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.

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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...

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

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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.