz will ritually humiliate Phil Fumble, and Mary Worth will glare disapprovingly at the fashion artist and that French guy necking in the parlor.

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"Well, I just wish it to be known that MY camel features MUCH MORE DETAIL than THIS sorry specimen!" -- Ignatius Quinlan.

Just gotta say, Iggy, the end-customer feedback on your work, lately, has not been good – just ask Ma.