The Era -- Day By Day

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

"1943" World Series? Can't wait to see the letters!!

​

"I would never join any club that would have me as a member."

Tracy places far too much faith in the chain of command.

Well, isn't this going to be fun.

It's a wonder anybody ever has to ask that quetion.

Either he's a cop, or he's from Consumers Union.

There's been a lot of weird plots in this strip, but writing secret coded messages on your leg with a fingernail has broken new ground...

If you want to dance, LETS DANCE!

See, Sal, there's a perfectly reasonable explanation.

BURN.

 

[Fading Fast]

The thirty-seven year old owner of a Prospect Heights tavern is being held without bail on a charge of homicide after he was accused of slaying, with one punch, a dance-band drummer following an argument with him over the affections of a female bandleader. Joseph Renzutek of 537 Clinton Avenue was arrested yesterday after bandleader Phyllis Lane walked into the East 67th Street police station in Manhattan accompanied by an attorney, who told police "there's a dead man in this woman's apartment." Miss Lane testified that she had found 42-year-old Jack Miehle of 1566 Coney Island Avenue, whom she employed as the drummer in her orchestra, laying badly beaten in a corridor of her Manhattan apartment building. An investigation determined that Miehle and Renzutek had been drinking together and Miehle made references to Miss Lane to which Renzutek took exception, and he is alleged to have struck the drummer a crushing blow in the chest which shattered eight ribs. An autopsy revealed that Miehle died as a result of internal bleeding. Miss Lane was ordered held on $5000 bail as a material witness in the case.

Jesus. Away from the awfulness, cool that she's a female bandleader – we haven't seen a lot of them in these pages.

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

Ahead of your time, Ernie.

By far the most creative episode we've seen in this strip. And it is a pretty close, but not quite breaking of the fourth wall.

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

Lately I've found that I need to be prepared for anything. But I was not prepared for, and AM not prepared for -- Scarlet O'Neil IN SPACE.

But to some extent, isn't she always?

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

Either the News or Brooklyn's paper needs to did deeper into this story in the next day or two.

There's no universe where I see Sally delivering doughnuts, but I do see her as clearing her name by knowing the full Dodger lineup, and batting averages, and bases....

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

BURN.

That could not have been more enjoyable.

 

[EngProf]

If a group of front-line GI's ran into a Red Cross girl who looked like that, they would have gladly accepted a Dodger-lineup answer as follows:
In the outfield: Larry, Curly, and Moe
Other team members: Bashful, Grumpy, Sneezy, Donner, Blitzen, and Dopey
GI's: "WOW! She got them all right1"
(I thought of that before the Dragon Lady's comment about Dopey and Hot-Shot Charley. But who ISN'T at least one step behind the DL?)

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Boot how LAAAAHNG," demands Uncle Frank, "d'ye think ye c'n keep it frooom'ar?" "Laaang as we haaave to," snaps Ma. "Oi'll naaaht have 'arr roonin' amook again an' endin' oop in that bloody bughooose." "Butchee CAN"T EXPECT to..." argues Uncle Frank. "Oi EXPECT, Francis Leary," rebuts Ma, "that Oi c'n do anythin' Oi NEED to do. Didn't Oi keep'arr fr'm seein' that casualty list in th' papaar with Joseph's name in it?" "Ye doon't knoow far sarrtain," challenges Uncle Frank. "She cooda stepped joost next door to th' droog store an' got a paparr ye DIDN't get to!" "Oi know me daughter's habits well enoof," insists Ma. "Sally ain't been in that store since old Mistarr Zimmarrrman got in an argument with'arr aboot not lettin'arr poot thim barrrth controol paparrs in 'is store!" "That was fifteen yarrs agoo," scoffs Uncle Frank. "Sally's gaaaht a laaang memory," observes Ma. Uncle Frank fingers his glass and takes a deep sip of two-cents-plain. "You ivvr wondaaar," he exhales, "wharrr ye went wrong with that garrrl?" "OI WENt WRAAHHHNG!" erupts Ma. "Oi seem t'remembarrr YOU winkin' ye oye an' tarrrnin' ye head a few toimes. When Doyle haaaaahled 'arrr in' farr chaaaalkin' thim sloogans aaahn th' soida th' chaaaarch..." "Ye aaahlways bring that oop," sighs Uncle Frank. "Ye praaahblem, Francis," Ma summarizes, "is ye nivvar had no garrrls oov'ye own." "Oi doon't think," concludes Uncle Frank, "anywoon livin' had a garrl loike that woon." Ma blinks and considers this point. "Maybe ye roit," she shrugs. "Boot joost th' same, she's me daaaaughter, an' she moit as well be yaaaars." "You do, Nora," declares Uncle Frank, "whatchee think best." "An' ye knooow," nods Ma, "thatt Oi will...")

("Monna-sterry?" stumbles Alice. "Yeh," nods Sally. "It's like, you know, a convent. 'Cept it's weh t'ey have -- you know, brot'ehs 'steada sistehs." "Oh," ohs Alice, pondering the scenario. "I know you want Stalin t'get 'im, but it'd soive 'im right if t'sistehs got'tim foist!")

(Well, Bing, if you do win, you'll give Hope fodder for a lifetime of jokes.)

(These ladies in the matching fox-collared coats are the female equivalent of Mr. Lichty's array of identical overweight bald men. Such a world he must live in.)

("Hmph," hmphs Mr. Rickey. "That blustering oaf!" "He does make for good copy," shrugs Mr. Parrott. "Which reminds me, young man," admonishes Mr. Rickey. "At the bottom of this page -- your, what is the word, byline?" "Um," ums Mr. Parrott, knowing he is cornered, "there's -- uh -- a lot of guys named Parrott around." "Name one," challenges Mr. Rickey. "Umm," replies Mr. Parrott, his mind reeling. "Umm -- Ursula?" "Ah," ahs Mr. Rickey with a knowing glare....)

(No, not the Chianti! You know how hard it is to get that stuff??)

(And this one REALLY isn't Raven and Dude.)

("Just another punk lookin' for easy money." Well, gee, aren't we all?)

(Thug Management must be accomplished with delicacy and careful consideration before you throw them in the river.)

(The fine art of Dogplomacy.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

If any one is dumb enough to wade ashore in Maine at night in November wearing city clothes and not expect to get noticed, they deserve everything they get.

"All's Fair In Love And War."

"There's tragedy afoot right in this prison!" When did this strip turn into "Hairsbreadth Harry?"

There's a ten year old girl around who could tell you exactly how to do this.

As someone who will become a grandmother-equivalent in about seven weeks, I feel Phyllis's pain. Oh, and remarkably enough, Walt Wallet hasn't really gained an ounce in 25 years.

Settle down, Dopey.

"You're right, we'd better go. Besides, I'm allergic to the smell of mothballs."

"Onboarding" used to be so simple.

Oh, Tilda, never give up.

LaGuardia will catch up with you two, and when he does it won't be pretty.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And also...

Mr. Keller wears long shirt cuffs to hide the handcuff marks.

 

[Fading Fast]

"Oi doon't think," concludes Uncle Frank, "anywoon livin' had a garrl loike that woon."

Frank shoots very straight sometimes, even amidst all his usual rigmarole.

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

"Which reminds me, young man," admonishes Mr. Rickey. "At the bottom of this page -- your, what is the word, byline?" "Um," ums Mr. Parrott, knowing he is cornered, "there's -- uh -- a lot of guys named Parrott around." "Name one," challenges Mr. Rickey. "Umm," replies Mr. Parrott, his mind reeling. "Umm -- Ursula?" "Ah," ahs Mr. Rickey with a knowing glare....

Good one, Lizzie.

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

If any one is dumb enough to wade ashore in Maine at night in November wearing city clothes and not expect to get noticed, they deserve everything they get.

Bet she can't name the Dodger lineup for the 1943 World Series.